CHAPTER EIGHT
[8]
song: black out days - future islands remix by phantogram
John B was in jail. Charged with murder in the first degree with aggravated circumstances, and if convicted, the maximum sentence was the death penalty.
It was a rainy morning spent at the courthouse, seeing your friend hauled out in front of the town in handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit, a purple bruise under his eye.
The day before, Cassie spent an hour at the sheriff's station in Shoupe's office. Begging him to play back security footage from the street ahead of time.
They watched it together, they watched Rafe flood the sewers, they watched him pull her into an alley, and they watched him hand her hush money. And still it was not enough evidence to convict Rafe.
"Are they paying you?" Cassie had asked Shoupe, desperate tears in her eyes. "I don't understand."
It was over. There was nothing anyone could do, it was fully out of their hands. They sat in the porch of The Chateau, as rain poured outside, all silence, all stillness.
They were beginning to spend more time at John B's house than John B.
"I don't know how much time I have." Cassie says, stepping back onto the porch, and handing Sarah a cup of warm tea, as she sat curled up on the sofa, cheeks tear-stained.
"Don't say it like that." JJ rubs his eyes.
Cassie shrugs slightly. "I just— I'll try and talk to my grandma. They can't take me back unless she signs off on it."
"She'll do anything to get you away from me." JJ mutters, annoyedly. "Bad influence." He mocks her from earlier, when JJ had an outburst at the court hearing, and Cassie's grandma quickly shuffled her away. "Just like his father."
"Hey." Cassie said sternly, making him stop.
"How do we know he's even called them? I'm sure he's pretty distracted with everything." Pope says, leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed.
Cassie shrugs. "We don't."
She'd waited all day, in her bedroom at her grandma's house, her bag packed beforehand this time. She clung to her pillow, and cried, fell asleep for an hour or so, and when she awoke, she was surprised she was even still here.
Her nose was red, her eyes were puffy, she sat up in her bed and watched the rain out her bedroom window, watched as the boats on the harbor bobbed in the water as it poured.
"Cassie?" Her grandma's weak voice yelled from downstairs.
Cassie jumped, then she froze, waiting for the sounds of footsteps to start clamoring up the stairs. Then for her bedroom door to burst open.
"Cassie?" Her grandma repeated again.
Cassie sniffled, wiped a tear, then responded. "Yeah?" She yelled back.
"Someone at the door for you."
Hesitating first, Cassie quickly slipped on a sweatshirt over her tank top before she pulled herself out of bed, wiping the rest of her tears off with her sleeves.
"Would you run by Mike's later today and get some double A batteries? We're out." Her grandma says as she passed her on the stairs, completely disregarding the fact that the girl was clearly in distress.
Her grandma was there. With her at the hearing, she saw her cry, she watched her hold Kiara back as she screamed at Ward. She listened to her complaints about it all on the drive home, and yet— it was back to business as usual.
It was for the entire island. No one cared anymore. John B was going to be killed for a crime he didn't commit, and that was just that.
Cassie nodded slightly, pausing on the stairs for a moment as her grandma headed up, before continuing her descent.
And stood on her front porch, was Rafe Cameron.
Cassie held onto the railing, and didn't move. His back was to her, he hadn't realized she was there yet, she still had time to turn around and go back upstairs, but he spoke before she got a chance.
"Wait—" he started, and Cassie jumped at the sound of his voice.
Silence for a few seconds, then she stepped forward off the last stair, and swung the screen door open, joining him on the porch. She stood in front of him, stared angrily up into his eyes, and then smacked him.
He held his face in the opposite direction for a few moments as he let the sting simmer out on his cheek, breathing heavily.
She knew he was fighting the urge to do something back. To do just the same. But what was he gonna do with her grandma just upstairs? With neighbors on either side, the houses just barely feet apart?
Her lips trembled as Rafe slowly turned his face back to hers. Her palm burned and he knew his face did just the same. She was riddled with anger-fueled adrenaline, but as she met his eyes again, she just felt like an idiot.
Why she was even allowing him to stand here, on her porch, in front of her like this? She didn't know. "I hope you rot in hell." She spoke quietly, through gritted teeth, as a tear dropped off her cheek.
