Unwilling (Book One of the Compelled Trilogy 1) (10 page)

Galamee heard a twig snap and jerked his head up, peering around the clusters of trees. In the distance he could see a campfire, figures huddled around it. He wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying or what they looked like, one figure had branched off from the rest, walking slowly in his direction. Galamee scuttled behind a thick tree, but still his body was not fully covered from view, he hoped it was dark enough that the figure would not notice him.

“Rowan! Hey, Rowan, wait.” A male voice said and he heard fast footsteps approaching the lone walker. “Are you okay? You seemed kind of distant at supper.” The male voice said.

“I’m fine Jace, it’s just those rumors today, it’s just so hard for me to believe that about him. I know you didn’t know him, but he was everything to me, I can’t imagine him doing anything like that, he-“ The girl broke off abruptly, Galamee careened his neck to look around the tree at the pair, who stood about 15 feet away, their silhouettes illuminated by the moon.

“I know it’s hard. I am so sorry you have to go through this. I – I wish I could take this pain away from you…” the boy,
(Jace?)
said.

“I wouldn’t want you to hurt like I do.” Rowan replied, looking at the ground, she lifted her head slightly to look at him. The boy reached out and brushed his knuckles across her cheek, wiping away a tear.

“I don’t want you to hurt ever.” Jace replied and Galamee found himself rolling his eyes.

“But I do.” Rowan said with a shrug. “I just hope they’re not true. I just want Elias back.” Rowan said softly, pricking a memory in Galamee’s head.
That’s who their discussing, the fugitive Elias? I bet the King would pay someone good money for whoever caught and turned him in, then I could pay back Jameson and marry…
PAY UP…

“I just want you to know, Rowan, no matter what, I will always be here for you.” Jace said as Galamee scooted away slowly back the way he had come, a plan forming in his head.

Rowan looked down at the ground, a look of guilt crossing her face and she took a step away from him. “Thank you…” She replied tightly, her voice strained as if she were in pain.

“I mean it Rowan,” Jace said, closing the short distance between them and reaching out, pulling her toward him softly. The girl looked as if she were about to protest but allowed herself to be cradled in his arms, standing on the tips of her toes as if she might flee at any moment.

Galamee stood up, grabbing a clump of dirt off the ground and rubbing it across his face and clothes.

“There’s- I want to tell you something, Rowan.” The boy said, pulling away, looking longingly into her eyes.

“Yes?” Rowan questioned concerned.

“I-“ Jace began, but Galamee started running towards them, crashing through the forest.

“HELP!” He screamed, his voice cracking as he tried to sound fearful. “PLEASE! SOMEONE HELP!” The boy and girl jumped, turning toward him astonished, the girl took a step toward him, but he had already ran up to them, pointing behind him from the way he’d run, “there’s a robber, he took everything I had! He had a knife, I think, I think, oh it was so horrible!” Galamee sobbed, burying his face into his hands. “Please, I have nowhere to go, do you live nearby? I’ve lost my home and my family, I have nothing!” Well at least that much was true.

“We- huh, we don’t live nearby.” The girl said, “were traveling, I’m sorry,”

“Could I-would it be alright if I traveled with you, for a while?” Galamee did his best to look sheepish, his gaze flickering over the boys shoulder to where the rest of the group was jogging near them, drawn by Galamee’s cries.

“I- I don’t know…” the girl said, looking at the boy.

“Please, I have nowhere to go.” Galamee pleaded, sincere desperation leaking into his voice.

Galamee could see it in her face that she was going to concede. “Well, I guess one more won’t do any harm.” Rowan said cautiously.

“Thank you! Thank you! I swear you won’t even notice me, thank you!” Galamee gushed, his pride slipping further and further away. He might be laying it on thick, but the payday at the end of this escapade would more than buy him it back for him.

“My name is Rowan, and this is Jace. That over there is Pickard,” Rowan gestured to a man who wobbled slightly on his feet, “this is Dr. Vordis, and Mills, and back there is Barton, beside him is Jonquil. Here’s Chev,” Rowan pointed to each member in turn and Galamee wondered how many of them were there to turn in Elias too.

“Really thank you all, I can’t say how much I appreciate this.” Galamee said again.

“Of course.” Rowan said softly. “Anything we can do to help.” She smiled at him. “Our camp is this way.” She said, gesturing beyond her, then she turned with the rest of her group and headed back to the flame.

Galamee looked behind him, the words PAY UP flashed through the trees and Galamee could not hide his smirk as he followed Rowan back to her camp.

SEVEN

FOUR MONTHS AGO- APRIL

Tomman sat perfectly still. He tried not to breath, he tried not to blink. His father raged around him, throwing dishes and they exploded with a clash against the wall, each one making Tomman flinch. He knew he would have to clean the mess up later, for now he sat perfectly still, like a piece of furniture, invisible, a wall decoration, unnoticeable. Tomman watched his father from the crack in the closet his father had shoved him in earlier.

“Trying to swindle me! I DON’T WORK FOR FREE!” His father yelled, another plate against the wall. His father spit on the floor, another mess Tomman would have to clean, and took a long swig of a golden brown liquid in a fancy looking bottle. His father started flicking through a stack of papers on the table, flinging the ones he did not need to the floor where they settled softly, like a feather.

Another mess I will have to clean.
Tomman thought
,
flinching again as a cup became the latest victim of his father’s wrath.

“AHA!” His father shouted to no one, maybe himself, the air, the floor, the wall, certainly not Tomman. “Thinks he can swindle me, I’ll show him…” His father paused his rant to take another swig of the drink, placing the bottle down on the marble counter with a loud thunk, swishing liquid down the side. He smoothed his silky gray hair back from his face, making sure no hair was out of place, running his hands down his clothes. His father, the perfect businessman, not the man he was at home.

