Chapter 26
It was hard to read the directions on the map. Like so many others, Dillon had gotten used to using his phone for directions. But technology was supposed to make his life easier. But that’s not how his father saw it.
Dillon’s father had wanted him to be a man’s man, someone who could fix a car or build a house, but Dillon wasn’t like his father. His father was simple. Dillon was complicated, and he had much more fun toying with people’s minds than he did trying to fix a leaky faucet.
Dillon’s father had died years ago, but he had lived long enough to see what his son became. And Dillon still remembered the disappointment in his father’s eyes as he learned the truth.
Robbing banks wasn’t a normal career path, but Dillon had never been normal. His father had always reminded him of that. Dillon had been conflicted about telling his dad the truth. Part of him believed his father would go to the police to give his son up, but obviously, that had never happened.
But Dillon’s father did something far worse than ratting on his son. He had shunned him, shut him out of the family.
Dillon had a younger sister and a mother who still loved him, but he supposed all mothers were like that, especially with their eldest sons. But all it took was one word from his father, and he never heard from or saw them again.
Despite how Dillon was prone to enjoying solitude, the fact that he could no longer access that one piece of him that was connected to something good was more painful than any physical wound. All because his father couldn’t understand him and refused to accept him for what he really was.
Dillon was aware he was a sociopath. He was self-actualized in that regard. It wasn’t his fault. No one blamed a lion for killing. It was in their nature. But the moment Dillon did something out of line with the rest of society, he was branded a criminal and an enemy of the state.
And a bad son.
Dillon had kept hold of the picture he had found hanging up in Sydney’s locker.
It was a picture of Maggie and her family.
They were all happy and smiling outside of the cabin.
When he looked at that picture, he had flashbacks about his own family.
His father had called him mischievous when he was a boy, but there was always a more malicious intent behind it.
“Well, Dad,” Dillon said, speaking aloud to the sky, “you always said I ruined our family. Maybe you’re right. But you were wrong about me not amounting to anything. I will come out on top. Just like I did with you.”
Dillon’s family had always believed that their father had died of natural causes. But Dillon had paid his father a final visit. He had given his father a choice. He could take enough sleeping pills that he would die, or Dillon would kill his mother, sister, and younger brother.
The disgust in his father’s eyes couldn’t be faked.
But he didn’t hesitate in his decision. He took the pills, and Dillon smiled as he watched his father die.
Dillon believed the world revolved around him.
He was the center of the universe, and it was his mission to destroy anyone who tried to stop him.
It was why Dillon wanted to go to John’s family cabin, to destroy another family who had hated him. In many ways, John Carver was like Dillon’s father. Perhaps that was why Dillon had hated him so much.
The truck struggled a bit when Dillon reached the dirt road, and he didn’t know how much farther he had to drive. Eventually, the truck ran out of gas, and he ditched it on the side of the road.
The cabin was in the middle of nowhere. Dillon had long since passed any hint of civilization in the area.
Dillon swatted the bugs and flies that came after him.
It was frustrating to be out here. He should have been on his barge, heading south to the airfields and out of the EMP zone, where he had a plane waiting for him.
Dillon had worked hard to steal that money from Cincinnati Federal Reserve Bank, but John and Maggie had ruined that for him.
After nearly a mile of walking, Dillon’s body felt like it was going to fall apart. But he was driven by the desire for his revenge, and shortly after he reached his breaking point, he saw the cabin up ahead.
It was built in a small meadow with a stream running nearby.
It was like something out of a postcard.
It was surrounded by old forest growth. This far away from the main road, there was nothing but the noise of the forest. It was far too quiet for Dillon’s taste, but he supposed that it was the most idyllic location for a family.
When Dillon saw the cars parked out front, it was clear people were inside, but Dillon wasn’t sure who.
Dillon carefully maneuvered around the cabin, looking into the windows. He couldn’t see anybody. The interior was too dark, and with one eye still swollen shut from his fight with John, he wasn’t certain he could trust what he was seeing.
But Dillon wondered if he could use his condition to his advantage, and he hobbled around to the front door, making it look like he was more tired and exhausted than he was.
“Hello?” Dillon asked, his voice pleading. “Is anybody there? I need some help.”
Dillon reached the front door, knocked, and waited. He was almost certain someone was inside, but there was no way Maggie and her husband had beaten him there.
“Please,” Dillon asked, putting on the best show he could muster.
Finally, the door cracked open, and Dillon was met with the business end of a shotgun. He feigned surprise and jumped back in a cowardly retreat.
“Please,” Dillon said, holding up his hands and bowing his head. “I don’t want any trouble.”
It was hard for Dillon to see out of his one good eye, but he was able to see it was only Maggie’s son. The one he’d seen at the hospital earlier. But the boy had been unconscious then. He had no idea who Dillon was.
“Didn’t you see the signs?” the kid asked. “This is private property. You need to leave.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Dillon answered, pretending to fumble over his words. “I didn’t see the signs. I just… I’ve walked so far, and I wasn’t even sure I was in the right place. Maggie sent me?—”
“Who?” the kid asked.
“Are you her son?” Dillon asked. “She told me about you. She said you could help me.”
The kid lowered the shotgun a little. He studied Dillon more closely, and his expression softened when he saw the state of Dillon’s condition.
“Why did my mom send you here?” Blake asked. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“I helped her in the city,” Dillon answered. “She said this was a safe place to stay. Please, I… I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Dillon had always been good at playing on people’s emotions. It was one of the gifts he recognized early when he was just a kid.
Blake stepped to the side, opening the door wider. “Sure, come in.”
