Give Me Peace

by M.K. Harper

Lochlan Calloway is the sole reason I’m still here. When we first connected, I had no idea the role he’d come to play in my life. I don’t think I’d even spoken to another person since my so-called mother decided to bail. Until him.

I was seventeen and bordering on alcoholic. I’d drink whatever I could find just to numb the pain for a little while. But it always came back, accompanied by a hangover so brutal, I’d rather take an ice pick through the eye. So he got me help. From the other side of the country, he worked his magic and paid up my back rent. Kept me off the radar of the local Department of Family and Children Services. Loch found a therapist that specialized in post-traumatic stress disorder, and kept me accountable every step of the way. He purchased a condo close by, since we weren't sure where we wanted to plant roots permanently, and as soon as I hit eighteen and couldn’t be flagged by the state, I left the shithole my sister died in for the last goddamn time. Loch became my family, the only one I had left. It made sense to make it official, so I changed my last name to his. We’re brothers in every sense,

It was unwarranted, but I came to loathe anything Albanian. It was hard not to when the ruthless fucks who ran the country had torn my family to shreds.

I’d sworn we were too late. The broken state of Saylor’s body and the knowledge that she’d been enduring who knows what in that pit of fucking horrors for five years, had the walls I’ve carefully crafted crumbling in an instant.

“I wouldn’t trade it, though. I hope you boys know that.” He gives us both a meaningful look. If he were anyone else, I’d probably take offense to being called a boy, but I know he sees us as the men we are. Despite his best efforts to remain impassive, he’s grown attached to us over the years. “I’d write reports and take witness statements every day, for the rest of my life, if it meant we’d get this outcome.” Denvers swallows, averting his gaze to try and hide the emotion he’s feeling. I think we’d all do that, and then some. “I gotta run, but keep me updated. I want to know her status as soon as you do.” Loch dips his chin in acknowledgment. “I’ve listed you both as her next of kin, that way the doctor can fill you in.”

“Krew,” Loch greets, to which the other man follows with, “Boss Man.” It’s quiet for a second, neither of them wanting to speak first. I know it bothers the twins when they’re left in the dark, but their expertise is more useful back home, with full access to the software required to get us whatever we need, whenever we need it. It’s rare for them to do any sort of field work. However, they’ve made it known they’d still appreciate being kept in the loop.

Loch smiles, his eyes looking a little glassy, but who could blame him. He carries the weight of our burdens like they’re his own. He's been that person for me since the day he shot my player on a damn video game and I cussed his ass out. But Saylor is a cause we all got behind, and this is going to affect each of us on a personal level.

“And Kade?” he asks, addressing the big ass elephant tiptoeing around us. “I haven’t told him,” Loch admits. “He’s on the other side of the country, and we both know he’d drop everything to get back here, contract be damned. He'll have a million questions, and I won't be able to give him much of anything until we know more. When there's concrete information to pass along, I'll reach and bring him home." Krew grunts a noncommittal response. It’s true, but I’m not sure he agrees with Loch’s choice. For that matter, I’m not sure I do either.

“No worries. What can you tell us?” Loch cuts in, more concerned with Saylor than small talk. “Ms. Radley is a very lucky girl.” I nearly scoff, but somehow manage to rein it in. I get what he’s implying, but it seems insensitive to use that word.

“Are you sure going in there is a good idea?” I understand his concern, appreciate it even, but I need to see Saylor. If for no other reason than to assure myself she’s not Elira, that their stories won’t end the same. Right now, I think it’s doing more harm than good for me not to see her.

“We’re closely monitoring Ms. Radley’s vitals, so we’ll know should there be any life-threatening changes.” She gives me a sad smile. “But to put your mind at ease, this right here shows you her current heart rate. As you can see, it’s strong and steady.”

This tiny woman has no idea who we are, has zero attachment to any of us. Except, maybe Kade. Yet we know her. Not everything, but enough that we’ve formed a connection without ever meeting her. Saylor’s going to wake up and think we’re all certifiable. Shit, maybe we are.

