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  Shattered Minds

  A Beautiful Liar, Book 2

  J.N. Owens

  S

  Copyright ©2020 J.N. Owens

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN:

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  I want to dedicate this book to all the people out there that may be struggling or have struggled with depression. It comes in so many forms and it’s okay to talk about it. It is okay to ask for help, it’s okay to not be okay. It doesn’t make you weak or less than anyone else. Stay strong, and believe You Are Enough!!

  Prologue

  Finley

  I hold Emory and Layla’s hands while we ride to the hospital. Layla has her head on my shoulder as I hum You are My Sunshine. It’s our go to when things get hard. I just can’t bring myself to sing it, so I lazily hum as we bump along. Em is sedated now, and I have managed to wrap up the worst of her wounds. Her wrists and ankles have rope burn where he had her tied up entirely too tight, and who knows for how long. They were smeared with blood. She has a long gash along her collar bone and a deep cut under her left breast. Once I had something to clean the blood with and not just smear it around, I could see where it was coming from. I look her over and my heart just aches. I don’t know how someone could do this. Her clothes had been ripped off, so dad took off his shirt and put if over her. I noticed as I was pulling it down over her that the inside of her legs are smeared with dried blood. But it wasn’t normal dark blood like the rest of her body, it was the pinkish kind. My stomach turned. I knew immediately what had happened. He had definitely raped her, it wasn’t a question anymore. He had obviously done it repeatedly, without protection. Her only saving grace at this point is that we know who did this to her. She would be saved the worst once we get to the hospital, there was no need for a rape kit, those things were horrendous. I was a part of a few during my residency in the ER and I almost couldn’t bear it. These poor women that had already been subjected the trauma they had and now had to sit through hours of meticulous testing. It’s great when you have to find out who did something or prove someone did something. It’s a wonderful way to make someone pay for what they did. But I am so thankful Em won’t have to go through it. Scott had already paid for what he did. Not enough. But he paid for it. And we won’t ever have to worry about him doing it every again. I’m almost positive she is on birth control, but I will discuss another option for preventing pregnancy with the hospital. I know there is no way she would ever be able to handle it if she were to come up pregnant from this evil. She also would never think about giving up or getting rid of any human life. It’s just not in her. I hear Layla sniffle next to me. Her head raises from my shoulder, “how did this happen Fin? How did he get her?”

  “Layla, I don’t know, the cops said that he pretended to be someone else on that stupid dating app. He played her. He knew her weakness and played on it. He spent weeks, weeks Layla, playing her just to get her to trust him and then meet him so he could take her and do this. He is a sick fuck. When we got that message that said it was him, I knew instantly what I had to do.” I can’t even bring myself to look at her. Tears sting my eyes. “Layla, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I brought this man into our lives. I’m sorry I caused this.” I can’t stop the tears from falling. I know It’s all my fault. I brought this crazy man into our lives and now my sister has paid for it. She is my baby sister and I was supposed to protect her, and I didn’t. She turns my face to hers. Wiping the tears away she tells me very sternly,

  “Stop it right now, do you hear me. This is not your fault. Do you understand me. You did not do this. He was sick. This is all on him. We did everything we could to keep him away. We did everything right. If anything, the system is to blame. They don’t do enough when there is a real threat. They knew he was a threat, they knew he was dangerous, and they did nothing. And he is the absolute one in the wrong. But not you, never you. Got it?” I just nod.

