Not What it Seems by Nicky James

Twenty-Two

Cyrus

Forty-five years on the planet, and I’d been a coward for all of them. I was tired of being afraid. Since meeting River, I’d stepped so far outside my comfort zone I was walking in uncharted territory. My heart still beat at a fantastic rate. My skin was still clammy. My muscles were still tense. But something inside me had shifted and changed. I’d put my career and life on the line for River because I’d believed he was innocent. I’d wanted justice for the women who’d died.

It hadn’t been easy, and I’d struggled against the current of right and wrong, but I was still standing, and I wasn’t ready to submit to Grant, of all people.

When I’d been in the hallway and Grant had called me out, instructing me to join his sick little party, the ground had crumbled beneath my feet. I hadn’t called the police. I’d been more concerned with recording the interaction going on in the game room so we would have proof of River’s innocence.

All of it was gone now, destroyed under the devastating blow of a pool cue.

Grant’s evil vortex was spinning all around us, drawing closer to a terrifying end. I’d been surreptitiously watching the video screen for any sign of the police, but the street had remained frustratingly vacant. I’d been in too much of a hurry the last time I’d called. I’d been too afraid of the consequences of my actions, choosing to fight with River instead of turning myself in. In retrospect, I should have told them more.

And now we were going to pay for my cowardice.

The presence of the gun made me want to fall to my knees. Cold dread filled me. We were all going to die. River, his dad, and me. Grant wasn’t going to let any of us survive. He’d proven he was indeed smarter than me. He’d pulled off a scheme that should have been impossible. I still had dozens of unanswered questions. Under different circumstances, I would have loved to explore the psychology behind Grant’s choices. I’d have loved to pick apart his brain piece by piece to uncover the inner workings of my ex.

But I wouldn’t live that long.

He’d won this war.

Frantic, wishing there was a way out, I scanned the game room, a room I was intimately familiar with. We’d spent a lot of evenings in here, playing pool, throwing darts, watching movies. There was no landline, and Grant’s phone wasn’t sitting around unattended. If I couldn’t find a way to contact the police, then I needed to fight back. I needed a weapon.

As Grant laid out the gruesome details of his endgame, my eyes caught on the dartboard. Whoever had played last had left their three darts in the cork, their red feathered ends snagging my attention like a blinking neon sign. The board was five feet to my left, farther away from the pool table. Grant’s body was mostly turned away from me, but if I moved too quickly, he might see me in his peripheral vision.

Although he had the gun aimed at River, his attention was on his father. The threat was real, but I didn’t think he would shoot unless he knew he would hit his target—unless he was looking at his target. His shooting arm was a fraction off-center, but it wouldn’t take much to correct his aim and fire.

I inched along the wall, my gaze flicking from the gun to Grant to River, whose sole focus was on the barrel aimed in the vicinity of his head.

In the two years we’d been together, Grant and I had played a lot of pool and a lot of darts. He was right. I was a sore loser, and he’d shown me up at every turn. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t a skilled player. He was just that little bit better than me.

Another inch closer.

My kneecaps vibrated. My stomach flip-flopped.

Another inch.

Another.

Standing a foot away from the dartboard brought me close enough I could reach out and retrieve the darts, pluck them from the cork and wield them as weapons.

I almost laughed. Darts were no match for a gun and a knife.

But I hoped they would buy us time. If I used the element of surprise, there was a good chance I could do some damage.

I inched my left hand up the wall toward the board and plucked the darts out one at a time, nestling them in my palm. The distance between Grant and me was a tad farther than I would stand to play a game. However, he made a much bigger target than the bullseye. Where to hit him was the question.

I feared my first dart wouldn’t cause enough damage, and he’d get off a shot. If he hit River, if he killed him, I would never forgive myself.

I focused on the hand holding the gun. If I could sink a dart into that hand, chances were good he would drop the gun out of reflex.

Or he would pull the trigger.

I didn’t have time to ponder. Soon Grant would turn, and my advantage would be lost. Since his focus was on his father, I hoped by calling his attention, he would turn toward me, thus averting the gun’s muzzle from River since I was on his other side.

When he shifted, I needed to hit his hand—a moving target.

Fear flooded my insides. This wasn’t going to work.

