Chapter Seventeen
Alice
F ear has staked its claim, gripping me like an iron fist as I sit at the kitchen table of the main house and listen to Braxten fill in Craig, his brothers, and father on the chilling phone call he received.
As expected, our tormenter made another move, this time giving us a piece to the sadistic puzzle he has carefully crafted. That piece being the group home where the three boys met years ago. A time that clearly holds some very dark memories for them.
“Let’s go with the probability that this asshole is telling the truth,” Justice says. “This clearly has to do with Hobbs and what went down that night. What we need to figure out is who cared enough about that piece of shit to want to seek revenge after all these years.”
“And where she fits into it,” Knox adds, flicking a terse nod in my direction. “Considering it was an all boys home, I don’t see how she could have anything to do with that place.”
Braxten’s tormented gaze shifts to mine, his desolate expression tearing me apart. Whatever happened all those years ago still haunts him so deeply.
From the little I’ve gotten from the conversation it seems to involve this Hobbs person, the head guard in charge.
“I don’t know,” Braxten murmurs. “But he said if we find out who she is we will find out who he is.”
My heart hollows, hating to think that I could be part of their painful past.
Craig pulls out the tan folder he brought with him to the house.
“This is everything I have been able to compile on the group home so far,” he says, opening the file.
“I have a list of names of everyone who attended there the same time as you three, including the employees. I’m still waiting for the history report on Hobbs, it should be coming in any time now, but I was able to pull everyone else’s background along with a picture and updated info, except for one… ”
“Who?” Justice asks.
Craig looks down at his notes. “A Keith Jones?”
“That piece of shit,” Knox spits, his disgust for the man apparent.
Craig cocks a brow. “I take it you know him?”
“He was second in command,” Braxten tells him. “He was close to Hobbs and could be just as much of an asshole.”
“Do you think he could be capable of this?”
Braxten shrugs. “It’s possible, I guess, but the Jones I remember was a follower, not a leader. I’m not sure he is smart enough to pull off what this guy has.”
“Agreed,” Justice says.
“Well, he might just be smarter than you think.” Craig pulls out one of the reports from the stack that sits in front of him.
“I was able to get his full history right up until the night of the fire. After that, there is nothing. No place of employment. No current address or telephone number. Not even a fucking credit card purchase. He has completely vanished.”
“Could he be deceased?” Thatcher asks.
“Doubtful since I can’t find a death certificate, but I will do more digging. In the meantime, we need to comb through every single one of these files and hope there is something else to go on.”
He hands out a file to every person, pausing at me.
“I think it would be good for you to look too, if you’re up for it?” he asks carefully. “Maybe something will stand out to you, seem familiar…”
“No,” Braxten answers before I can. “She’s been through enough already.”
“It’s fine, Braxten,” I assure him, placing my hand on his arm. “I want to help. It’s the least I can do.”
“You don’t owe us anything,” he counters firmly.
He’s wrong, I owe them all so much, especially him, but I don’t use that argument.
“I owe it to myself,” I tell him instead. “To the girl I was before I woke up in the hospital.”
His jaw ticks, clearly still not liking the idea, but he doesn’t fight me on it. He nods at Craig, giving him the go ahead to hand me the file.
“Thank you,” I whisper, accepting the report. “What should I be looking for exactly?”
“Everything,” he says. “Where they came from, where they went after the fire, and where they are now. If there is a period of time that is unaccounted for, I need to know about it.”
With that understanding, we all open our files and begin to read.
The first person I read about is Todd Wilkins, a child who resided at the home the same time as the boys. It has everything about his past from his mother dying of an overdose when he was only five years old, to the abusive foster homes he suffered in before ending up at the group home.
It’s a very heartbreaking story, but thankfully, it ends on a happy note. The foster home he was placed with after the fire was a good one and the couple ended up adopting him. From there, he went on to earn a doctorate degree and is now happily married with a wife and three young children.
After looking through all the pictures, I grab another file. When nothing stands out to me in that one, I grab another, my hope dwindling with every stack I read through.
“I don’t even recognize half of these fucking people,” Justice grumbles, clearly frustrated.
“Same,” Knox adds.
“I remember him,” Braxten says, voice solemn as he pushes his folder toward his brothers. “That’s the kid I found in the basement that night.”
“Found?” Craig asks, looking for clarification.
Braxten nods. “The same night I found out what Hobbs was really capable of.” He doesn’t elaborate further than that, but he doesn’t need to, the trauma of whatever he saw is in the grim set of his expression.
Knox picks up the picture from the folder, reading the back of it. “Andon Denton.”
“Where is he now?” Justice asks.
“Says here he’s married and lives in St. George, Utah, coaching a high school football team.”
“Looks like he turned out okay,” Thatcher says. “Just like my boys.” The pride in his voice is unmistakable.
As I grab another file, a photograph falls out. Picking it up, I see it’s a group picture of four adult men and several young boys. All of them wear smiles, the lot of them looking like one big happy family.
I look over each person carefully, studying all the unfamiliar faces until one freezes me in time, their smile changing from friendly to cold and sinister.
Familiarity strikes hard, hitting me on impact. I spring out of my chair, knocking it over in my haste, and feel my breath start to race in and out.
