Page 62 of Beyond Oblivion

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Camille watching Travis, her eyes glimmering with unmistakable suspicion.

Growing up with a father like Camille’s, hypervigilance wasn’t an option—it was how she survived. She learned early how to pick up on the smallest changes in tone, expression, or body language, honing an almost instinctive ability to decide whether it was safer to retreat to her room or stay quiet enough to blend into the background. As an adult, that trauma response bled into everyday interactions. She didn’t always get it right—sometimes she’d think I was pissed when I was just wiped out—but most of the time, she knew something was off with me before I did. And it wasn’t just me. She could read anyone she’d spent time with more than once.

It was like finding out your spouse had a superpower, but instead of flying or laser vision, she had built in bullshit detection.And right now, Travis was on the receiving end of it, whether he knew it or not.

Abby took Dad’s empty mug and made her way to the counter, busying herself at the coffee pot.

“So, what’s your plan?” Dad asked, ready to poke holes in whatever I had to offer. It was out of love, but it didn’t make it less irritating.

“Itoldyou, I’ve got it handled,” I shot back, barely keeping the edge from my voice. Frustration was creeping in, coiling tight in my chest. I wasn’t trying to be an ass; I just didn’t want to lay out all the ugly details in front of Camille. She didn’t need the stress.

Dad tapped the table with his index finger as he thought to himself, probably deciding how to word his next question. He’d been retired from the police department for years, but he could never quit being a detective. It had been hardwired into his DNA.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the kitchen, wrapping the room in a familiar warmth. Abby returned with Dad’s mug, steam curling up from the surface like it had something to say. She set it down in front of him, and he gave her a wink of gratitude before taking a careful sip.

Being in my childhood home always felt like slipping into my favorite hoodie: safe, familiar, and just snug enough to keep the outside world at bay. The smells, the thermostat cranked a little too high, the decor that hadn’t changed in years, and the ever-present weight of Mom’s memory—it all made the place feel like it was giving me a hug. A big, suffocating hug that somehow reminded me I could survive even the shittiest of life’s boxer briefs. It was a big reason why I visited nearly every day. But family meetings like the current one created a heaviness in the air that had no place in my sanctuary, and the longer the disruption, the angrier I became at the culprit—even if it was Dad.

Still, just sipping his coffee, he had a way of reminding me where I was and who was in charge, of the house, our family, and our safety, and that he hadn’t failed us yet.

“Trent, it’s an uncomfortable conversation. I’d want to shield your mother from it myself, but anyone out of the loop is the most vulnerable. Can we agree on that?”

I shifted in my chair. “I mean, yeah, to a point. But why worry Cami sick?”

Camille put her hand on my knee. “Since when did we start carrying heavy things alone?”

“Not in this family,” Dad said.

“Dad’s right,” Travis agreed, intertwining his fingers on top of the table. “They can’t keep Madison in there forever. Ignoring it won’t change that unless she responds to treatment and isn’t triggered when she gets back. We’ll have to deal with her at some point.”

“I’m not ignoring it,” I said through my teeth.

Dad held up his hand to Travis. “Let’s think of this logically. We should assume that being back in town, and tempted by proximity, no matter how intensive her treatment, Madison will relapse. Maybe not, but there’s a good possibility that even if she stays away, an accidental run in could send her over the edge.”

Part of me still wanted to see her as a harmless kid, confused and out of her depth. But knowing what she’d already done—how deep she was buried in her delusions—made it impossible to ignore the danger. The worst part? There was no predicting what she might do if she finally snapped.

“She’s getting help because she’s not well,” Camille said. “We need to be sensitive to that.”

“We’ll be sensitive when we know without a doubt she’s not a threat,” Dad said.

“You guys act like I can just go full Liam Neeson on this,” I said, waving a hand. “The law makes it real clear—there’s nothing I can do until she actually commits a crime.”

“I don’t accept that,” Abby said. “We don’t have to be sitting ducks.”

Dad took another slow sip from his mug. “Then we’ll just have to be proactive.”

I exhaled, running a hand over the back of my neck. “Look, I know she’ll be back. And yeah, the idea of her being so close makes my skin crawl. I’m hoping the treatments she’s getting will help, and maybe her parents will keep a close eye, but I’m not holding my breath.”

Travis opened his mouth, probably to argue, but I shot him a look and raised my hand. “I’m not naïve. I’ve already upgraded the house’s security. Cameras, sensors—the works. I’ve been mapping out different routes to and from home so we’re not predictable. And I’m planning on shadowing Camille—like old times at The Red, walking her to her car after every shift.”

Camille crossed her arms, an eyebrow arching just enough to tell me I was about to get a reality check. “Okay, just… wait a minute. I come here every morning and after work. You can’t do that every day.”

“I can, and it’ll start the moment Maddie is released,” I said.

Camille shook her head again. “Trent, we can’t afford—”

“I’m sorry,” Travis said, gently cutting her off. “We can do this if we do it together. You’re safe with Dad, Cami. I’ll reschedule my day so I can wait for you after work and follow you here.”

“You can’t take that much time off work, either,” Camille said. “And what about when you’re out of town at one of your conferences?”

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