Chapter 23 #5
“How long have you been living here?” I ask, glancing out the window as I speak.
Christian exhales, hands relaxing slightly on the wheel. “Years,” he says. “I was very fortunate that the Steeles agreed to take me in.”
“You and Kai,” I start, hesitating. “You must be close.”
Christian shifts his grip on the wheel. “We are. I owe him a lot.”
“You know, you two sound awfully similar.” I lean back in my seat, watching the blur of trees outside the window. “I guess the smart gene runs in the family.”
This time, he huffs out a sound that might be a laugh. “It’s not a gene.”
I glance over. He’s not looking at me.
“You work for it, or you don’t get it,” he says simply. “Obsession will always surpass talent.”
I blink, staring at him. “So, you’re saying you—”
Christian cuts me off. “You want to know why Kai is so brilliant? So talented? It’s not because he’s gifted. Or because he’s lucky.”
Something shifts in his expression, it’s subtle, but impossible to miss. And the calm in his voice frays, just slightly. “It’s because he’s driven. Because he’s mad with resentment.”
My breath catches. And just like that, I go still.
Oh.
Christian’s eyes stay on the road, but his voice is quieter now. “Kai is made of rage, Adeline. And hate. He wakes up with it. He builds with it. He wins with it.”
He glances at me then.
“And that’s why no one can stop him. Because he is nothing but will. And wrath. And the kind of madness this world was never ready for.”
His brows furrow, and his grip on the wheel tightens. There’s a long pause, and I’m not sure if he’s going to say anything else.
“But why? Why is he so angry?” I ask gently.
I’ve never seen him behave that way, is what I want to say.
But in fact, I don’t really know him at all.
Christian nods slowly, as if considering something. “It’s easier to be furious,” he says, “than it is to admit you’re broken.”
That hits me in a way I wasn’t expecting.
Because he’s right. And I’ve seen it enough times in my own house to know.
Anger is a mask we wear to hide the hurt underneath.
Sometimes, it’s easier to lash out than to let anyone see how deeply you’ve been wounded.
I guess, maybe, that’s what it was like for Mason during his episodes—if you could even call them that.
My chest tightens, and I glance down at my hands, suddenly restless. “That never really goes away,” I mutter, more to myself than to him.
Christian glances at me briefly, his expression thoughtful. “We’re all products of our past, are we not?”
I’m about to reply, but that’s when I realize the car has stopped and I see my house.
We’re here.
***
When I finally arrive home after an excruciatingly long day of work, it’s already dark.
Placing the keys down in their usual spot, I quite literally drag myself to the kitchen to restock the fridge. I try to focus on that instead of the note burning a hole in my thoughts. Work was a disaster. Rick yelled. Edna complained. I barely managed to focus on anything, and it showed.
I’m so exhausted. All I want is to collapse into bed and forget today ever happened. But responsibilities call. Or more like yell.
Should I tell Naomi and Sam about the note? I think as I slowly make my way up the stairs. A part of me thinks that maybe it might be better to keep it to myself, but the other part also knows it would be better to tell them. But would it, really?
I guess we did promise to tell each other everything… but it’s not like they haven’t broken promises to me before.
When I step into Naomi’s room, she’s plucking her eyebrows in front of the mirror. Sam’s at the desk, engrossed in whatever she’s scrolling through on the computer.
“Hey,” I say, my voice tired.
“Hey,” they reply in unison without looking up. I wander over to Sam, peering over her shoulder.
She’s looking through articles about our father.
My chest tightens, and I’m about to tell them about the note, but before I can say anything, something pulls my eyes to the window.
My heart stops.
A figure. Outside. Facing our house, standing still in the dark.
Pure fear. Cold fear. “Oh my god,” I mutter, my heart slamming against my ribcage, my mind trying to make sense of what exactly I’m seeing. Who in their right mind would stand out there in the dead of night, watching our house? Why are they here? What do they want?
Sam glances at me, frowning. “What?”
I manage to point toward the window, though my fingers tremble. “Look,” I say.
Her expression suddenly changes as she turns. “Shit,” she exhales, her voice wavering. “What the hell is that?”
Naomi, clearly noticing the panic and the look on our faces, comes over. “What are you guys looking at?” she asks, but the moment she sees the person, her face drains of colour.
“Oh my god,” she breathes, taking a step back.
The room goes completely silent then, and none of us move—none of us even do as much as look at each other. And the figure doesn’t move either, just stands there, motionless in the darkness, as though waiting for something.
