Chapter Twenty-Five – Abby
The next eight days pass in a blur. There’s both so much to do and so little to do. Time drags on, and yet it passes so quickly. I’m caught in a stage of disbelief, like I still can’t believe we’re going after Connor and that I’m no longer wearing the tracking bracelet.
It means I’m no captive anymore. It officially means I’m a part of their team. I’m Mrs. D.D.K.
There’s a lot of stress relief that happens in that week, but the night before we head out, we each sleep in our own beds, alone, and we head to sleep early, using blackout curtains to help us drift off.
I take a combination of sleepy time tea and some melatonin gummies to really knock myself out.
Double dose myself with the sleep aids, and for once, the stuff actually works.
When it’s time to head out, we funnel in the car with our bag of disguises and weapons, we say goodbye to Hawthorne—though only one of us gives him a goodbye kiss—and we leave.
It really is a long drive, but Royal is a good driver.
He doesn’t speed, doesn’t break any traffic laws that would cause us to get pulled over.
When you have a bag that includes some bone saws and some creepy old Friday the 13th-esque hockey masks in it, getting pulled over and searched would end things real quick.
I doze off in the backseat for a while, and since I’m the only one in the back, I spread out a bit.
By lunch time, I’m fully awake, alert, and ready for everything tonight will bring.
We stop at a fast-food joint on the way, though we end up going through the drive-through after filling the gas tank.
Royal is a master at eating while he drives, same with Ezra. I, on the other hand, make a bit of a mess in the backseat. It’s a good thing I’m back there alone.
“So,” Ezra speaks, glancing back at me. He holds onto a half-eaten hamburger. “You excited about tonight?”
I shove a few fries in my mouth. “I am, although excitement might not be the best word.”
It’s not a strong enough word. How can I possibly explain the way I feel right now? The way the anticipation surges through every single vein in my body, how my heart is running a marathon in my chest. Everything is heightened.
But it’s Royal and Ezra, and if there are two people I don’t need to explain it to, it’s them. They felt this way when they took care of their demons. They know exactly how I’m feeling right now.
“I’m glad I don’t have to do it alone,” I say. “Don’t get me wrong, I was prepared to do it alone someday, but… it’s nice to have you guys with me. It’s good to know Hawthorne’s at home, rooting for us.”
“Rooting for us?” Royal harrumphs. “You think he’s sitting there with a cheerleading uniform on?”
I chuckle and lean forward, gently giving him a smack on the shoulder.
“You know what I mean. It’s just nice. Maybe I don’t say it enough, but I am grateful you guys are here.
” Smiling to myself, I glance down at my lap.
“I’m glad it was you two who broke into that house after me and not another pair of killers. ”
It’s Ezra who says, “And we’re glad we found you, too.” His blue eyes find me when he turns around in the front seat, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “You’re one of us now, Abby, and you always will be. You’re…” Whatever he’s about to say, he quiets, almost as if he can’t say it.
Royal is direct in what he says next. “You’re ours now.”
I don’t know if that’s what Ezra was going to say or not, but it doesn’t matter. Hearing Royal say that fills me with warmth and happiness and every other romcom-worthy emotion, things you wouldn’t normally associate with people like us.
I’m theirs. I’m theirs and they’re mine.
Huh. It has a nice ring to it, you know? Both sweet and possessive at the same time.
The smile I wear after Royal says that is one that sticks around the rest of the drive, to the point where my cheeks hurt, but I don’t care.
It’s so good to know they’re taking this seriously, that this isn’t some emotion-free hookup.
Ironic, some might say, since that’s what I suggested in the beginning.
Not once in my life have I ever been so thrilled to be wrong.
The rest of the drive passes in a blur, or what can vaguely constitute a blur since there were still hours to go after lunch. It’s dark by the time we get close, and well past any acceptable hour when we finally pull into the neighborhood.
There are so many things that can go wrong.
Even the best-laid plans can go up in flames, that I know better than most. But we aren’t the only ones on this team.
Even though we might not see them, there are other people nearby, others who are doing their part to make this as smooth of a process as it can possibly be.
The houses on the street are huge, mansions decked out with lights shining brightly onto their exterior to show off their wealth, even in the dark.
