by Willow Rose
"So, now it's just you and Faith, I guess," the man said. "Can you take care of her? For the rest of your life? Are you man enough for that?"
Rylan sobbed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. The man's words hurt him deeply, and he realized he had no idea how to take care of his sister anymore. They had survived so far, but only because he believed his mommy would wake up soon.
There was no way he could do this any longer.
He shook his head. "N-No."
The man rose to his feet, then said, "I think I can help you avoid that."
He then stretched out his hand holding the gun.
Chapter 87
I slammed my hand into the steering wheel, cursing myself for being so stupid, then parked the car in the parking lot outside of the condominiums in the north part of town. I looked at the number that I had written down, then spotted the entrance and rushed up to the second floor. I knocked but didn't expect anyone to answer. There was a distinct smell in the hallway that made me want to gag. I held my sleeve up in front of my mouth, then grabbed my gun and grabbed the doorknob. The door was locked. I kicked it in, thinking I'd have to explain later how I believed someone had died in there because of the smell and that I believed two young children's lives were in danger.
I was right about both assumptions. As I walked inside, I found the boy standing in the bedroom.
"Police!" I yelled and walked closer.
The boy didn't move. He was staring at something and, as I entered the room, first looking around to make sure the children were alone, I realized he was watching a woman I could only assume was his mother. She was lying in the bed, flies in her dead staring eyes. Next to her lay a young child, a girl, sleeping heavily.
"Are you Rylan?" I asked and turned to face the boy. He whimpered and nodded, and that was when I realized he was holding a gun between his hands.
"What are you doing with that gun, Rylan?" I asked.
The boy answered with sobs. "I can't do it," he said.
"What can't you do?" I asked.
"Take care of her."
I looked at the girl on the bed. She was awake now and staring at us both. "You mean your sister? Her name is Faith, right?"
He nodded. "And you have been taking care of her? Of the both of you. Because your mom died?"
He nodded again, then sobbed and sniffled. Tears ran down his small chubby cheeks. He could be no more than four or five years old, his sister maybe two. I put my gun back in the holster, then knelt in front of him.
"Just hand me the gun, Rylan. You don't want to hurt anyone, do you?"
"You know that many kids who go through a divorce end up taking care of their siblings?" a voice said behind me.
The floor creaked under his heavy feet as he moved closer. I knew the sound of his steps like my own heartbeat.
"It's sad when you think about it. The older child has to become a parent because the parents can no longer take proper care of them. Forces them to grow up too fast."
I heard the gun cock behind my head and raised my hands in the air.
"It happened to you, didn't it?" I asked. "You had to take care of your sister when your parents split?"
"Good detective work," he said.
I turned to look at him. "But she died, didn't she? Your mom killed her. That's what you told me when I was a kid. That was why you never had any contact with her. Because of what happened back then."
My dad nodded. "I thought I had it all figured out. My mom was the bad guy. She was a drug addict, she was crazy, she couldn't take care of us, and she tried to kidnap us. That's what we were told. That's what we believed."
I swallowed. "But that wasn't the entire story, was it?"
He shook his head. "I didn't know till she died last year. I hadn't seen her since the day she was taken away when my sister died. I never wanted to know of her for my entire adult life, not even when I heard she was released from prison. I never wanted to see her again. But then they called from the nursing home she had been living before she died and told me she was gone and that they had a box of her stuff they didn't know what to do with. My initial thought was to leave it there to rot, but then I thought maybe I should burn it all, get rid of every tie to her once and for all. As they gave me the boxes, I couldn't help but go through them. And that was when I found the letters. Letters she had written to me while in prison but gotten back unopened. Letters explaining everything in detail. All my life, I had been told she didn't want me, that she forgot about my sister and me and didn't show up on days when she was supposed to have us, but it was all a lie. My father had deliberately given her wrong dates and then told us she would come on days she wasn't supposed to. So, we would wait for her for hours and stare out the window waiting for her to come. That way, he built up anger in us toward her, and it drove her crazy. So, when she came to see us unannounced, she ended up being angry and aggressive because she was sad and frustrated. She wanted to see us, she wanted us, and all that time, my dad told me that she didn't want us. She had fought for us, but when we went to court, my dad had told us to say we didn't want to be with her. He told the judge my mother was on drugs, but she never was, never touched the stuff. She never hurt me. It all came back to me as I read the letters. My dad would tell us how she would beat us, but I don't remember her hurting my sister or me even a single time. She loved us. She loved me, and I lost all those years. I could have had a mother. My dad and his new wife brainwashed us into thinking she was this terrible person, that she was dangerous for us when she wasn't. It was all a darn lie."
"They alienated you from her, so you didn't even want to see her," I said.
"Don't you get it? It was my fault. I did it," my dad said, a tear escaping the corner of his eye. His next words came out as choked sobs, "I lost her. I was the one who killed my sister. I called the police on my own mother and sent her to jail. Just because of some lie, some freakin lie."