“I will live a prosperous life,” Grant said, kissing his fingers and flicking them outward. “Perfection.”

“You’re not as brilliant as you think, Grant,” I said, my voice drowned out by the blood pulsing in my ears.

Grant shifted to face me, exactly as I’d hoped, and I let the dart fly.

He didn’t see it coming, and the shiny needle-like tip embedded itself in the top of his hand, sinking deep into the flesh and lodging between fine bones.

Grant wailed and retracted his hand.

The gun clattered to the ground.

For a moment, I froze, shocked at what I’d done yet elated I’d hit my target. The pause lasted seconds. I threw the second dart, aiming for Grant’s face.

My gut curdled at the prospect of possibly putting out his eye, and I turned my head before it landed.

Grant’s blood-curdling shriek told me when the dart hit.

The room exploded into commotion. Debilitated by fear, I pressed my back against the wall, clinging to the last dart as I dared to look at what was going on.

River was no longer standing where he’d once been. Grant had a hand pressed to his cheek as blood oozed through his fingers, the second dart deeply embedded. The first dart was still in his hand. Something out of my line of sight below the pool table seemed to call his attention.

Grant scrambled, kicking his foot out and growling. Forgetting about his wounds, he dove to the ground, vanishing out of sight behind the pool table. Grunts and muffled cries resonated from where I couldn’t see. It sounded like a fight. A struggle.

More grunts, growls, and exclamations of anger and frustration.

Then a loud crack filled the air, making me pinch my eyes closed as I dropped the final dart and covered my ears.

Time stopped.

I heard nothing beyond a loud ringing, and I was too afraid to open my eyes to see what had happened. Anticipating a second shot at any moment, knowing I was likely seconds from death, I still couldn’t open my eyes to save myself.

Someone’s rasping voice growled, “Don’t fucking move or the next bullet will go through your forehead.”

It was River.

Was it River?

The animalistic quality made me doubt my own ears.

I chanced a peek and found Grant on the ground, his back pressed to a nearby wall, one hand up, warding off River’s attack, the other clutched around his upper arm where blood flowed freely through his fingers. His gaze was locked on River, who was holding the gun, ready to make good on his promise.

My chest hurt from hyperventilating, and I was growing dizzier by the second. The outer edges of my vision dimmed, and my legs wobbled. I needed to sit down, or I was going to fall. My heart felt like it would burst through my chest at any moment, and I half feared I was having a heart attack. It wouldn’t have been unheard of at forty-five.

River’s calm voice brought me back to the present. “Cy? Cyrus, stay with me. I know you’re freaking out, but I need your help. Can you look at me?”

I blinked my eyes back into focus and found River. His gaze was trained on Grant, but somehow he knew I’d complied with his request.

“That’s it. You’re okay. You’re doing great. I promise. No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe now. Breathe. Slow your breathing. Everything is going to be okay. I need you to find a phone and call the police. Can you do that?”

I wanted to say yes, but my throat was clogged. I nodded instead. I took two more shaky breaths before I managed to push off the wall and make my feet move. They wobbled.

A phone. I needed to find a phone.

Disoriented, lightheaded, and overwhelmed, I staggered to the door when Terrance called out. “The tablet. Use the tablet. It’s connected to the internet.”

The tablet. I could do that. I could make the call.

* * *

The police arrived within fifteen minutes. Grant had submitted to the fact that his game was over. He ducked his head and refused to speak to anyone.

Terrance was taken away by ambulance, a pair of police officers in tow. Grant was assessed by paramedics, who informed the police he also needed to be taken to the hospital to be treated for his injuries. They cuffed him to the stretcher, and he was rewarded with an escort as well. River and I were taken away in cuffs and shoved into the back of two separate police cars. I wasn’t surprised.

Hours of interrogation followed. I’d been asked to relay my story and answer the same questions so many times nothing felt real anymore. It felt like a story that had happened to someone else.

It was sixteen hours before I was released from custody. Grant had officially been charged with several counts of murder. But the nightmare wasn’t over. Although River had kept his promise and had adamantly denied my involvement in helping him escape the institute, I hadn’t done myself any favors by refusing to comply with a court order to provide the police with pertinent files for their investigation or disclosing the whereabouts of a wanted man when I’d known the whole time where River was.

