CHAPTER NINE #2
A wave of harrowing despair crashed over me, and I hung my head, thinking about his body, growing cold on the floor. He'd shown me so much love, so much respect and patience and empathy—so, so, so much empathy—and I'd thanked him by leading him to his death.
Somehow, I knew this was all my fault.
Not Shawn's. Not Isaac's.
Mine.
"Abraham, I’d like to—"
A knock at the door served as an abrupt interruption, and I hurried to pull my mask back on as Gerald answered angrily, "What?!"
"Sir." It was the voice of Dean, the guy who had interrupted our conversation outside. The same one who had inspected Leonard’s body downstairs. "We found who was responsible for poisoning that older gentleman."
Gerald turned to look at me with raised brows. "Well?"
"Well, what?" I asked, growing more suspicious and nervous by the second.
"How would you like to meet the old man's killer?"
“Wait. I don’t want—"
“Nah, come on. This’ll be fun.”
Before I could protest again, Gerald was putting his tumbler on the coffee table and standing up.
He straightened the hem of his tuxedo jacket, then sauntered over to the door, twisted the lock, and opened it to reveal the man from the terrace, along with three others—two thugs standing on either side of a scrawny guy wearing the waitstaff uniform.
The same guy who’d given me a glass of champagne after I entered the house.
A piece of duct tape had been slapped over his mouth.
Muffled cries came from behind that strip of tape—incoherent pleas to spare his life, I had no doubt.
He shook his head and struggled against the burly guys who flanked him, holding him tightly by the arms, keeping him from going anywhere.
The fight he was putting up was a weak one, futile, and the fear in his eyes told me everything I needed to know.
This man knew he was about to die.
I should do something to stop this from happening. I should, at the very least, try. But I did no such thing as I stood back against the window, witnessing the last living moments of a dead man.
"He claims he didn't mean to kill the old man," Dean said, his hands folded at his waist.
"Hmm," Gerald muttered with a nod. "And what do you think, Dean?"
Dean glanced over his shoulder for a moment, raking his scrutinizing gaze over the scrawny guy, then frowned and shook his head.
“I think … whether he intended to or not … he killed a man. And so”—he turned back toward Gerald—“he should pay for that accordingly.”
Gerald clasped his hands behind his back and nodded his approval. “I agree. Wholeheartedly, in fact. An eye for an eye and all that jazz.”
Then he turned around and headed straight toward me. “And I think you should be the one to decide what happens to our little friend here.”
“What?” I asked, cocking my head and flitting my eyes between Gerald and the panicked man in the doorway. “Are you talking to me?”
“Well, of course. Who else would I be talking to? Is there anyone else in here I’m not aware of?”
“No.” I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, shaking my head. “I want no part in whatever game you play here.”
From behind Gerald, I saw Dean’s brow furrow. It was my turn to be scrutinized. I guessed it was bound to happen sooner or later.
“Oh, but you’re already a part of it,” Gerald replied, like it should’ve been obvious. “You were here. You’ve witnessed too much.”
I tipped my head, playing it cool and calm, while internally, my heart sped up, and my gut tightened with nerves and fear.
Come to think of it, I probably felt a whole lot like that guy over there, being held back by those two thugs.
“Did you set me up?”
Gerald shook his head, lifting a dismissive hand.
“No, no. A setup would’ve been intentional.
This whole thing …” He groaned with disgust. “No. Why would I want to ruin my own birthday party? Come on. Don’t be silly.
But …” He tipped his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets before offering a shrug.
“Unfortunately, it did happen, and you, my boy, are a witness.”
“So, what? It’s either I play along or end up like this asshole?” I gestured toward the guy, looking in his direction just in time to watch the crotch of his slacks darken as he pissed himself.
Gerald looked over his shoulder, following my gaze, and tsk-tsked. “What a fucking mess,” he grumbled. “And right on my Persian rug too.”
He sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if this whole ordeal was nothing but an annoying inconvenience, and shook his head. Then he looked back at me with an exhausted expression blanketing his face.
“Look, son. This young man took someone from you, didn’t he?”
I continued to watch that guy in the doorway, his widened, terrified eyes now on my mask. And I could only imagine how horrifying that looked in this moment. The blank expression of a plague doctor mask, lingering in the distance, staring him down.
I must look like the embodiment of death itself.
Gerald came to stand beside me and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Leonard was someone you loved. Someone who meant the entire world.”