  We get to the hospital and me and Lay never leave her side. Not for one minute. It’s the hospital I work for and I happen to know the doctor that’s working so she lets me stay through everything. So, we stay and hold our sisters’ hand through it all. They clean her up, re-bandage her, stitch her up and run tests on her. There is no need to run a rape kit because the bastard is dead. But we stay, we never leave her. They keep her sedated for the entire thing. We go with her when they move her to a room and take up residence beside her bed. Mom and dad come in not long after. Mom is a fucking mess, as is to be expected. We tell her to go home and we will call her when she wakes up. Dad is a raving mad man. He wants to sue the entire city for not following up on this. So, I tell him to go too, she doesn’t need this when she wakes up. And me Layla stay, we never leave. We don’t leave when she wakes up screaming in the night, not when she cries when we try to hold her. Not when they examine her, and she screams out from pain. Not when she calls out for them to stop and they have to restrain me because the pain in her voice is too much, I still don’t leave her side. I know it’s too much. It’s all too much. I know now after they are done that the abuse, she took is far worse than I imagined. Not only did he beat her while he waited for me to come but he raped her. He raped her repeatedly, he was rough and kept her tied up causing her bones to break when he refused to loosen the ties on her feet or arms. When she tried to fight back, he beat her. He is much bigger than her and it shows in the abuse on her body. I’m sorry all I did was shoot the fucking bastard. If I had known, then what I know now I would have taken my time killing him. I would have cut off his fucking dick and choked him with it. His death was far too easy. Now that she has been cleaned up, and has been sitting here for a couple day, the signs of his abuse are starting to set in. The bruises darkening, the bumps swelling. My stomach twists and I feel the bile rising in my throat. She is still sedated, every time she wakes up, she won’t stop screaming. I still don’t leave her. Noah has been bringing me clothes and food. He tells me I need to come home, but that isn’t an option. Not now.

  She has been here close to 2 weeks now. She had surgery to repair some of the damage done to her, they had to wait till she was stable enough to handle it. She woke up screaming, I was there to hold her. They stopped sedating her a few days ago, but now she is like a walking zombie. She doesn’t talk, or eat, or even make eye contact. She is there, I can see it, but she is just a void. I have helped her shower and use the bathroom. I help her bath, I wash her yellowing skin, watch the bruising heal. Her body is healing but she may not ever heal inside. I cry every time I see her skin, it’s a reminder, her scars are reminders of what I did. Who I brought into our lives? I’ll never forget what I did to her. I have sat by her bed and tried to get her to eat. She won’t. I have held her hand and talked to her. She just stares out the window. She won’t talk or look at me. I still stay and watch her. I won’t leave her. I can’t leave her. It’s all my fault. She doesn’t sleep because when she sleeps, she wakes up screaming. She lays here and watches the walls in silence. I turn on her favorite shows and she watches the walls. It’s been 2 weeks in the hospital, and she hasn’t eaten or slept. But they say she can go home. I can take her home because there isn’t anything more they can do here for her. I can do as much at home, maybe more. They think she will recover better in a familiar environment. So, I take her home. Noah and I pack her up and take her to our house. She just sits and watches out the window. But I notice the shaking and the tick in her jaw. She is still terrified and probably angry.

  We have been home for 3 weeks. We have been taking shifts sitting with her. She hasn’t left the house at all, but someone is always with her. I sleep in the bed with her at night. Well, sleep is a strong word. No one sleeps, ever. And I’m exhausted. I need a break. I need to
sleep. I call Layla and ask her to please come over and stay with her so I can get out, maybe get some rest. I don’t know if I just want to get out of the house or just go somewhere and take a nap. But I just need a minute to breath and not feel guilty. I need to not constantly be on watch. So, she comes, and I leave. Immediately I feel horrible. I love Emory and it’s my fault we are where we are, so of course I should be the one having sleepless nights and worry filled days. Fuck. I’m going to take a walk. I’ll go get us some of the pastries at the bakery down the street that Emory and Layla love so much and I’ll come back. I make my way down the street to the little bakery. The smell immediately takes me over. I go inside and order a cup of coffee. I let them know what I want to go and sit down to enjoy my coffee. I sit there for over an hour just enjoying the smell. I end up having 3 coffees and a croissant, I get up and get my bag of pastries to take home. I head out the door and make my way home. It’s not that far, maybe 20 minutes when I take my time like this. It’s a beautiful winter day. It doesn’t get cold here, just kind of chilly. So, my oversized sweater and leggings are perfect right now. I’m enjoying the chill in the air and my walk when I hear it. The sirens. And I know, instantly. I drop my bag and run. I don’t know why but I know in my heart it’s Emory. I’m only about a block from the house so it only takes me a minute to get there. When I turn the corner to my house the ambulance is just pulling up as well. I run up the walkway into the house and I hear screaming. Its Layla. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I call out for her as I run up the stairs. Tears are already coming. “Layla, what the fuck is happening?”

