Chapter 29 Silas
SILAS
Idrive for a while. Something isn’t right, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Ethan not seeming upset about Sly’s death, I can understand.
It’s shitty, but I get it. Sly was not a warm, loving father.
For outward appearances, he was exactly as he should be, of course, but behind closed doors, he was a fucking monster.
If it was just towards me, maybe that would have made sense in some bizarre universe, in some backwards logic, but he also beat his acknowledged son. I saw that firsthand, and he was merciless when he did it, as merciless as when he beat me.
Mira spoiled Ethan and she loves him.
Did Sly love anyone?
Ethan never said a word about the abuse.
He never showed any signs of having been beaten.
If you paid close attention, you might notice him wincing with fresh welts and bruises.
I paid attention because I knew. He put on a good show, Ethan.
And I guess what Sly was doing worked. He was hardening his boy, readying him for the ‘real’ world. It was how he justified his cruelty.
Did he realize it would make Ethan hate him?
I remember Ophelia telling me that Ethan admitted he hated his father. Did Sullivan Fox know? Did he care?
No. He wouldn’t care. He’d just expect Ethan to fall in line. To look the part of Sullivan Fox’s son.
After the whipping I witnessed, I tried to talk to Ethan.
Took him a cup of hot chocolate Mom had made late that night.
I didn’t tell her what I’d seen, and I remember her finding it strange that I’d ask for that for the boy who was my nemesis.
When I’d gone into Ethan’s room, I’d expected to find him lying in his bed licking his wounds but what I’d found had been Ethan, headphones on, obliterating his opponent in some war game on his very own giant screen TV.
When I’d opened my mouth to say something, he’d pointed to where I could leave the hot chocolate and told me to fuck off back to the kitchen. That was the one and only time I made an effort with him.
So, Ethan hated his father. He won’t mourn him in death. Maybe what he feels is relief. But this isn’t what’s nagging at me.
Seeing the ring on Ethan’s finger threw me. Why though? I’ve always hated that ring. Always. When I was little, it scared me. I guess it symbolized Sly’s true nature. The sharp, pointed ears, those red eyes—cunning, cruel eyes.
It’s not that, though. It’s that Ethan has it.
But why would that be strange? Sly always made a big deal of his son getting that ring when he was cold in his grave, saying the words his son loud enough that I’d hear.
That I’d get it. I think it bothered him to no end that I didn’t give a fuck.
That I never wanted to be his. Hell, the opposite was true.
Did he have it on when I went to see him? There were a few occasions he’d forget to wear it. Very few but still, it did happen.
Whoever killed him looked him right in the eye and did it.
Whoever pulled that trigger came with a single-minded purpose.
He came to kill.
I think back to my meeting with Sly. Was he drunk?
Drinking, yes, but not drunk. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him drunk.
He’d had his back to me while standing at the window.
He was worried about losing it all to me.
Maybe he’d come to some realization that that was happening.
He asked about those people on the street.
And when he turned around to face me, he had the tumbler of whiskey in his hand, and I remember the soft clink of the ring against the crystal.
Sly was wearing the ring that night.
I pull on the steering wheel and swerve to the shoulder to the sound of horns blaring in anger.
Tires screech to brake and avoid collision as I cross two lanes to do it.
Someone flips me off as they drive past, yelling something out their window.
I don’t bother with them as I take out my phone and find the email Nigella sent containing the police files.
I scroll to the one listing Sly’s personal items logged by the morgue and skim to the valuables.
His watch, a Rolex worth thousands. A thin gold chain with a crucifix hanging from it.
Hypocrite. His wedding band. That’s it. I skim all the pages of the report.
No fox ring. Could they have missed it? No. No way.
I find the email with the video footage of the man in the garage. I don’t look at him so much as where he’s going. He’s heading to the ramp cars would use to exit, not the door where the camera would capture his image. It’s where he disappears from view, right out of reach of the camera.
I play it again, zooming in, but the image just gets grainier. I focus on the hand at his side. He’s not wearing a glove, though he could have taken it off after shooting Fox. But again, all I see are pixels.
“Shit.”
I dial Nigella. She answers, sounding annoyed. “Silas. If you tell me you’re making your one phone call from jail again, I swear—”
“I need you to get that security footage cleaned up as much as you can.”
“What?”
“The man leaving the building. I want to see his hand.”
“His hand? Why?”
“Just do it. How soon can you get it?”
“I’m not sure I can, but I’ll make a call in the morning.”
“Now. Make the call now.”
“Everything okay, Silas?”
“I don’t know. Just get it to me. Fast.”
“Okay.”
I disconnect and push my hand into my hair, thinking.
I remember telling Ophelia Ethan didn’t have the stomach for murder, but does he?
Would he? Did Sly push him far enough and then, when he lost Ophelia, literally lost her when I rammed my SUV into their car, what happened?
How did Sly react? Would he have pushed Ethan to the brink?
My phone rings, and for a second, I think it might be Nigella already, but I know it can’t be that. I see it’s Horatio. I pick up.
“Horatio?”
“Silas. Just got off the phone with Phee. She’s worried you’re going to do something stupid.”
“Not stupid. Just overdue. When did you talk to her?”
“Just now.” I want to ask how since I took the phone, but he continues. “I need to talk to you.”
“You got me, so talk.”
“In person. Where are you?”
I look around. “Driving.” I give him the name of the cross street.
“There’s a bar near there. Hole in the wall. It’s called Eddie’s Corner. Can you get there?”
I type in the name and look at Google maps. “Yeah. It’s about ten minutes’ drive. What’s this about?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
He disconnects. I look at the phone for a minute, hearing myself tell Ophelia I won’t keep anything from her.
