Chapter 48
CHAPTER 48
BETH
F alcon Ridge Drive is known for two things in Hempstead. One, it’s where the church is located, and if you don’t know where it is, you’re godless–my mother’s words. Two, it also has four rundown houses that are widely spaced apart with lots of trees to block the view of each house from each other. Those houses are known for drug activity, but I had no idea kids lived down here.
The place is quiet.
“What are we going to do about the kids?” I ask as we climb out of Oliver’s car and head straight to the trunk. His eyes widen as his head snaps around to me.
“Kids?”
“There are kids in there, Oliver!” I hiss at him, getting irritated. That should’ve been clear from the tape he listened to, but I don’t think he completely grasped that part.
“Shit,” he growls as he unlocks the trunk and throws it open. “We’ll figure it out once we’re in there.”
“We can’t go in there without a plan. Do you want to die today?” I grab his arm to stop him, but he snaps around, scowling down at me.
“You’re either with me or you’re not.”
Me questioning him has gotten under his skin. Reaching my hand up, I press my palm against his cheek, ensuring I have his attention. “Hey. I’m with you, okay?” The tension leaves his features, and his body relaxes. “We came here for a reason. The kids must have a room, right? We can get them in there and away from everything. Then, we’ll deal with the prick.”
He nods before pulling away from me. Oliver’s eyes fall to the trunk, and he pulls out a pistol and twists a silencer on before handing it to me. Then, he does the same thing with another gun and tucks it into the waistband of his jeans.
“Are there any cameras around here?” he presses.
“No. There aren’t even security cameras at the gas station.”
He tosses our masks in the trunk before slamming it closed. “Let’s get this over with. I’m fucking exhausted.”
A laugh falls from my lips without my permission before I nod in agreement. After this, I’m sleeping for a year, and if Nigel even tries to wake me, I will chop off his balls and shove them down his throat.
The front door is always locked on houses, but the back door might be open. There’s no fenced-in yard, so it might make for easier access, and we’ll be less likely to be spotted before we can get the kids closed in their rooms. Or at least a room in which we aren’t dealing with their father. They don’t need to hear or see anything that happens.
Oliver may look out for their physical well-being, but I’ll look out for their mental and emotional health. Aimee’s stepfather is an evil bastard, but he’s still their father. For all we know, they adore him, and we don’t need to scar them for life. He’ll be someone who disappeared from their lives.
Taking his hand in mine, we sneak around the side of the house, and the sound of Bugs Bunny infiltrates my senses. The kids are here, but maybe their parents are asleep. It’s still early. I remember the days when I would wake up before my parents and watch Scooby Doo. It kept me out of trouble.
I grab the knob and slowly turn it to check if it's locked, and the door opens with ease. We step through the door, and I struggle not to gag.
Maybe we should’ve brought our masks.
We enter straight into the living room, and the house is utterly disgusting. Mountains of garbage collects in the corners of the room, broken furniture, old takeout boxes, and countless piles of dirty clothes. And it only gets worse the further we walk in.
A TV is mounted to the wall in front of a sofa, and three little girls sit there in clothes barely held together by their seams, skin clinging to their tiny bones. Each holds a small, raggedy teddy bear and stares at us, unmoved.
“Hi,” I say as I give them a friendly wave, but they don’t respond. Their eyes dash between me and Oliver. It’s clear they have no idea what to make of us, but I can see they’re scared of him. “Shouldn’t you kiddos be getting ready for school or is it too early for that?” I ask softly, hoping friendly conversation will have a positive influence. I have no concept of time, especially with such little sleep.
“Daddy doesn’t like school,” the biggest of the three says with a small voice, squeezing her bear tighter.
They’re not in school. That’s why their clothes are so ragged. They don’t have to keep the clothes on these girls in good standing if they don’t have to show them out in public.
“What are your names?” I step closer, leaning down on my haunches next to the girl who is open to talking.
“Dani,” she whispers.
“Patti,” the girl next to her squeaks out.
“Rita,” the last girl answers.
I can’t help smiling. “It’s nice to meet you girls. Aimee sent us to help you. It doesn’t seem like that nice of a place to live,” I say and watch the girls as they stiffen before shaking their heads so fast I’m afraid they’ll give themselves whiplash.
“Not nice,” Patti says, her voice trembling.
“Don’t worry. You’re going to go somewhere much better, but I need you girls to do something for me. My friend and I need to talk to your parents, but we need you to stay right here and do this…” I trail off and lift my hands to my ears, covering them. “Just until we get back, okay?”
The girls exchange a look of confusion before doing as I ask, and their eyes travel back to the cartoons on TV.
The only reason I have for not sending them to their room is I doubt it is any better than the living room. It’s bad enough that they are in a house in this bad of a state, but what if the bedroom is covered in mold and feces? No. They are better off on the couch until we deal with this.
“That was easier than I expected,” Oliver whispers in my ear as I stand up and walk behind the couch. Pulling out the gun he gave me, holding it by my side, cocking it as silently as possible.
