Page 30 of Collateral Damage

I tie a noose whilst keeping him glued to the chassis of the car, before lacing every inch of it,and himwith gasoline, taking a few big strides backwards, hopping in my stolen vehicle and parking it up beside his.

My feet are at the foot of my trail as I light a cigarette, stationary in the middle of a road so quiet you could probably hear the wildlife fucking. I intake a few large puffs, seeping in my numbness before I let it go, letting it fall between my feet, watching the road light up like fairy lights at Christmas.This feels like Christmas.My eyes slowly follow the flame, inching closer to him like sharks in bloody waters. I kiss the back of my hand and throw it up in the air to send my respects to his family. His pleads echo through the empty fields and a slow, sinister grin grows as both cars go up in flames, sparks of debris and rubber fly through the air creating stars against the clouds. What better way to remove evidence than to make it look like a collision.Whoopsy.It does mean I will have to walk miles back to my truck though, but maybe it will clear my head. The fresh air will do me some good.

C H A P T E R 19

UNRAVELLING TRUTHS

Puppet

Iwake to the beaming sun warming my face through the living room window, lifting my head to realise I'm not in her room. I’m in the living room. I must have conked out after my insulin. A weighted duvet hugs my body.She literally left me here?I assess the room and she isn’t in the kitchen making pancakes, I peer down to find Shep lying on the floor beneath me as if he’s guarding me.Am I alone?

Last night’s conversation creeps into remembrance and I suddenly realise she said she was out today but I am still shocked she left me access to everything. Maybe she's in her room and isn’t up yet? I leap off the sofa, eager to find she trusted me enough to leave me unsupervised and I freeze. The bedrooms empty. This is my chance, right?I trundle into the kitchen to find a cup left on the side with coffee granules already inside and I assume that was for her, but it would be a shame to let it go to waste so I make myself at home and put the kettle on. I forget how noisy the damn thing is, even that sounds old.

I sit at the dining room table drinking my coffee from her ugly mug until it’s cold thinking about yesterday's gappy conversation and I am left wanting more answers. I'm angry. She refused to talk to me about my father when I know there is more than meets the eye, and she owes me that at least becauseI'm going crazy here. This was no accident; their deaths were intentional and I want to knowwhy.

Glaring at the mysterious door for what feels like ten hours, I think of all the horrendous things that could be lurking behind it and my curiosity gets the best of me. I haven’t a clue how to pick locks,but today I am going to learn.

I raid the kitchen for things I could potentially use. Draws and draws of clutter and antique looking kitchen utensils fill them to the brim, wondering how many things have been used as torture devices. I spend the next few hours using every method possible to get to whatever’s behind that door. Finally, I crack it with a pathetic piece of wire I found and it clicks open, drawing out its squeak through the building like something from a horror movie and my curiosity peaks as I walk in, closing it behind me to keep Shep out.

It's a garage filled to the brim with tools and a bike perched in the middle of the room on its stand. It's old. A Harley Davidson, pristine gloss black with a tire currently missing. I dread to touch it and break something, so I tiptoe around the chaos, careful not to step on any of her equipment as I catch two doors on the back wall.More rooms?I turn the knob of one and it's locked so I try the other, the knob turns in my hand slowly until the latch lets the door break free and I'm not so eager to push it open. My hand hovers for a moment, taking in a deep breath before pushing it gently to reveal a dark room. I fumble for a light switch and my gut hits the floor along with my jaw when the warm glow lights it up, as I creep further into the lion's den.

Play - ‘Black Out Days - Phantogram’

I analyse the sea of paper on the wall; pictures, documents, pins, writing, string, all coat it like paint. My eyes scatter amongst the information before me and I feel violently sick.

It's a case board for myfather.

His face is plastered all over it along with every possible piece of information he has. CCTV footage of him in stores and streets, time stamps dating back to 2006.That was three years ago?Hospitalappointments, court cases, what court cases? My fingers trace the words, reading faster than my brain can process.

Words scream at me.

Murder.

Self-defence.

Involuntary Manslaughter.

Chicago police department.

Mother.

Mrs. Lillie Moore.

1999.

Revoked.

What is all this? What am I missing? What the hell am I in the middle of? I'm churning, fighting the need to pass out. I can't be found in here.Breathe Alora.1999 was the year we moved? That was the year he told me he walked away, that it was all too much, that he wanted to start fresh and leave detective work behind? I don't understand any of this and I want to scream so loud I shatter the windows. I examine what else I can find, turning to find a computer and a phone line.A phone! I don't even give my feet time to register before lunging for it, trying to dial 911 into a black void, so shaky I don't register it's doing nothing until I press the green button.

Silence.

“No, no no no, please.” I scramble for the lead, following it towards its plug socket only to find it's been cut halfway.“FUCK!...” You've got to be kidding me! There is no way she took that much precaution surely! I plant my ass in the officechair, glaring at my reflection through the monitor. I'm sitting in the seat of a killer and ice runs through my body.

She's smart.Calculated. None of this is coincidence anymore. I'm in amongst a much bigger picture with pieces missing. I amCollateral Damagein a game I was not playing. All of this only makes me want to run faster but now I can't, not until I know what I'm dealing with, not until I get into this computer and collect evidence I could use. I press the power button and it does nothing.Come on!

Fifteen minutes go by and I've yet to turn the bastard thing on. Scrambling through stacks and stacks of files piled beside the screen, hundreds of cold cases from what I can tell. My heart sinks. These are all domestic abuse cases? My Father was never abusive, if that is what she was targeting then she's got it all wrong but that can't be it, she said I was never in the picture? Or not that she knew of anyway.

I sit my forehead in the palm of my hands trying to collect my thoughts but it's a shamble. This past month I've lost all sense of my time and sustainability. Trying to piece this puzzle together is like a psych patient trying to seek sanity. I feel like I'm losing my mind. I tune into the sound of my own heartbeat, focusing on the movement in my feet like my Mom taught me when I realise the rumble I hear isn't within me.

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