"And now, they're all dead, so you can't even confront them," I said, fighting my own tears. I looked at Rylan, who was staring at the gun between his hands. Right now, all I wanted was to make sure he and his sister made it out of here alive. I had to keep my dad's focus away from the boy.
"So, you came up with this." I stared at my dad, shaking my head. "You're sick, do you know that? Killing all those children. Just to tell the world your story? What kind of a warped mind does that? I guess I should have figured it out sooner; I guess I just refused to face it. The mustache, the blue BMW. Instead, I came up with excuses, thinking lots of people own blue convertible BMWs and have mustaches. But there was also the green paint on my carpet; the same paint used to paint the side of the box that Matt's son was in. I should've guessed it then. It wasn't until Maddie told me about the name by the floorboard. I remembered it from Sydney's old room. You kept them in there. Cleared it all out without mom knowing it, and then made it into a prison. You even soundproofed it with foam on the walls. You knew mom would never go anywhere near that room. And she certainly wouldn't let anyone else. So, you made it ready while mom visited her friends in Winter Park and went golfing with them, and you planned everything without her even suspecting a thing. You have volunteered for years as a leader with the Girl Scouts, so even if you didn't go on the campout yourself, you knew where they went and when to grab her. And what about Scott Paxton, huh? The kid you dismembered and used only his legs and arms?"
"He was just a random kid I picked up in a poor area," he said. "He wasn't important. A prop, if you will. I just needed his body parts. You'll find the rest of him in a dumpster in Titusville."
I shuddered. To think of all the times I had left him alone with my children. All the times I had been to their house, and he had been keeping those children right up there in Sydney's room while we were hanging out downstairs eating dinner. The thought made me sick.
"You and Senator Pullman go way back, and you play poker with him from time to time, at his house where you met his son, am I right?" I continued. "You stole Thom
as Price's car from his mother's house to lead us to believe he killed Sophie, then used it while dumping the body of Sophie and for kidnapping Maddie from her bus stop. Patricia told me earlier that she knew you because you had often brought them groceries when they were in need. Through your volunteering job at the church, you bring food to many poor people around here, and you took especially good care of them, didn't you? Got to know them well, so when you drove up to Maddie, she believed she could trust you. But I don't know how you knew Matt had a son?"
My dad smiled. "As I told you, I know everything around here. His mom told me when I met her one day and offered her a coffee. She was devastated because Matt wasn't allowed ever to see him, and she wanted to get to know her grandchild too. It didn't take me long to find him."
"And so, you pretended to be a journalist from Florida Today and, being the charmer that you are, Lisa naturally believed you. And what about Rylan and Faith? How did you choose them?" I asked.
"I ran into them coincidentally. I was driving down A1A when I spotted two little children on their own, playing outside this building. I stopped and asked them where their mom was. They told me she was in bed, that she was sick and sad. I asked them where their dad was, and they said he had left. Didn't take me long to decide they would be perfect for my final act."
"And just what is your final act, Dad?" I asked.
"Well, you followed me here, didn't you? So, I guess you get to witness it. You weren't a part of my plan when I began this. I tried to stop you, to tell you to stay out of it, but you had to get yourself involved. So, now you're in it. I led you here on purpose, just like I led you to my other artwork. I never meant for you to get hurt, but you leave me no choice. You know I loved you as if you were my own, don't you? I always saw you and Sydney as mine."
"I know you did, Dad. But, please, you don't have to kill any more people. You've proved your point. Please, just let us go, will you?"
"But I’m not done," my dad said matter-of-factly. He glanced above my head at Rylan.
"You can do it, boy. Put an end to it."
Rylan looked up at him, tears streaming across his cheeks, the gun shaking in his hands.
"Rylan, no," I said. "Please, Dad, don't make him do it. Why are you this way? Why do you have to hurt people? I thought I knew you."
"Do you know how many kids commit suicide because of divorce?" my dad asked me.
I shook my head. "No, Rylan, please, just put down the gun. You don't have to do this. You have a good life ahead of you."
"No, you don't," my dad said, hissing. "Feel the pain inside of you? It'll follow you for the rest of your life. It will never leave you; it will eat at you every day you're alive, and the loneliness will grow bigger and bigger till it explodes and you either kill yourself or somebody else. Just pull the trigger. Get it over with now, Rylan; come on, boy!"
Rylan cried, then placed the tip of the gun on his nose. I stared at him with wide open eyes as his small finger slipped on the trigger and he sobbed.
"Come on, boy! Try again."
"No, Rylan, stop it," I said.
The boy was crying, his small body trembling. I looked up at my dad, who stared at the boy in anticipation. He forgot to keep an eye on me for just a short second, and I saw my chance. With a swift movement, I reached up and grabbed the gun my dad was holding, then wrestled it out of his hands. The gun was sent flying across the room, and soon my dad and I were in a fist battle on the floor.
Unfortunately for me, my dad was a lot heavier and a lot stronger, and soon he managed to throw a punch to my jaw that made my ears ring. I kicked him in the groin, and he moaned in pain when I heard a gun go off.
Chapter 88
Rylan!
