Michael

Lyn and I are sitting on the bed in my room, reading. It’s indeed a bit unsettling how this situation is turning out, but Lyn is not afraid of me, nor does she seem to hate on Hanna. And if she’s does, she’s good at hiding it. I don’t question her much.

“Did you read it?” She asks.

“No,” I say.

She waits, then asks again.

“No,” I answer softly, my eyes following the lines. We’re reading some historic fiction. It’s a bit boring but having to focus on one thing and one thing only relaxes me. “Now, yes.”

She flips the page, her face bent at an angle and her silky black hair slipping from her shoulder. A scratch is healing on her cheek. A scratch Hanna planted on her face.

I look at her. “She didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Lyn’s eyes soften. “She hurt me so I’m sure she did mean it. But she had her reasons. She’s had it hard, I understand.”

I feel tension leech from my face. I observe Lyn as she reads for a moment. I don’t quite understand why she’s being like that—

The door to our room swings open. Freckles steps in, determined scowl of her brows indicating that serious talk is coming.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but Lyn, I need to know something,” she says. “And John says I shouldn’t hide how I feel from you. He says I gotta learn to speak up.”

Lyn shifts next to me. “Um, sure.”

“You want us here, don’t you?”

She gapes as if caught stealing. I look at her.

“I mean you casually mention that we should leave, but you don’t enforce it. Even better you bring a shrink. So either you have shitty boundaries, John taught me about them, or you actually want us here because we cure your loneliness and you can relate to Michael a lot?” Hanna throws her hand to the side and I see clarity overtake her face as she probably starts making sense to herself. “And we know all your secrets already. So if deep down you wanted for someone to know your pain we know it and you don’t want to lose that.” She points at me. “Same goes for you.” Her shoulders slump. “I get it,” she whispers to herself. “There’s relief in being in pain together. And both of you have found it. That’s why we’re still here.”

Lyn swallows, her cheeks turning pink, her hands trembling a little as she holds her book. Hanna did just uncover her deepest reasons for allowing us to stay. I know how disorienting and exposing that feels. Hanna did that to me too. She just can’t help herself but make people aware of what they’re doing.

Lyn stills as if she’s heard something. She straightens, then jumps from the bed. “There’s a car coming,” she hurries out of the room. I leap from the bed, instantly alert, and follow.

“It’s Casandra,” Lyn gasps as she looks out the window to the front yard.

“Cassandra?” Both Hanna and I repeat.

“An officer,” Lyn smooths her hair, “stay here. Stay hidden.”

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I reach for her, not quite sure why, but she thuds down the stairs before my fingers catch her. I hesitate. Do I trust Lyn to handle this or is this the moment where everything collapses into how it was before?

Hanna next to me looks just as shook. It’s like we’re on the fence between fully trusting or fully taking control of the situation and taking Lyn hostage. The officer maybe too. And I know if I acted Hanna would be with me on this.

The front door opens with a short squeak.

“Evening, Lyn. How are you?” Footsteps are accompanied by a husky voice.

“Good, Cas,” Lyn answers. “What’s this about?”

“Manhunt. A bunch of Americans. Some gruesome murders took place nearby a few months ago. We got the orders to check with the locals. Just following protocol, Lyn.” I shiver when I hear a rustle of papers. “Have you seen any of these people?”

The following minute feels like an hour and Hanna grabs my hand. Lyn’s voice breaks the tension. “No, no idea who they are.”

“Right. These men are said to be accomplices of a recently busted crime ring in the U.S. Though only his fingerprints were found.” These men? There must be more than two photos.

“Okay. I’ll keep it in mind,” Lyn’s shy voice.

When the door shuts Hanna and I let out a breath we held. Lyn climbs up the stairs and stops a few stairs down, her hand on the railing.

We stare at each other for what must be a minute.

“Our photos?” I speak first.

Lyn wets her lips. “Only yours. But like ten years younger in your photo. I barely recognized you. Another man was Mexican.”

“Fingerprints?”

“Mexican’s.”

Another minute of silence as all of us seem to be contemplating our own motives.

“You’re right,” Lyn tells Hanna, finality in her voice. “I am at a point where nor death, nor crime,” she glances at me, “don’t scare me. I just take all the good that comes out of this situation and ignore the rest. And I don’t know if it’s the best strategy, but I know that for once I feel—” she inhales, her chest rising “—something more than daily despair.”

Hanna motions her palm between us. “And it doesn’t bother you that he, um, we…”

“Of course it does. But you learn to live with your past mistakes. And maybe I gave up too soon on myself. And if I can reconcile with what I’ve done then why shouldn’t you two. Why should I push you away when you made similar mistakes? Why shouldn’t I give you a chance?”

I raise my brow, trying to unpack her reasoning. It’s a bit hard to swallow. “You didn’t kill people, Lyn.”

She shies away a little bit, reminded of harsh truth. “I know, but we’re more alike than you think. I mean, you saw our forearms.”

Hanna nods with a short shrug. “She’s right.”

We settle with that.

…

Freckles an I sit on the porch, basking in the spring sun. Freckles has been working with John for a few weeks now. She brings back all this knowledge she learns and I can’t lie that I benefit from it too. Figuring out herself has sort of become her obsession and a way of coping as she puts it. I’ve settled too, deciding to land on one side of the fence, following the path of honesty, no matter how hard it is sometimes.

Lyn appears from behind the tree line, walking home from work. She gives us a little wave as she turns into the driveway and for the first time, she smiles, showing her teeth. Seeing us makes her happy. I can’t wrap my head around it, my instinct to snuff out any joy kicking in, but my body seems to be more accepting. A warm sensation spreads from my chest, making my body relax, and I feel my lips curl into a soft smile. It feels relieving to let my guard down, and I decide that, somehow, I want to learn to be okay with others' happiness. 

Hanna next to me chuckles. “I’ve never seen this look on your face before.”

“What look?”

“That type of look.”

I chuckle, my reading glasses sliding down my nose a little.

Hanna studies me and I study her sun-lit, freckled face. She’s different. I don’t know how I can tell but she is. Her black hair has grown ginger roots and she’s got a rash on the side of her face. Probably from the stress. Her eyes are distant, but at the same time, I see hope. And I want to see it because that hope kept me alive.

“You look old,” she says.

“You finally noticed.”

She flushes. “It’s a bit weird I was attracted to you. But Johnathan says trauma can make you behave in mysterious ways.”

“Indeed.”

“We’re all so fucked up,” she mumbles incredulously.

“It’s a mess,” I say, then add a note of seriousness to my voice. “I’m keeping that promise, Hanna.”

Her face is a mix of emotion as if she hates to love me and love to hate me. “Good,” she faces the sun just as Lyn approaches the house.