Don't Make a Sound (Sawyer Brooks #1)(66)

Mom looked at Dad, panic in her eyes. “I told you to burn that letter, but you wouldn’t listen. What are we going to do?”

Dad put his hand on her shoulder.

She tried to shake him off as she always did, but his fingers held tight. “We’re going to do what we should have done a long time ago,” he said. “We’re going to call Chief Schneider, invite him to the house, and tell him everything in person.”

Mom’s face reddened. Her nose and eyes crinkled. “You stupid, stupid man. I have given up everything for you.” She stabbed him in the chest with her finger. “I lied for you.”

Dad suddenly reminded her of Uncle Theo, so pathetically weak, standing next to Goliath.

Mom’s face morphed into spittle and fire, reminding Sawyer of what Uncle Theo had said about the devil being close.

“I killed for you,” Mom said, her voice dripping with venom. “And now you think because this little crybaby can’t mind her own business that we’re going to let her ruin our lives?”

Killed for you? Sawyer didn’t move, hardly breathed.

“I should have gotten help for both of us,” Dad said to Mom as he shook his head solemnly. “There were so many times I could have reached out for help to save us both.”

Mom continued talking to Sawyer’s dad as if Sawyer wasn’t in the room with them. “I won’t let you ruin my reputation because you couldn’t keep your little wriggly worm in your pants.”

“It’s over, Joyce,” Dad said.

Sawyer looked from her parents to the exit.

She needed to get away, get help. She took two steps before Mom pointed a finger at her.

“Stay right where you are, Sawyer. You’re not going anywhere.”

Dad’s shoulders dropped. “Let her go, Joyce.”

“Let her go, Joyce,” Mom mimicked in a tinny voice.

Chills washed over Sawyer. The scene before her was unreal. Dad, a puddle of remorse and grief, seemingly oblivious to the other monster in the room, the all-powerful one, who for all these years had controlled him like a puppeteer controls his wooden dolls.

“This is all going to end right now,” Dad said. “I’m not hiding from the truth any longer.”

“It’s not over, you foolish man. Not even close.” Mom took a step backward, reached behind her for the fireplace poker, and swung the iron tool with amazing strength and dexterity.

Blood spurted from the center of Dad’s forehead. Somehow he remained standing. His eyes looked overly bright as he reached out and grabbed hold of the poker still in her hands.

They both held tightly to the iron rod.

Mom was taller and stronger. Her eyes were alert, her jaw set as she fought for control.

The veins in Dad’s neck began to bulge, his arms shaking from exertion, the blood running down his face nearly blinding him.

Sawyer’s head was fuzzy. She couldn’t think. Didn’t know what to do.

It was as if the two of them were walking a tightrope—two steps to the left and then one to the right.

Suddenly Mom let go and watched him stumble backward.

Confusion filled Dad’s eyes right before he hit the wall and collapsed to the floor, his body upright, his back against the wall. Mom walked toward him, leaned over, and took the poker from his grasp.

“No more,” Dad said, his voice emotional.

You better run, is what Uncle Theo had said. Mom was insane.

Mom turned toward Sawyer.

Sawyer rushed forward and pushed her hard, watched her topple sideways into the wall and fall to her knees.

Sawyer ran out of the office and down the hallway, heading for the front door before remembering her keys to the car were in the cottage.

She stopped, turned back the other way, heard footfalls coming her way. Quietly, she opened the door to her left, stepped inside, shut the door softly, and took slow, careful steps down the stairs leading into the basement.

“Sawyer!” Mom called. “Where are you? I only want to talk for a minute before you head home. Dad is fine.”

Sawyer could hear her walking around the salon where Sawyer had found the key. Sawyer’s gaze darted about the room. It was cold and musty. Every wall was lined with boxes and bins and old discarded furniture. She was about to get down low between some bins when the door at the top of the stairs creaked open. Instead, Sawyer headed for the door in the far corner, the one that led into a crawl space. She and Rebecca used to hide inside sometimes when Mom would throw one of her tantrums. They would belly-crawl their way through the tight space to the vent leading outside and escape into the woods.

Her sisters used to tease them about going into the crawl space, telling them there were rats and every sort of insect known to man.

Sawyer squeezed her way through the door, a tighter squeeze than she remembered. There was no way her mom would be able to get through that opening, so Sawyer worked her way far enough inside where she could hide beneath a slope of dirt and wood beam. She would be well hidden if Mom took a look inside.

Mom called her name again.

The small door creaked open. The crawl space filled with light.

Sawyer didn’t dare breathe. She kept her nose to the dirt and held perfectly still.

“It would be silly of you to hide in there. This is your last chance, Sawyer. Come out, or I’ll have no choice but to lock you in there.”