Dillon smiled, the expression stretching his face into an unnatural position. “Thank you so much.” He hobbled forward, still playing up the broken-man angle, and then passed Blake as he entered the cabin.
Blake shut the door and locked it, and then he placed the shotgun against the window frame next to the door.
“Can I get you anything to eat or drink?” Blake asked.
“If I could have some water, that would be wonderful,” Dillon answered, and then he finally noticed the man on the couch. Dillon jumped with surprise, but Blake was quick to calm him down.
“It’s okay,” Blake said. “He is alive, but he’s just resting.”
“What happened to him?” Dillon asked.
Blake filled a glass of water and then brought it over to Dillon in the living room. “He is a friend of my dad. They were heading into the city to come to get me because I broke my arm. But on my way to the hospital, they were attacked, and Jake was shot.”
Dillon sipped from the glass of water. “And is your arm okay now?”
Blake stared at the cast wrapped around his left arm. He had used it to prop up the gun when he opened the door. “It doesn’t hurt very much now, but it is starting to be very itchy underneath.”
“I broke my arm when I was your age,” Dillon said, even though it was a lie. “I had to use a wire coat hanger to scratch it underneath. It was the only way I could get it to stop itching.”
Blake smiled. “I’ll have to try that. Thanks.”
It was almost too easy for Dillon. If he weren’t so focused on getting what he wanted, he would have felt bad. But guilt had never been an emotion Dillon was capable of feeling.
“How is he doing?” Dillon asked, walking over to the man on the couch.
Blake joined Dillon. “I don’t really know. The nurses at the hospital patched him up as best as they could and then gave him some of these pills to take. I’ve been making sure he’s been taking them every few hours to help with the pain.”
Dillon leaned closer to the man and then placed his hand on his forehead. He frowned. “Feels like he’s really warm.”
Blake touched the man’s head, too, and Dillon watched as the wheels of uncertainty and worry churned in the boy’s head.
“He does feel a little hot,” Blake said. “I wonder if he has a fever.”
“If that’s the case, then we need to cool him down,” Dillon said. “It could be dangerous for him if his fever gets too high. Do you have a thermometer or anything we can use to check it to make sure?”
“Yeah, there’s one,” Blake said. “My mom is a nurse, so we have a pretty nice setup for medical equipment here.”
“Go,” Dillon said. “Hurry.”
Blake disappeared into one of the back rooms. While the kid was busy searching for the medical supplies, Dillon took the opportunity to scan the house.
He was certain Maggie and her husband had a stash of weapons somewhere.
This was the kind of home and family who were prepared for all outcomes, including defending themselves.
The man stirred on the couch, and Dillon glanced over at him as he searched through the cabinets and the rooms.
“Do you need any help back there?” Dillon asked.
“No, I’ve got it,” Blake answered, his voice muffled from the walls and the rooms.
Dillon wasn’t sure how the man on the couch was going to react if he woke up, and he would have preferred if the man remained unconscious.
“Can you tell if he is shivering?” Blake asked, shouting from the back rooms.
Dillon rolled his eyes, and then we walked over to the man on the couch. He was twitching, but Dillon wouldn’t say he was shivering.
“No,” Dillon said.
“I think that is a good sign,” Blake said.
“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Dillon shouted, already irritated with the boy’s do-goodness.
The kid was like his father in that regard, a man who was willing to save others. Dillon had always hated altruistic acts and selflessness. He much preferred being selfish. It was infinitely more fun and satisfying.
Just before Dillon was about to turn away from the man on the couch, he stirred awake and opened his eyes. The pair of men glanced at one another, and it was clear to Dillon that the guy recognized him.
“You,” Jake said, his eyes widening with surprise. “Holy shit, it’s you?—”
Dillon covered Jake’s mouth before his voice rose any higher, and he reached for the knife in his pocket. He didn’t hesitate as he jabbed the blade into the man’s side, sticking him repeatedly.
Each time that Dillon shoved the knife into the man’s side, he groaned into Dillon’s palm.
Blood poured onto the couch, staining the cushions, and after the man finally lay completely still, Dillon quickly covered up the blood and blanket and shut the man’s eyes.
He was dead, and Dillon wasn’t sure how long he was going to be able to fool the boy into thinking he was still alive.
But just as Dillon was dealing with one problem, he saw another approaching through the window. It was a massive truck pulling up to the front of the cabin. He saw Maggie’s daughter, Sydney, quickly get out and hurry toward the cabin.
“Blake?” she shouted. “Blake, are you here?”
Dillon had to think quickly, or his plan for revenge would unravel. He heard the boy move closer to him from the back of the room.
“Okay, I have a thermometer and some ice packs,” Blake said, staring down at the items in his hands. “Once we break them, they will start to cool down, and we can place some around his body. Do you think we should?—”
Dillon was on Blake before the boy realized what was happening. He quickly clamped his hand over Blake’s mouth so he couldn’t scream and pinned the boy’s arms at his sides so we couldn’t move. He then placed the blade against Blake’s throat and used him as a shield as the front door swung open.
“Blake, are you—” Sydney froze when she saw Dillon with a knife to her younger brother’s throat. It took her a moment to react, but by the time she decided to raise the rifle, it was too late.
“Drop the gun,” Dillon said. “You already know what I am capable of, so I suggest you don’t try anything stupid.”
Even with the threat of losing her brother, Sydney almost didn’t comply. But in the end, she set the gun down and raised her hands. Dillon was in complete control now.
“Well, well, well,” Dillon said, marveling at what he had already been able to do. “It looks like the family is coming back together. So, why don’t we all come inside and play a little game until your parents show up?”