He was unfazed by her comment, though underneath all of that, he looked sickly. His skin was paler, eyes red. "I'm not calling them." He says after a moment.
"You think that's what this is about?!" Cassie shakes her head slightly. "I know you were hiding, in your mansion, while your parents went out to the court hearing without you— but I just found out my friend might be killed for a crime you—" she pushed on his chest, and he stumbled back from it without any protest. "— committed."
She felt herself pissing this guy off more than she was ready to handle. But she didn't care anymore. What more could he do, kill her? That'd look good for him. Maybe that way there'll be a better investigation. Maybe that way, with Cassie dead, they'll link it back to John B, and he'd be free.
He scrunched his nose, glancing out towards the harbor. Then he turned back to face her, looking at her through tired, half closed eyes. "Do you get it now?" He eventually asked.
Cassie opened her mouth to respond, but realized she didn't know what he meant. "Get what?" She asked, thrown off by his sudden level-headedness.
"Would you have killed me?" He asked. "The other night, when— would you have killed me?"
Cassie took a slight step back, her chest feeling like it could cave in on itself. "You're crazy— Rafe. You— would you have killed me? Any of us? Because you looked like you were going to—"
"Answer my question." He says, like he wasn't listening to a word she was saying.
They stood a foot away from each other, Cassie staring up into his eyes like she was searching for any sense of sanity, the rain loud as it clanged against the roof of the porch.
She thought about that feeling, that frantic, instinctive feeling she got when she saw him. Waving a gun around, firing it aimlessly, the possibilities of one of those bullets hitting her brother, killing him. And the way she wanted to stop him.
"It's instinct, right?" He questions, as if he was reading her thoughts. "To protect the ones you love."
Cassie swallows harshly. "But I wouldn't let someone else take the blame for it. I wouldn't let— someone die for it?!"
"It's not just me that'd go down. It's my dad. It's my family— our name. Everything we worked for." Rafe spoke harsher now. "I'm trying to get you to understand—"
"Maybe if your dad wasn't taking things that didn't belong to him, none of this would have happened." Cassie spat back.
Rafe took a step back and frustratedly rubbed his eyes. "Jesus christ." He strained out the words, then pulled his hands away and looked at her. "I'm not the bad guy here."
"How am I supposed to believe that, Rafe? You've— you showed up the other night with a gun, screaming, and shooting at things. You threaten me, you—" she stops herself, realizing this could go on for hours. "I know nothing about you Rafe. This—" she gestures to the two of them, "—is all I know. Threats, and guns, and yelling. How do you expect me to give you any of my sympathy?" She says. "Please, I'm genuinely asking."
Rafe takes a breath, and for a second, there was this tiny, tiny glint of desperation in his eyes. A desperation for a friend, someone who understands, who was on his side, even though what he did was wrong, extremely wrong.
For a long time, it was his dad. His dad was there for him, so Rafe had killed for him. And he'd do it again. But the second Ward found out Sarah was alive, Rafe was back to being the second choice.
Screaming, yelling, getting blamed for all these bad things that keep happening to the family. But maybe if Ward wasn't taking things that didn't belong to him, none of this would have happened.
He knew he was sick. He knew there was some underlying issue here. He knew that everyone would do drastic things to protect their loved-ones, but this, this feeling in his chest? That was something else. An urge, a hunger to prove to his father that he was man enough to do these things. That he could do the thing that Sarah could never do.
Rafe was desperate for his father's seal of approval, and if it meant killing someone? He knew he'd do it again.
"Don't you feel bad?" Rafe asked her quietly, desperate for a genuine answer. "Do you feel bad for me?"
Cassie tried to read him, read his eyes and his body language, but it was impossible. Sometimes, when Rafe spoke to her, it was like she wasn't even standing in front of him, and he was just talking out loud to himself.
"Wh—" she started forming words, then looked away and shook her head.
He was hard for her to understand. They owed nothing to each other, they knew little about the other outside of all of this. Before, Cassie would have described Rafe Cameron as a douchebag. As a thoughtless, worthless asshole, who flaunted his money, and got drunk, and took advantage of girls, and stirred up chaos between the Kooks and the Pogues for nothing but entertainment.
