I help him solve it, even though my math skills are almost nonexistent. I can still do first-grade math. It’s worse when Isabella asks me about algebra since I am at a total loss there. Her school has signed her up for virtual school, so she can try to catch up on some classes and hopefully pass her grade, even though she has missed more than a month. Luckily, Isabella is a bright girl, and she is also a hard worker. If anyone can do this, it’s her. I just worry it is too hard on her, that it’s too much with everything else she’s going through. She must be struggling more than she tells me. Being shot by your father must make some scars on the soul. I only pray that she’ll get out of this all right.
“I’m done,” Damian says and packs up his stuff, then runs to his room to play. I have placed the Nintendo Switch on his bed and hear him scream victoriously when he sees it. He yells, “Thanks, Mom,” through the door.
I open the app again on my phone and see that Ryan still hasn’t moved. I keep staring at it, wondering what he is up to now. If he isn’t coming for us, then what on Earth is he doing? I stare at the address and realize it’s a house on the corner of A1A. I wrinkle my forehead when I realize I know this address. I have been there to visit someone.
A pilot from Ryan’s unit, Duke Marchant, lives there. He’s one of the few that lives off base.
Ryan is probably just visiting his friend. He’s not on his way here. You’re fine. He doesn’t even know where you live. You’re safe.
Still, I can’t stop staring at the icon and the address, wondering what he is up to now. Duke was not one of his favorite people while they were deployed. As a matter of fact, I remember Ryan often telling me how much he couldn’t stand the guy. The one time we went to visit him was because he had invited all of the unit to a barbecue, but Ryan had a ton of excuses for us not to go.
“I don’t want to,” he kept saying. “I hate the guy, okay?”
We went anyway, and Ryan spent all night talking to everyone other than Duke, avoiding him at all cost.
Why is he suddenly visiting him?
Has he run out of places to crash?
I shake my head. No, not Ryan. He always had so many friends offering their guest bedroom or couch for him to sleep on when he was too drunk and didn’t want to come home to me, or after he left, after the time he almost strangled me. I know they all offered to take him in. They stay together like that—take care of their own.
“Why are you there, Ryan?” I ask like I expect the app to answer me. “What are you up to?”
Finally, I can’t stand it anymore. I am worried. I have this deep unnerving sensation inside my stomach that I can’t escape. I call my mom and ask her to come to look after the children. I have put them to bed, so they won’t cause any trouble. When she asks me where I’m going, I tell her I’m meeting up with a friend for a drink. She buys it and comes over, and I rush out the door, bringing my purse with the gun that I bought after Isabella got hurt. I have spent many afternoons at a shooting range lately, learning how to shoot and not miss.
I drive to the address, and there’s a truck parked in the driveway. I park by the house across the street, hoping not to be seen. I can’t see if it is Ryan’s truck since I’m not close enough, and it’s dark out. But I assume it is his. I check the app, but can’t see the icon anymore. It has suddenly completely vanished like he has realized I was tracking him and shut it off. It could also be that his phone ran out of battery. That would have the same effect. Concerned about this, I look at the house. I am about to leave, thinking I should get back to the kids in case that’s where Ryan is heading next. I need to be with them if he shows up.
But then I see someone moving inside the house. The light is turned on in the living room, and I can see someone in there. I can’t see who it is, though. The shadow moves across the floor, first leaving, then returning into my field of sight. I stare at him, wondering if it is Ryan or maybe Duke. They’re similar in stature, seen from afar. I am certain it looks like Ryan. Is he still there? Is it his black truck in the driveway? It could be, but I’m not sure. I wonder if I should get out of my minivan and get up close to see if it has the stickers in the back or to read the license plate.
But I don’t dare. I fear Ryan might come out of the house and see me. I wouldn’t know how to explain myself out of that one. I don’t want to have to.
I keep staring at the shadow moving around inside the house when I realize something is off. Something is very much off. This person is lifting another person and dragging his lifeless body across the floor.
Chapter 32
What is it exactly I am witnessing here? Is it a buddy helping another buddy who is too drunk to walk and get to bed on his own? Or is it something else? Is it something so terrible I don’t even want to finish the thought?
I have a deep feeling of dread inside me, and I can’t leave this alone. I have to know what it is. I get out of the minivan and walk up to the house, gun clenched in my hand. I look through the window, hoping he won’t see me, and I watch as the body is dragged toward the stairs. I can’t see the face of the one dragging him. There are no empty bottles on the floor or scattered across the countertops, nothing to indicate this person—whom I can now see is Duke—has been drinking heavily.
He’s being dragged to the stairs and now upward. I think about Sandra and the water she was in, and I can feel her coldness as my finger touched her skin while feeling for a pulse. I shiver as a chill runs down my spine. Panic starts to rumble in the pit of my stomach.
If you had a chance to save Sandra, you would have. This is your chance.
I see Duke disappear up the stairs, his legs bumping against each and every step. Then, I walk to the door and grab the handle. It is open, and I walk inside as quietly as possible, heart hammering in my chest. I try to control my breath, to keep it as calm as possible, given the situation.
I walk to the stairs, gun clenched in my hand and lifted in front of me. The first step creaks, but it’s not loud, so I continue. I can hear the water from the bathroom upstairs as it is being turned on.
I can’t escape the images of Sandra in the tub as I continue upward, my hands shaking terribly, wondering what I am about to see up there. I worry if I have what it takes or if I’ll freeze. I’m not a trained soldier; I’m not even a police officer. I’m just an ex-reporter turned housewife, who has taken a few lessons in shooting.
If it is Ryan is in there, will I be able to pull the trigger? Will I be able to shoot my own husband? The father of my children?
I don’t want to think about it. I have to move on; I have to keep going. I was too late for Sandra. I was too late for Ted. I can’t miss this one too.
I walk as cautiously as possible, trying not to make a sound, then walk to the bathroom door that is left ajar and look in through the crack. I am breathing heavily now and barely able to hear anything over the sound of my beating heart. I can hear the water, though, and I can see Duke as he is plunged into it. Then a pair of hands grab his wrists, and a knife is placed on the skin.
That’s when I make my decision. I can’t wait anymore. I push the door open forcefully and hold the gun out in front of me. But the man is gone, and I can’t see him. Duke is still in the water, and before I can react, a gloved hand reaches out from behind the door and grabs the gun. My hand is pulled forcefully sideways and slammed against the door until I drop the gun. Then, he lunges at me, grabbing me by the tops of my arms. I am wrestled to the floor. My head hits the tiles and is pressed down, the weight of this person heavily on top of me, a knee in my back. He grabs my hair and pulls my head backward, then smashes it into the tiles one, two, three times, so hard I can see nothing but flickering stars. I taste blood in my mouth right before I black out.