Page 117 of Injustice and Absolution

The pictures are very dark, but there’s no mistaking the patch-covered vests in the image. To an outsider, the two men in the photo may be indiscernible. But I’d recognize them anywhere. Especially Royce.

It’s him and Draven through what appear to be thick, horizontal stripes across the image. They’re standing at the corner of my old trailer. Royce looks almost directly into the lens of the camera that took this photo.

How is it possible he didn’t see someone taking his picture?

The stripes must be blinds that the person who shot this picture was hiding behind. If they hadn’t been taken at night, I’m sure Royce would have spotted the photographer.

In the next two pictures, they’re retreating from the trailer, but this time they’re carrying something—my father’s dead body.

Had his head been angled the other way, there’s no way these pictures would be quite as damning as they are. But I can see my father’s face, clear as day.

I haven’t laid eyes on him in five years. Seeing him again, even only in a picture, rips a sob from my chest. It’s not sorrow for his fate or his absence but a crushing reminder of nearly a decade’s worth of pain he caused by his own hand.

Pain that never left.

Pain that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

“So here’s the deal...” Once again, Drew brings me back to the present. “You’re going to do what I tell you, when I tell you, and without complaint, or else I’m going to take this folder to Gettysburg’s finest and tell them they need to look into themurderof one Clint Stewart.”

I flinch at the mention of my father’s name.

“Wh-why didn’t this person turn the pictures in to the police five years ago?”

“Something about hating cops. She also said she somehow knew your dad hurt you and thought she was helping by staying quiet.”

It’s sad, but I don’t even know the name of the woman I used to live next to. Unless I was going to Maggie’s house or school, I never left the trailer. I never spoke to any of my neighbors.

“I ran into her as I was snooping around your old stomping ground. I knew someone had to have seen something. She described what she saw that night and told me she’d exchange the evidence for the right price. I got her the drugs she wanted … she coughed up the photos. Here we are.”

“I don’t understand... Did you plan all of this? For what? Why?”

I immediately regret asking any questions when the smug grin materializes on his face.

“Delilah, I’ve had you pegged since the moment I first met you. The air around you was clouded with vulnerability. Other people may have seen you as closed off or distant. But I focused on the way your eyes barely met mine, your tentative movements. It was more than being shy or socially awkward. I made you uncomfortable—the way all men do. It was in the way you silently begged for approval, both from others and from me. And I was happy to oblige in order to mold you further into the person I needed you to be.”

I hate myself even more now.

I’ve always felt like an easy target.

I’d thought Drew cared for mein spite ofmy insecurities. But listening to him describe how easy it was to target mebecause of thempushes me further down the spiral I’m quickly descending.

“Every decision you’ve made since we met has been meticulously curated by me based on how I needed that situation to end up. At times with the help of some friends.”

A knock on the door brings me relief. I sit up a little taller, hopeful whoever it is will be able to help me get out of this situation.

Until Drew speaks again.

“Ah, perfect timing.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

DELILAH

Arenewed disquiet fills me as Drew unlocks the door, and I watch as Ethan and Josie walk through it.

He must have texted them at some point.

The lack of surprise or concern on their faces as they regard my appearance blankets me in a new wave of grief. They’re not going to help me. They’ve been in Drew’s back pocket this entire time.

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