With a sigh, I shove the phone in my pocket and drive to Eddie’s.
Horatio is right about it being a hole, and I wonder how he even knows about it.
It’s old, and clearly no one bothered to update it ever, but people barely glance at me. Most are on their own.
I order two beers and take them to one of the high tops to wait for Horatio, who shows up as I’m taking a seat.
“What the hell happened to you?” he asks, and I realize I haven’t so much as glanced in a mirror since my ‘meeting’ with Ethan. I reach up to touch the tender spot on my face and notice the dried blood on my knuckles.
“Nothing. I’m fine. Ethan’s worse.”
“You two still at it?”
I shake my head, still thinking about that ring and what it could mean, trying to wrap my brain around the idea.
“Doesn’t matter. What’s going on? Why do we have to meet in this gem?” I ask as he takes the seat across from mine. Although it’s only been a couple of hours since I saw him, he looks like he’s had a long day. “When did you say you talked to Ophelia by the way?”
“Just got off the phone with her. Why?”
“I took her phone.”
He shakes his head. “Well, she called me from the same phone number she’s had for years.”
“Ah.” I sip my beer and guess Ethan gave her her phone back when he came to Nigella’s house on his impromptu visit. “She neglected to mention she still had that phone.”
“Why wouldn’t she have a phone?”
“Nothing. What’s this about?”
“She plans on going to Texas.”
“She can plan all she wants.”
“We’re on the same page then. She shouldn’t go.”
“What’s your deal with Gordon? Where do you stand now?”
“We do have a common goal, all three of us. We want Phee safe. I can deal with the old man. What happened with Claire happened a long time ago and he knows about Chandler of course, so that changes things.”
“Speaking of, what did Gordon mean that he wouldn’t bother Ophelia?”
Horatio sighs, then drinks a big swallow of the watery beer and makes a face but shrugs and drinks another sip. He sets the half-empty glass down and looks at me. “I think Chandler’s dead.”
“What?”
He exhales loudly. “This is what no one understands about Gordon Carlisle-Bent. He didn’t get to be as powerful as he is because he’s a nice guy. Now, he wants to do right by Phee, but that doesn’t change what he is.”
“You’re saying the old man…” I trail off, not quite believing what I’m hearing.
“Had Chandler killed,” he fills in, not missing a beat.
“Murder? He may not be a nice guy but murdering his own son?”
“Stepson. He’s not blood.”
I shake my head, trying to process when a text message comes in. I take my phone out and read it. It’s Nigella telling me she has someone working on the video, but it’ll be a few days. I tuck the phone back into my pocket.
“He loved Chandler’s mother. Even I could see that, and I wasn’t even paying attention.
I’m sure it’s why he adopted Chandler as his own.
For her. And for her part, she was younger than him and I do think she loved him but if one of them had the upper hand in that relationship, it was her.
Her name was Claire too, did you know that? ”
I shake my head. Why does this matter?
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“Anyway, what he did for Chandler, he did for his wife, not for the boy. And Chandler knew it, that much I did pay attention to. He used his mother to manipulate his adopted father.”
“And you think Gordon had him killed? Still not sure I’m with you.”
“I think Chandler pushed too far when he showed up at The Grande the night Ophelia met Higgins.”
“He knew about that?”
He drinks more of his beer. “Fucking soap opera. Chandler was likely having Phee followed and Gordon was having Chandler followed.”
I thought staying at Nigella’s house was enough to keep our location a secret, but I see now I underestimated all the players in this game.
Ethan had told her Wells had given him the address.
Why would Detective Wells do that? I mean, he might, but why?
Beyond that, it’s not too far-fetched to think Ethan or Chandler might have Nigella followed knowing she’d lead them to me eventually.
It was a stupid assumption on my part and I’m glad we’re now at the brownstone.
“You need to be sure, Horatio.”
“Gordon’s deal with Chandler was that he stay away from Phee and disappear altogether.
When he agreed and then turned around and broke his word, Gordon wouldn’t have been left with a choice.
It was probably a test all along, if I know the old man.
When I was there, just before you arrived with Phee, he received a call.
He had the medical team leave the apartment before he took it and whoever was on the other end only said a few words then disconnected.
It’s done. That’s it. And he smiled at me and told me Chandler would no longer be a problem. ”
I study Horatio, and although I’m still not sure I believe it, he very clearly does.
“I worry if Phee goes to Texas with him, given his state, well, I don’t know. Maybe it’s nothing but I’d prefer she wasn’t alone with him.”
“I don’t think he’d hurt her.”
“No, but I just don’t like it, Silas. Don’t let her go, at least not alone.”
“She’s not going anywhere alone just yet.” I check my watch and stand. “I need to get back.”
He nods and gets to his feet.
“I will go to the funeral, by the way,” he says.
“Why?”
“I’m owed it, don’t you think?”
“To see him dead?”
“Yeah, actually. Sullivan Fox destroyed our lives. And I think I’m owed it.”
I look at Horatio Hart, seeing him in this light, this very different side of himself and think about what Ophelia said once.
About heroes breaking and becoming the villains of their own stories.
There is no hero, though, not truly, no matter how noble.
But villains, they come pure and dark as night.
I think Horatio is a hero who broke, who has straddled the line between good and evil for a long time. Same as Gordon, really. Same as me.
Sullivan Fox, he was pure villain. Whoever broke him did a thorough job. Ethan? When I consider him, I see his eyes again, when he was that ten-year-old boy cowering, sobbing as his father beat him. Broke him.
Is he now as pure a villain as his father was?
“Good night, Horatio,” I say and head back to the brownstone.