Page 35 of Agony

“Are you done keeping him out of this?” Justice asked.

It had been a shit plan to begin with. If they had had Fisher with them, then Blue might not have gotten away.

“For now.”

“Why are you taking the blame? It’s my fault.” Justice squinted at Real.

“You weren’t even in the office the day we planned how to take out Blue,” Real reminded him.

“No, but I was given orders as a part of that mission.”

Real studied him with a flat gaze and Justice wondered if the guy ever smiled. If he did, Justice had never seen it. Not once had he heard the man speak softly unless it was to put the fear of god into someone.

“Enough. You did your job. You are not responsible.” With those last words, Real slid behind the wheel of a chunky gray jeep that appeared to be custom-made.

After the Genesis commander drove away, Justice continued toward his truck. Removing Axel from his back, he placed the dog in the back seat and readjusted the backpack-type straps in place.

“You were a good patient boy.” He caressed Axel’s ears and cracked open a water bottle to fill the bowl he kept on the back floorboard for the dog. After Axel drank his fill, Justice slid behind the wheel.

“Where are you, Fish?” He gave a heavy sigh and stared out of his bug-peppered windshield.

Axel placed his front paws up onto the center console and nuzzled his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m going, boy.” He turned the ignition and pulled his truck out of the parking lot.

Was Fisher still in California? Or had he bailed to greener pastures? Perhaps a new employer? And if so, what the fuck was he going to do with that?

Justice drove down the deserted streets and even though the sun was shining…

The world seemed a dismal place.

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.

—Maya Angelou

Freezing rain trickled down the neck of Fisher’s shirt, adding to his cold dead heart.

Taking a job out of state had been just the ticket.

Now if he could just remember what the fuck had sent him running in the first place, he’d be golden.

Did it matter?

Not really. Killing was his goal. Murder was easy. Even crouched in the dense forest of Oregon beneath the onslaught of rain wasn’t a hardship.

He recalled when Justice had asked him what school he’d gone to and he hadn’t answered.

There was a reason for it. He honestly didn’t remember.

Memories came and went.

The doctor had told him once that not remembering stemmed from childhood trauma. As a little boy, he had been a master at blocking out anything related to previous years.

He didn’t do it consciously. He wanted to remember only he couldn’t until his mind let him.

The psychiatrist he’d seen called it trauma avoidance. They titled it cPTSD blackouts. It was his way of coping, a way of escaping when something happened that was too difficult to handle.

The technical term was dissociation from reality.

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