Page 15 of Hot For Her Ex-Con

Dr. Stanton.

The hospital…

Mom… Dad…

Jesus…

He waveshicasually, almost absently, before checking his watch. I watch Allison being herded towards her mom.

The pit of my stomach sinks. Why couldn’t I tell her? Why couldn’t I remember?

Because nobody wants to remember something like that, let alone share it with someone as amazing as Allison. She’d run a mile.

“Wanna come talk about it?” Dr. Stanton asks, squatting on his hams outside the car.

“I-I can’t go back, doc. Not now.”

“Just to talk, Killian,” he says clinically. It’s something I always liked about Stanton. He does his job, but it’s clear he couldn’t give a shit either way.

“Was it Trap again?” he drones knowingly, almost glancing at his wrist again but shooting me a disarming micro smile.

“Isn’t it always?” I groan. My hand balls into a fist until I realize there’s no point denying it a second longer.

“Why don’t we head inside, huh? Have a talk. Allison can sit in if you want.”

It’s a different walk of shame, but it could have ended in restraints. The front door’s been replaced, and the smell of freshly shaved lumber fills my nostrils as I head inside.

Stanton walks a few steps behind me, Allison rushing into my arms as soon as she spots me, leaping up from her seat in the living room.

Carol’s not hiding her disappointed look, but she hasn’t wasted any time either by the looks of it. A man stands by her side, his arm around her in defiant support.

It’s Carol’s husband, Mark. The house is still dotted with enough photos of the couple for me to recognize him in person.

It’s the face of a supporting husband giving his wife a second chance if I’ve ever seen one. Both parents narrow their protective eyes once I have Allison in my embrace.

But nobody’s pulling us apart or even saying a word. We’re all invited by Stanton to take a seat. The remaining troopers are waved off by him, thanking them for their time and assuring them the situation is well at hand.

Allison grips my hand firmly and squashes up next to me.

All eyes in the room shift to me, and Stanton gives his nod of approval. This is my only real chance at making any sense of this, for Allison’s sake more than anyone else.

The good doctor gets me started, reminding me of something that stings every time I hear it. His tone is firm, almost accusing, but it finds its mark.

“Trap isn’t real, is he, Killian?”

My head shakes from side to side rapidly. Carol’s suddenly sympathetic look shifts from me to Allison, and I feel her hand gently pressing my arm, giving me the instant calm only she can.

“No… No, he’s not,” I stammer, feeling the air sucked out of me. Allison’s hand moves, and she rubs my back.

Stanton already told Carol everything about me and my past. She told Allison enough to help her make her mind up if a maniac like me is something she really wants in her life.

Stanton gives me a brief summary of what everyone here already knows, skipping the gruesome details, thankfully.

The part of the story where I’m nine years old, coming downstairs to see what all the noise is. Finding my parents, their bodies barely recognizable. Everything else of value in our very well-to-do house was untouched, but the killer—or killers, whoever they were—took the only thing worth anything to me.

Family.

That was the night Trap was born. The shadow that’s haunted me since, mocking me at every turn as I try to find and punish a ghost.

---