Chapter 49
CHAPTER 49
BETH
I wanted to bring the girls with us, but Oliver made it clear that we couldn’t. Sooner or later, the bodies would be found, and if the girls weren’t there, there would be a search party. Them coming with us would be a link that could lead to an arrest. They swore they wouldn’t tell anyone about us… Okay, so they said they would only say an angel and a demon saved them, which got a real laugh out of Oliver. He was okay with being referred to as a demon. After what I saw him do to their father, I’m not entirely sure he isn’t one, but if he is a demon, he protects the innocent with his deviant nature. That makes him a good demon in my book.
Before leaving, I used the house phone, dialed nine-one-one, and left it off the receiver.
By now, the cops should be there, and the girls will be okay. Little Dani, Patti, and Rita won’t ever have to live like that or be subjected to someone like their father ever again. They’ll be okay, and that’s the only reason I feel content with them going into the system. Anything is better than what they had to live with.
Oliver doesn’t pull into the driveway. Instead, he goes over the curb and drives up to the backdoor where the street can’t see us. It’s a good idea since we’re both covered in blood. Luckily, it’s not on our faces, but our hands are another story.
“Thank you.”
My head snaps to the side when I realize Oliver has spoken for the first time since we left the house.
“For what?” I ask, confused.
“For…everything. For coming with me, for pulling me back. Just… for everything.”
I get the feeling Oliver doesn’t thank anyone for anything. He likes to stand alone and doesn’t like depending on others, but he leans on me. I’m the grateful one. I’d like to think I saw a part of him that very few people get to see. I’ve never seen him like that before, and I’ve been around for months.
“Thank you for letting me,” I respond with all my heart, and he reaches over the middle console and wraps his fingers around my hand. I lace my fingers through his and squeeze the digits with all the support I have inside me.
“How do you feel?”
I cock a brow at him. “Exhausted.”
A chuckle falls from his lips. “Not generally. I mean from killing Sophie. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m not aware of you ever taking a life.”
I roll my eyes as I rest my head back against the headrest. “I feel nothing. I don’t feel bad or guilty about what I did. I have no remorse. Is that normal?”
His fingers squeeze mine with a rumble from his chest. “For me, that’s normal, but the first one is always hard. It’s like a chip in the brain you have to adjust to, like your morals break to fit with what you’ve done. You can adjust quickly or slowly.”
“Was it like that for you the first time?” I ask, not sure if he’ll even answer. It’s a prying question that could mentally send him down a rabbit hole.
“Yup. I was five, playing ball outside with the other kids in the neighborhood. Their parents called them away for dinner, but my mom was still cooking, so I stayed. I was just a kid and wasn’t paying attention to the car that was coming. I was in the middle of the road. My dad pushed me out of the way, and he was hit instead. It was my fault, even though no one else saw it that way.”
My heart seizes at Oliver’s story. No wonder he is the way he is. He’s holding onto the guilt associated with his father’s death, which shouldn’t be on his shoulders.
“My dad died two years ago,” I explain, my chest aching. “Car accident in Waller. He was assisting in an infanticide investigation, or he was supposed to anyway. I became really sick when he left. I couldn’t breathe, had a fever, and was throwing up. He left the police station and was going to meet us at the hospital, but…he never made it.” I take a deep breath to stop myself from breaking down. “Witnesses said he was speeding and driving erratically. He was freaked out because I never got sick, and it impaired his judgment. He shouldn’t have been driving, and that was my fault.”
Then…I feel it. Something snaps into place, and I’m not sure what it is until I look into Oliver’s eyes. We carry guilt with us every single day over things that are outside of our control. Maybe that’s why I don’t feel bad about Sophie O’Reilly’s death. There’s a difference between someone who deserves to die and someone who doesn’t. My dad didn’t deserve what happened. Oliver’s dad didn’t deserve to die either, but Sophie did.
Our eyes are locked, but only briefly before the connection becomes too much to handle. I look away before grabbing the door handle. I open it and step out before heading up the back porch.