Chapter 40
It’s late by the time we reach Colt’s apartment, hours after the explosion and everything that happened after.
I’m pretty sure if he didn’t help me out of the truck and into the building, I might have sat in the passenger seat and stared through the windshield until morning.
I don’t feel anything. Why don’t I feel anything?
Once we’re inside, Colt leads me to the sofa and has me sit before pulling out his phone and placing yet another call.
“Hey, it’s me. For fuck’s sake, call me back, text me, something.
Let me know where you are.” I don’t need to ask who he called.
Nix is MIA and has been since Colt first called him after the police arrived and pulled us away from the house.
I don’t think I’ve ever been asked the same questions so many times in a row.
Yes, I received a phone call from my mother that inspired my stepbrother and me to go to the house.
No, I didn’t see anybody who shouldn’t have been around—no strange cars, no people.
No, we didn’t hear anything coming from the house before the explosion.
No, I can’t imagine who would do this.
Then again, the detectives we spoke to made it a point to remind us there’s no way of knowing just yet exactly what happened.
Why did the house explode like it did? “It could be a faulty gas line. Unfortunately, these things do happen. Did your mother say anything about a strange smell in the house?”
The question shouldn’t have made me laugh, but it did, laughter I couldn’t hold back no matter how embarrassing it was. The two detectives exchanged a look I knew was one of concern but not surprise. They’ve probably seen enough people in shock to dismiss things like that.
No, there wasn’t a strange smell in the house. It was something much worse.
Did he do it? Why would he have done it?
No, I can’t believe he would deliberately blow up his own house to cover up what he’d done.
Not while he was still inside. Granted, we don’t know for sure whether he was, but facts are facts.
There’s no reaching James on his phone, he wasn’t at the office, and his car was in the driveway.
It’s now ruined, of course, buried under a mountain of rubble.
“We still don’t know for sure.” Colt crouches in front of me, taking my hands and rubbing them briskly like he’s trying to rub life into me.
“They could have gone somewhere. He could have set something up and taken her away to cover it up, you know? I wouldn’t put that past him. We still have to hope.”
It’s like I’ve never seen him before. Who is this person? Kind and helpful and sweet. “You don’t really believe that, do you?” I whisper. It’s the first thing I’ve said since we parted ways with the detectives, who promised they’d pay a visit as soon as they knew anything.
“I would believe just about anything right now because I would put nothing past him. I’m so sorry. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to tell you everything all this time. I just couldn’t.”
I can’t even process that right now. Too much is going on, too many layers to pull back.
At the heart of it is the certainty I know I can’t make him understand.
Deep inside, I know she’s gone. No way would he let her live, not after she found the truth.
He must have decided it would be easier to kill both of them.
After all, she had already called me. So he knew I was aware of what she’d found.
No way was he going to be able to keep his secret much longer.
If only we had gotten there sooner. Then again, we could have been caught in the explosion if we had.
“I’m so tired,” I whisper. That doesn’t even begin to describe it. The total exhaustion, the weakness in my muscles. “I should go back to my place.”
“No, you should stay here. The police said they will come by as soon as they know more.”
“Is that the only reason you want me to stay?”
“No. I want you to stay because I want you here. I don’t want you to be alone, and I don’t want to either. Please stay. You can lie down in my bed.”
I nod. The truth is, I would rather stay here as well.
He doesn’t say another word, helping me up, showing me to the bedroom.
My clothes reek of smoke, and I pull them off and toss them in a heap on the floor before crawling into bed and curling up on my side.
I hear Colt calling Nix again and leaving another message as I close my eyes, grateful sleep is already pulling me under. I can’t stand being awake anymore.
“You need to eat something.”
“I’m not hungry. I already told you.” I’ve already told him multiple times, but he is relentless. I curl up, burying my face in Colt’s fluffy pillow. It smells like him.
“This isn’t about being hungry. This is about you taking care of yourself. You have to put something in you.” Turning my head enough to see him, I catch Colt looking out the window, frowning. “It’s almost dark, and you haven’t left the room all day. You at least need to eat.”
“I said, I am not hungry. I don’t think I could eat a bite of anything.
” I roll onto my other side, away from him, but that doesn’t spare me the sound of his heavy sigh.
I can’t bring myself to care very much right now that I’m making life difficult for him.
My mother is dead, and I’m too busy trying to make sense of everything to care either way about food.
It seems so trivial when I know she’s out there somewhere in that wreck of what used to be a house, buried under all that tile and marble, granite and hardwood.
All the luxuries she ever wanted. They’re now her tomb.
I squeeze my eyes shut and tuck my chin against my chest, fighting back another wave of emotion that levels me flat no matter how I try.
She died knowing she let me down. We never even got the chance to work things out.
“It isn’t like I don’t know how you feel.” He sits on the bed, the mattress shifting under his weight. “I still can’t get ahold of Nix, either.”
I roll over, now sorry for glossing over what I know he’s going through. His back is to me, and I place a hand against it. “It could be a coincidence. I’m sure that’s what it is.”
I’m lying. It’s been twenty-four hours since the explosion—more than that, actually. Nix hasn’t so much as picked up his phone to send a quick text and let his brother know he’s okay. I can’t imagine why he would have been at the house, but anything is possible.
We both jump a little when the doorbell rings. Immediately, Colt hurries from the room, and I follow him with my heart in my throat. Who is it going to be? What will they have to tell us?
It’s the detectives from last night, people whose names I don’t quite remember. There are still a lot of things that are a blur. “Mr. Alistair, we wanted to come and speak with you personally about developments in the case.”
The woman—I think her name is Jones, maybe—looks over his shoulder to find me standing in the doorway leading from the bedroom. “Miss Peters, I’m glad you’re here as well. Why don’t we all sit down?”