It was a matter that would be dealt with in the near future. My career was most likely over, but I was too numb for the reality to sink in.

River was up to his neck in his own troubles. He may not have been guilty of murder, but he had escaped police custody. There would be further investigations into the matter, especially since he refused to explain how he’d managed to get free.

When I’d asked after him, I was informed he was still in an interview room and would be for a while. When I’d asked why—since I knew Grant had been charged—they wouldn’t say. I got the feeling they still weren’t sold on his innocence.

A friendly officer discharged me with a warning that I should head home and avoid contact with River Jenkins for the time being.

It was midafternoon when I found myself standing on the curb outside the police station, the blazing hot July sun beating down from above. Sweat gathered under my collar and trickled down the middle of my back. My clothes were wrinkled, and my body odor was ripe. My nose twitched when it wafted on the breeze. I needed a shower and sleep, but I wasn’t sure where to go or what to do. My car was still parked at Grant’s house, and I didn’t have a phone. It was long past morning, and I hadn’t called my parents. They would be worried, especially after the last call I’d had with my mother.

For a long time, I stood in a daze, watching the traffic zip by in both directions while the events of the past week played out over and over in my head.

I found myself thinking about River, hearing the stumbling, awkward message he’d left on my voice mail. Every word, he’d said. He’d meant every word.

But had he? Or was it the adrenaline and the heat of the moment that had confused him?

A knot had formed in my gut during the hours and hours of interrogation. There had been numerous questions surrounding the relationship between River and Grant and what, if anything, it all meant. When had I learned they were half brothers? Was it possible River had known all along and was working with Grant to seek revenge on his father? They’d twisted and tangled their questions until I was stumbling on answers, no longer sure what I was saying.

“Ask Terrance,” I’d said over and over. “Just ask Terrance. He’ll tell you.”

In the maelstrom of the previous night’s events, I hadn’t fully processed the connection between River and Grant and how I’d been drawn under both their spells. In the harsh light of day, a thread of worry wormed its way into my gut. I’d subjected myself to years of Grant’s abuse, his manipulations, and the way he’d made me feel stupid and guilty and worthless all the time. I’d barely found the courage and strength to leave. It had been psychologically damaging. Two years without him and I hadn’t fully healed.

What if River was the same? What if it was in their genes? There was always debate in the field about nature versus nurture. Was I exchanging one pain for another when I considered more with River? Was that a risk I wanted to take?

I pressed my fingers against my eyes, remembering all our shared moments. From day one back in May, I’d seen an underlying tenderness in River I’d never seen in Grant. Even when he had been so adamant all we’d shared was a hookup weekend, there had been more. River had denied it, and I’d done a good job convincing myself I was wrong, but after spending this past week with him, I saw the truth of who River was deep down.

And he was a good man.

He might be outwardly cocky and brash, but inside there was a man who cared. A man who’d gone to great lengths to reassure me when I stumbled. He stopped my incessant self-recriminations every time they fell from my mouth. He built me up when Grant had only ever torn me down.

My heart didn’t believe River could be anything like Grant, but my heart was gullible. We’d been forced into close proximity over the past few days, fighting a battle for justice. Of course we’d developed deeper feelings. It was only natural. The expulsion of adrenaline and fear through sex was to be expected. It didn’t mean we had a future.

With the air clear and the pressure gone, would River still give two shits about an overly vulnerable, self-pitying, middle-aged man?

He was young, and relationships weren’t his style. As much as I would have liked time to see where this could go, the likelihood of us continuing anything was slim.

I sighed and glanced up and down the busy street. It was probably best to give him space and let him decide if what he’d said to me in that message still stood. What was that saying? If you love someone, set them free. If they come back, they’re yours. If they don’t, it was never meant to be.

I didn’t know if I loved River, but I thought I could. I was drawn to his inner strength, his wit, and his determination. He was everything I wasn’t, yet he didn’t make fun of my weaknesses. Instead, he showed me my strengths. We bickered, but we always shared a smile at the end because the words we exchanged were never malicious. Unlike Grant, who would have a tantrum for days, spew venom, and pass blame, River didn’t let things get under his skin.

I walked a block, found an open diner, and asked a kind waitress if she would please call me a cab. Then I fetched my car, made a quick pit stop, and headed home to St. Catherines.