Chapter 78
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
I didn’t become a lawyer to figure out how to kill people and get away with it.
So how the fuck am I here? Asking my mom to drive me to go murder her husband?
Well, I didn’t tell her that. I told her he and I had some things to discuss from the night of the party.
Which isn’t technically a lie.
Mom drops me off, and I tell her to head to the one and only coffee shop in this area. She’s happy to give us some privacy. Mom always was a sucker for everyone getting along.
I’m counting on the fact that we’re out in the middle of nowhere, and the sheriff’s department is small and underfunded.
Underfunded means very little training for specialty cases, AKA telling the difference between a suicide and a murder.
Mom would never suspect I had done anything.
Hell, a few weeks ago, I would never have suspected I could do anything either.
But it was like meeting Raven got me unstuck. Like she breathed oxygen into my crushed lungs, and now, finally, I can do what needs to be done.
My hands shake. There are still so many things that could go wrong.
There’s a slight moment where I’m standing in the long driveway, and my brain screams at me to turn around, but immediately, I shut it down and walk toward the house.
Each step I take sends a calm through me. The birds sing, and my steps are crisp. Even though it’s mid-day, it’s still cold.
Rich touched my brother.
A wave of heat washes under my skin. It’s the same feeling I had when Dad was hitting Mom. Helpless anger.
Only this time, every step that takes me closer to Rich’s place drains the helplessness and fuels the anger. Before I realize it, my leather-gloved hand is knocking on the door to the small, one-story cabin with the attached garage.
It takes Rich a long time to come to the door, but I know he’s home. I know he was up early hunting and came back mid-day to eat and drink or dress whatever he caught.
Finally, I hear shuffling behind the door, and I adopt Axel’s lazy stance. Then it opens, and Rich is there, blinking in the bright light. For a second, his face twists into a smirk.
“Axel.”
I shove inside with a cocky grin on my face, just like Axel would. Rich steps back.
“Finally decided to take me up?” Rich asks.
I grunt, pulling up my shirt and slipping the pistol from my waistband.
I got it from the town crazy lady. The kids all say she’s a witch.
She does have all kinds of odd things in her store, including guns.
This pistol has been bought and ‘gifted’ so many times that it would have no way of being traced back to me.
Unless she talks. Which she won’t. Some of my clients have known her to give the ‘abuser special.’ Never thought I’d need it too.
Rich glances at me, then at the gun, then turns away. “Gonna take more than a pistol to take down a deer, son.”
“What about a person?” I ask, voice lowering as a deadly calm creeps across my body. I’ve played this out in my head so many times that it feels like I’ve already been here before.
Rich tosses a look over his shoulder, then does a double-take, seeing I’m pointing the gun in his direction.
I’m not aiming it. I’m too close. Don’t want him reaching out and grabbing it.
That would force me to shoot him, and that’s harder to dress up.
But also, I can’t aim with the small sights, even with the glasses.
“What are you doing?” Rich asks. He puts on his hard voice, but I hear a slight rasp.
“Giving you a choice.”
“Gage?”
“I can shoot you in the heart and leave you to bleed out, or you can write a suicide note, and I’ll let you go to sleep the easy way. Carbon monoxide.”
“What is going on?” A hint of anger creeps into Rich’s tone.
Anger. As if he’s the one who has the right to be angry. My own anger is hard to access. It’s like all that anger is finally channeled into calm action.
“How often did you touch him?” I ask.
“What?” I hear Rich shuffling back, probably to get his own gun.
I swing my own to where I know the couch is and then pull the trigger.
There’s an explosion of sound, and I point the gun right back at Rich.
Gunshots aren’t unusual in this area, and a bullet hole in a soft surface isn’t easy to find.
This is also a hunting cabin with guns everywhere.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The rasp is so much throatier now.
“I’m sure you don’t. Now choose.”
“Gage, whatever’s going on, I’m sure we can make it right.” His voice is high, like a child’s.
He’s a coward, but I didn’t expect anything less.
“A choice, or I’ll make it for you.” There’s a power that comes from finally doing something. I’m finally protecting my family, and it’s never felt more right.
I expect him to fight. To try to get a gun or throw something at me. Instead, all I hear is his fast panting for breath. I hear his mouth open and close a few times like he’s trying to say something but can’t.
“Go.” I step into him, pushing him backwards until we reach the garage. “Where are the keys?”
More gasping. He must be frozen.
I feel along the wall. We came up here a few times as kids, and sure enough, my gloves brush something, and keys jingle.
“Please,” Rich finally gasps. “I’ll leave.”
“That wasn’t an option. Get in the garage.”
Rich starts blubbering in full-blown panic, his adrenaline fully taking over. But still, he doesn’t fight me. Because he’s a coward and always has been. Only cowards do things to children.
I fire another round to get Rich to write the letter. This time, it’s into the ceiling, and it’s much louder in the garage. I have him turn the car on while he writes. I’m not convinced he’s able to write anything legibly. Whatever. I wasn’t going to give him the easy route anyway.
I planned for this. The easy route was Plan B. And then, if that doesn’t work, plan C, D, and E. I don’t care what goes down today. I’m taking back what he stole—safety.
Permanently.
For a moment, I stand there, listening to Rich blubber and the car run. Then, I lean into the car, putting my pistol up under his chin.
“Please,” he says, and all I can hear is Axel saying that. I hear it in his voice when we were kids and still trading gum for poems.
I pull in a breath, preparing my ears, and then pull the trigger. The force jerks my hand back.
There’s a boom, then nothing but ringing.
Warmth splatters down on my jacket and gloves with little plops despite my efforts to keep out of the spray.
For a second, I hear ringing, the car, and Rich’s clothes as he twitches against the seat. Then, he stops moving.
As he stops, all I can think is it’s too bad Axel isn’t here to hear him die. But if anyone goes down for this, I don’t want it to be him. I’m the detail-oriented one. I can make sure none of my DNA, and therefore his, gets on the scene. I know what to say and what not to say.
It’s my way to protect him, even though I couldn’t do it before.
Once the ringing slows down a bit, I wrap Rich’s finger in the trigger and lay his hand and the gun in his lap, like it fell there.
I’m wet.
No, not wet. Bloody.
I suck in a breath. This will look like a suicide.
And I’ll look like the hero who came in at the last minute to save him.
I yank Rich’s body out of the car and onto the floor, starting chest compressions. I do them hard enough to break some ribs so they know I was trying to help.
I dial 911 on my phone, working my body up. I give a panicked relay about blood and death and CPR. I’ve read enough 911 transcripts to know how real callers act.
I do CPR on Rich’s body for fifteen minutes until the fire department arrives.
Then I step away, sweaty and covered in his blood, while they try uselessly to save him.
I don’t feel bad. At all. Axel deserved to have someone wipe this shitstain from the earth. Mom might be sad at first. In fact, I know she will be. But we’ll be there for her. Axel and me, and—my heart jumps at the thought—maybe even Raven.