But why now, when he stood in front of her, desperate, and crazy, and defeated, that she thought better of him? Maybe it was that now she saw he was capable of human emotion, that he wasn't just some frat-guy type who didn't have a single coherent thought in his head. He felt things, and he felt them hard.
"I do." She eventually says, turning back to face him, nodding. "I do feel bad for you, Rafe."
He leaned back slightly, like he wasn't expecting her to say that. His shoulders fell a bit, relief maybe?
She took a breath and thought further. "But do you feel bad? About any of this?" She questioned him further, not wanting him to feel like he was off the hook. "About John B? About Peterkin? About—"
He closed his eyes, taking a breath and a moment to think. He was trying hard to give her a genuine answer, one that he was sure of. He could have easily lied to her, told her he felt bad about it all, and maybe then she'd give him a little bit of grace. But he didn't want to lie. "I don't know." He shook his head. "I don't know."
Cassie swallowed harshly, that could've been an easy out for him. But even if he'd said 'yes, I feel bad', she wasn't sure she'd believe him.
"Okay." She let out, glancing around and readjusting to her surroundings again. "Okay, I think you should leave now."
Rafe stared at her. Her pink-toned cheeks, where discoloration flowed down them like rivers from old tears. Her red nose and puffy eyes. She was pretty this way. And he liked how easily he could grab onto her shoulders, and shake her until she understood, how easily he could break her like she was a porcelain doll.
Cassie Maybank was an anomaly to Rafe. Maybe it was because she wasn't raised here, wasn't raised around her brother or his friends— but she wasn't like them. She was quiet, and she was nice, and gentle, and she knew her place, and she didn't push it, and the only reason she hung out with any of those Pogues was because she didn't know anything else. She didn't have anyone else.
His face was stone for a few moments, unreadable, and that's when it was scary. At any moment he could reach forward and cling onto her throat, snap her like a twig, and leave her there, and she would have had no idea. He had reverted back to this empty, lifeless body in front of her and she would never be able to guess his next move.
A very slight nod came from him, before he scrunched his nose, cracked his knuckles, and turned to leave off the porch.
How many more encounters like this would she have to endure? Where he showed up unannounced, got inside her head, and then left her there with all of this guilt— like she had done something terribly wrong by even speaking to him?
She turned and went back inside as she felt another wave of tears come up from her chest, that sinking feeling where if one more thing went wrong— she'd crumble into nothing.
She heads back up the stairs, each step sending a loud creaking sound throughout the entire house, as she choked down what would inevitably be another night sobbing in her room.
"Batteries, hon." She heard her grandma yell from her own bedroom. "And a pack of camels if you see any—"
Cassie walked past her open door, her lips trembling, her shoulders rising and falling with a sort of panic she couldn't control. She looked at her grandma, wanting to scream, wanting to ask her, 'do you have any idea what's happening right now? or do you just simply not care?'
"I'm not eighteen, I can't." Was all Cassie got out, watching as her grandma switched from channel to channel, sprawled out on her bed, eyes glued on the TV.
"Oh." Her grandma says, barely even sparing her a glance. "Just try, they won't card you."
Cassie lingered in that spot for a few seconds. She tried to do as she was taught at Kitty Hawk. Remind herself she was bigger than this situation, and was strong enough to push past it.
But she found her feet traveling down the hall and into the bathroom. She felt herself gripping the sides of the sink and staring down into the tiny mirrored reflection of the drain.
She thought about her brother, who God knows where he was, or what he was doing, and how when he got like this, all angry and determined, she couldn't do anything to stop him. She thought about John B, in a jail cell, awaiting a death sentence. She thought about Ward Cameron, this morning in the courthouse watching the innocent seventeen year old get convicted. She thought about Sarah, who cried, and pleaded with the judge, against her own parents.
And she thought about him. About Rafe. And about after all of this, she couldn't bring herself to hate him like her brother did. Or John B. Or Kie, or Pope, or Sarah did. He'd shown her a side to him that the others hadn't seen. And maybe that was why. Or maybe, Cassie was just as messed up as he was, and it was like when he stood in front of her, they were looking into a mirror.