Krew

I pride myself on knowing what’s going to happen before it ever does. I’m thorough in my research, mapping out every possible scenario. But it’s painfully obvious that I’ve missed something important. Vital information was overlooked, and it makes me fucking livid.

I had little hope, none really, after Kash and I found her picture. We kept looking though, praying we’d eventually find another breadcrumb if we just kept at it. But the shit we’d seen in the process made it difficult to keep searching. Brutality has been an acquaintance of ours for a good portion of our lives, but there were times I would come across something so horrific, I’d have to step away for a day or two.

Which leads me to believe it was all a ploy, because had the listing been real, someone would have bid on Saylor. She’d have gone for far more than the initial asking price, and when whoever won her was deprived of their prize, they’d have come looking. So, Sheriff Fuckstain either got really lucky and pulled one over on some very powerful people, cashing in on a hefty payday in the process, while somehow not getting tracked down for the betrayal, or he has friends in high places who helped him orchestrate the entire thing.

This oversight makes me question my ability to be a productive part of the team. It’s literally my job to gather intel, to be sure that my findings are absolute in their entirety, and I somehow fucked that up with Saylor. I can’t help but wonder what else I’ve missed. Were there times when I gave the guys’ half-assed information? All it’d take is the absence of one minor detail for a case to go sideways. Someone could wind up hurt, or worse, because I dropped the ball.

I might be the most closed off of our group, but it’s taken years to get the shit out of my head that’d been beaten into me. We met Loch and Ro at a really low point in our lives. Kash and I had been one more hit away from catching ourselves a premediated murder charge. We’d taken as much as we could, pushed beyond our breaking point, and the only way out seemed to be if one of us left in a body bag.

A little insight into Krew n Kash's background aka the twins--Krew is younger twin and took more damage from verbal/psychological abuse while Kash would beg and thus suffered more from physical abuse from stepfather, mixed race from father's side, same light brown skin and black curly hair longer on top and shaved on sides but clearly 2 different personalities, brown eyes, tech gurus of the group, Kash is now more easygoing and joker to cope while Krew withdraws and keeps emotions to himself, Kash hates/is super scared of reptiles and they live in Pensacola, FL, Kash cooks for the group and despite sweet tooth can cook other things too, Kash calls her Best Friend and Krew calls her Tink

But nothing is free, and the payment for our new luxuries was collected every time our stepfather’s temper required an outlet. Kash and I were his favorite punching bag, and as much as I tried to take the brunt of his anger, he took a special liking to Kash’s soft demeanor.

Kash and I were his favorite punching bag, and as much as I tried to take the brunt of his anger, he took a special liking to Kash’s soft demeanor.

It wasn’t the physical beatings he loved to hand out that fucked me up, though. I could take his fists any day. For me, it was the near constant lash of his words. He loved reminding me, every chance he got, that I was nothing but a waste of space. A failure and fuck-up of the highest degree.

It didn’t help that our mother stood by and let it happen, too enraptured by her new life to risk putting a stop to the abuse. She came from money, but our mixed-race father made her family cut ties. The luxuries she was accustomed to suddenly vanished. We'd struggled for years before her cash cow came along, so I guess we were a sacrifice she was willing to make.

Call it happenstance or divine intervention, but Roan—a complete stranger at the time—witnessed Archie’s rage get the best of him. He’d been careful up till then, always keeping a leash on his temper until we were behind closed doors. He was a prominent businessman with a reputation to uphold, after all. But out of the blue, Kash decided he was going to grow a backbone in the middle of downtown Seattle on a random Tuesday. He’d pissed Archie off so badly, he snapped without a second thought to any onlookers. He backhanded Kash so hard, his lip split, causing blood to splatter across the sidewalk. I’d never seen my brother so murderous, but it was there that day, shining in his eyes. That dark gaze that matched my own promised death, and I was whole-heartedly on board. Then, out of nowhere, some big fucker stepped in and laid Archie flat on his ass with a swift right hook. It’d taken me a minute to process, but then I folded in half, laughing so hard my goddamn side hurt. Ro and Loch became a fixture in our lives after that. We had a place to escape to, a safety net and support system. To two fifteen-year-olds, they seemed godlike.