And now I know it’s bad news. Not that I expected anything else.
I’m not a little girl anymore. I know certain things aren’t possible, like surviving an explosion and the destruction that followed it.
I sit on the sofa, my hands clasped between my knees, and Colt sits beside me.
To these two, we are a stepbrother and stepsister family.
I have to remember we’re not supposed to be more than that.
The man—Patterson? Maybe?—leads off. “It’s an ugly thing, what I’m about to tell you,” he warns. “After searching Mr. Alistair’s computer at his law firm, we have a pretty clear image of his state of mind.”
“What does that mean?” Colt asks.
“It means we found thousands of images and videos recorded over the course of several years.” His eyes drift my way. “Of you, Miss Peters.”
“Me?”
“You were a gymnast, were you not?” I nod, mute with surprise.
“It seems Mr. Alistair had what can only be described as an obsession. He took videos of you during competitions and oftentimes zoomed in on specific body parts.” He clears his throat, his face darkening a little as he looks at his partner.
“The dates on the files stretch back four years to when you were fourteen years old,” she explains in a gentle voice. “I’m sure this must come as quite a shock, especially seeing as how he was your stepfather for a short time.”
“Mr. Alistair,” Patterson continues, looking at Colt. “Did you know about any of this? Did you ever have any idea of your father’s feelings toward your stepsister?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. I did. My brother and I both did. He moved us here so he could be closer to Leni. I knew about it even before we moved. It was the reason he…” His face crumples a little like there’s something he has to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it.
“It was the reason he tried to kill our mother.”
I can’t wrap my head around it. I hear what he’s saying, but it makes no sense. Like he’s speaking another language.
“Would you care to elaborate on that?” Jones asks, and now I see she’s taking notes.
“I guess he first saw Leni during a competition. My mom, she was a coach. Leni was one of the gymnasts on another team. And I don’t know.
He was obsessed with her. He started taking random business trips, just out of nowhere, last minute.
We found out later he was actually traveling to the places where Leni was competing. ”
All I can do is dig my nails into my palms as I absorb this. All that time.
“That was what first clued my mom into what was going on,” Colt mumbles.
“He was supposed to be at a conference or something, then she found out there was no such conference going on, so she started digging into his travel arrangements and stuff. And then, I guess she found some of his pictures, something. And when she confronted him with it… we thought he killed her, my brother and me. He told us she was in a coma after he took her to the hospital.”
My mouth is hanging open, and I can’t seem to close it for long before it falls open again. That’s what he was holding over their heads?
“He wouldn’t tell us where she was, but he did send us a picture once when he visited her.
She had tubes coming out of her and one of those braces around her neck.
She was on a ventilator. And he told us if we didn’t do what he wanted, and if we ever told anybody about the things he did, he would end her care.
And we would never know where she was, or when she died, or any of it. ”
He hangs his head and whispers, “And if she died, it would be our fault.”
“We are going through your father’s financial records, as well,” Patterson tells us.
“And it does look like he had some payments through a shell corporation going to a hospital out of state. In fact, we were going to ask you about that. If you knew why your father would be sending money to a hospital under seemingly anonymous circumstances. We’ll dig deeper into that and let you know what we find. ”
“You think you can find my mom?” There’s the tiniest bit of a tremble in his voice, and it goes straight to my heart. All this time, James was using her to manipulate them. He knew how much they loved her, and he used it against them to get what he wanted.
I hope wherever he is now, he’s suffering. Alive or dead, I don’t care. I want him to hurt.
Jones clears her throat and stands in front of the two of us. “The fire marshal’s report will say the explosion and the subsequent fire were set purposely. It was arson. The jets on the stove were all turned on, all the way up, along with the oven. That sort of thing doesn’t happen accidentally.”
“And you know it was my mom in there?” I whisper.
“Yes, one of the bodies identified is that of Mrs. Amanda Alistair. Again, I’m very sorry.” Her brow wrinkles. “And I’m sorry to give you more bad news, but the firefighters recovered three bodies.”
“Three.” Colt sinks back on the sofa and covers his face with his hands.
“Yes, besides your father, it would appear that your brother, Nix, was also inside the house. We’re very sorry to have to break this to you.”
“You’re wrong.” Colt jumps up, shaking his head and waving his hands. “You’re wrong. Somebody made a mistake. Nix wasn’t there. He couldn’t have been. This is all a mistake. It was somebody else.”
“Do you have any idea who else might have been in the house? An employee, maybe? Domestic help?”
There was no such person, at least nobody I ever saw.
“No, but there has to be another explanation. It wasn’t him. It’s not him.”
The two of them exchange a look that’s easy enough to read.
“Again, we’re very sorry,” Jones murmurs.
“And as my partner said, we will call you as soon as we find anything about the first Mrs. Alistair. Please, take care of yourselves. Take care of each other. And let us know if you can think of anything else that might be worthwhile in the investigation.”
I’m the one who has to show them to the door because Colt is in no condition. Pacing, shaking his head, snarling.
When we’re alone, I turn to him. “Colt, there’s really nobody else it could have been, is there? I’m sorry, I hate to believe it, too.”
“You don’t know. All these fucking years. And this is how it ends? Having to do what he wanted all this time because otherwise, he would have let our mother die. Do you think he wouldn’t have? Do you think that was an idle threat?”
“I don’t think it was an idle threat.”
“So what? He dies in a fucking explosion along with that sick bastard? How does that make sense? How is that fair?” He leans against the nearest wall and slides down until he’s on the floor, folding his arms over his knees and touching his forehead to them.
I feel so helpless—useless. I don’t know the right thing to say or if there is any right thing at a time like this.
All I can do is sit down with him. Be close to him and let him know he isn’t alone.
Because, after all, we have to take care of each other. We’re all we have.