Page 38 of Demise

After Billie and I said our goodbyes, I went by and grabbed some boxes from the small local grocery store downtown. I was ready. I was sure this was the right thing to do. I was completely convinced.

Now I find myself standing in our bedroom, surrounded by boxes with nothing in them.

Samuel’s clothes still hang in the closet, his shoes on the floor. His toothbrush is in the holder, and everything else he owns…ownedand will no longer use is where it’s always been.

Do I have to do this?

Is this something that is necessary?

Why do we pack up our loved one’s things and get rid of them? Why can’t we just leave them where they are? What are they hurting? It’s just space.

I walk over to the closet, running my hand along his clothes, feeling the softness of cotton beneath my fingertips. I grasp a fistful and bring it to my face, inhaling deeply.

Thirteen years.

I shut my eyes and choke out a sob, still gripping his clothes as my knees buckle when every memory, good and bad, trickles through my mind. His clothes snap from the hangers, coming down to the floor with me. Birthdays, wedding anniversaries, the small trips we took, the arguments we had.

And then the worst of it all.

His death.

I’ll always have that memory of him lying there telling me he didn’t want to die. And I could do nothing. I just sat there, telling him he was going to be fine, because that’s what you say, isn’t it?

You lie.

Isn’t that one of our biggest flaws as humans? We lie to protect, we lie to make people feel better, to make ourselves feel better, to protect ourselves. Because the truth is oftentimes too painful, tooreal.

Why would I have told Samuel he wasn’t fine? Telling him he was dying would have been hurtful to both of us, I realize that, but it would have been real.

Maybe I’m feeling guilty, but hell, I live with guilt.

It sleeps beside me; it haunts me. It’s a plague over my soul. Because for thirteen years, I lied to a man who did nothing but love me. I lied to protect his feelings, and I lied to protect the walls I’d built, the façade I was keeping up.I love you, Samuel, but it’ll never be like I love your brother.

Maybe I’m pissed about the guilt more so than I am the death. It’s possible I just fuckingfeelbad. And that truth makes me puke. And I do so right in one of the boxes.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Bones

Several hours after my talk with Sweep, I leave the bar with a bag packed. Driving past a snowmobile, I hit my windshield wipers, recalling our conversation. He informed me of the shady things he found in Moretti’s office. The girls’ driver’s licenses and social security cards. Photos and code names.

The only thing we can think is sex trafficking young girls. Fucking kids. Which makes no sense. Moretti was disgusted when we told him about David, the man who fostered Sweep after his Pops died. How he was messing with the girls in the house.

“Come in,” Moretti says from the other side. We walk in and he eyes us. “Why’s he here?” Moretti asks, looking at Carson.

“He’s with me,” I say.

He lifts his brow. “If you say so. Sit down.” He points. I walk around and take a seat, as Johnny does the same. Carson sits on the couch.

“What the fuck did you do?” he asks.

I look over at Johnny.

“Don’t fucking look at him. Look at me. I got the cops up my ass now. What did you do to him?” he asks, sitting back in his chair.

“Do to who?”

“Don’t play dumb, Danny. You know who. Where’s David?”

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