28. Colt
28
COLT
Leni: Class ran a few minutes late, and I have to pee. I’ll meet you at the car.
Leni’s text reaches me as I’m walking across campus, ready to meet her and head home. Every day that passes without any mention of our late classmates makes me feel a little more secure. Is it unnerving that there hasn’t been a big uproar over their disappearance? More than a little. But I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If nobody’s concerned about them going missing, I’m not going to worry myself about it. Why waste time making problems? It only means you can’t enjoy what’s going on around you.
The parking lot is half full at this time of day. I cross it, heading to where I parked Leni’s car earlier. She still hasn’t driven it, but at least it’s getting some use until my insurance shit gets ironed out. I wonder if there will ever come a day when she’ll get behind the wheel herself. Maybe I bought myself a car when I meant to buy one for her.
I’m too busy thinking about that to notice an engine revving behind me until it’s almost too late. Reflex takes over. I turn my head to look over my shoulder, then leap out of the way, narrowly avoiding getting hit by a black BMW.
From the corner of my eye, I watch the car swerve like the driver is trying to follow me and make sure they get the job done. They’re determined to hit me. Only they end up driving up onto the concrete median and sideswiping a light pole before coming to a stop.
Did that just happen? It takes a second or two for me to pull my thoughts together and catch up to the present moment while I crouch on the ground in shock. But as soon as it clears, I take off after the fucker. That was no accident. They aimed for me.
And now they’re going to find out the consequences.
The car is still sitting where it came to a stop and shocked cries ring out behind me by the time I reach the passenger-side window, banging on it with both palms—before I recognize the driver.
And he knows me, too, glaring at me with hatred in his eyes. “George?” I whisper in disbelief. Bradley’s dad. Dennis’s dad. The realization and the implications that come along with it make my heart drop.
“We fucking warned you!” he shouts from inside the car, sweat beading on his bald head, his eyes narrowed in rage. “You’re gonna die for what you’ve done. And your girlfriend, too!”
And then he’s gone. Tires screeching. The smell of burned rubber hangs in the air.
“Colt!” Leni’s voice reaches through the fog of confusion in my head, reminding me what needs to happen here and now. I go to her, wrapping her in my arms and shuttling her to the car, waving off the questions and concern from random witnesses.
“We have to go home,” I whisper to her on the way, careful not to be overheard. “I know who’s been doing this.”
“All this time, it was their dad behind it.” Nix’s head bobs slowly as he processes everything that happened earlier. “Probably encouraging Dennis to go after Leni and you. Yeah. I believe that.”
“What, you think I was lying?”
“Of course not, dickhead.” He gets up from the sofa, punching his palm. I know how he feels. I’ve only been able to keep it together for Leni’s sake. “It makes perfect sense.”
Leni’s been quiet through all of this, choosing to listen carefully, tucked into a corner of the sofa. Her voice is soft when she asks, “What do you mean?”
“Why they would keep it all a secret and try to handle it themselves. Both of them—George and Cecilia—all they ever cared about was their image and how they looked to other people. They wouldn’t want the rest of the world to find out something that could turn into a scandal.”
“What about Deborah’s parents?” she asks.
“Who knows? Maybe they’re in on it, too. Maybe they’re not. But I know George,” I mutter, remembering the rage burning in him. The fucker came close to taking me out today. “I’m not letting him get away with it.”
I look at Nix. Nix looks at me.
“What are you going to do?” Leni asks. She’s right to sound nervous—even if she’s not the one who’s going to suffer tonight.
“How do we do it?” I ask him. There’s something hot pumping through my veins—bitter, satisfying.
“I’m not sure.” He shrugs, a smirk playing over his mouth. “But I’m good at blowing up houses.”
“Wait. What?” Leni scrambles onto her knees, clutching a pillow in front of her like a shield. “No. You’re not serious, right?”
Of course, she would hate this. But I can’t worry about that now. Certain things are more important even than her ideas of right and wrong. Like her safety.
“He said he was going to kill us. Me and you.” I watch as understanding sinks in. “This is the only way to make sure that doesn’t happen. We get rid of him and this is over.”
“This is what we have to do for you,” Nix tells her. I can sense the anticipation he’s feeling—it’s in the air, crackling like a thunderstorm is about to hit.
“We’re not in any danger.” I don’t know if that’s true, exactly, but it’s what I need to believe. I can’t let the little doubts stop me. Nix and I won’t have any trouble getting into the house. I’m sure of that.
I only hope I get a little time alone with George before the place goes up in flames.
Her face falls, eyes darting back and forth between us. “What if this is what they want you to do? They could be waiting for you, you know? What happens then?”
“I guess we’ll just have to deal with it,” I decide. “We can’t go right now. We’ll have to wait until later. After dark.”
She blurts out a laugh, but there’s an edge to it—panic, fear, disbelief. “We’re just going to sit around, knowing what’s going to happen later?”
That’s exactly what we do.
