Chapter 53. Am I The Threat?
1848 Words
The crunch of gravel under their boots felt like an intrusion in the heavy, salt-laden silence of the Easkey cliffs. Rayna felt the wind whip at the edges of her coat, a biting, ancient cold that seemed to recognize she didn't belong here. But as the figure on the porch moved, the air suddenly felt a lot warmer.
The woman was small, her back slightly curved by the weight of eighty-two years, but her eyes- even from twenty feet away, held the same piercing, emerald intensity as Caspian’s.
"Elijah?"
The voice was thin, trembling like a reed in the wind, but it carried a power that stopped Caspian in his tracks. Rayna watched as the "King," the man who commanded stadiums and stared down kidnappers without blinking, visibly crumbled. His shoulders dropped, the rigid, lethal tension in his spine dissolving as he pulled back his hoodie.
"I'm here, Ma," he said, his voice thick and uncharacteristically soft.
Lydia Hollow didn't wait for him to reach the porch. She moved with a surprising, frantic grace, her small hands reaching out to grab his face the moment he was within reach. "Elijah Caspian Hollow, you look like you haven't slept since the last time you were on this soil! Look at you, all skin and bone and covered in those dreadful markings." She pulled him down into a fierce embrace, her silver hair pressed against his chest.
Rayna stood a few paces back, feeling like a ghost watching a memory. She adjusted the brim of her large hat, her heart hammering. She was witnessing something no fan, no paparazzi, and no record executive had ever seen: the human boy behind the obsidian mask.
Lydia finally pulled back, her sharp eyes darting over Caspian’s shoulder until they landed on Rayna. The warmth in her expression didn't vanish, but it sharpened into that "grocery list" observation Caspian had warned her about.
"And who is this lovely creature you’ve brought to my door, Elijah? Is she another one of your 'business associates' who looks like she’s hiding from the sun?"
Caspian cleared his throat, stepping back to stand beside Rayna. He placed a grounding hand on her shoulder. "Ma, this is Rayna. She’s a... she’s a very close friend. She’s been through a difficult time in the city, and I thought the air here might do her some good."
Lydia stepped forward, her gaze traveling from the tips of Rayna’s boots to the shadow cast by her hat. "A friend, is it? Well, any friend of my Elijah is welcome to a fire and a cup of tea. Come inside, children, before the Atlantic wind takes your spirit."
The interior of the cottage was a stark contrast to the cold, grey world outside. It smelled of dried peat, lavender, and baking soda. The walls were crowded with framed photos- most of them of a younger, cleaner-cut Caspian and a man who looked remarkably like him, alongside a girl with a bright, tragic smile who Rayna knew must be his sister.
"Sit, sit," Lydia commanded, gesturing toward a mismatched set of wooden chairs near the fireplace. "The kettle’s already singing."
Rayna sat, her hands trembling as she placed her hat on her knees. She had tried to pin her hair perfectly, but a single, stubborn lock of vibrant crimson had escaped, hanging like a drop of blood against her pale skin.
Lydia paused, a teapot in mid-air, her eyes fixing on the strand of hair. "That’s a bold choice of color, Rayna. Did you run into a patch of rowan berries, or was that on purpose?"
Rayna swallowed hard. "It’s... it was a choice, Mrs. Hollow. A bit of a change."
"It’s beautiful," Lydia said, though her tone suggested she found it baffling. "Reminds me of the sunsets we get before a storm. And those silver bits in your nose and ears... don't they catch on your sweaters?"
"Sometimes," Rayna admitted, a small, genuine smile breaking through her nerves.
Caspian sat beside her, his presence a massive, protective weight. He looked out of place in the tiny, cozy room, like a panther trapped in a tea shop. He reached out and took a biscuit from a tin, his tattooed fingers looking stark against the white lace doily Lydia had placed on the table.
"You haven't been calling enough, Elijah," Lydia scolded gently, pouring the tea. "Daniel says you’re busy with 'acquisitions,' but I told him no acquisition is worth missing your mother’s birthday."
"I know, Ma. I’m sorry," Caspian said, and Rayna could hear the genuine guilt in his voice.
The front door suddenly swung open, bringing a gust of salt air and a tall, broad-shouldered man with a young girl- maybe four years old, perched on his hip.
"I thought I recognized that SUV on the track," the man said.
Caspian stood up immediately. "Daniel."
The brother, Daniel, looked like the version of Caspian that had stayed in the light. He wore a heavy fisherman’s sweater and had a kind, rugged face that didn't carry the scars of the industry. But as his eyes met Caspian’s, the initial joy of seeing his brother was quickly underscored by a flash of sharp, protective anxiety.
