Chapter 42
Dylan
It was Christmas Eve, and we were all sitting around the dinner table, eating and laughing.
The tree lights blinked colorfully, and pumpkin-spice candles mingled with the smell of roasted meat and cookies.
Elizabeth and Markus were going on and on to Lila about how good they had been all year, constantly glancing at the elf on the shelf on the sideboard. As if that elf would decide whether they woke up to gifts or tears.
Ethan sat across from them, one hand on his fork, the other scrolling on his phone under the table.
Amanda wore a red mini dress and a Christmas apron printed with the words “Best Stepmom Ever.” Lila’s birthday gift from last year.
The contrast between the apron and her outfit was bizarre.
Her fake boobs, heavy makeup, and high heels made her look like something straight out of OnlyFans.
Which was fine, if only that was who she wanted to be.
Grandma sat in her wheelchair at the side of the table. Next to me. Watching with a blanket over her legs.
She’d had a stomach bug all week and barely touched her food. Just sipped tea and followed the conversation with tired eyes.
At the head of the table, my dad leaned back in his chair, waiting for Amanda to refill his wine like he was some old king being served at court. I was about to say as much when my phone rang.
Nolan.
I froze. Then picked up quickly. “Yes?”
“It’s me. Detective Nolan.”
“I know. What happened?”
“Are you sitting?”
“Yes.”
“Good, cuz I think I have some really good news for you all.”
I paused. The laughter around the table kept going over the Christmas music.
“John Myers …” he said. “He was found dead in a cabin near the Seacoast Inn.”
“What?” The word came out loud and intense.
The whole room went quiet.
The music kept playing until I gestured at the Bluetooth speaker. Lila reached over and turned it off.
“Is everything okay?” Amanda asked.
“What happened?” I asked Nolan, forcing shock into my voice.
“We don’t know,” Nolan said. “He was shot a few weeks ago but wasn’t found until this morning.”
“Holy shit,” I said.
“Holy shit indeed.”
“Do you know who did it?” I asked.
“Who the fuck knows. Apparently, the owner of the Seacoast Inn hid him there. But considering where he was found and the fact that he messed around with some of the prostitutes, it could’ve been a pimp.
Or someone the ladies hired. A drug dealer.
He also had gambling debts. The crime scene is littered with DNA of prostitutes.
The murder weapon was left on the table, but it’s an unregistered gun, and there were no prints on it.
Nobody’s talking. We don’t expect to find much more. ”
“What the actual fuck,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“What is it?” my dad asked now. Everyone was staring at me. Tense. Fearful.
“They found John Myers,” I said. “He’s dead.”
“What?” Amanda gasped.
“No way!” my dad shouted.
“Holy shit!” Lila covered her mouth.
“Hell yeah!” Ethan grinned.
My eyes moved to Grandma.
Her fingers twitched against the armrest of the wheelchair. Small movements but frantic. The only ones her body allowed. Then her lips curved. Not wide. Just that half smile on the right side of her face.
Then a tear rolled down her cheek.
I leaned over and put my arm around her shoulders.
“It’s over, Grandma,” I said, pulling her closer. “That monster is finally dead.”
The Christmas tree lights kept blinking behind me. The room smelled of cookies. People were mumbling and gasping. Yet, for the first time in years, the house felt quiet in a different way.
“Is your grandma there? Did she hear the good news?” Nolan asked as Amanda started crying.
My dad pulled her into his arms to comfort her. Lila and Ethan mumbled excitedly while Elizabeth and Markus looked lost and confused.
It was a scene of chaos.
In all the best ways.
The faces of the people I loved looked like they had just woken from a long, heavy nightmare. Like their lives could finally resume, free from the monster of our past. The worst chapters of our lives were finally closing with a dull thud.
“Hello?” Nolan asked again.
“Sorry. Yeah, my grandma knows. She’s here.”
Silence hung on the other end for a moment.
“Good,” he finally said. “Tell her I’m happy for her.”
“I will.”
“Did … he ever reach out to you?” Nolan asked out of the blue.
“Who? Myers?” I asked back, even though I knew exactly who he meant.
“Yeah.”
I shook my head. “Nope. Nothing.”
My turn. “Do you know anything about what happened?”
“No. I told you all I know. The AG wants this to go away quietly to avoid any more lawsuits against the State. Harlow is being shut up now that his last lifeline is gone. There won’t be much digging.
It all points to a fight between scum at the Seacoast Inn.
That shithole had two shootings in the last six months alone. Both deadly.”
“You said he was shot?” I asked.
“Yeah. Around Thanksgiving.”