  “Finley, help me. Please somebody help me.” By this time, I’m up the stairs and standing stock still in the door of the bathroom. I can’t move. Layla is laying on the bathroom floor with Emory in her arms. She is blue and lifeless. Her blood is everywhere. All over the floor, all over them both. Em is naked and soaking wet so I can’t tell just how much blood there is. The bathtub is full of water but its red, her blood is mixed in and there is a razor on the floor. That’s when I see it, the cuts in jagged spurts that run up the lengths of her arms. Fuck Emory. Someone bumps me out of the way. It’s the EMT’s. They run in and grab her out of Layla’s arms. Immediately they start working on her. I realize then that I’m shaking and sobbing. I just stood there and watched as she continued to bleed out. I didn’t do anything. I just don’t know what else to do. Next thing I know Layla is grabbing me by the arm and pulling me down the stairs and we are getting into the ambulance with Emory and going to the hospital again. They found a pulse and have stopped the bleeding. Her pulse is weak but there. She lost a lot of blood, but she is still with us. Thank god they got there in time. We can’t do this with her. I look over at Layla, “we have to get her help. We aren’t enough. She needs more. We can’t save her.” She is crying just like I am.

  “I know.” We hold onto each other the rest of the ride. And we cry, as I pray. I don’t pray that often, but I pray for God to please save my sister.

  Chapter 1

  Emory

  December

  They have finally stopped sedating me. And by sedate, I mean they come in every 4 to 6 hours and give me Vallum to keep me sleeping, otherwise I’m a screaming and crying wreck. I haven’t been able to stay awake at all without being hysterical until the last couple days. So, they finally started weaning me off the meds. Today I have my first session with Dr. Michaels. Noah and Finley brought me here a couple weeks ago, I think. Finley told me that he is the one that went to school with Noah, he called and pulled some strings to have me here. I guess I’m not the normal guest here. I just wish they would all just let me be on my own. I can deal with this in my own my way, just like I always have. I don’t remember this doctor being at the hospital after the accident. That’s what I’ve decided to call it, the accident, that is about all I can muster right now. You know what they say, deny, deny, deny. It works for me right now. I guess I don’t really remember much of anything from that time. I was pretty out of it. That’s a good thing though. I don’t really know how much of it I can handle, so I don’t want to remember right now. I’m supposed to meet him after lunch for our first therapy session.

  I make my way from the dining room down the hallway, everything is decorated for Christmas. Fucking Christmas. It’s always been my favorite time of year, and here I am in a mental hospital, this may very well be the worst year ever. Now I’m panicked it’s going to ruin this time of year for me all together. I stop dead in my tracks, I realize I missed thanksgiving. What a train wreck. I wonder what everyone did. Did they think about me? Did they go on like everything was normal? I can’t breathe, I reach out and grasp the wall for support. Bending over I try to regain control of myself. I remind myself I can’t do anything about it now. I can’t go back and change anything that has already happened. I’m positive that if I had been in a better state I would have been there, or they would have planned to be here with me. I know my family well enough to know they would never leave me out.

  I continue walking, only much slower now. My breathing coming in long slow labored draws. The panic I was feeling slowly easing. I turn down the long back hallway making my way to Dr. Michaels office. I reach the door and knock lightly, not bothering to wait for an answer, I slowly walk in. He is sitting behind his desk. He looks up when I walk in. He smiles at me, it reaches all the way to his incredible gray eyes. “Emory, how nice to see you. Have a seat. I’ve been waiting a long time for today. I’m Dr. Michaels. But you can call me Alex, it’s very nice to finally meet you.” I just look around the room as I stand just slightly inside the door. He walks over to me, putting his hand lightly on my arm, I stiffen and jerk away from him. He holds his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Please forgive me. Come on, you can come in and have a seat.” I’m not sure what to expect here. This doesn’t feel like any therapy I have ever been to before. I am used to stuffy, overly formal and structured therapy sessions. This is not going to be like that. I can already tell. “So, tell me Emory, what do you like? Is there anything you want to talk about today?” I just look at him, chewing on the inside of my cheek. I turn and to the right is large window that looks out over the ocean. It’s a gorgeous view. I walk over and sit on the bench so I can look out. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I rest my head against the cool glass. I let my eyes close as I breath in the cool air coming off the glass. I place my hand to the glass tracing the waves as they crash against the shore. “You like the beach? I believe I remember your sister telling me that. It’s a lovely day, we could go out if you would like. Walk out by the water. Whatever you like. I’m here at your disposal. I will do whatever makes you more comfortable.” I just turn and look at him. He just nods. “I get it. You aren’t ready to talk to me just yet. That’s okay. I’ll just ramble on, until you get so tired of it you have no other choice but to talk just to shut me up.” He makes a cute little waggle with his eyebrows. I just turn back and look out at the water.

