Epic Sins (Epic Fail #1)(4)

My heart races; sweat from my temples rolls down my cheeks and mixes with my tears. I’m teeming with anger. Hate. I bolt up, tossing the covers off of me. “Be happy? How the hell are we supposed to ever be happy again? They’re gone! Gone! He took them from us.” Aunt Peggy’s eyes widen and her already pale face turns ashen. She looks confused, then scared. “He took away my parents. My home. Everything.” I’m practically screaming as I clench the comforter in my fists.

Voices from the hallway come closer, and soon Detective Michaels’ shadow fills the room. “Ms. Weston,” he addresses my aunt. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. Do you have a minute? We have a few more questions for you.” Despite his ominous presence, his eyes seem kind. “Is that alright?” I swallow the bile that has risen and feel it burn as I force it back down my throat. What else could he possibly want to know?

Aunt Peggy’s eyes find mine and her face softens. “I’ll be right outside, okay? I won’t be far.” I nod and look away, finding a smudge on the wall to hold my focus. The smudge begins to blur as tears once again fill my eyes, threatening to spill onto my cheeks. I want these people away from us. I can’t bear to hear them repeat the events that happened this morning. The events that destroyed my family.

She reluctantly stands up and follows the detective into the hallway and down the stairs. Detective Michaels’s voice is anything but quiet and discreet. “We’re trying to understand how he was able to leave the treatment facility. There are no witnesses, and we’re scouring through hours of surveillance footage.”

“I don’t understand. Wasn’t there security? What kind of place was this?” Aunt Peggy asks, anger rising once again in her tone. “And what makes you think I could possibly have any information about this?”

“He admitted himself into the rehab center. He was there of his own accord. While there was security, it was light. What we’re trying to figure out is what caused him to snap and why he chose to go to your brother’s house. Are you sure you’ve never heard your brother or sister-in-law mention his name?”

“I’d like to know the same thing, Detective. I promise you, my brother and his wife did not know this man,” she hisses.

I find myself standing in the open doorway, straining to listen to their conversation from downstairs. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. My feet pay no attention to the mantra I repeat in my head, and my legs shake as I follow their voices. I quietly walk down the stairs and peer into the living room, hoping I’m still invisible. Let this be a dream. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know.

“Detective Michaels,” a new voice echoes from the kitchen. “We have the nine-one-one call ready.” Oh no.

No. No. No.

As much as I want to turn and run back up to the bedroom, I can’t.

Papers rustle and several people move quickly through the living room into the kitchen, filling the space around the large center island where a laptop computer sits. My aunt stands behind them, frozen in place, grasping one of the stools at the counter, knuckles white.

No. No. NO.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“Help us! Help us, please! He’s in the house!” A crushing pain tears through my chest as I listen to my mother’s desperate screams.

“Hang up that phone. I just need some help.” An unknown voice is heard in the background. It sounds shaky. Desperate. That’s not my father. It must be him. Bile once again rises in my throat.

“Stay away from me!” my mother frantically yells.

“Ma’am, we’re tracing your location now. We’ll be sending help as soon as possible. Please stay on the line and try to get away from the intruder. Get into a room and lock the door.” The operator sounds calm as I hear her talking on another line with a dispatcher, giving him directions.

“No! Please don’t do anything else to him! He’s already hurt. Please don’t hurt him anymore!” She’s pleading, begging with the stranger. The monster. Who is she talking about? Who’s hurt?

“I didn’t mean to hurt him.” The man’s voice is distressed. “I didn’t think I hit him that hard. Please, I just need some medication. Do you have anything here? Oxy? Vicodin? Benzos? Anything?”

“I don’t know what any of that is! No! I have none of that!”

“Ma’am, tell him that you’ll check your medicine cabinet upstairs. Go quickly and lock yourself in. Help is on the way. Is there anyone else in the house with you?” The operator gives her clear instructions and I hear my mother’s breathing hitch.

“Just my husband. My daughter is at school.” She pauses and says calmly, “I’m four months pregnant.” I close my eyes as tears stream down my cheeks.

“Hang up the phone!” the lunatic screams at my mother and I hold my breath.

“Wait!” she says desperately and I hear the lie form in her voice before the words come out of her mouth. “I-I think I have some of those pills upstairs…in my medicine cabinet.”

“Don’t lie to me!” he yells.

“What are you doing?” My mother’s voice becomes frantic and it sounds like the phone fumbles in her hand. “Why are you doing that?” Her voice is strained. “Stop that!”