Chapter Nineteen
Phoebe
Open eyes. Dead on the ground. Staring at me. Blood everywhere. Brain matter and skull fragments. It’s all bringing me back to a time I don’t want to remember.
I do everything I can not to go back to that place, but it’s right back here. In front of me. Dead eyes staring at me from the ground, holes in the head.
“Shit,” Capone says, his voice breaking through my scream. “I forgot she was here.”
“It’s her fucking bakery,” Zep shouts.
If I wasn’t on the verge of a total breakdown, I’d laugh. They forgot I was here. In my own bakery. In my business. That now has some guy’s brain on the wall.
Tucker rushes toward me, and it triggers something in me. I move away from his touch and stare at the wall. The man stood right there, and now he lies on the floor. My eyes won’t leave the mess.
At least I’ve stopped screaming.
“Phoebe—”
Pushing past him, I run into the bathroom and barely make it to the toilet in time as I vomit. It’s too much. I don’t want to be back there. I don’t want to remember, and I sob as I continue to throw up, fighting the war in my head.
“Oh, baby, I’m sorry,” Tucker says, hurrying over to rub my back.
I can’t handle being touched right now and I push his hand away, falling back against the wall. The memories flood my mind in snippets, and it’s like camera flashes blind me as I move from frame to frame. Until I’m back in that room.
I don’t know where I am. I don’t understand how I got there. And for a moment, I almost forget who I am.
“I don’t want to be here,” I mumble over and over as I rock. “I want to go back. I don’t want this.”
“Is she okay?” the blond man asks, popping his head into the bathroom.
“Get some water, Rooster,” Tucker says, and his voice pulls me back to the present.
I’m in a bathroom. I’m in the bakery. Safe. I’m safe, but I’m not.
Tucker looks terrified as he crouches before me. “Phoebe?”
My lip trembles as Rooster walks back in with a bottle of water. I want to know why he’s called that. Tucker being Pacino makes sense. It’s cruel, but it’s a play on his situation. And Capone is from the mob. But Rooster?
I’d ask, but I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how to speak right now. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t get them out.
Opening the bottle, Tucker hands it to me. “Drink something, baby. You have no color in your cheeks.”
“We’ll take care of everything here,” Rooster assures me when I glance up at him. “We’ll fix everything.”
I think about the bodies, but then I remember the damage. The blood. Cracks. Dents. Holes. Broken.
“Go,” Tucker orders. “Phoebe, please drink some water.”
I do even though I’m not thirsty. My chest hurts, and my face feels tight. Tears continue to stream down my cheeks, but I don’t even feel like I’m crying. It’s just a faucet that’s turned on.
“Can you talk?” Tucker probes.
“He… He shot him.”
My voice comes out shaky and quiet. And it doesn’t sound like me.
Is this what an out-of-body experience feels like? It’s like I’m standing beside us watching the scene unfold, and I look ridiculous. Crying, pale, and crouched in the fetal position, rocking back and forth while Tucker tries to get me to drink something.
“You shouldn’t have witnessed that,” he says. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
“I don’t want to be here anymore.”
Nodding, he holds a hand out to me. He looks pained, and I know brushing him off must’ve hurt his feelings. I just… can’t. Being touched right now will shatter me into a million pieces.
Rather than take his hand, I grab the assistance bar on the wall and pull myself up. His face falls, but I just can’t have any physical contact. Not yet.
I flush the toilet and hand the water bottle back to him. Washing my hands is surreal. I don’t feel the water. Or the soap. I just stare at them, seeing the suds, and wonder if this is real.
Am I living in real life right now? Or am I in the horrible place of my mind, trapped for the rest of my existence? It’s only a matter of time before the men in white coats come to take me away to the nice room with the padded walls if I am.
Drying off my hands, I walk to the door and grab the door handle. It’s the first thing I feel, and I just pause, breathing for a moment.
I’m here. I’m alive. Not necessarily sane, but at least I’m in what I think is reality.
“I’m going to take her home,” Tucker says, his body blocking my view of whoever he’s talking to.
And the blood where the dead body was.
“He has a key.”
Turning, Tucker studies me. “What?”
“Ryan. He has a key to the front door. That’s how he walked in.”
His jaw drops, and I’m comforted to know I’m not the only one who finds this to be shocking. But the more I talk about what happened, the further the images I don’t want in my mind move.
“The others came through the back door. But it was unlocked. Not that it mattered. Ryan has keys to my bakery.”
“How’d he get a key?” Zep asks.
Tucker shakes his head. “No fucking clue.”
I can’t meet anyone’s eyes, so I fixate on Tucker’s chest. I imagine the scar beneath his T-shirt, and it grounds me. “I saw him on the cameras, and I climbed on top of the walk-in. There’s a small space up there.”
“That explains the dirt on your clothes.”
“My phone… It smashed onto the floor when Antonio pulled me down. They couldn’t find me at first, but I knew I had to buy time for you to get here.”
He tentatively reaches out to touch me, and I don’t flinch away when he cups my cheek. “You did good, baby. We’ll get you a new phone.”
“I can’t afford all the repairs,” I say, finally looking up at his face. “The holes and dents and the… hinge.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he says. “I’ll take care of it. We just need to get you home, get you a shower, and put you in a set of clean clothes. It’ll make you feel better.”
He says that, but I don’t think it’s true. I don’t think I’ll ever feel better. All I can focus on is what’s left of Joseph on my wall. And the fact I’ve seen this before.
The vault door has opened, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay again.