Wish You Were Gone(94)

He loosened his tie and tugged it off, almost knocking himself off balance as he tossed it into the bushes. Then he unbuttoned the top button on his shirt and rolled his neck around, as if the collar had been choking him.

Somehow, his eyes focused. He saw her.

“What the fuck is this?” her father shouted.

He half-shuffled, half-stumbled down the driveway and paused unsteadily in front of her. One eye was all purple and swollen shut. The other eyeball quivered.

“What the fuck are you doing out here so late?”

He hadn’t noticed the box yet. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d go inside and she’d have time to fix this. But then, as if he could read her mind, his gaze trailed down. His head tilted as his addled brain tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Kelsey thought about running out through the open garage door, but where would she go? By the time she was halfway up the hill, he’d be back in the car, chasing her down. She could easily imagine him running her over, purposely or by accident; either scenario was completely believable. How fucked up was her life, that she could 100 percent fathom her father purposely mowing her down with his car? This was what she was thinking as he turned on her. And then, all supposition went out the window. There was a crusted-over slice of blood across his cheek. He was going to kill her.

The hunch of his shoulders, the redness of his face, were feral. But it was the look in his one good eye that told her it was true.

“You little piece of shit.” Spittle hit her cheek. He was on her so fast, she couldn’t even comprehend it. She backed into the shelving on the wall and a box tipped. Golf balls rained down around them. “I knew you were stealing from me! I fucking knew it!”

He grabbed the wire shelf above her head and yanked it forward, pulling it from the wall and driving it into the back of her skull.

“Daddy, stop!”

She hated herself even as she said it. Hated the whining, begging tone of her voice. Hated that she was crying. Hated that she’d called him Daddy like some pathetic little girl. Like she expected that to work. Nothing worked. To him, she was garbage—not his daughter, not even a human. He yanked again and she felt the cut at the back of her head, heard the shelving groan. He was going to take the whole side of the garage down on her skull. But she couldn’t get past him. He was too big, too fast, too angry. So she did the only thing she could think to do. She hit the floor.

That was when she saw the bat, still sticking out of the brown cardboard box. Her hand closed around the shaft. She crawled awkwardly two steps and stood up.

Her father took a second to refocus, and when he did, he saw the bat, and he laughed.

He laughed.

“You don’t have the guts,” he spat.

She lifted the bat, holding it just how Hunter had taught her when she was trying out for Little League. She knew he was right. She knew in her heart that she didn’t have it in her. But maybe, just maybe, if she could get in a swing, just a glance, she could surprise him enough to get away. And maybe if that happened, things would change around here. He would know he couldn’t mess with her anymore. Maybe just standing up to him would earn her something. Some tiny morsel of his respect. He’d made it beyond clear he was never going to love her—that she didn’t deserve his love. But he’d always respected people who stood up for themselves. Those who took charge. That was what Kelsey was doing right now. She was taking charge.

Until he wrapped his fingers around her neck. In half a second she knew she was screwed. Her windpipe closed as her father’s thumbs pressed into it. She stared at him, tried to make him see her, see what he was doing, but it was as if he was looking right through her. Looking past this moment into a world where he was finally free of her.

This was it. She was actually going to die. And the last thing she was going to see was the grotesque mask of battered flesh that was her father’s face. Panic set in and her grip on the bat began to loosen.

There was a bright flash of light. Her father stumbled. Kelsey sucked in air. He threw up a hand against the glare and she lifted the bat, something inside of her understanding that this was the moment in which she would live or she would die. She swung as hard as she could.

The force of the blow jarred her arms and the bat clattered to the floor half a second before her father’s head hit the step to the kitchen. She heard a sickening crack.

“Hey!”

“Hunter?” He was backlit by the Jeep’s headlights as he ran down the driveway. Her father, eyes closed, mouth gaping, neck snapped. And then, her brother was there.

“Dad? Oh my God. Dad!”

“He was going to kill me. You saw, right? He… he was trying to kill me.”

Hunter was on the floor next to their father, shaking him. No response. He held his hand under their father’s nose, trembling.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

“I’m sorry, Hunter. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

He got up and came at her and she flinched, but he put his hands up. “Are you okay?”

Tears squeezed from her eyes and she stepped into him. His shirt smelled of cigarette smoke and sweat. When he pulled back, his eyes trailed to her neck. Her fingers fluttered up. It was already tender.

“He was going to—”

“I know. I saw. Holy shit.” He turned to look at the body again. “What the fuck are we going to do?”