Chapter 35 Demons #2
Slowly, I ease the door open enough for me to slip inside. Pausing just inside the doorway, I listen intently, hoping to hear voices or laughter or anything other than this deafening fucking silence.
Glass shatters toward the kitchen followed by a muffled curse, and I sprint in that direction, ready to take on whatever I find at the end.
But no one is in the kitchen.
A quick glance shows glass shattered in the sink and on the counter, shard glimmering all on the floor. Blood smeared on the counter, and drip, drip, drips along the floor out of the kitchen and down the hall.
I follow the trail into the dining room continuing along until I come to a stop in the living room. Looking around for where the trail picks up, a shadow appears in the doorway.
I freeze. Consider if I’m better off hiding in the hopes I get a surprise attack or remaining where I am because I’m a large pissed off surprise standing in the middle of my living room.
The shadow forms and I take a step forward only to stop in my tracks, my breath coming out in a painful rush.
Cassidy.
My eyes close, a rush of relief rolling over my so swiftly my heart stops in my chest. My breath catches in my throat, a ricochet of residual panic mixing with euphoria at the fact that she is safe, and, suddenly, my legs won’t hold me.
I fall to my knees, ungraceful, jarring, and my head falls into my hands, completely incapable of speech. Her feet appear in my line of sight, her hands rest on the top of my head as she whispers, “What is it? What happened?”
I can’t speak because I can’t breathe through the weight on my chest. “Goddamn, it, Ren,” she says, her words sharp. “You’re scaring me.”
A bark of laughter breaks through, quickly followed by a choking inhalation. I look up at her and manage to croak, “Who’s bleeding?”
She holds up her hand, but offers no explanation, so I ask, “Where is your phone?”
She makes a face then responds, “I accidentally dropped it in the disposal in all the hubbub with the broken glass and the bleeding.”
“And the door?”
“The what?”
“For fuck’s sake Cassidy,” I mutter. “Why was the door ajar.”
She frowns as if she’s thinking about my question, but then she laughs. “Oh, cause I’d placed an order for delivery. I call downstairs and asked them to bring it up and leave it on the table by the door.”
“You can’t just leave the damn door ajar,” I grit out.
“Excuse me?”
“You fucking heard me, Cassidy. The door needs to be locked.”
“Don’t take the tone with me, Rennick Rafferty,” she scolds.
I glare at her, just now feeling like my heartbeat is starting to regulate. “That woman who was here. Where did she go?”
“She got her papers signed and she left.”
“What were the papers?”
Cassidy goes to answer but then she pauses and crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not answering anymore questions until you tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Portland PD,” sounds from the doorway. “Is anyone there?”
Hefting myself off the floor, I respond, “Yes, we’re in here.”
“You called the police?” Cassidy exclaims. “Why would you call the police?”
The police office gives her a questioning look as I respond, “We had reason to believe you might be in danger.”
“Who,” she responds rather tersely. “Is we?”
Conrad walks in the room. “That would be me.” He turns to the police, moving close and urging them to the doorway where he has a brief conversation then sends them off with a pat on the back and a handshake.
He closes the door and turns back to us, walking into the room where he comes to a stop a few feet from Cassidy.
Cassidy glares at him, hands on her hips, foot tapping. “Why would either of you believe I was in danger?”
I go to respond, but Conrad puts his hand up, walks across the room until he’s standing in front of Cassidy. “Your mother is out.”
Cassidy’s expression immediately shifts to fear, her earlier offensive stance turning inward as she hugs her middle.
Shadows cross her features, her eyes dimming with an odd vacancy I’ve witnessed a few times before.
A shiver runs through her as she glances over her shoulder warily, even though she knows no one is behind her.
She is quite obviously terrified of this person, someone who has never even been mentioned to me. Suddenly, I am enraged. “Why was I never told of this?”
Cassidy turns her vacant eyes on me, but Conrad answers, “I didn’t thi—” and I cut him off, my words angry, “You didn’t think her husband should know she may be in danger someday?
Didn’t think maybe it would be good information to have just in case something like this fucking happened, so I wouldn’t literally open the fucking door for the very person who might hurt her? ”
Conrad looks at the ground, his lips pressed together because really, what can he say. Cassidy is watching me, her eyes slightly more focused, and then she mumbles, “The door?”
