What Have You Done(81)

Joyce pushed a chair in between them and tried to get into the hallway. As she turned the corner, she lost her balance and slipped down against a small table Don had always thrown his keys on. By the time she got back to her feet, Sean was closing in, running through the dining room and cutting her off at the front door. He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him just as she swung her knife around and plunged the blade into his shoulder. Sean screamed and instinctively punched her in the face. His grip loosened, and she pushed away, staggering back into the kitchen and down the basement stairs.

“Joyce!” he cried. The pain in his shoulder was spreading down his arm. “Joyce, this isn’t what you think. Your brother is lying. I didn’t do anything. The things they found at my house were Liam’s. I was hiding them to protect him. The flash drive is full of more lies. I need it to prove my innocence. Please! You have to help me. Joyce!”

The basement was dark. Sean stopped at the top of the stairs and tried the light switch, but it just clicked without anything turning on below. He carefully walked down to the bottom landing and unholstered his gun, waiting for his eyes to adjust before he started moving any farther. His adrenaline had kicked in now, and he was no longer feeling remorse or fear or sadness. He just knew he had to get the drive and get Joyce before she could escape from the house. Too many loose ends.

He held his gun out in front of him as he slowly scanned the area. His other hand pressed on his shoulder as blood seeped between his fingers and dripped onto the floor.

“Joyce, please,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you. I need you to help me. I need you to be my hostage for a little while so I can explain things before SWAT busts in here and ends it. I didn’t do what’s on that drive. My brother is framing me. They won’t listen unless I make them. I need you to help me make them listen. Do you understand? Please. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Like many row homes that had been built in Philadelphia in the nineteenth century, this one had a secret door in the basement that led to a neighbor’s house. During the Civil War, these passageways had been used to move money, weapons, and supplies through other underground doors and tunnels throughout the city. Today, most had been bricked over or locked, but Don had once mentioned that their neighbor, who had lived next door longer than they had, had paid them to store a few extra things he couldn’t fit at his place. They kept the door accessible should he ever need to get in and out to retrieve something. Sean could see that the old rusted door handle was unlatched, and the door itself was pulled back on its disintegrating hinges. He made his way over to investigate. It was hard to see into the next room. He walked inside.

The neighbor’s basement was just as dark as Don’s. Sean took out his phone and turned on the flashlight. The small space was full of storage boxes, old clothes, piles of books and newspapers, and a single green kayak propped diagonally across it all. He shined the light in a sweeping pattern but couldn’t see a place where she could be hiding.

“Joyce, please. I need your help.”

There was a noise from behind him, coming from the other room. Sean scurried back in time to see Joyce leaping from behind the washing machine. His flashlight caught her face, and he saw it was bloodied and swollen from when he’d punched her. She scurried up the stairs, her feet thumping on each wooden step until she reached the kitchen.

“Joyce!”

“Somebody help me!”

“Joyce! Get back here!”

Sean flew up the stairs, two at a time, and lunged into the kitchen just as Joyce was turning the corner into the hallway that would bring her to the front door. He followed, sliding around the corner, stopping suddenly when he saw Joyce standing halfway between him and the door, frozen, unmoving. He raised his gun and aimed it at the man who’d just come in.

“What’re you doing here?” Sean asked, his head cocked to one side, his breath heavy from running. “You… you shouldn’t be here.”

Liam took a single step forward and stopped. He raised the Glock he’d taken from Phillips and aimed it at his brother. “No, this is exactly where I should be.”





62

Joyce slid against the wall and fell to her knees. Liam could see her out of the corner of his eye but concentrated on his brother. Phillips’s gun felt heavy in his hand, and he struggled to keep it up and straight.

“Sean, I need you to put the gun down and let me help you.”

Sean spat out a laugh and shook his head. “I don’t think you can help me, little brother. I’m pretty sure we’re way beyond that.”

“We’re not. I know everything. I know you killed those girls. I know what you did to Kerri. I know about you and Vanessa, and that’s why you tried to frame me. But it’s not too late. I can still help you. Despite all of this, I still want to help you.”

“You don’t know anything,” Sean replied. “You think you know, but you have no idea.”

The two brothers continued aiming their weapons at one another.

“I know I want to help you,” Liam said. “I know you’re my brother, and I know you’ve been there for me my whole life. For Christ’s sake, Sean, you saved me when Mom tried to kill us. Now it’s my turn. Your head’s just all messed up right now, but I can help you make things right again. It doesn’t have to end like this.”