Past the Windowpane chapter 4

Chapter 4

The car smelled faintly of old gym socks and Caden’s cheap air freshener—a weirdly comforting scent that cut through the sharp, metallic tang of the blood on my shoulder. We were moving fast now, the quiet suburban streets blurring into orange-lit streaks as Caden pushed his old sedan faster than he should have.

Every slight turn of the wheel sent a fresh, blinding jolt of agony radiating from my shoulder down to my fingertips. The muscle was a hot, shredded mess beneath my torn jacket. I braced my left hand against the dashboard, my knuckles white, focusing on maintaining control as my body tried to clench in on itself.

Caden’s face was a study in tight control, illuminated by the dashboard lights and the occasional flash of a streetlamp. He'd barely said a word since I finished my explanation at the intersection. He just grabbed my good arm and hauled me into the passenger seat, efficient and urgent.

“We can’t just stand there, Alex. You’re bleeding like a stuck pig,” he'd muttered, his voice rough.

Now, as we sped through a yellow light, he reached for the first-aid kit stashed under the seat and shoved it at me without looking away from the road.

“Here. Stop the bleeding now, before you soak the seat.”

I fumbled with the plastic box. My hands were shaking so violently that the small items inside rattled like cheap dice. My vision was swimming at the edges, spots of black threatening to consume the light. I managed to pull out antiseptic wipes and a thick gauze pad.

“This is going to sting. Badly,” I gasped out, my voice thick with the effort of breathing shallowly.

I peeled back the wrapper on the first wipe, the sharp chemical smell making my stomach churn. I pressed it to the deep gashes on my shoulder.

It wasn't a sting. It was a white-hot, corrosive burn, as if someone had poured molten lead directly into the raw flesh. I bit my lip until I tasted copper, a guttural, strangled sound ripping from my throat despite my best efforts to stay silent. My entire body spasmed, slamming me back against the worn upholstery. The muscle was hot

Caden made a low sound in his throat. “Just focus on cleaning it. Don't stop.”

I forced myself to keep the wipe there, gritting my teeth, the pain an overwhelming, singular focus that consumed all thought. I used the small rearview mirror to guide my clumsy fingers with the medical tape, my reflection showing a pale, hollow-eyed kid staring back through a fog of pain.

“She kept saying I killed him,” I choked out, the words almost lost in the ringing in my ears, desperate for a distraction.

Caden didn't respond for a beat, his jaw tight. He knew who "him" was.

“Your dad,” Caden stated, the words flat and cold.

I nodded, the small movement sending a fresh lance of pain through my upper body. “She was screaming it, Caden. ‘You did this. You killed him.’ Why would she think that? It was an accident. He was teaching me how to drive, that guy came out of nowhere”

I looked at him, searching his face for an answer, for anything that made sense of this nightmare.

Caden’s grip on the wheel tightened until his knuckles went white. The car swerved slightly on the empty road. “I don’t know, Alex. I don’t know what goes on in her head anymore.” He finally spared me a quick, intense look. “We’ll figure it out later. Right now, we have maybe twenty-five minutes until the last night bus to the next county leaves from the main station. The cabin. Nobody goes there this time of year.”

The cabin. Our ultimate 'Plan C' escape route, miles away from this town and the monster that wore my mother's face. It suddenly felt like the only safe place left on earth.

The car swerved again as Caden took a sharp turn onto the highway on-ramp, the engine whining in protest. I sank deeper into the seat, cradling my shoulder, the pulsing ache a constant reminder of the life I’d left behind.