Page 52 of Declan

Oh, she was discovered after midnight, so November 1st. My father told me that date himself. I remember it vividly because he had our chef prepare an elaborate dinner to celebrate my birthday since he couldn’t be there on the actual day—the 31st. He said he was working late—late… on a Saturday.

The victim was shot twice in the head.

The body appears to have been dragged from its original location.

The left side of the body shows more pronounced drag marks than the right.

Getting up, I grab a pillow and drag it across the floor, mimicking the movement. Over and over again, I focus on the right side.

Whoever did this couldn’t handle her weight evenly. Maybe they had a limp. Or a weak arm.

A weak arm… belonging to someone who broke it as a teenager climbing a tree in the backyard.

A weak arm… belonging to someone whose father took him to a private doctor, terrified that social services would intervene because of the other marks on his body.

A weak arm… treated in secret, with no records, no reports.

My stomach turns as the image burns into my mind: Elva lying in the dirt, blood pooling around her head. I can see Declan finding her like that. Tears sting my eyes. How did he bear it? How did he go on?

By killing everyone. That’s how.

I take a deep, steadying breath and pick up my phone, my hands ice cold. I call my father.

“I called you,” he snaps the moment he answers.

“And I’m returning the call,” I reply, my voice cold and emotionless. But inside, I’m boiling, the pressure mounting with every second.

“How’s the married life?” he asks, his tone as detached as mine.

“Great,” I say curtly. “Why did you call?”

“I heard about the latest attacks. Just wanted to know how the Callaghans are handling it,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant.But I know him too well. There’s a tension in his voice, a hesitation he can’t quite mask.

“They’re handling it,” I reply, mirroring his tone.

“How? It’s important for us to know since we’re all part of the family,” he says, attempting to sound softer, even pleasant. But he can’t—not with me.

All part of the family?By “all,” he means me because there’s no way Declan would let him anywhere near his business.

“I don’t know. They keep it to themselves. And honestly, it’s none of my business,” I reply flatly.

“Tsk. You’re always so…” He makes a noise of disgust, the sound grating through me.

“So what, Dad?” My irritation flares, sharp and unyielding. Who the hell does he think he is?

“Disconnected,” he spits, dragging the word like poison from his lips.

“I am,” I answer coolly. “I keep my nose out of situations that don’t concern me. But if you’re so curious, why not call Declan directly?” My voice drips with sarcasm, knowing full well he’d never dare.

“Don’t use that tone with me, little girl! I am your father!” he roars. I can practically see his face, red with fury, his lips curled back in rage like a rabid dog.

Wish you weren’t.

“How’s your arm, Father?” I ask suddenly, the words escaping before I can stop them.

The line goes silent. Too silent.

“It’s fine,” he says tersely, his tone tight with annoyance. “Why?”

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