Page 115 of Corrupting Ivy

If that happened…

“What is the plan when we get there,” Alek asked from the passenger seat.

“Kill them all. But Jeremiah’s mine.”

Daddy?

Tears streamed down my cheeks as he stood with a haunted look in his eyes. I silently pleaded, hoping, praying to anyone that could hear me would help me.

Jeremiah disappeared into my former bedroom a while ago after tossing me on the couch, leaving Peter to watch over me while Sheriff Dun waited outside. These walls harbored evil memories, which soaked into them like a stain.

My old home was a single bedroom mobile home built well before the nineteen-sixties. Billy modified the walls with more insulation, a fireplace, and new cabinetry. But it still reeked of old age, and a slight chill always sat in the air unless we lit the fireplace.

There wasn’t a surface in this house that didn’t remind me of a moment with Billy. I’d put my bag on the kitchen counter to the left of me when I shot him. He’d slammed my hand in the refrigerator door for not bringing him a beer. To the right of me was a small living room where he pushed me into the TV, then blamed me when it fell to the floor and broke.

I wasn’t a snob, but this reminded me of just how fortunate I was to have Randall in my life. I’d come from trash, married into trash, and now I lived in the lap of luxury. No matter how many times it felt surreal, I couldn’t seem to believe this was my life now—or at least, was. I’d come full circle. Back in the shit hole I’d escaped from, to die for killing his brother.

It’s amazing how a home so small could hold so much suffering and darkness.

My father looked away from me and hung his head.

Coward.

I’d never thought ill of my father until today. Of course, he wasn’t really in my life, but I never wished harm upon him. He stepped forward and reached out, wiping the tears from my cheek. I flinched and pulled away from him, turning my face. I didn’t want him to comfort me or touch me.

He put his hand down and backed away as Jeremiah walked into the room.

Everything inside of me froze as though I’d plunged through an icy lake top into the frigid waters below. My breath caught in my lungs as he wheeled out the man I’d sent to the fiery gates of Hell.

“Say hi to your wife, Billy,” Jeremiah said, wheeling him out further into the room and stopping in front of me.

I shook my head, the tears wetting the tape across my lips.

“Don’t cry for him now. The damage is done.”

Billy’s frail body sat hunched in the wheelchair with an unused oxygen tank attached to the back. His legs sat close together and leaned slightly to one side.

“Hello, Ivy,” Billy said.

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, willing the nightmare to go away like Randall said they would.

This cannot be happening.

Ishothim.

Ikilledhim.

I put a bullet in his body and walked out the door just to make sure he’d never hurt me again.

How is this possible?

“Next time, aim for the head,” Jeremiah said.

I grimaced. What a terrible thing to say about your brother. The one he wanted to avenge.

“You hit my spine, paralyzing me from the waist down,” Billy said. “I even lost a lung.”

That would explain why he had an oxygen tank, even though he wasn’t using it.

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