We go through the motions of watching TV, eating dinner. I barely pay attention to anything on the screen and hardly taste a bite. All I can focus on is what’s going to happen tonight. And I can’t stop wondering if George is thinking the same thing. He could be waiting outside for all I know—plotting, planning, waiting until it’s late enough that he can get away with sneaking up here.
There’s an uneasy energy in the air, and the hours pass almost silently. Every once in a while, I look at Nix, and I know he’s planning, running through the steps in his head. He’s a lot more familiar with the house—he was always closer with Bradley than I was.
It feels like time is stretching on forever, but before I know it, it’s almost eleven. Nix and I exchange a look, and he nods before I get up and go to my bedroom closet, opening the safe inside.
Leni’s footsteps sound on the floor behind me, and she gasps as she watches me pull a pair of Glocks from inside. “When did you get those?”
“They’re mine.” Nix joins us, takes one from me, and makes sure it’s loaded. “I picked them up one day while you guys were at school. One of the perks of the shit neighborhood I stayed in.”
“On second thought, here.” I take the third from inside and turn to her. “Take this.”
“Wait. What? What am I supposed to do with it?”
“Usually, you point it at someone and pull the trigger,” Nix murmurs.
She doesn’t think his joke is funny—in fact, she scowls at him. “I’ve never fired a gun.” She even hands it back to me, shaking her head.
“It’s easy.” I check to make sure the safety is off before pressing it into her hand. I don’t let go of her wrist until she looks up at me with wounded eyes. “I’ll feel a lot better if you have this, okay? If someone tries to get into this apartment who isn’t Nix or me, you fire. Don’t waste time trying to aim for anything in particular. You just point and shoot.”
After taking a deep breath, she nods slowly. “Okay. Just do me a favor and come back, okay?”
“You don’t have to worry about that.” Still, I take my time kissing her. When I’m finished, Nix kisses her forehead. He doesn’t say a word—I can tell he’s locked in, ready to do what needs to be done.
We take his car, where he gets behind the wheel without a word. Finally, I have to ask, “So that’s the plan? We go in, we take them out, we burn the house down?”
“Do you have any better ideas?”
“No. Just making sure we’re on the same page.” There’s not a doubt in my mind that this is what needs to be done when I remember George’s furious glare. He’s going to kill Leni if we don’t take care of him now.
We are half a block away from the house when Nix parks. “You ready for this?” he asks, staring straight ahead, where the house sits at the end of the cul-de-sac, on top of a hill. The gate sits open, almost like George is inviting us in. Maybe he’s waiting.
The gun in my waistband feels heavier than it should as we get out of the car and go the rest of the way on foot. We walk side by side, being careful to stay in the shadows of the trees lining the driveway.
There are cars outside, but the house is dark.
“Going through the kitchen,” he murmurs. “I remember the code for the security system. It’s Bradley’s birthday. Guess which one was the favorite son?”
“No wonder George was riding Dennis to get answers.” Not that I have even a shred of sympathy.
The back patio is overgrown, unused. Like the people living here haven’t been paying attention—busy worrying about one son and covering up the death of another. The weeds and dead leaves add an eerie feeling as I keep watch while Nix forces open the back door.
Once it’s open, we wait for the sound of a siren inside, but there’s nothing. Only silence. We exchange a glance before he leads the way into the kitchen.
“I can’t see a fucking thing,” I whisper after tripping over a stool. It’s pitch black in here.
“Let me help you with that.”
Before I can process the strange voice, the lights go on, revealing not only George and his wife but also Deborah’s father, Mike.
And they’re all armed, just like we are.
Shit.
The three of them are just as surprised by the presence of my brother by my side. Cecilia gasps while Mike makes a horrified, choking noise. George finds his voice first. “You’re dead,” he whispers, eyes bulging. “You’re fucking dead.”
“This isn’t the first time a resurrection happened.” Nix reaches behind himself like he’s going for his gun.
“Don’t move,” Mike growls, aiming his pistol at me. “Or this one says goodbye.”
“How is this possible?” Cecilia looks back and forth between us. I remember her as always being so put together, but times have changed. She’s looking rough—roots grown out, circles under her eyes, pale skin.
“It’s easier for me to answer questions when there’s not a gun in my face,” Nix mutters.
“Too fucking bad.” George moves first, stepping closer, eyeing us warily. “Keep your hands visible. Don’t fucking move.” He steps up behind us, taking our guns while Cecilia and Mike hold us in place with their weapons.
How the hell are we getting out of this? Three against two. Granted, one of them is a woman and probably wouldn’t take much to overpower, but she’s armed.
And once George is through with us, we won’t be.
His gun’s muzzle presses against my lower back. “Now, into the basement. One of you tries anything, the other one gets it first. Got it?”
We don’t have a choice, even though I know we’re only making it easier for them to do whatever they have planned. They fucking lured us here. Are we that easy to predict?