  I hear him shuffle around some. Then I hear music start to play. I close my eyes to listen to soft rhythm of the Avett brothers. Not many people listen to them, but I love them. This is one of my favorites, I wish I was, it’s so soothing and mellow. I start to sway slowly as my eyes fall shut. It drifts into Incomplete and Insecure, it’s like he has a link into my mind. I turn to look at him and he is laid on the couch, hands clasped behind his head and feet propped up on the arm. We sit like this and just listen. It’s calming and feels great. I love music, for me it’s like balm for the soul. It feels like hours have passed when I look up and he has sat up and is watching me. “You look more relaxed than when you first came in. That’s good. Maybe next time we can talk a little more.” He stands up, smoothing out his pants. “Anyway, I got you something. Your sister said you like art. You’re a graphic designer, right?” I don’t answer him. I think he has learned though that I’m not going to. I haven’t quite figured out why I’m not talking, I just can’t get words
to come out. I don’t want to talk about anything with anyone. I’m not ready. I haven’t figured out what I’m feeling, or what is going on inside me, and I don’t want to just start blurting shit out yet. So, I’ll just let him keep doing all the talking. “Well, anyway, she told me you like to draw, and work with your hands. I got you some paint, and some canvases. I thought during your free time in the afternoon, you might enjoy painting.” He looks nervous now. I just watch him with fascination. He runs his hand through his hair then his eyes shift back to me.

  “Sometimes, when you aren’t ready to talk about how you feel, it helps to have another way to get it out. You need some kind of outlet. You can’t keep it all inside, okay. It’s fine if you aren’t ready to talk, but at least let it out somehow. Come on I’ll show you.” He goes towards the door and out the hallway, I follow him as we make our way towards the back patio. There is a closet right beside the back door. He opens it, pulling out an easel, canvas, and box with paints and brushes. We walk onto the patio and he sets it all up for me. The back patio faces the beach. It’s an amazing view. The house we are in is set up on a hill, overlooking a private beach. It’s very cape cod, and absolutely stunning. The view alone makes me want to be here forever. He pulls a chair up for me, “alright, I’ll leave you to it. You know where to find me if you need anything. I mean it, anything at all. Oh, and Emory,” I turn around to see him smiling at me, “welcome to Harbor House.” He runs his hand through his hair and smiles as he walks back inside. I just don’t have anything to give anyone. I can’t nod, I can’t say thank you, nothing, I have absolutely nothing. My brain is screaming at me to say something, do something, but I literally cannot. I just sit, stock still.

  I turn back to the blank canvas. I stare at it for well over an hour before I pick up a brush. I take the brush, dip it in paint and slowly start to move it over the canvas. I don’t even think about it, I just start to move it. It moves and moves. Paint goes everywhere, but I don’t care. Soon I start to see something coming to life and I freeze. It’s the beach, the sand and the water cresting over the sand. But there hidden in the water is a girl, tied like she has been drawn and quartered. I feel my breath catch. I dip the brush again and darken the water, but the image won’t go away. I don’t know where it came from. I know from what I was told that is how they found me, but I don’t remember being tied like that. Seeing that image in the water brings it all rushing back to me. Memories I don’t have, feelings I don’t remember having from those days of being his prisoner. My chest starts to tighten as my breathing becomes labored. I stand abruptly, knocking the canvas over along with the paint and the stool. I walk in a hurried pace to my room slamming the door behind me. I slide to the floor bringing my knees to chest. I sit there staring at the wall as tears run down my cheeks, rocking back and forth as I hum to myself.