Page 156 of The Truths We Burn

But he is also my sister’s one and only love. She’d never forgive me if something happened to him, and I would never forgive myself.

“Rook,” I say with a little more force. “Where would Silas go?”

There is a beat of silence.

“Frank. He’s going to Frank.”

Rook

I knew he wasn’t okay.

I knew it long before this moment.

I knew it long before he told me he tried to kiss Sage in the middle of a hallucination.

I knew he wasn’t okay, and I didn’t do anything because I watched him take his medication. I saw him take them, and I trusted them to do their job. To protect him from the voices that I couldn’t shield him from.

But he was taking fucking vitamins for who knows how long. I couldn’t figure out why he’d do something so reckless. Why he would risk falling into his illness even further on top of grieving Rose. I thought I’d done enough, read enough about it. I thought I was prepared for this possible outcome that came with schizophrenia.

I wasn’t.

“Silas—”

“Shut the fuck up! Shut up,” I hear my friend shout. “I know what you did. They know. We know. And I have to do something about it. If I do this, I’ll get her back, do you understand? I can get her back.”

His back is to me, but I can see Frank lying on the living room floor, blood dripping from his forehead. He raises his hands almost in a praying position.

“She’s gone.” His voice is shaking, “I’m sorry for what I did, but she’s gone. Killing me won’t do anything.”

Wrong.

Killing him is going to feed the hellhound in our souls. Frank wears the omen of death like a thick cologne. His time is up. He’d corrupted and fooled enough people, and it’s time for the bearers of death to serve their purpose.

But it won’t be the end, will it?

It can’t be.

We can’t just turn this information over to the FBI or the police as we had originally planned. Not when we knew Cain was dirty—we have no idea how many of them were involved in the Halo. It would be a mistake to go to them.

However, that brought up the question of what do we do about the missing girls?

We could live our lives with blood soaking our hands, with the stench of death attached to our souls forever. It was a decision we’d all come to terms with, but could we knowingly look the other way while more girls were being taken and sold into sex slavery?

I can’t speak for all of us, but I know my answer.

“No, no,” Silas mutters, the gun trembling in his hands. “I know, I know what he did. I know what I did. Yes, I know what I have to do, just—” He presses his hands into his head. “Be quiet. Be quiet.”

It’s like he’s having a conversation with multiple people and he can’t figure out who to reply to first. All of his words are rushing together, and everything he’s saying doesn’t make any sense. He’s trapped in a war inside of his own mind, and I have no clue how to help him in this battle.

There’s no sword. No shield. No weapon.

I have nothing.

“Silas,” I say calmly, stepping farther into the space, Thatcher close behind me. “It’s just me, man.”

I hate treating him like some wild animal because he isn’t. He’s just trapped and can’t see a way out.

He just needs help.

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