Chapter 7

I started the long drive back to the Podunk shithole I was born from. I waited till I was halfway there to call the cops and report my daughter and wife missing. Informing them of the locations of the vehicle. It took up a few hours as they repeatedly asked the same questions. I left out the existence of the necklace’s GPS tracker.

I was exhausted by the time I got there. I’d been up and working for a full day before the trip to the vet; add in nearly a full day of driving and my reaction times were non-existent. I forced myself to stop for coffee and donuts in town, then slept for an hour in my car. I didn’t want to, but I knew I’d need a clear head and good aim for this. I wasn’t sure if I could handle it if I found out that something had happened to them during the pit stop, but I knew if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be worth a damn.

I parked two miles from the house and hoofed it the last bit. I technically owned it. My mother had changed her will after the truth came out and split it between my brother and me. I offered to sign it over as I had no desire for it, but he’d asked me to buy him out. I did. I’d hired a caretaker (my former friend, Pete) and paid the taxes, but that was about it. It was just going to sit there.

When I was nearly to the house I checked the necklace’s GPS again. It was definitely in the house. I then phoned the cops and let them know where I was and why. I approached from the rear. It was a two-story mining house and I’d spent quite a few years sneaking in and out of it. Prior to his death my father never let me use the same method more than once. He’d call me on it the next morning every time.

I circled around the house and moved to an aging Elm. It had once held a swing, but the branches were barren. I started to climb. The new growth and my aging frame made it quite a bit more difficult than when I was aiming at making time with Nikki. I made the hop to the roof, briefly worrying about whether the roof had been kept up. I landed and inched over to my old window. I slid it open and slipped into my old room. I noticed immediately all my stuff was gone and had been replaced by Tabby’s. It made sense, but I’d not set foot in this house since I’d been kicked out.

I briefly checked my kit. I had the M&P holstered on my belt along with a fixed blade knife. I had a smaller 9mm in an ankle holster. I knew my father had taught Tabby to shoot too, but I’d never bought a bullet proof vest. I briefly cursed myself internally. I left the pistol holstered as I scanned the room including the closet. Then the rest of the floor; Tabby’s old room was clear. Stephen’s was as well.

In Squire’s I saw signs of life. She’d been staying here, sleeping in Squire’s old bed. I found pictures on the wall. There were pictures of me at work, pictures of the house that the drone had obviously taken, pictures of my daughters from a distance. They were labeled ‘Murderer” and “My daughter.” She’d gotten the labels wrong. She thought April was her daughter. April would have to be alive. I hoped Steph was too. There was more. There were more pictures and notebooks. From the opened ones I guessed they were half planning and half journals, but I didn’t have time for that.

I checked my mother’s room. She’d taken up her own room about six months before Dad died. I found Pete in the closet and a dog. Pete was an idiot, but at one time I considered him a friend, but I had only three concerns, so I moved on.

I crept down the stairs. They divided the house, so I had a choice right let to the master bedroom and the basement stairs. Left was the kitchen, dining room, and living room. I went right. The master was clear.

I crept down the basement steps and heard frantic groaning. My heart stopped when I reached the bottom and saw her tied up next to the water heater. Steph was bruised, but breathing. My five-foot ball of light was alive. I saw the relief in her eyes when she saw me.

I moved closer and held a finger to my mouth before undoing the duct tape around hers. Then I set about untying her. I spoke at a level just above a whisper, “Do you know where they are?”

Steph answered hushed, but obviously anxious, “She mentioned a quarry.”

Fuck. It seemed poetic for this to end there. I undid her bindings and helped her up the stairs. I ushered her out the front door and gave her the 9MM with strict instruction to make sure of her target. I told her how to get to the car and told her to call the police when she got there. I didn’t expect the sheriff to be much help, but I also didn’t know who it was at the moment. I searched the rest of the house before heading out the back door and making the hike to the quarry.

What would my father have to say about this? A lecture about fake family? A story about how bad revenge was or how mercy was the better option? I didn’t know and I didn’t care. The things my father had taught me had made me the man I was. They’d given me the skills and strength to make it out of this Podunk shithole, deal with my family’s betrayal, and keep the people I cared about safe from Tabby.