Both lost, both out of place, both not really belonging in their environments. Both not really accepted by those around them, by those who claimed they loved them. But they'd never really be one of them.
And so Cassie looked up, her mouth gapped open as she breathed, seeing her reflection, before she grabbed onto the tiny handle of the mirror that doubled as a medicine cabinet, and swung the door open.
She shuffled through the lotions, and the hair care products, and the sunscreens, and the cups of q-tips, until her fingers found the familiar shape of pill bottles.
She brought one out and held it in front of her face, reading the label. Kirsten Crowley, hydromorphone, 12mg, once daily.
And Cassie stood there for a long time, reading over the label. Reading her grandma's name, whose last name was her mother's, whose fault all of this was. Who, if she wasn't drinking and driving, wouldn't have killed herself, and put her daughter in the hospital, where the eleven year old was given painkillers, and the eleven year old wouldn't have continued taking the painkillers because no one taught her how to mourn properly.
Cassie's phone buzzed, and she jumped at the sound. Putting the bottle back quickly, and shutting the cabinet door like she'd been put in some kind of trance, and that buzz was the only thing that could've snapped her out of it.
kiara carerra:
hey can i crash with you for a while?
my parents kind of lost their shit on me
cassie maybank:
wanna go to the chateau?
my grandma's on my last nerve
so i was headed over there anyways
i can pick u up on the boat
Kiara's parents had always been very hard on her. With her mom getting pregnant with her from a young age, she's always been very over-protective of the girl as to make sure she didn't fall into the same crowd. But given the kind of trouble Kiara's found herself in lately, getting pregnant now seemed like one of her parent's lesser worries.
Cassie ran by the convenience store on her way to The Chateau this time. To pick up food and snacks, or just anything that could result in a meal since that pantry was made up of empty boxes of junk.
She stood in the kitchen and sliced up a tomato as Kiara sat at the counter and watched, venting.
"—but it's all just so ironic considering I'm doing exactly what she was doing at my age." Kiara says, flailing her arms out frustratedly.
Cassie adds the chopped tomatoes into the pot she had on the stove, speaking as she stirred it all together. "But from her point of view can't you understand why she'd be freaking out? Like— if my kids were doing the things we did, I'd be constantly worried all the time."
"I mean, yeah? But— she kicked me out. She dumped all of my laundry on the lawn and literally kicked me out of the house. So she's not that worried." Kiara pauses. "God, sometimes I just wish they were like— gone. Just—" she stops herself as Cassie turns back around from the stove to gather the rest of the tomato. "Sorry."
Cassie didn't even process what she had said until she apologized, and she glanced up at her, shaking her head and brushing it off. "No, I get it." She shrugs.
Kiara shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "Have you gone and seen him?" She asked after a moment of silence.
Cassie scoops the rest onto her knife gently. "Who? My dad?"
Kiara nods, watching at how gently Cassie prepared a meal for the two. The time and patience she put into making sure everything tasted just right, and if it didn't, how she'd frantically search the cabinets for other spices or ingredients she could add.
"I've been meaning to." Cassie shrugs it off, bringing a a warm spoonful over to Kiara for her to taste, holding her hand under it so it wouldn't drip. "But I don't even know if I want to, you know? Like— it's hard enough knowing he's there but to see him— I don't know."
Kiara takes the wooden spoon and takes a sip of whatever it was Cassie was making. "That's fire." She says, snapping her fingers.
Cassie lets out a sigh of relief. "Good, because I'm about to pass out." She says, getting out two bowls for the girls.
They sat next to each other now, Cassie with one leg up on the stool as she listened to Kiara, leaning on her palm as she ate.
"Yeah, JJ's kind of said the same thing." Kiara says. "Does he know your back?"
"Probably not." Cassie shakes her head. "Have you heard from him? He's been ignoring my calls."
Kiara shrugs. "I think he's pretty hung up on the whole— John B situation, and everything." She says, the mood shifting a bit as they were reminded of what else was going on. "And... you know, what Rafe did to you."
Cassie shook her head a bit. "He didn't do anything, he just—" she stops herself, not sure why she was jumping to defend this guy.