“Kids love me.” He places a hand on my shoulder and stops my walking so he can step in front of me, almost as if he is acting as a shield to protect me. I let him. This is his show. I’m just here to assist him. Hell, he wouldn’t have made it this far without my help.
Five doors line the hall, and we check each one until we make it to the furthest one, which is locked. The knob jiggles.
Bingo.
Oliver’s eyes turn to me, and I nod as he silently cocks his gun in preparation, his breathing shallow as if he’s preparing himself for what he might find on the other side of this door. His eyes race back to the door, but he doesn’t move. He is just…frozen.
Why isn’t he doing anything?
Maybe he’s scared. Hearing what Aimee said was one thing, but seeing where she was and the people she was around is an entirely different ballgame. I lace my fingers through his and squeeze his hand.
I’m here, Oliver. I’m right. Here. With you.
If he needs to break, I’ll be right here to catch him. I’ve got his back, and I think I’m accurate in saying he has mine.
His gaze shoots down to our locked hands before slowly rising to my eyes, and I offer him an understanding smile before nodding to the door.
“It’s a penny lock.”
That smirk rises across his lips, and he gently squeezes my hand before I release my grip on him. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his keys and uses the ring to twist the lock soundlessly, like he’s done this a million times. A psycho like Oliver Doyle probably has.
As soon as Oliver throws open the door, the two figures on the queen-sized bed fall out, tumbling onto the floor. Surprise grips me when I realize this room is actually…clean. The rest of the house is a wreck, even the kid’s room, but theirs is spotless. What the hell is wrong with them?
Mine and Oliver’s guns rise as we enter the room, and I kick the door closed.
“Don’t hurt us!” Sophie O’Reilly yells, looking ten times worse for wear than she did in her mugshot. Her cheeks are sunken, and her eyes are hollow. She ducks behind the bed.
I have zero sympathy for her. I know he probably got her addicted to drugs to keep her from leaving, but that’s not a good enough reason for the state of this place. No explanation is good enough for allowing her children to live like this.
Little kids are innocent and deserve better.
Still, this woman is Nigel’s mother. She gave birth to him and was a good mother until she left.
“Get the fuck out of my house!” the man screams, but my eyes narrow on him.
“Don’t worry. We aren’t here to steal from you,” I mutter.
“Aimee sends her regards, though,” Oliver adds.
Sophie jumps off the floor and runs in front of the man by her side, blocking him. “You can’t believe anything that girl says. She’s unstable.”
I blanche at her as her words hit me down to my bones. This bitch…knew. She knew exactly what her boyfriend was doing to Aimee, and she sat by and did nothing. There is nothing worse than someone who defends and lies for an abuser.
I’ve never shot a gun before, but when I pull the trigger, the bullet hits her right between the eyes. The sound of it is unlike anything I’ve ever heard before, and it’s soothing, especially as her body falls to the floor, her wide eyes open and jaw slack.
No blood leaves the bullet hole for a while, and I wonder if it will start to bleed at all, but then I realize Oliver and the prick are staring at me.
Not even Oliver expected that out of me. I should be freaked out by what I just did–I just took a life–but I’m cool as a cucumber.
“He’s all yours,” I say as my gaze switches to the unimaginable fuckwad who stares at us, shock evident on his face, but after a moment, it clears. He turns on his heels, racing for the window leading to the backyard.
The nearly silent bullet fires from Oliver’s gun and hits the dipshit in the spine, and blood instantly soaks his shirt, even before he falls to the ground, screaming.
“She’s nothing but a stupid, worthless cunt!” he hollers in anger and agony as Oliver approaches his fallen form.
“Then, you should’ve kept your hands off of her, right?” Oliver mocks before he kicks the man across the face. His muscles ripple beneath his hoodie, and I watch as he kicks him repeatedly, rage overcoming my crazy man. Blood pools on the floor as I watch Oliver lose control over his anger. The red liquid soaks us both as he keeps going until the man’s face is nothing but brains and blood.
“Oliver,” I mutter, but he doesn’t stop. His powerful kicks move to his chest, but the man is already dead. He can’t feel any of it. It’s just…abusing a corpse at this point.
He doesn’t respond.
“Oliver,” I try again, and still nothing. “Ollie!” I grab his arm and force him around, his eyes nearly black with anger. His fingers wrap around my throat, emotion thick in his eyes as a snarl covers his lips.
He’s so lost. Taking his face in my hands, a tear comes to my eye at how truly broken this man is.
“I’m right here. Look at me,” I whisper from how tight his fingers are around my neck, but they loosen a bit. “It’s me. It’s Beth, okay? He’s gone. He’s dead, but I’m still here. I’m with you .”
His eyes become brighter and more colorful as I talk until he releases my throat, pulling me into him.
“You’re with me,” he breathes the words into my ear, and I nod against his chest.
“Yeah. I’m with you. Always.” Then, I place my hand over his heart and feel it slowly calming down. The way the strong muscle rumbles under my hand is so soothing I could fall asleep standing right here.