My dad fell flat on top of me. While trying to get him off of me, I turned my face to look and spotted the boy. He was still standing next to us, holding the gun between his hands, staring at something behind me. I turned to the other side and spotted Matt, standing in the doorway, holding the smoking gun between his hands.
He ran to me and helped pull my dad off me. I touched my face and wiped my dad's blood away. Matt had shot him in the back of his head. Matt reached out his hand for me to grab it.
"Are you all right?"
I took in a couple of ragged breaths, trying to get a grasp of everything, letting it all sink in.
"That depends. Physically, I think I’m fine, yes. Emotionally is a completely different conversation. How much did you hear?"
Matt shook his head. "Not much, but enough to know he was trying to kill both you and the boy. Was he…?"
I nodded. "Yes, Daddy Dearest…I guess…was our killer all along." I sighed and rubbed my forehead. So many thoughts were rushing through my mind that I couldn't really focus. The initial shock was wearing off, and soon reality would set in.
"I'll explain everything later," I said. "Right now, I need to do something."
I walked to Rylan, then knelt in front of him once again. He sniffled and looked up at me. I reached out my hand toward him, and he hesitated for just a second, then placed the gun in it. I then reached out my arm and pulled him into a hug, while Matt called for assistance.
Once he was done, he came back to me. "Maybe we should take the children outside to wait?" he said. "This place stinks, and my eyes are watering."
We did. We walked into the hallway, Matt carrying Faith in his arms. She cried as we sat down on the stairs outside, rubbing her eyes, asking what had happened. Rylan grabbed her hand in his and sat with her, holding his arm around her shoulder while explaining to her that their mommy wasn't going to wake up anytime soon.
"He killed her a few days ago," I said, addressed to Matt after a few minutes. "And the children have lived alone all this time, taking care of themselves. Just like my dad had to take care of his own sister after his parents’ divorce. His sister ended up dying, though. This was all his way of telling his story, of going through his own childhood pain, killing his way through it in a very disturbed way. I can't believe I…that my…dad would do such a thing. I thought I knew him. But after tonight, I realized I didn't know him at all. I’m sorry for not involving you once I realized it had to be him. I had to be certain before I started accusing him of anything."
"I get it," Matt said. "It was something you felt like you needed to do on your own. It was your family. But, luckily for you, I knew you were up to something. I know you. Better than you think. I know you would never go back and sleep when your daughter was missing. After I dropped you off, I followed you as you ran to your parents’ house and then waited outside until you came back out and ran back for your car. I followed you here but didn't want to come in at first. I had no idea what you were doing in there until it took too long, and I finally decided to go after you, thinking something had to be wrong. I’m glad I did."
I smiled up at him, and he put his arm around me.
"So am I."
I sighed deeply, trying to shake tonight's events when my thoughts once again landed on Christine. She hadn't been in Sydney's old room. She hadn't been on his list of victims, and he hadn't mentioned her.
If my dad hadn't taken her, then where was she?
Chapter 89
The night became painfully long and, as morning broke, I was finally able to leave the site and go home. Rylan and Faith were in the hands of the DCF and would be sent to live with their grandparents in Wisconsin, they told me.
My mom was sound asleep on the couch when I came back inside. She woke up as I sat down on the coffee table she had once given me. She blinked her eyes.
"Eva Rae, we don't sit on the tables," she said. "That's what we have chairs for…"
The look in my eyes made her stop.
"You didn't find her?" she asked and jolted upright.
I shook my head. I grabbed her hands between mine. "Mom. We need to talk."
"Talk? What about? Don't tell me it's about what happened last night; I know it was…"
I shook my head. "That's not what this
is about. We’ll get to that later. Right now, I need to tell you something that will completely shake your world, but you have to listen to me and let me finish, okay?"
My mom's eyes grew wide. "O-okay. But could we at least get a little coffee to wash this down with…whatever it is?"
"Deal."
I made the coffee, and we talked for hours. It was Saturday, so the kids didn't have school. I had to repeat a lot of it because my mom refused to believe it. But, little by little, it sunk in and soon my mom sat in my kitchen, crying and shaking her head.
"You think you know people…you live with them for years and years, and…it's all a lie?"
There were so many things I could have said at that moment to make her feel terrible about herself and how she had lied to me through all my life, but I decided against it. I realized I was no longer as angry about it as I had been. We were in this together.
"So…what will happen next?" she asked.
"Your house will be a part of the investigation," I said. "It's a crime scene now. Which means you'll have to live here for as long as it'll take them, God help us all."
"I heard that, Eva Rae," my mom said. In her voice, I heard a sort of relief. I wondered if she would ever want to go back to that place. Maybe staying here with me wasn't such a terrible idea after all. We both had to lick our wounds and find a way to move on past this. I knew we would drive each other nuts in the process, but the fact was, we needed each other.
I served my mom some cinnamon buns that I quickly baked, and she ate them without even talking about sugar or fat or cholesterol or asking if they were vegan or gluten-free. It was a relief to just be sitting there with my mom, and just be. Be human.