“And what are you going to do to us down here?” Nix asks as he steps through the open door and starts down the stairs to the finished basement. It’s a pointless question—the further we go down, the more I can see. There’s plastic on the floor and a pair of chairs side by side.
“Have a seat,” George mutters, and this time he stands in front of us while Cecilia and Mike bind our wrists behind the chairs, cinching the ropes tight enough that I grind my teeth while glaring at the man facing us.
Just like earlier today, he’s sweating, making his head glisten. His eyes hold just as much cold hatred. “Now that we’re all together, it’s time to start telling the truth. What happened to my son?”
“Would that be Dennis, or the one you really cared about?” Nix chuckles, smirking at the way Cecilia’s mouth falls open.
Without saying a word, she pulls her right hand back and slaps him across the unscarred side of his face. “How dare you? You killed him, too, didn’t you? You murdered my boy! You’re a monster!”
“Why are you here and my son isn’t?” George’s voice shakes with rage, but it’s the way his gun trembles that concerns me. He’s unstable, capable of anything. What is he going to do?
“Do you want the truth? Fine, I’ll give you the truth.” Nix spits out blood—Cecilia hit him that hard—before continuing. “Bradley is dead. It’s his body in my grave.”
“You killed him!” Cecilia wails, turning to her husband, forgetting to aim at us. “I told you! I told you he did this!”
“We set the fire to my dad’s house,” he continues, speaking over her like she doesn’t matter. “I got out, but he didn’t. That’s the truth. But your little boy was in it with me,” he sneers, staring at Cecilia. “Don’t forget that. He thought it was a great idea to burn the place down.”
“Liar!” she shrieks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody completely lose it the way she is right now. With her eyes bulging, she jabs the gun in his direction. “That is a lie!”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” he replies. “Either way, he’s dead. And so are Dennis and your little girl, thanks to them abducting Leni and holding a knife on her,” he continues, looking at Mike.
Mike’s been quiet through all of this, but now his face darkens, his chin trembling, his nostrils flaring like an animal ready to attack.
“I am the one responsible,” Nix concludes. “My brother didn’t have anything to do with it. Only me. So if you want your revenge, I’m the one you kill. Let him go unless you want more trouble.”
“From you?” George asks before barking out a laugh edged with insanity. “Right. You’ll be dead, remember? How will you give us any trouble?”
“I never said the trouble would come from me. It’ll come from the cops,” he reasons.
“Don’t do this,” I mutter, but he ignores me.
“Remember, I’m already dead,” he says. He sounds so casual, matter-of-fact. “So if I disappear, who will care? But if Colt disappears, that’s when you’ll have a problem. And according to what he already told me today, George had a little bit of a problem steering his BMW in the school parking lot. I wonder how long it would take for security footage to be pulled up. I bet they got a really nice shot of his plates before he tried to run Colt down.”
The fact that he doesn’t take the time to think any of this out in his head tells me this is part of what he was mulling over during the hours we spent waiting until it was safe to come out here. He spent the time running through potential scenarios, while all I did was fantasize about how satisfying it would be to end George’s life. If we get out of this, I’ll have to thank him.
But we have to get out of it first. I will not let my brother sacrifice himself for me—and there’s something else, another aspect he hasn’t mentioned, but I know must be on his mind. What about Leni? They’re not going to let her go.
“Don’t listen to him.” George looks at his wife, then at Mike. “We all know the police won’t fucking care. They sure as hell didn’t when it came to confirming whose body was in the kitchen. This one’s car was parked at the house; they were satisfied he was the one who got blown up. Even when we asked them to confirm, they couldn’t be bothered. They won’t go out of their way to find out what happened to Colt when it hasn’t even been a year since his father and brother died in a tragic accident.” He sneers. “Maybe he was feeling unstable. They’ll believe what they need to believe to file their reports and move on.”
He’s probably right about that.
“That’s why we have to do this,” George insists. There’s something fanatical in his voice, unhinged. He reminds me of a preacher trying to convince his congregation to handle a snake. His breathing is sharp and grasping, and now sweat is practically pouring down his head and the sides of his face. “If we want justice, we take matters into our own hands, right? That’s where all of this started. We do not give up now. For our kids, for all of our kids.”
“I’m sure the cops would never suspect you.” Nix almost seems like he’s enjoying himself, almost laughing. “If you’ve been raising shit with the police over what you think they should have been doing for your kid, who do you think will be the prime suspect? So let’s pair that up with the footage of you trying to run Colt down—which there were witnesses to, by the way—and you have an open-and-shut case. They would be happy to put you away quickly just to close the case and move on. Is that justice? It’s not like it would bring Bradley back. Or what’s his name? The one you don’t give a shit about.”
“That is enough!” Cecilia shrieks. “Do not talk about my boys! You nasty, evil, disgusting thing!”
Mike looks at me, then at Nix, before looking at George. “You know, it could be true.”
Yes, but will that be enough to convince George to change his mind? Or have things already gone so far there’s no turning back? There’s nothing to do but sit here and wait to see what our fate will be.