Page 105 of Her Dark Angel

But I don’t feel any of those emotions.

Standing in the rain with my white button-up soaked through to the skin and my damp hair falling into my dry eyes, all I feel is relieved and at peace. That might sound heartless to some, but to me, it makes sense.

Knowing my mother isn’t here to physically and emotionally hurt me brings a sense of peace I hadn’t known until this moment.

It’s... freeing, in a way.

I might be perceived as a bad son or an asshole for not caring that much that she’s dead, but I lived my life next to a woman who couldn’t care less about me and wished I wasn’t born. My view of the situation is valid given my perspective.

However, this sense of freedom doesn’t change the fact I still have to live under the same roof as a man who wishes I were the one being lowered into the crowd right now as well.

Dad takes a sip from the dented silver flask in his right hand. His glassy blue eyes are fixed on the cheapest coffin we could afford as it is settled into the ground and the groundskeepers begin covering it with dirt. They don’t give us a chance to say a word or two for the woman inside the coffin or throw some flowers on the large wooden box.

Not that we would want to anyway.

“I can’t believe she’s finally gone,” Dad says loud enough for everyone to hear. A few of Mom’s work friends stopped by to pay their respects, but other than the three women standing across from me, she didn’t have any other family. The people she worked with were her family. “This is the happiest day of my life.”

I don’t say anything to him. What could I say? Yeah, me too. Now that’s heartless, even for me.

Jenny’s tear-filled eyes meet mine from across the grave as she holds her two friends. I think their names are Mary and Stacey. Knowing what my mother did for work, it’s likely not their real names, but it doesn’t matter to me either way.

I’ve only met them the one time they came by the house when I was thirteen. From memory, they were lovely women who smiled at me and called me handsome. A very stark contrast to how my mom barely looked me in the eye as she walked out the front door with her friends on her heels.

But now as we stand across from each other, the three women in front of me reflect their ages. Crows’ feet crease the corner of their eyes, their hair has seen better days—although, that could be because of the rain—and their faces are filled with sadness as their shoulders shake with silent cries.

If I wasn’t worried that my dad would hit me over the back of the head for moving from my current spot, I would walk over to offer them my condolences.

Just because I don’t feel any emotion about the death of my mother, doesn’t mean other people aren’t devastated by the loss. It’s just another reminder that the woman who grew me for nine months wished she had a different life with different people in it.

I’m sure she loved me at first when I was born, but over time that switch was flipped. And once it was, I meant nothing to her. There was no changing that.

She never wanted me and while that was a hard pill to swallow growing up, I have since grown to accept it.

When the coffin is fully covered by dirt, Jenny, Mary, and Stacy shed one last tear as they hug each other. After a moment, Jenny lifts her head and offers me a smile. It isn’t a big one, which I’m thankful for. Not because I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but because if Dad caught the woman smiling at me, he would blow his top.

I watch silently as the three women walk away holding each other. The rain hasn’t eased up since we arrived for the service, adding to the already bleak day.

“God, I fucking hate them.”

My head snaps to the left to look at my father. He’s glaring ahead at the women as they walk to the parking lot nearby. I frown. “Why?”

“Because they’re fucking whores and always led your mother astray,” he seethes before taking another sip from the flask in his hands.

Before I can form a response, a squishing sound from behind captures my attention. Gazing over my shoulder, I spot officers Jason and Spencer approaching us from a different parking lot. Their hands are shoved deeply into the pockets of their large coats as the rain splashes against them. They’re not in their usual fancy black suits, as they were the night they informed me about what happened to my mother. Instead, they’re dressed casually in light brown slacks and white button-down shirts.

I meet Jason’s eye and he nods stiffly before coming to a stop behind us.

Dad spins on his heels, slightly unsteady from the amount of alcohol he has consumed since we left the house this morning. He nods at the two men. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“We’re sorry to stop by like this considering the circumstances, Mr. Beck, but we have some information to share with you regarding Delilah’s death,” Jason says. His eyes flick between me and Dad. They’re filled with the same intensity as three weeks ago when he barged into the house to inform me of what had happened to my mother.

“Okay.” Dad takes another sip from the flask, not caring that he’s openly drinking in front of two LAPD officers. “What’s going on?”

“Well, we have an update on the case.” Spencer clears his throat and shifts slightly on his feet. “The forensic team came back with details about the fingerprint they found at the scene. The person attached to that fingerprint is Darryl Jones. After doing some research, we learned he was a regular client of Delilah. It was likely something went wrong during their meet-up and the situation turned deadly.”

“Now, we don’t know the details of what happened that night,” Jason interjects, “because we are still trying to track down Mr. Jones. However, based on the scene, we deduce that Darryl wanted more from Delilah in some capacity and she refused to give that to him. So, he got angry and killed her in a fit of rage. He didn’t try to conceal the body in the motel room, so we think he must have fled the scene rather quickly when he realized what he had done.”

When my father doesn’t say anything, Spencer continues. “We’re doing everything we can to find Mr. Jones. We’re hoping he hasn’t fled the city yet and is just laying low somewhere. Sooner or later, he’ll reemerge and we’ll have our men bring him in. But until then, just sit tight and we’ll inform you of any new information we get.”

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