We pass a parked car that’s not near any house in particular, and no one’s inside it.
I wonder if it belongs to the other team, the one who’s going to take care of the power in the area.
“When’s the power going to go out?” I ask, poking my head between the guys in the front seat.
I haven’t seen any cameras near the street; I bet most of these people think they’re safe here, in their large, not-so-cozy homes.
So comfortable with their money that they don’t think anyone would ever dare to break into them.
They’re wrong, of course. If you can count on rich people for one thing, it’s that their noses are always so far up their own asses that they can’t see the big picture in front of them. They’re too busy smelling their own shit and complimenting each other on the stench.
“Should be anytime now,” Ezra remarks, glancing all around us as we drive. We stopped a little ways away and put on our masks, got on our gloves; you know, the whole D.D.K. ensemble. We are ready to break in and do what we came here to do.
Royal starts to ask, “How will we know—”
It’s like a scene out of a comedy. As he’s asking that question, the outside lights that decorate each expansive house shut off all at once.
Even the fancy streetlights go out. The whole street descends into darkness just like that, and the sky is thick with so many clouds that even the moon doesn’t illuminate the way.
“Guess that’s that,” he mutters.
We come upon Connor’s abode within a minute, and we pull up to the closed gate. Ezra hops out of the car after looking all around, and he pushes open the metal gate. Royal rolls the car through, and only then does Ezra let it go.
We park on the side of the house soon after that, and if I thought the anticipation was thick in my veins before, it’s even heavier now.
We get out of the car and make our way to the door.
Not the front door, but the side door that leads into the multi-car garage.
As Royal picks the lock, I already know what we’ll find in that garage.
We might not be able to see them, but I don’t doubt there will be sportscars and other vehicles most people could never dream of.
Ezra stands close, holding the bag with our weapons, and from where I stand in the darkness, I can see them both. Wearing all black, they blend into the shadows, even with those masks. The words rise up in my head: And they’re all mine.
I truly don’t know where we’ll go from here, but it doesn’t matter, because we’re going to do it together.
Royal makes short work of the lock, and once his tools are safely back in his pocket, we slip inside the garage.
We know our path through the house, so we can traverse it even in the darkness.
Our eyes are used to the shadows, so even though there are no light sources in the garage, avoiding the fancy, ridiculously expensive cars isn’t an issue.
Royal’s first, then me, then Ezra. Before we step into the house, we stop to get ready.
Royal and Ezra each get their chloroformed cloths ready.
When it’s time, I’ll give them a wide berth.
It’s late enough that even night owls should be asleep, and way too early for any morning birds to be awake.
Our window is small; we need to do what we came here for and get out so the cleaning crew can do their job.
You’d think I’d be envious once we start prowling through the mansion.
Jealous of the house, the life I could’ve had—certainly, if my sister never would’ve killed herself, I probably would’ve stayed in the rich circles in life, gotten married and probably popped out a baby or two by now for some guy who’s at least ten or fifteen years older than me.
Rich guys tend to like ‘em young. Trophy wives are a stereotype, but they’re a stereotype for a reason.
I’m not, though. The last thing I am is green with envy. Who needs a house this obscene? Who needs enough rooms to house an entire football team? Life isn’t about the size of your house or the expensive paintings inside it; it’s about the people you’re with and whether you’re happy.
And, for the first time in a long, long time, I am genuinely happy.
We go upstairs. There are a few rooms we check, rooms that could possibly be Connor’s bedroom.
He has a flight out of the country tomorrow at noon, which means he should be in bed rather than out at a party, living it up like he never left high school.
The blueprints did not label which room was his; each and every bedroom was labeled for property tax purposes, but beyond that, it’s up to us to find out where he is.
Deep into the second floor, in one of the rooms overlooking the backyard, we find him.
Fast asleep in his oversized bed, I spot him the moment I poke my head into the room, and as Royal and Ezra surround him on either side of the bed, preparing to chloroform him, I remain rooted right where I am near the door, watching.
It’s really happening. I admit, a part of me still doubted, even now, but here I am, staring right at him through the darkness. There’s no doubt left in me now.