Chapter Forty Four #2
Thiago can write cute, little notes and make sordid arrangements, but I’m the man standing beside her, ready to get my hands dirty.
Just being here is putting everything my parents have worked so hard to build at risk, and I couldn’t care less.
I’ve spent too long conforming. I’ve lost too much in their pursuit of perfection.
Lost my own way time and again, but something about standing here feels right.
I’m finally doing something for me. I’m picking a side.
The air outside hits colder than expected when we step out, carrying the scent of damp earth.
Ducking around the side of the barn, I lead Meg to a weathered fence.
Beyond it, the land opens again, stretching toward a cluster of structures in the distance.
One is smaller and more isolated than others, a mobile home sitting right where it’s supposed to be.
Scanning the area at all times, I aid Meg over the fence before rejoining her side, remaining hunched low as we move.
Every instinct within is screaming that it’s not too late.
There’s still time to turn back, but what would that achieve?
Laura would still be suffering, and so would Meg.
For both of their sakes, we need to see this through.
“Stay close,” I murmur, keeping our fingers tightly linked.
The ground beneath our feet is softened, each boot step sinking just enough to muffle our approach as we move closer, the mobile home growing larger with every careful stride.
My senses remain on high alert, picking up on every rustle of wind through the grass, every distant creak of wood.
Meg’s free hand winds around my forearm, the tremble in her grip betraying the fear she’s trying so hard to keep contained.
Without faltering a single footstep, I simply let her hold on.
We slow as the home comes fully into view, instinct taking over as I drop lower, pulling her with me behind a thin line of overgrown bushes.
Scanning the area, I count the lit windows, the single door to permit entry and exit, the shadows clinging to the cracked plywood, until movement catches in my peripheral.
A man stands in the yard, his back to us.
If I needed any confirmation of his identity, the way Meg’s body suddenly tightens gives it to me.
I tug her closer into my side, dragging us lower into the brush.
Harrison’s shoulders are hunched as he digs into the earth with the kind of frantic, relentless energy that makes my stomach turn.
Each strike of the shovel is accompanied by a low grunt, the sound carrying just enough to reach us through the still air.
On the ground beside his efforts, a rolled and wrapped tarp awaits its final resting place.
A rolled and wrapped tarp the size of a body.
We’re too late. I can’t believe we’re too late.
“No,” Meg whimpers, ducking her head. I grip the back of her head, pressing her face into my collarbone to stifle the rising panic trying to filter out of her mouth. The same rigid disbelief consumes me, dulling the edges of my brain as I desperately try to remain present.
This isn’t how it was supposed to go. Laura was supposed to be saved, Meg stronger for facing her demons, not shattered in front of me because I dragged her here. I wanted to fix what was broken inside of her. Now it’s apparent that will never happen. I’ve lost her for good.
Twisting my mouth to Meg’s ear, I give her a gentle shake to halt the shuddering of her shoulders.
“We need to get out of here,” I whisper.
Meg peels back from me. The color has drained from her tear-stricken face.
Her large blue eyes are filled with such pain, it physically stabs me in the chest. I’ve done this to her, I’ve brought her here.
What I’d hoped would aid her recovery has become another branch of her trauma.
But I can’t think about any of that right now.
Harrison isn’t just dangerous, he’s a murderer, and I’ve walked Meg right up to his hideout.
Twisting her away, still caged within the safety of my arms, Meg’s hand brushes across my lower back.
Her balance wavers as she freezes in place.
I frown, trying to urge her along again but she resists me now.
There’s a flicker of emotion that crosses her features, something besides panic and grief.
“M—” I start, but it’s too late. She’s already moving before my mind can catch up.
The weight of the gun is shifted from my waistband, my heart slamming against my ribs as Meg stands in full view.
Before I can react, before I can lunge for her, the shot collides with the night’s air.
It’s deafening, the crack of it reverberating all the way down my body as our lives have just changed forever in a single second of rage and desperation.
Ahead of us, Harrison jerks violently, his shovel clattering uselessly to the side.
Given his equally dark clothing, I can’t decipher where he’s been hit, but it’s enough to bring him to his knees.
Then, his body tumbles forward and with a dull thud of impact, he hits the base of the hole he was digging.
For a split second, the entire world goes completely, unnaturally still.
Meg stands frozen, arm still extended, the gun trembling violently in her grip as the reality of what just happened catches up with her.
There’s a glaze to her eyes, a slow-motion slumping to her limbs.
I move without even considering it, catching her mid-collapse and slipping the gun from her slackening fingers.
Her entire body trembles as she stares at the hole, at the body crumpled inside it, like she can’t quite reconcile what she’s just done.
I grip her by the waist, trying to pull her back, trying to get her moving.
It won’t be long before someone calls in the gunshot, before this spirals into something far worse than it already is.
Fuck, this isn’t Harrison’s crime scene anymore. It’s ours.
“Meg,” I urge, my tone low and insistent.
“We have to leave.” My voice seems to bring some rational thought back to Meg, her legs strengthening just enough to stand alone.
However, when she steps, it isn’t in the direction of the car.
My jaw tightens as I follow. Every instinct screams that this is wrong, that we’re wasting time, that every second here is another chance to get caught, but I won’t let her go through a single second of this alone.
Approaching the hole, Meg peers inside first, with me just over her shoulder.
A pair of stunned, haunting eyes stare up.
Twisted limbs sit at unnatural angles. He doesn’t even look human anymore.
Just an object that’s been broken and discarded, and that realization churns my stomach more than the blood does.
The gun is a deadweight in my gloved hand, the ticking of a clock sounding in my head.
Meg’s head tilts as her gaze lifts, her sights set on the tarp across the other side of the hole.
“Meg, don’t. You won’t want to see,” I try to urge but she’s already moving away from me.
“I have to,” she responds hollowly. I don’t follow this time, the coppery smell of blood finally hitting the back of my throat.
Turning away, I crouch and press my mouth into the crook of my elbow.
I can’t vomit here, leaving all that DNA behind.
I might as well grab a stick and etch my name into the dirt beside Harrison’s self-dug grave.
The irony of it would be funny if I weren’t certain I’m never going to be able to sleep again.
Behind me, Meg’s breath hitches. I peer over to watch her untie the string with considerate hands.
I don’t want to be anywhere near one dead body, never mind two, but I can’t tell her that without the contents of my stomach threatening to come up.
So instead, I watch the strings be carefully peeled back, the tarp gently unwrapped with such reverence, my heart aches for another reason.
That could have been Meg in that tarp. She could have met the same end, if Thiago hadn’t found her when he did. Something I need to thank the bastard for when we get back.
Looking over her shoulder, Meg captures my gaze with an expression of misery.
I almost reach for her again, wanting nothing more than to drag her away, but something in her expression stops me cold.
She might not have come here for this, but she came for closure.
She came to find Laura, and that’s exactly what she’s going to do.
I nod at her to continue, to just get it done so we can go. Exhaling loudly, Meg’s gloved fingers close over the final layer of wrapping and she pulls back. A choked cry escapes her the same time as my stomach rolls again, dots peppering my vision. This can not be happening.