Page 116 of Beautiful Prey

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“Come on, there’s gotta be one in here,” I whispered to myself. I sifted through the toolbox, rummaging.

I cursed when I pricked my fingers on a small tool saw but thankfully didn’t draw blood. Wrenches, screws, saws. I placed them aside to search deeper.

I cried out with glee when I found what I was looking for. A simple flathead screwdriver, small enough to work for what I needed.

I closed the lid of the box, then froze, letting my gaze wander briefly around the garage. It was the first time I’d stepped inside since being brought back home. Not counting Emery carrying me from the car into the house.

He’d let me wander the house alone. He’d disappeared outside and had been gone for some time. The door to the outside was right there on the opposite side. He might have found a way to lock it. But if he didn’t, I could walk right out and he might never catch me.

I gripped the screwdriver in one hand, looking at the door. Then I stepped back, turning for the door to the house.

Tonight. He promised he’d let me out tonight and I could prove I wasn’t looking to run. My heart fluttered in anticipation.

Now, after everything, I was looking to prove his ghosts wrong. I wouldn’t crack, I wouldn’t betray him.

But there was that one small part of me that was still scared. Scared he might change his mind. Scared he might still not believe me, still not trust me. I didn’t want to be locked away like his little treasure. I wanted us both to be free.

I’d seen him lose himself many times before. He was stable now, but how long before my Emery was gone again, something triggering him, bringing back that terrifying demon? I won this time. But there would always be other challenges we’d have to face.

How long?

I went back inside and climbed the stairs, turning down the hallway, down to the last door at the end. I knelt down before it and took my screwdriver, jamming it into the lock, and twisting the knob.

I’d moved all through the house already. I sifted in the attic but found I couldn’t bear to be in there for too long. The silence brought on sounds that disturbed me, creaks and groans of the wind sounded like cries and whispers. There wasn’t much to find up there anyway. Old books, magazines, and newspapers my dad kept. Old toys Terri and I played with as babies. Broken and never repaired.

I didn’t expect there to be anything in my dad’s study either. But I felt like I needed to see all of the house. One last time. And Uncle Wes might have locked it for a reason. I wanted to know why.

I pressed the screwdriver further and turned it from side to side until I heard a soft click. Turning the knob, the door creaked open. I pushed it further and peered inside.

The window had only been half boarded inside so there was more light than usual. There was a crack in the glass as if something had been thrown at it. Some books still lined thewalls. The desk that used to have his computer now only had a stack of folders. Papers were scattered across the floor. Uncle Wes clearly hadn’t gotten to this room fully just like some of the attic and the basement. It was probably why he locked it. A lot of dad’s stuff including work stuff was still inside.

I circled around, taking my time to touch the books and flip through papers. He had been brilliant despite the evil things he had done. I went through the stacks and the drawers just to see, not expecting to find much. More paperwork, a letter opener, office supplies. I opened a drawer at the bottom of the desk and halted. I reached inside and pulled out a thick leather-bound journal.

I’d only ever seen his journal once or twice. He liked to write his thoughts the traditional way.

Sitting on the edge of the desk, I braced myself and opened it. I read some of it, my heart sinking with every page.

He mostly talked about me and my brother. Us going out on vacations or family nights. Our achievements at school. Other life moments.

There was nothing at first about work, not even the warehouse. Not until I got toward the end. He was very cautious not to call it the warehouse or to be subtle in names, but I could guess well enough. He mentioned subjects he was working on. His “headaches”. How he was frustrated with the results. How he worried about a client he only called “Mr. Mercury” and was sure he’d lose his funding.

They’re becoming dangerous, he said in one passage.Psychotic, disturbed. If I could just get the right chemical combination, they could be whole again. I’ll fix them in time. They will be evolved, better, stronger. Closer to the gods than any of us ever have been. I’ve had to put aside my feelings for the greater good. But they are like my children. I only wantwhat is best for them. And when I’ve succeeded things will change.

I shook my head, furious. This had to be before so many died and those who survived were thrown out to fend for themselves. I flipped through some more and came to another passage that confirmed my assumptions.

They are little monsters. Poor things. I wanted to do the right thing. I wanted them to be better, but I failed. It’s time this was finished but I can’t help them now. They are beyond it. Mr. Mercury understands, though I see the disappointment in his eyes. He suggested a new method, one that might work. But I had to refuse. It was too much. This has already taken a toll on me. Those kids are damaged for life now and if I want to save my company, save my image and family, I have to let them go. I’m so sorry.

Seeing my father say this in his handwriting made everything he had done sink in so much worse. I thought about this Mr. Mercury, trying to remember if I had seen his name on the list at the banquet. I couldn’t recall. But the photos I took of the list were still on my phone. If only I could see it.

I went to flip through the journal to see the rest when something slipped out from the back and fluttered to the floor. I picked it up and the breath caught in my lungs as I saw it was a photograph.

It was them. The kids. Or some of them at least. Emery was there with his sister before she died. Sitting shoulder to shoulder. There were seven of them in the picture, all of them I knew by names from the files. They huddled together in front of a white wall so no one could discern it was the classroom unless they’d been there. None of them smiled, their eyes glazed over.

My hand shook. I flipped the photo over and saw there was nothing but a date. To put anything else would have been more evidence of my father’s guilt.

I put the journal back in the drawer. I’d seen enough.

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