I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s probably us.
But it’s only when the figure starts walking over to our house that we really start to panic.
***
My heart pounds in my chest as I watch the figure come to a stop right in front of the door. They don’t knock. They don’t speak. Just stand there, staring at the door. I feel my throat tighten, and the chilling sense of dread wash over me.
They won’t try to break in, will they?
That’s when the banging starts. A sudden, terrifying pounding on the door.
“Get away from the window,” I manage to whisper, my voice trembling. Naomi starts pacing the room, muttering frantically under her breath. I try to think of something calming to say to her—or to myself, honestly—but my brain is running on pure terror right now.
“Did you lock the door when you came in?” Sam’s voice breaks through the tension.
I nod quickly, and her shoulders relax just slightly, as much as they can in a situation like this.
There’s a brief let up in the banging. I grip Naomi’s shoulders, forcing her to look at me. “Naomi, breathe. We can’t fall apart now. If we panic, we’re done for.” My words feel flimsy despite my effort not to.
Sam’s eyes are on me. “What’s the plan?”
“I’ll get a knife,” I say, already moving. “Keep her calm.”
She doesn’t get a chance to respond because I’m already sprinting to the kitchen, every creak of the floorboards sends a jolt through me.
The kitchen feels too quiet. My hands fumble as I grab three knives, their cold metal digging into my sweaty palms. The banging starts again, each crash against the wood vibrating through my bones.
When I return, Naomi is sobbing, her face buried in her hands. Sam looks up at me, her eyes shadowed with fear. I thrust the knives toward them, my hands shaking so badly that the blades clatter against each other.
“We need to call the police,” Naomi says, her voice breaking.
“Do you think they’ll get here in time?” Sam’s tone is flat.
Naomi’s face crumples. “We have to do something!” Her hands tremble as she grabs my phone. “I’ll call them.”
“Fine,” I snap, my patience unravelling. “Call the police.” I glance toward the hallway, my gut twisting. “I’ll be right back.”
My legs move before I can think, carrying me to my mum’s room. I burst inside, out of breath. “Mum, you need to come with me.”
She’s sitting on the bed, her face blank, her eyes distant. “Mum, please,” I beg, tears stinging my eyes. “We don’t have time for this. I need you to trust me.” A lump forms in my throat. “Please. I’ve never asked you for anything like this. Please just do this for me.”
Nothing. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t even blink.
Frustration and fear boil over. “Fine,” I say, my voice cracking. “Stay here. I’ll protect you.” I lock her door behind me, my hands trembling so badly I nearly drop the key. Because I don’t know if we can get out of this.
The window in Naomi’s room is too high, and even if we could somehow manage to climb down, it would be too risky with the intruder below us.
My thoughts shift to the kitchen window at the back of the house.
It’s our only other option for escape. It’s not as high, and if we’re careful, we might be able to make it out unnoticed. But it’s still a risky move.
Back in Naomi’s room, she’s clutching the phone like it’s a lifeline. Who are you calling?” I ask, the edge of my voice as sharp as the knife in my hand.
“Liam,” she whispers.
My jaw drops in both shock and pure horror. Liam. Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of giving the phone to Sam instead? There is no way Liam would make it in time, even if he bothered coming. We’re better off calling the police.
The banging stops again. The silence is worse. The room seems to shrink around us. I exchange a worried glance with Sam.
I hear Liam’s voice on the phone. “You know, Addie, when I said you could ask me questions anytime, I didn’t mean this late—”
Naomi interrupts him, urgency in her voice, “It’s Naomi.”
Liam’s response is a simple “Oh.”
Sam snatches the phone from Naomi’s hand, her voice more direct and determined as she speaks. “Listen Liam, we need your help. We wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t urgent, I already sent you the address.”
I wish she would cut to the chase, avoid the small talk. Every second counts right now, and I can practically hear the clock ticking in the back of my mind. Then, I notice a shift in Liam’s tone. “Put Adeline on the phone,” he instructs.
Sam’s about to say something in response, but I reach for the phone and take it from her because there’s no time to waste, and she’s wasting a lot of it.
“Liam, I need you to come to our house. I need you to drive here fast. Someone is breaking in,” I say, hating the trembling urgency in my voice.
For a brief moment, I hear nothing on the other end of the line, but I catch the sound of his breath. Then, Liam’s voice crackles faintly through the phone. “I’m on my way, Addie. Stay on the line with me.”