Kash and I had tried to report what was happening, but we’d been made out to be shit-starters. Money talks, and so does a statement from your own mother refuting your claims. So we sought justice the only way we could.

I wouldn’t change how things happened, but a part of me, some twisted piece that’s broken, wishes I could have put a knife through his chest. A couple hundred times. People joke about killing someone, might even mean it, but when the time actually comes, they can’t go through with it. Not me; I know I could. After everything I’ve seen, I wouldn’t think twice about ridding this world of the filth inhabiting it. A lot of lives would be saved if we stopped trying to rehabilitate the unredeemable. Tax dollars too.

It’s true, Loch and Ro are close as fuck, but I feel no jealously over that. As much as I love them like brothers, Kash and I will always be closer, so I understand how the shit they’ve gone through has made their bond as tight as it is. I’m not even annoyed that they left without giving us a heads up. More like insulted that they thought we didn’t know the second they went out the door. Tech is our expertise, including the multitude of security cameras

I see the flash of vulnerability in his eyes, but it’s gone a second later. We’ve both done a damn good job of not attaching ourselves to anyone, the guys excluded. Kade less so than the others, because he’s an even bigger asshole than me. While Kash took on the role of being the guy who takes nothing too seriously, always cracking a joke at the worst possible time, I went the opposite direction.

“I’m going to drop the Browns off at the Super Bowl, and then make muffins. With extra chocolate chips,” Kash grumbles as he walks away, feeling the need to inform me he’s gotta take a shit. He’s going to stress eat his way into a coma one of these days.

Lochlan

It’s been three days, and Saylor still hasn’t woken up. The hospital staff is sick to death of us, but there’s not much they can do to make us leave. Therefore, they have nothing to threaten us with, so we keep pestering the shit out of every nurse and doctor who comes through the door. We get the same response every time. It’s completely normal.

To add fuel to the fire, two deputies have been stationed outside of her room for ‘security purposes’. Denvers is just as thrilled as we are, but there’s not much that can be done. It’d be a bit beneath the FBI to delegate an agent to babysitting duty.

“I think we’ve got all we’re going to get from Old Lady Price. It’s taken so long to piece together a statement because she isn’t always lucid. But from what we’ve been able to gather, she knew for at least two years that Saylor was there.” I think I actually feel the spike in my blood pressure from how angry that makes me.

“My working theory is that someone tipped him off and he didn’t know how much time he had, so he bolted without going home. He even left his laptop, which is currently being picked apart.”

“I want her to go with you and the guys.” I raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Hear me out…I think we both know this case means more to me than just another win under my belt, and it sure as hell means more to all of you.” I nod in agreement. “I trust you, and that’s not something I’m handing out freely right now. I think the best place for her to be is with you and your team. No one knows who you are, other than an asset of the FBI. There’s no connection to your company, and I’ll wipe any trace of your names from Saylor’s paperwork.” He looks at me imploringly, waiting for an answer.

We’ve barely made it two feet down the hallway when it happens. An agonized scream echoes through the corridor, turning my blood to ice and my feet to lead. I freeze, it’s only for a second, but my body locks up tight and forgets how to work. And then it happens again, a wail so broken it makes my goddamn teeth hurt. Saylor.

I freeze, it’s only for a second, but my body locks up tight and forgets how to work. And then it happens again, a wail so broken it makes my goddamn teeth hurt. Saylor.

“The fuck does she need to be sedated for? The goal is for her to wake up!” Denvers wraps his hand around Ro’s bicep, attempting to calm him down. “Sir,” the doctor cuts in. “Ms. Radley was panicked. It would’ve been dangerous to leave her in that state.”