"Uncle Lijah!" the little girl squealed, wriggling out of Daniel's arms.
Caspian froze for a fraction of a second- the man who didn't touch people, the man who lived in a fortress, before he knelt down. He caught his niece in his arms, and Rayna watched as he squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in the girl’s hair. It was a moment so raw it felt like a bruise.
After the tea had been served and the pleasantries had run their course, Daniel caught Caspian’s eye. "Elijah, help me with the peat in the shed, will you? Rayna, if you’d like to see the garden, it’s just through the back- mind the mud."
It was a clear summons. Rayna followed them out into the damp, grey afternoon, standing near the stone wall of the garden while the two brothers moved toward the small wooden shed.
"What are you doing here, Elijah?" Daniel’s voice wasn't loud, but it was hard. He didn't look at his brother; he looked at the horizon. "And why did you bring her?"
Caspian leaned against the shed door, his hoodie back up. "I needed to see Ma. And Rayna... she needed to be somewhere safe."
Daniel turned then, his face tightening. "Safe? You think Ireland is safe now? I saw the news, Elijah. I don't care how many 'scrubbers' you have on your payroll. I saw the video of the Mojave. I saw you scale that lift like a madman to save her."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Everyone saw it. They’re calling it the 'Crimson Ascent.' They’re looking for the girl with the red hair, and they’re looking for the man who saved her. And now you’ve brought the trail straight to our mother’s front door."
"There is no trail, Dan," Caspian said, his voice regaining its jagged, professional edge. "We flew private. We changed cars twice. Max is-"
"I don't care about Max!" Daniel hissed. "Six years ago, you told us it was safe too. You told Sarah she was safe at that show. And we buried her for it."
The mention of their sister hit like a physical blow. Caspian flinched, his jaw locking so tight the bone seemed ready to snap.
"I am not making that mistake again," Caspian said, his voice low and dangerous. "That’s why she’s with me. I don't trust the world to keep her safe unless I am the wall between her and it."
Daniel looked over at Rayna, who was pretending to examine a patch of sea-pinks near the wall. "She’s the one, isn't she? The 'Red Queen.' The girl who’s supposed to be the next big thing. You’re not just protecting a 'friend,' Elijah. You’re protecting an asset. A target."
"She’s not an asset," Caspian growled, stepping into Daniel’s space. "She’s everything."
Daniel searched his brother’s face, his anger slowly giving way to a pained sort of realization. "Then you’re a fool. If she’s 'everything,' then you’ve just painted the biggest target in the world on this cottage. Ma is eighty-two. My daughter is inside playing with the girl’s hat. If more people like Morrison, or the press, or some obsessed fan follows that hair to this cliff..."
"They won't," Caspian said, though the certainty in his voice sounded like it was costing him everything.
"You can't promise that," Daniel said, his voice softening but remaining firm. "You brought the riot to the silence, Lijah. You should have stayed a ghost. For our sake."
Daniel turned and walked back toward the house, leaving Caspian standing in the mist.
Rayna walked over slowly, her boots squelching in the grass. She had heard enough to know she was the source of the fracture. She stood beside him, looking out at the Atlantic. The waves were massive, crashing against the black rocks with a violence that felt appropriate.
"He's right, isn't he?" Rayna asked quietly. "I'm the threat."
Caspian didn't look at her. He kept his eyes on the ocean, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "He’s scared. He’s been scared for six years, and I can't blame him for that. But he doesn't understand."
"Understand what?"
Caspian finally looked at her. The wind moved his dark hair, and for a moment, he didn't look like a King or a Rockstar. He looked like the boy who had grown up on these cliffs, watching the storms roll in.
"That the silence was already killing me, Rayna," he whispered. "I didn't bring you here to put them in danger. I brought you here because I couldn't remember why I was fighting to keep them safe until I saw you standing in the light."
He reached out, his hand shaking slightly as he tucked the stray crimson lock back under her hat.
"We’ll stay the forty-eight hours," he said, his voice regaining its steel. "We’ll give Ma her memories. And then we’ll disappear again. I won't let the darkness touch this place. I promise."
Rayna looked at the cottage, where the light of the fire was visible through the small windows. She thought of Lydia’s tea and the little girl’s laughter.
"I hope you're right, Caspian," she said, her heart heavy. "Because if I’m the reason this house goes dark... I don't think I’ll ever be able to sing again."
Caspian didn't answer. He just took her hand, his grip a desperate, silent vow, and led her back toward the warmth of the cottage, while the Atlantic roared behind them, hungry and vast.
- Writer
