Page 125 of The Catalyst

BETH

Falcon Ridge Drive is known for two things in Hempstead. One, it’s where the church is located, and if you don’t know where it is, you’re godless–my mother’s words. Two, it also has four rundown houses that are widely spaced apart with lots of trees to block the view of each house from each other. Those houses are known for drug activity, but I had no idea kids lived down here.

The place is quiet.

“What are we going to do about the kids?” I ask as we climb out of Oliver’s car and head straight to the trunk. His eyes widen as his head snaps around to me.

“Kids?”

“There are kids in there, Oliver!” I hiss at him, getting irritated. That should’ve been clear from the tape he listened to, but I don’t think he completely grasped that part.

“Shit,” he growls as he unlocks the trunk and throws it open. “We’ll figure it out once we’re in there.”

“We can’t go in there without a plan. Do youwantto die today?” I grab his arm to stop him, but he snaps around, scowling down at me.

“You’re either with me or you’re not.”

Me questioning him has gotten under his skin. Reaching my hand up, I press my palm against his cheek, ensuring I have his attention. “Hey. I’m with you, okay?” The tension leaves his features, and his body relaxes. “We came here for a reason. The kids must have a room, right? We can get them in there and away from everything. Then, we’ll deal with the prick.”

He nods before pulling away from me. Oliver’s eyes fall to the trunk, and he pulls out a pistol and twists a silencer on before handing it to me. Then, he does the same thing with another gun and tucks it into the waistband of his jeans.

“Are there any cameras around here?” he presses.

“No. There aren’t even security cameras at the gas station.”

He tosses our masks in the trunk before slamming it closed. “Let’s get this over with. I’m fucking exhausted.”

A laugh falls from my lips without my permission before I nod in agreement. After this, I’m sleeping for a year, and if Nigel even tries to wake me, I will chop off his balls and shove them down his throat.

The front door is always locked on houses, but the back door might be open. There’s no fenced-in yard, so it might make for easier access, and we’ll be less likely to be spotted before we can get the kids closed in their rooms. Or at least a room in which we aren’t dealing with their father. They don’t need to hear or see anything that happens.

Oliver may look out for their physical well-being, but I’ll look out for their mental and emotional health. Aimee’s stepfather is an evil bastard, but he’s still their father. For all we know, they adore him, and we don’t need to scar them for life. He’ll be someone who disappeared from their lives.

Taking his hand in mine, we sneak around the side of the house, and the sound of Bugs Bunny infiltrates my senses. The kids are here, but maybe their parents are asleep. It’s still early. I remember the days when I would wake up before my parents and watch Scooby Doo. It kept me out of trouble.

I grab the knob and slowly turn it to check if it's locked, and the door opens with ease. We step through the door, and I struggle not to gag.

Maybe we should’ve brought our masks.

We enter straight into the living room, and the house is utterly disgusting. Mountains of garbage collects in the corners of the room, broken furniture, old takeout boxes, and countless piles of dirty clothes. And it only gets worse the further we walk in.

A TV is mounted to the wall in front of a sofa, and three little girls sit there in clothes barely held together by their seams, skin clinging to their tiny bones. Each holds a small, raggedy teddy bear and stares at us, unmoved.

“Hi,” I say as I give them a friendly wave, but they don’t respond. Their eyes dash between me and Oliver. It’s clear they have no idea what to make of us, but I can see they’re scared of him. “Shouldn’t you kiddos be getting ready for school or is it too early for that?” I ask softly, hoping friendly conversation will have a positive influence. I have no concept of time, especially with such little sleep.

“Daddy doesn’t like school,” the biggest of the three says with a small voice, squeezing her bear tighter.

They’re not in school. That’s why their clothes are so ragged. They don’t have to keep the clothes on these girls in good standing if they don’t have to show them out in public.

“What are your names?” I step closer, leaning down on my haunches next to the girl who is open to talking.

“Dani,” she whispers.

“Patti,” the girl next to her squeaks out.

“Rita,” the last girl answers.

I can’t help smiling. “It’s nice to meet you girls. Aimee sent us to help you. It doesn’t seem like that nice of a place to live,” I say and watch the girls as they stiffen before shaking their heads so fast I’m afraid they’ll give themselves whiplash.

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