Chapter Twenty-One #3
Snowflakes rained from the sky, looking angry, and they blew with the wind and slashed into my windshield with the tenacity of a starving man at a buffet.
I struggled to pay attention to the road because my mind wanted to go to other places.
Like to everything that had happened back there on the streets.
Never once in my entire life had I stepped in like that to try and help someone else. Well, except for the night I died.
Look where that got me.
So why now? Why this girl? Why try and help someone I couldn’t care less about?
Because you can’t save the one you really want to.
The thought caused me to swerve a bit on the road and I righted the Roadster and then scrutinized the idea. Did I want to save Piper? Is that what this was about?
I shook my head. It couldn’t be. I knew I had to kill her. I knew she had to die. There was no escaping that.
I guess I could admit to myself that the more I was around her and got to know her, the more I realized the world would be worse off without her in it. Is that why I tried to save someone else today? To make up for what I was taking out of this world.
I sighed heavily. As hard as I thought the streets had been, everything seemed easier back then.
And now, everything always seemed to come back to Piper.
It was beginning to piss me off.
I slammed into the house and kicked off my shoes. Then I grabbed the baggie out of my coat pocket and slid it off, throwing it into a heap on top of my shoes. I walked into the kitchen where Hobbs was busy cooking up something and I sat down at the island, hunching my shoulders forward a bit.
“Bad day?” Hobbs asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“You don’t have to wear that uniform, you know,” I said, motioning toward his dove-gray coat and bowtie.
“I have a distinct feeling that my choice of wardrobe is not what put you in such a nasty mood.” He sniffed, turning toward whatever he was cooking.
I watched him add a few things onto a platter and then slide it in front of me. “Perhaps a cookie will help things?”
I didn’t think so, but I shoved one in my mouth anyway. Chocolate and sugar melted onto my tongue. “These are good,” I mumbled around another.
“Yes, well, chewing them might actually make them taste better,” he said with a frown.
“I need some milk,” I said.
“You need some manners,” he muttered, but he got me a glass of milk.
I took a gulp and looked down at the cookies on the plate, then down at the bag in my lap. “Hobbs,” I began. “I need you to make me some more cookies and this time add these to the batch.” I put the bag on the counter between us and snatched up another cookie.
This time I chewed. He was right. It tasted even better.
Hobbs picked up the bag and looked at it closely. Then he looked back at me. “Where did you get this?” he asked.
“The store,” I lied.
“One does not buy nightshade at the grocery store.”
I choked on my cookie. “Nightshade? What’s that?” I said, trying to play dumb.
“Please,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m a butler, not stupid.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid.” I didn’t, but I hoped he’d think I gave him some exotic berry.
“It is not in my job description to help you kill others,” he said, still holding onto the bag.
“Who said I was going to kill someone?” I asked, feeling slightly alarmed.
Hobbs actually looked a little alarmed by what he said too. “I apologize, sir. That was very… inappropriate to say.”
I shrugged. “So you’ll make the cookies?”
“We both know nightshade is poison, so whatever you plan to do with these cookies is clearly not something respectable.”
“I’m not a respectable guy, Hobbs,” I told him, putting down the cookie I held.
“Respect is earned, sir. Perhaps if you want it, you should earn it.”
“Maybe I don’t want it.”
“I think you do,” he said knowingly.
“Just make the cookies,” I demanded.
“I will not,” he said in his dignified yet offended tone. “Whatever you have planned with this poison, you will have to do without me.”
“I’ll fire you,” I growled, rising off my chair.
“Then that is your choice.” He sniffed.
Some of the steam went out of me and I dropped into my seat. “I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.” His voice held a note of finality.
“Not in my world.”
“In all worlds. Some choices are harder than others. Some choices seem impossible but aren’t always as difficult as they seem.”
His words sounded good. They made me wish he was right. But he didn’t get it. No one did.
“So what is your choice, sir,” Hobbs asked me. “Shall I pack my things?”
I looked between Hobbs and the bag of nightshade. “You do make damn good coffee,” I said finally.
Hobbs smiled. “Well, yes, I do.” When I didn’t say anything else, he picked up the bag and glanced at me. “I’ll just get rid of this.”
I watched as he threw the bag into the trash. Everything I went through to get that stuff and here I was allowing my butler to throw it all away.
I must be crazy.
“You made the right choice,” Hobbs said like it was over.
I left the kitchen and headed upstairs. What Hobbs didn’t understand was that I might’ve made the right choice today, but tomorrow would be a whole new set of choices.