Page 134 of Finding Our Reality

“Yeah, all of the above, but they weren’t there. We put out a BOLO at all of the hotels and motels in the state. We pulled up ownership records for his known relatives. He has an uncle in Indiana who owns a hunting cabin and acreage in the county next to us. We called him, and he confirmed that the nephew has a key to the place and does upkeep on it. Immediately, he gave permission for us to search his property.”

She nods, staring into my eyes. “You found them there?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

I shake my head, not wanting to say more.

“You have to talk about it, Ry. This stuff will eat you up if you don’t. We’ve been through hell and back. I don’t wanna risk our future by keeping things hidden away. Do you?”

I swallow against the lump in my throat. It feels like I’ve got a concrete ball lodged in my windpipe. “The zip ties were so tight on his hands and feet that his fingers and toes were purple. His wrists and ankles were coated in blood. The guy had made him strip down to his underwear. They were soaking wet. He was so scared he peed and defecated all over himself.”

Lulu lifts her stubborn chin in the air, steeling her face. She knows there’s more. There’s more, and she refuses to be anything but strong for me. “And?”

“And the fucker burnt him. All over. Hundreds of cigarette burns. Slapped him. Hit him. Made him kneel on a broom handle. His knees were already too bruised to even be touched.”

“What about the guy?”

“I nearly killed him,” I say matter-of-factly. “I was praying he would resist, praying he would run. I wanted to pull the trigger so bad.” I shake my head. “He wasn’t putting up a fight. He wasn’t resisting. But it didn’t matter. I nearly did it.”

“But you didn’t. And that’s what makes you the good guy.”

Am I the good guy? I left her alone to deal with the death of Reality.

I sigh. “I held him—the little boy. He wrapped his arms around me, and I told him to close his eyes, and I carried him out the front door. I wish I could make him forget every bad thing that has happened to him.”

“Does he have family? Or will he go into foster care?”

“His grandparents live in Texas. We called them as soon as we knew what we were dealing with. We had to tell them that their daughter was dead and their grandson was missing. They left right after getting our phone call. They were so relieved when we found him. They’re still completely devastated, but they have this beacon of hope now.”

I don’t tell her that their reunion was so emotional I had to leave the room. I couldn’t even stand to watch it.

She brushes her hand across my cheek, lovingly stroking my face. She wants to comfort me, but she doesn’t want to fill the distance between us with mere words. Scooting closer, her hand falls to my scarred shoulder. Leaning forward, she kisses my pebbled and marred skin. Her fingers brush across my chest, where her fingernails scrape against my nipples. She traces the lines of my muscles, gliding down the center of my stomach. I love it when her hands are on me.

And she knows that.

I press my mouth against hers. But I don’t kiss her. I breathe her in. I draw strength from her. I replenish myself. I give myself reason to fight another day, a purpose to go back to the job, a determination to solve the cold case that still haunts us both, even to this day.

The vibrating of a silenced cell phone breaks our trance. She nods her head at her nightstand. “It’s yours. It rang a few times while you were sleeping. I don’t recognize the number, and they aren’t leaving a voicemail.”

“I’ll take it.” Grunting, I sit up against the headboard while Lulu hands me my phone. “Sergeant Crutchfield,” I answer.

“Crutch? Hey, it’s Mike Malone. From State.”

He means the state penitentiary.

He nervously clears his throat. “I’m not sure how to say this.”

I grit my teeth. “Then just say it.”

“Your dad OD’d. I’m sorry; he didn’t make it.”

I knew this day would come. I knew the asshole would do this one day. “Okay.”

My one-word response throws Mike for a loop, and it takes him a few seconds to recover. “As you know, an autopsy will have to be done since he died in custody. We’re still investigating, but it looks like he’s been buying some of the other inmates’ pills and making his own concoction for snorting. Allergy medication, blood pressure pills, vitamins, motion sickness medication—really anything and everything. Anyway, we’ll let you know the results of the investigation as soon as we complete it. I promise, we’ll try to round up anyone who sold their pills to your dad and file new charges against them.” He sighs, relieved he got through the worst of it. “I’ll call you when his body is ready for release.”

“I don’t want it.”

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