“Alice?” Braxten shoves out of his seat and rushes to my side. “What’s wrong?”
His voice is distant, muffled by the thundering beat of my heart. I try to speak, but can’t, the panic gripping me is too strong.
Memories begin to assault me all at once, making it feel like my head is going to explode. Each one passes through at Mach speed, sending me hurtling into the past.
First, it’s a memory of me as a little girl running around a big yard, laughing as I’m being chased by the man in the picture.
Daddy’s going to get you.
The moment he catches me, he lifts me into his arms, telling me how much he loves me.
That memory quickly transitions into another. This one of a car crash that has glass raining all around me. The woman in the driver’s seat stares back at me as we sail through the air, a look of love and regret drowning in the tears that fill her eyes.
Then comes the worst memory of all, the one of me being tied to a post time and time again. Though I can’t see his face, the man who caught me in his arms flashes in my mind before I feel the burn of the lash across my back, leaving my skin raw and blood soaked.
You’ve been a bad girl again, Alice. It’s time for your punishment.
The unfathomable pain engulfs me, drowning me in a black abyss.
“Alice, snap the fuck out of it!”
Braxten’s hard voice penetrates the chaos of my mind. A sharp breath impales my lungs as I catapult back to the present. I find myself in Braxten’s arms on the kitchen floor, the sound of my gut wrenching sobs exploding through the room.
“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, rocking me back and forth. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
“It’s him,” I choke out, barely managing the words. “He’s the one who hurt me.”
“Who?” he asks.
“In the picture,” I gasp, still struggling for breath.
Craig quickly grabs the photo from the table and kneels before me. “Which one, Alice? Show me.”
I point to the shorter, stockier man on the left, my finger shaking uncontrollably.
Braxten stiffens, his arms tightening around me. “No, that’s not possible. You’re confused, Alice.”
I shake my head. “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” He turns me to face him, forcing my gaze to his. “It can’t be him because he’s dead. He has been for a long time. I know this because we killed him.”
I shake my head.
“Yes!”
“Listen to me,” I yell back, fisting the front of his shirt in a desperate attempt to make him understand.
“He tied me up, Braxten,” I confess through a torrent of sobs.
“He’d whip me until I lost consciousness.
That’s what my nightmare was about the other night.
I couldn’t see his face, but it was him, I know it. ”
Something that can only be described as utter shock slips over his face before it morphs into pure anguish. The emotion sends my already desolate heart crumbling.
Craig pulls out his phone, making a call. “Sims, do me a favor and check my office to see if a fax came in that I’m waiting for. Yeah, thanks.”
Silence fills the room for only a second.
“I need you to scan it and email it to me immediately.”
“I have a fax machine in the office,” Thatcher says.
“Never mind. Fax it instead,” Craig orders, reciting the number back to his deputy before following Thatcher out of the room.
Justice and Knox stand around us, their arms crossed over their chests as they share the same look of haunted disbelief as their brother.
“Who is he?” I ask, the question barely a whisper because I have a feeling I already know, but I’m praying I am wrong.
Braxten’s unable to speak, his jaw locked as he fights the emotions dominating his expression.
Justice ends up answering for him. “The man you just pointed to is Hobbs.”
My eyes fall closed, despair consuming me.
Daddy’s going to get you.
“Oh god,” I hug my knees to my chest, feeling like I might get physically sick.
Braxten’s arms hug me closer, but there is no warmth or emotion in the embrace. It’s an automatic reaction—a robotic act—a cold empty shell.
Craig and Thatcher walk back into the kitchen just then, their somber expressions portraying what I already know in my heart.
“Well?” Knox asks, anxiously. “What the fuck does it say?”
Craig begins to read from the newest document he holds. “Fredrick Harlen Hobbs had been survived by his wife, Bonnie, and teenage daughter, Alice, until the two lost their lives in a car crash one year following his death.”
The disclosure drops into the quiet space like an atom bomb, the sonic blast reverberating around the room as it’s revealed that the blood of their tormentor runs through my veins.
“Though, only a few of the remains located in the charred wreckage could be identified as that of Bonnie Hobbs, Alice Hobbs was pronounced deceased as well, her remains presumed to be lost within the ashes.”
A tortured breath leaves Justice, the one word sounding as broken as my heart.
Knox remains silent next to him, his hands balled into tight fists as his hatred for me becomes validated.
I choose not to look back at Braxten, knowing I won’t be able to bear what will be in his gaze.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Justice says. “That crash was over ten fucking years ago. How does this much time pass without anyone knowing she’s alive?”
“Because he kept her hidden,” Braxten finally speaks, the sound of his voice as forlorn as the tension blanketing the room.
If the little I remember is accurate, I wasn’t just hidden, I was locked away, tortured in ways that will haunt me for eternity.
“Regardless, we know who she is now,” Knox says. “And if what she remembers is true, then she isn’t the only dead man walking. Hobbs is still alive and the bastard is out for blood.”
The spoken truth has me longing to curl in even closer to Braxten, but no matter how much I want to remain in his arms forever it will never happen, because what has been discovered has no doubt changed the dynamic of our relationship forever.