Tomman could not stop the small flicker of hope that burned in his chest; his father rearranging his appearance meant he was leaving. His father’s gaze flicked up toward the closet Tomman was in, he snarled, then turned abruptly and left the house, letting the glass door close gently behind him. Tomman breathed a sigh of relief, his body relaxing. He slowly peeled himself off the small stool, creaking open the closet door he exited his prison. Tomman hated the closet, sometimes his father would lock him in there for days at a time without food or water, just so he didn’t have to look at his face. His father hated his face, said it reminded him to much of Tomman’s mothers.

Even though his father wasn’t here he creeped around silently, afraid to disturb anything. Tomman slinked into the kitchen feeling like an intruder. He opened a cupboard, finding a loaf of bread.
One slice, he won’t notice one slice.
Tomman said, his mouth watering for the taste of food, his stomach cramped, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in over a day. Tomman touched the loaf of bread, his heart pounding against his rib cage. He felt like a thief. A no good dirty thief out to steal everything from his father. He HAD stolen everything from his father. Tomman cringed back from the bread, silent tears trekking their way down his face as he closed the cupboard, he was so hungry but it was wrong to steal, and he had already stolen so much.

Like his mother’s life.

And his father reminded him daily.

Tomman wiped the back of his eyes with his slim bony fingers, crawling away from the kitchen. He looked at the mess on the floor, the shattered glass strewn about the wooden floor, broken pieces lying in a heap, discarded, forgotten, nothing more than shards of pain waiting to cause damage to the next foot or finger that were exposed to it, waiting to hurt someone, to damage them, to make them bleed. Just like Tomman. That is what Tomman does; he steals from people. His father. He kills people. His mother.

Tomman wiped his tears away again, after all, he didn’t deserve to cry, he didn’t get to miss a mother he had never known, he didn’t get to mourn for the woman who had died giving birth to him.

Feeling guilty Tomman crept down the hall toward her room, a shrine his father had built to remember her, to heartbroken over her loss to throw any of her things away after she had passed. Tomman was forbidden from entering of course, but sometimes, late at night, when Tomman was locked in his closet, he could hear his father in the room, crying.

Tomman would cry with him.

Tomman stood outside the door, his fingers brushing the wood, lingering above the handle, holding his breath, turning the knob, letting the door slide open silently, exhaling.

It was so clean, everything in its place. Her dresses hung by color in the wardrobe. Her jewelry in a little music box on a black table. A small window that overlooked the yard where she would garden flowers in a small box, all gone now, of course. Tomman stepped into the room. A single picture of her sat on a tall narrow table in the center of the room, set in an oval frame. His mother had been beautiful, painfully so. It’s no surprise his father had never gotten over her; it was no wonder his father hated him for taking her out of the world.

Tomman had her eyes. And her hair. Tomman had her willowy figure and soft lips. Tomman had her small nose and although Tomman had never laughed, he imagined that he had her laugh too.

Tomman placed the picture he hadn’t realized he had picked up back on the table.

He went over to the jewelry box, opening the lid and soft music notes fluttered out, it was as if his mother was trying to hug him from beyond the grave, caressing him softly with her favorite song, forgiving him for murdering her.

But Tomman knew better. He would never forgive himself, how could she?

Tomman turned around and his heart stopped. He froze, his fingers twitched, he started crying. “I’m sorry.” He whispered.

His father’s face was contorted in rage, his body trembled with anger. “What did you hope to accomplish by coming in here?” Tomman shook his head, his tears falling onto the floor. He would have to clean that up later. “You don’t get to be close to her!” His father yelled spit flying from his mouth. Tomman nodded his head, staring at the floor.

His father strode over to him, mumbling curse words under his breath. He grabbed Tomman by his stingy shirt, hauling him from the room.

“YOU MURDERED HER!” his father screamed at him. Tomman nodded.

Murderer. Thief.

His father pushed him out the front door, Tomman fell to his knees as his father hauled him down the front steps, but refused to stop. He brought Tomman into the alley that ran between their house and the empty one next door.

His father never hit him in the house; he did not want his dead wife to see what he did to Tomman.

The first hit rang through his head, dizzying him. The second and third sent stars shooting across his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Tomman gasped. He didn’t know if he was still crying or not. He didn’t think so. His head hurt too much to notice.

“You’re sorry?” His father seethed, punching him in the chest, sucking all the air from Tomman’s throat, leaving him gaping open mouthed.

“STOP!” Tomman heard a girl yell out, but he couldn’t see her, he could only see his father’s rage, his astonishment. He couldn’t breathe. He hurt. He hurt so bad. His stomach rumbled. “Let him go!” The girl demanded. Maybe it was an angel. Maybe he was dead. He wondered if he would see his mother in heaven, or if she hated him too much to see him, even in the afterlife.

His father blustered, releasing Tomman and he fell to the ground, he sucked in air, keeling over, he wretched nothing, his stomach contracting painfully, he couldn’t even afford to lose the air that had filled it. He cried.

“Miss, you don’t understand, the boy-“

“Stop.” The girl said, her voice sounded like music, like his mothers favorite song.

“I think you should just go back where you came from, this is of no concern to you.” His father said.
Please don’t leave me here with him.
Tomman pleaded, Tomman begged. Tomman wiped his tears, his head pounding between his eyes.

“Stop talking.” The music voice. It was beautiful. “Leave. Start walking and never stop. Never come back for the boy, never think about him again, live out your days in agony and shame. Go! Never stop!” the girl screamed. Tomman smiled, or he tried to smile, it might have been a grimace.

His father turned and walked away, not sparing a glance at Tomman, his son, the boy who murdered his wife.