Saylor

Struggling to get my bearings, I search the room nervously, but I’m all alone. My brain is fuzzy, and I have no recollection of anything really. But, oh my God…I’m in a hospital. Tears flood my cheeks as a sob lodges itself in my throat. I’m so scared I’m going to wake up and this will all be a dream.

He’s big, and has a hard look on his face, and all I can think about is that I want him to go away. “Ms. Radley.” He stops at the foot of my bed, his arms crossed over his chest as he glares down at me. “We need your statement.” It’s a demand, not a question. He’s not asking if I’m ready to talk, he’s telling me that I’m going to.

He's delivered those four words as if they hold no meaning. Just some jumbled letters that state a fact. Like the sky is blue, or rain is wet. When, in reality, they’re the catalyst that splinters the last bit of sanity I have left. The world tips and sways, my vision dimming. A scream claws its way up my throat, anger and grief demanding an outlet. Followed by another. And another. Pain radiates

I tried so hard to convince myself that she would’ve moved on by now, along with everyone else. I couldn’t let myself believe that anyone was still looking, because then I would’ve had hope that someone might find me. But it was bullshit, a lie I told myself to get through every day that came and went with no one breaking down the door and taking me home. I couldn’t be disappointed, if I never expected it in the first place.

I used to dream about what I’d do if I ever made it out of there. At first, it was all simple things: eat an entire pizza by myself, get an extra-large chocolate shake from Lettie’s Diner—brain freeze be damned—and even a promise to finally stand up to my playground nemesis, Havok McKade, whose parents must have had a sixth sense when naming him. Eventually, those thoughts shifted to things more meaningful. Like tell Mom how much I loved that she made me breakfast every morning before school, even though she’d been up all night from working her shift at the hospital. I wanted to visit my Grandaddy’s grave, who’d only passed a few months before I was taken, so I could finally apologize for stealing his stash of Reese’s and never fessing up. At some point, the ‘if I escape’ game seemed so improbable, all I really longed for was to feel the sun again. To press my toes in the sand at our favorite beach. I wanted the option of sound, laughter and voices. Anything but the silence I’d grown so accustomed to. Now, I just want my mom.

The man, Lochlan, runs his palms over his knees nervously. “Would you like for me to explain everything now, or would you prefer to wait?” His tone is soft, as if he’s speaking to a wounded animal. “Now, please.” His eyes widen, clearly caught off guard by the voiced response. My throat feels raw, so I doubt I’ll be offering any more, but I need to know how I got here.

Lochlan smiles, like it’s brought him immense joy to finally introduce the two of us. It confuses me, but seeing his happiness, anyone’s really, makes me feel a little less hollow on the inside. Coming from someone else, it seems more achievable, a possibility of something I might feel again one day.

She washes my hair twice, working the suds through every strand while being mindful of my tender scalp. The same process is repeated with the conditioner, hopefully loosening all the tangles. Silently, tears slip from my eyes. I should feel traumatized that yet another person is viewing my body, but the dominant emotion tightening my chest is graciousness. I wish it was Mom here doing this, but I think it helps that it’s someone she knew.

I’m not sure I fully understand what role they play in all of this, but they haven’t done anything to make me fear them. My gut says they’re okay and I have nothing to be concerned about, but after everything, I doubt my ability to distinguish good from bad.

“It’s not a dream, sweetheart. Put your hand in mine, and anytime you need to remind yourself of where you are, you squeeze as hard as you need to.” He lays his palm on the bed, facing up, and waits patiently for me to decide if I want to take it. I bite my lip, wondering if that’s something I should try and push so quickly. I haven’t touched another person, or been touched without the accompaniment of pain, in so long.

There’s no light from the bathroom, no glow of a lamp. I can’t see anything and it’s sending me headfirst into a panic attack. But my hand is still wrapped in something warm, so I squeeze, hoping to ground myself. “Lochlan,” I whimper, needing to know with absolute certainty he’s still here. That he’s real.

“Saylor, this is Agent Denvers.” He waves towards the newcomer. He’s older, late forties to early fifties, with salt and pepper hair. His eyes appear kind, along with the small smile he gives me.