“Shot around Thanksgiving at the Seacoast Inn,” I repeated loudly and watched my dad freeze. He was still holding Amanda, who cried into his broad shoulder.
Slowly, almost carefully, his eyes lifted and met mine.
“Hey, listen, I’ll call you back later,” Nolan said. “I just wanted to call you as soon as I could.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”
“Merry Christmas,” Nolan added. “You’ll all sleep in peace tonight.”
“We will. Thank you. And merry Christmas to you too.”
The call ended.
Phone still in hand, I stared at my dad. The world continued around us. Amanda sniffled. Lila hugged Markus. Ethan laughed too loudly at something. Plates clinked again. Life resumed.
But my dad and I didn’t move an inch.
“They said they don’t know who did it,” I said, still looking at him. I could see the shock in his eyes. The disbelief. The tightness in his jaw.
He understood. Thanksgiving. The Seacoast Inn. Myers dead.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to look deeper. Deep into that dark corner where a man would hide his secrets.
For a moment, the room faded. The Christmas lights blurred. The laughter sounded far away.
And all that existed was him and me.
And the ultimate question.
Did he do it? Did he have Zach killed?
Because if he did, I’d be the first to call Nolan and tell him about my dad acting strange after Thanksgiving. About the way he disappeared with his Porsche that night.
And my dad wasn’t stupid.
He knew that going to the gas station I’d sent him to, the same one where Myers had been caught years ago after Zach was murdered, meant cameras. Recording every license plate and face. And, in this case, also recording the same Porsche Lucy had seen me pull up in.
The same Porsche I’d used to take her to the HIV center.
That day I told her my name was Brian. My dad’s name.
I’d worn a baseball cap. A COVID mask. We had the same height and muscular build.
When he got to the gas station the night I killed Myers, I wasn’t there, of course.
So he called, asking where I was. I apologized and said my car started again, said my phone battery died, and I couldn’t call him sooner.
Told him I had to rush back to the hospital for an emergency and couldn’t wait for him at the motel.
Best part was that I had an alibi nobody would tear apart.
Hospital cameras caught me walking down certain hallways. I chose the ones with cameras when I needed to be seen. Took the back stairs and service doors when I needed to disappear. Even parked my car in a dark alley instead of the parking garage so no one could trace the exact times.
Plenty of witnesses too.
Any gaps would be explained by my searching for my phone. Bathroom stalls. The showers. My car.
It all fit.
I even went further. I bought Willy, the homeless patient, a Florida sweater and a baseball cap. The exact kind Myers wore when he dropped off the note. Made sure people noticed Willy in those clothes. Mentioned it casually. Let it stick.
Willy wore them proudly as he insisted he was Jesus. Said it was winter in summer and summer in winter. Talked about voices. Nobody would question that it wasn’t him who dropped something off for me. Nobody would ever connect me to Myers that night he died.
The pieces were in place. They were rock solid.
The expression on my dad’s face as he put one and one together was almost as satisfying as knowing Myers would never hurt anybody ever again.
It was almost as satisfying as knowing my mother could finally rest in peace. Free from new murder allegations. And my grandmother would close her eyes one day without wondering where Myers was.
Amanda. Lila. Ethan. They would sleep again too. No more waking up wondering if Myers would show up to hurt us. No more glancing over shoulders in parking lots. The people I loved were finally breathing again.
My grandma’s fingers trembled as she clutched the wristband with my mother’s picture in her hand. As if she was saying, “Sweetheart, it’s over. We won. Rest now. I’ll see you soon.”
My eyes went back to my dad.
“The police say they’ll close the case quietly,” I said, my voice steady.
“They think it was some drug dealer or pimp who shot Myers. And unless somebody steps forward with tips or new evidence—I don’t know, like some gas station footage or something—the case is pretty much closed. So we can finally move on. Right, Dad?”
Was it fear flickering over his tense face? Fear from thinking I had found out the truth? That he was the one who got Zach killed? Or fear that I killed Myers and made it look like he did?
“Aren’t we, Dad?” I repeated, slower this time. “Moving on? Living the best life we possibly can?”
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
“Dad?” Lila asked. “You okay?”
“Oh, uh, yes,” he said, forcing a smile. “Sorry. All this is just so shocking.”
“It is,” Amanda said, nodding. “Would it be wrong to get some champagne? I mean … someone died. Even if that someone was a monster.”
“No,” I said. “I think that’s a great idea. Very fitting. Celebrating the death of a monster. Right, Dad?”
“Y-yes,” he said.
Amanda rushed toward the kitchen, but I stopped her. “Amanda.”
She turned, curious.