He wasn’t wrong. God, of course he wasn’t.
Leonard hadn’t just been a father or a mentor to my brothers and me.
He was a savior. Not much different at all from the God he himself had worshipped.
We owed him everything.
“All you have done has revolved around that man. Your job. Your home. You have devoted years to him. You have devoted your life … as you should have,” Gerald went on, his hand gripping my shoulder tightly, soothingly.
“And now he’s dead, all because of this maggot of a man—if we can call him a man at all. ”
My upper lip twitched; my fist clenched against my side.
“How will you honor Leonard Llewellyn now? How will you avenge him?”
My jaw worked from side to side as I stared at that trembling, baby-faced man, wrenching and wriggling against his restraints. Tears streaked his face; snot smeared beneath his nose. He shook his head and uttered muffled protests behind the straining strip of tape. And suddenly …
It felt like such bullshit that he’d been given a warning. He knew he was about to die. He had the opportunity to beg, to plead for forgiveness. But what had he given Leonard? He hadn’t been given any warning. He hadn’t known. He’d been innocent.
Fuck, if only we could all be as good and righteous as Leonard Llewellyn, the world would be a much more peaceful and beautiful place, but no. Lowlife pieces of shit like this guy and Gerald Crowley must exist to prey upon men like him.
And I’m just like them.
Leonard had been poisoned the moment I entered his funeral home.
And the least I could do was take revenge on the man who had stolen his last breath.
I stepped away from the window ledge and Gerald’s touch and crossed the room in slow, even strides.
A panicked squeal emitted from the throat of the man being held in the doorway as I approached.
He pulled and pulled against the grip of the two thugs, and they groaned in unison and tightened their hold.
He really was a scrawny little thing, I realized, coming to stand before him. About as tall as Leonard but skinnier.
I reached out with a gloved hand and tore the tape from his mouth, and in that instant, a slur of incoherent babble poured from his lips.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God, please, please, don’t … don’t kill me, man. Listen! L-listen to me, I-I didn’t even … I didn’t even know—oh fuck! Oh fuck, n-n-no, please! I ha-have kids, my wife, oh G—"
I grabbed his face with my hand, pinching his cheeks together. “Shut up.”
His head was barely able to jitter with a nod.
“What was it you used to poison him?”
His eyes widened as if he could read my mind. “O-oh, n-n-no, man. Please,” he sobbed. “Please, oh God, please, no.”
I tightened my grip on his face until he winced.
“What did you use?” I asked again, enunciating my words.
“Cy-cy-cyanide,” he whispered between sobs.
“Cyanide,” I repeated, the word nearly stealing my breath away, just thinking about Leonard’s final moments before that bullet—that sweet, merciful bullet—had penetrated his skull and put him out of his misery.
The panic. The burning. The sheer agony as his body shut down.
“I’m-I’m sorry,” he sputtered through his clenched face. “I didn’t … I didn’t—“
“He was a good man,” I interrupted, giving his head a shake. “Maybe the only good man I’ve ever known. And now he’s dead, because you made a choice to end his life—but hey! I guess that’s fine because you’re sorry.”
I dropped my gaze from his to the breast pocket on his white shirt, and there, I saw a little bulge. I had a hunch, and I used my other hand to reach inside to produce a small vial of clear liquid.
“Is this what you used?” I asked, bringing the vial to his eye level and shaking its contents.
I didn’t need him to confirm to know the truth. The fear in his eyes told me everything.
I imagined opening the cap, holding his mouth open, and dumping the liquid down his throat until the vial was empty.
I imagined watching him suffer in the same way Leonard had before the Joker pulled out his gun.
I imagined him collapsing at my feet and writhing on the ground until he ceased to move, his lips bubbling with foam until his last breath was taken.
My fingers itched for it. They twitched and begged, but, oh God, I couldn’t.
I didn’t want to.
As bad as this sniveling coward was, to take his life wouldn’t make me any better.
Somehow, it seemed worse.
“It’s okay, son,” Gerald said, coming up behind me. He placed a hand against my back. “Think of how Leonard suffered. The pain he must’ve felt.”
“Shut up,” I whispered, staring into that vial of clear, deadly liquid.
“He loved you … so, so much,” he continued, standing beside me. “He loved all of you, but you most of all. He said so. Many times. And he was here, and he died … because of you.”