I close the distance between us, retrieve my phone from my jacket pocket, open the messages and bring up the image Conrad had sent me. Holding the phone so Cassidy can see the image I ask, “Does she look familiar?”
Cassidy scowls, shakes her head. “I-I-I don’t know. Should she?”
“Look closely, daughter.” Conrad’s words are urgent, his expression resigned. He stands next to her, takes the phone from my hand, holds it up to Cassidy’s face so he can look at them side-by-side. I take a good look, focusing on the eyes, the curve of her jaw, the highlight of her cheekbones.
The resemblance is undeniable.
Cassidy looks from her father to me and back again, her initial scowl quickly becoming panic. She rips the phone from Conrad’s grip, holds it only a few inches from her face as she stares intently at the screen. Her expression shifts rapidly; confusion, anger, sadness, realization.
“How would I not know my own mother?” she whispers, her features twisted in what looks like shock and disgust. “She was right in front of me, and I wasn’t the wiser.”
Conrad states, “You haven’t seen her in decades. And even when you did know her, you didn’t spend any real time with her.”
Her gaze lifts to his. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s a long story,” he mutters. “So much time has gone by.”
“Well, I got time,” I retort. “And Cassidy deserves to know the full story so she can make decisions on her own now that she’s an adult.”
Conrad sighs heavily, his hands swiping over his face. “I thought with therapy and time,” Conrad drifts off, his eyes on Cassidy who’s barely holding it together. “I truly thought the demons were gone.”
Cassidy’s face twists, her eyes welling, overflowing. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out but a low sob. Conrad takes a step toward her, his arms lifting, but she jumps back, hands in front of her defensively, so I jump between them, pushing him back.
His eyes lock with mine, hold steady. “Cassidy doesn’t fight her demons alone, Conrad,” I grit out, my hands fisting at my sides.
“She is mine which means her demons are mine and I will not sleep until they’ve been eliminated from her fucking reality, so you sit your fucking ass down and start talking. ”
He blinks a few times, searches my gaze, then nods. Steps back and then walks into the living room. He falls into an armchair as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders.
I turn to Cassidy, who’s still standing in the same spot, cheeks tear-streaked, eyes haunted. I cup her face in my palms, wiping away her tears with my thumbs, then pull her into me, pressing her face into my neck as I whisper, “I got you, babe. I got you.”
A long shuddering sigh runs through her, and I give her a few minutes to breathe, to hide, to regroup. Then she pulls away, a small smile curving her lips, her eyes shining with an emotion other than grief. I search her eyes, she nods. “I’m ready.”
Taking her hand, I lead her into the living room, stopping in front of the chairs opposite Conrad.
We sit.
Conrad looks at Cassidy, but his eyes are far away as he gets his phone out and says, “This will be easier if I call the other person who was there that day.”
Cassidy frowns but says nothing, so I ask, “Other person?”
Conrad nods, his focus on his phone. He taps the screen then places it on the arm of the chair beside him. It rings a few times then someone answers, “Conrad?”
It’s a woman, her voice low, yet still somewhat delicate, her tone questioning yet friendly. “Is everything alright?”
Conrad clears his throat then responds, “It’s time.”
“Do I need to come?”
“No,” he answers, shifting uncomfortably on the chair. “You can tell the tale and then answer questions easily enough over the phone.”
“Okay,” she says, no hesitation in her voice.
“I’ll start at the beginning, and then you can pick up with whatever you recall from where we initially parted ways, does that work?”
“Of course,” she answers softly. “And don’t worry, Conrad. I remember everything.”
He sighs loudly and I open my mouth to ask who this woman is and why she has part of the story that he does not, but Conrad puts his hand up, stopping me. His expression has shifted, his eyes still tired, but now holding a cold edge I’ve never seen before.
He leans back fully in the chair, his hands moving to the tops of his thighs as he slouches down a bit, this new stance and his shift in demeanor giving him an old-world vibe that sends a chill down my spine. He levels his gaze on me then turns to Cassidy, his eyes softening some as he watches her.
He sighs again, clears his throat.
And then he speaks.