Suddenly, the front door bursts open, and in walks Pope, dropping his backpack loudly onto the ground. Both of the girls jump, turning around in their chairs to see who had just bust in.
"Hello?!" Kiara starts. "Have we all just given up on knocking?"
Pope looks up, like he was startled to see them here too. He looks around the place, sees all of their clothes and things around the living room, and then he sniffs the air. "What is that?"
"Soup." Cassie says casually. "Do you want some?"
Pope walks into the kitchen, meeting Cassie there as she got up from her spot to scoop the leftovers into a bowl.
"What are you doing?" Kiara asks, glancing at his backpack and then over to Pope.
"You guys are not gonna believe what I found." He says, he was moving quickly, eager, excited, but hungry. Cassie hands him the bowl, and he accepted it with a happy nod. "Thank you, Cas." He says, before walking over to his stuff with the bowl in hand. "I went over to my great grandma's place." He says, bending down to shuffle through his bag. "And I found this." He pulls out a small, old key on a red string.
Kiara about shoots up from her seat, rushing over to where he stood. "Oh my god." She says, taking it from him to get a better look.
"Yeah." He says, drinking from the bowl like it was a cup of water.
Cassie felt herself wanting to ask if he wanted a spoon— but sometimes it was better to just let boys be boys.
"Holy shit— Pope!" Kiara says.
"I know I know!" Pope says, wiping his mouth.
Cassie walks in from the kitchen, shaking her head, confused. "What is it?"
Pope turns to Cassie. "That Limbrey chick said if we find this key— she'll give us a tape that will clear John B. And I found it—"
"This is exactly what we need!" Kiara says, excited, in shock. She sits down on the edge of the couch, holding it up close to her eyes.
"I was in the room— and— and it came out of the ceiling!" Pope says, plopping down next to her.
Cassie stood and watched, still confused.
"Oh my god." Kiara lets out, then narrows her eyes at the key. "Is that writing, what is that?"
"Turn the lights off." Pope says, turning to Cassie.
Still lost, she walks over to the wall and flips the switch down. Pope puts his bowl down on the table, then turns around and grabs a cushion off the couch. He grabs Kiara's hands as to direct her on where to hold them.
"Okay, hold it still." Pope says, positioning the cushion on his lap and then holding a flashlight onto the key.
"I don't see anything." Kiara says, as Cassie steps forward to get a better look.
Pope then smacks both hands down onto the cushion, a cloud of dust exploding out of it that made Cassie almost gag. And almost as if it was some weird, stage effect, a message had bounced off of the key from the light, and appeared in the smoke.
Cassie, eyes glued on it, came around and sat down on the chair across from them. "What the hell is that?" Her eyes widened.
"Holy shit." Kiara says. "Holy shit!"
"I know right!" Pope says, excited.
"How did you even figure that out?!" She turns and looks at him.
"Do it again, do it again." Cassie urges him to hit the cushion again, and he does.
"The path to the tomb, begins in the island room." Kiara reads the message in the dust aloud. "What does that even mean?"
"I'm pretty sure it has something to do with Denmark Tanny. And an angel. "'Cause I remember Limbrey saying something about an angel, and how a key led to the cross?!"
Cassie felt like they'd forgotten she was even sitting there. All of their meals unfinished, distracted now by names, and keys, and angels, and stories she didn't recognize or know anything about. It was like they were all speaking in another language around her, all forgetting to explain to her what it was they had heard from this Limbrey woman.
"Pope— this is insane you're a freaking genius." Kiara says, turning to look at Pope.
And Cassie watched. Kiara's face was only inches from Pope's, and his eyes were glued on hers the entire conversation, and they lit up when she got as excited as he was. And when she turned to face him, hers did too.
Her heart ached for a connection like that. For someone to listen to her when she spoke, and get excited, and light up, and—
Kiara continues. "Makes you wonder what The Island Room is."
Cassie wanted to give her input, to give them some clever, smart suggestion that made one of them go, 'Cassie! You're a freaking genius!' but she was so out of the loop, so deeply confused on all of these stories about treasures, and maps, and shipwrecks— and now crosses, and angels, and island rooms.
"We'll re-group in the morning." Pope nods eagerly. "This can clear John B— you guys, this could save his life."