Love Me (WITSEC #3)(69)

Glaring at Logan, I steeled myself for what I was about to do.





21





THAT NIGHT





I pulled up the long driveway to my house and I turned off my car. It had been a long but fun day. I needed to thank my mom for the pep talk that had encouraged me to go hang out at Liz’s house after school today. And also for the second pep talk, which she’d given me when Liz had suggested we go see a movie after we ate dinner with her parents.

“This will be one of the last times you might see her,” my mom had told me. “Don’t think about him. He will be a bad memory soon.”

We were moving. Not that I knew when. We hadn’t packed a single thing. I did have a small hunch my parents were waiting until school to break for the summer in a few days, and like they had done with our trip to Texas to see Logan, they were going to wake us up in the dead of night and tell us it was time to go. I didn’t have much to go on, just that yesterday I’d seen my dad bring down all our suitcases from the attic. Then I’d overheard him on a work call this morning before school. He’d mentioned his last day at the firm would be my and Shayla’s last day of school. My mom had already sold her restaurant in record time to an old friend from culinary school.

I’d made it a point to not tell any of this to Shayla. She wasn’t happy about leaving, and if she knew we weren’t bringing much with us when we left, she’d throw a hissy fit. Shayla was very materialistic. I, on the other hand, could leave it all behind. I craved to be anonymous in a faraway place. I didn’t want to cause heads to turn every time I entered a classroom. I didn’t want to be referred to as the McConnell twin who’d almost been raped by one of the old English teachers. I wanted a fresh start—a do-over at life.

I locked up my car and headed for the front door.

“I’m home,” I said as I walked in. I wasn’t surprised I didn’t get a response back. Our house was very large, and voices got muffled. What I did find surprising after I shut the door behind me was that all the lights were off and it was quiet. Too quiet.

“Mom! Dad!” I yelled into the dark house. There wasn’t an answer and the hair on the back of my neck rose.

For a moment, I questioned whether or not anyone was home, but then I saw light flicker in the living room to the left of the foyer. The TV was on, but muted. As I stepped into the sunken living room, the wood floor creaked under my foot and a coppery smell filled my nose. With the little light from the TV, I spotted my dad lying on the couch. I opened my mouth to call out to him again when I saw the shadow on his chest. Not a shadow, but a stain on his white shirt.

I moved toward the lamp next to one of the couches. The toe of my shoe caught on the large area rug as I did. I flicked it on, and a scream ripped its way up my throat. I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from letting it out. Unable to blink, unable to look away, tears filled my eyes as I took in the blood. So much blood.

His arm was hanging off the side of the couch and his eyes were open. They were staring vacantly at the TV. My entire body shook violently as my gaze traveled lower. His abdomen was ripped open, and his insides were pulled out.

I didn’t want to believe what I was seeing.

It’s not real. I backed away with that thought. With each step, I worked harder to convince myself that what I was seeing wasn’t true, until someone grabbed my shoulder.

The scream I had been holding in escaped, piercing through the silent house.

Another hand slammed down on my mouth. “It’s me,” a voice similar to mine said.

Shayla.

I whirled around to face her. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. There was so much fear in her eyes. “We need to leave,” she whispered. “He’s in the house.”

He.

She didn’t need to tell me who he was.

So many questions filled my head.

Why?

How?

Where was Mom?

Was she dead?

I didn’t ask them. The fear and firmness in Shayla’s voice kept me from asking. I nodded frantically and Shayla grabbed my hand.

As we took a step to leave, a crash came from the other side of the house, followed by our mother’s scream. It sent a trembling wave of terror through every bone in my body. Shayla’s grip on my hand tightened as we listened to the sound of running on the hardwood floor echo through the house. The running got closer and closer.

Shayla pushed me back, further into the living room, past our dad’s body. Then she pulled me down to the floor behind the couch he lay dead on. Not even a second later, the wood floor creaked underfoot and panting breaths filled the room.

The floor creaked again.

Shayla and I both flinched as our mom let out a pain-filled yell, followed by the sound of wrestling.

The lamp I’d turned on was knocked over, but didn’t break. Our mom cried out before a thud vibrated through the floor.

I knew I was putting Shayla and myself at risk, but I had to look. I peeked around the side of the couch. My mom was on the ground, crying as she stared up at Mr. X, who was straddling her. He had her pinned with a large, bloody knife at her throat.

A gasp escaped me.

My mom’s eyes locked with mine. It was for only a moment before she forced herself to look back at Mr. X. In that brief moment we’d stared at each other, so much had been conveyed. Her surprise. Her worry. Her fear.