Page 54 of Love Sick

I suddenly feel like this is a mistake…which is exactly the reason I start the car and drive off into the darkness.

The GPS barks directions at me; it’s the only thing which fills the silence because I need the quiet to deal with whatever looms ahead. The farther I drive, the grimmer things become—not just my mood, but the neighborhood as well.

It’s no surprise a place like Pennington Villa operates in a place like this. The police are no doubt accustomed to bad things happening out here. They probably don’t even bother to patrol these streets anymore as the residents are the lawbreakers, so I can’t see anyone calling 911 for help.

Misha must have been so desperate to come out here. Or maybe he liked the anonymity?

The GPS directs me down a dead end road and at the end of it, down a long-ass driveway, is Pennington Villa. I can’t drive down it, so I park the car a few houses away, worried it won’t be here when I return.

This is a bad idea, but I’m here now.

My eyes adjust to the darkness because the bulbs from the streetlights have been smashed. This should set a precedent for what’s ahead, but I can’t turn back now. I was silly for not arming myself, so I reach for a broken brick by the side of the road and slink into the shadows as I walk up the driveway.

The rusted steel gates are hanging by their hinges, flung wide open and welcoming those brave enough to venture this way to the pits of hell.

Why haven’t they torn this place down?

If this Gothic-looking mansion isn’t stereotype enough, lightning flashes across the darkened sky, a warning that the heavens are about to open up. I hasten my step because I just want a quick look inside.

All of my senses are warning me to turn around and run, but I can’t. It’s dark inside, but that doesn’t mean no one is home.

The front yard is overgrown, but the foliage is twisted and dead, as if nothing can flourish in this unholy ground. A thunderbolt scares the living shit out of me, but that merely hints at the storm which is brewing.

My breaths grow sharper and quicker. My flight or fight instinct has kicked in.

I decide to venture to the left of the house as I just want to peer through a window and not enter through the front door and when I do, I see a light flickering in one of the rooms.

I’m like a moth to a flame as I walk toward it.

The sky chooses this moment to open up and a heavy downpour begins to fall. I have nothing to shield myself from the punishing weather, so I run toward the window, telling myself just one look, then I leave. My wet hair sticks to my face and I feel like a drowned rat as I slip and slide in the ground which has suddenly turned into sludge.

The pounding rain prohibits me from hearing anything, but the lights grow brighter and it’s all the courage I need. Someone is inside and I need to know who.

Did they know Misha?

I don’t know why it’s so important to me.

I’m careful as I approach the window. It’s filthy, but I squat low where a small section is clean. I squint as the rain sticks to my eyelashes, but I press my nose to the glass, hopeful whoever is inside can’t see me.

Goose bumps cover me from head to toe, and it has nothing to do with the cold but rather, it feels as if the proverbial saying someone walked over your grave just occurred…and that’s because what I see can’t be true.

The brick drops from my hand as I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

Life isn’t full of coincidences—they’re signs from the universe, preparing us for the shitshow that looms. But this…this is just too much.

Who I see has me wishing I came with a fucking arsenal because Alanna Norton is mere feet away. So is the little boy, Bobby, I saw Alanna with in Dutch’s room. But it’s the man who sits at the dinner table, unrestrained, as he happily sips from a crystal wineglass, which confuses me beyond words.

Why the fuck is Dutch sitting at a dinner table with Alanna, and not stabbing her with the knife? It seems he’s too busy cutting through his eight-course meal to worry about revenge.

I suddenly feel so betrayed and so…angry.

What’s going on?

When a thunderclap breaks through the darkness, I take that as a sign that there’s only one way to find out and for that…I need a fucking shotgun.

The urge to stab Alanna in the jugular is so overwhelming, I have to lower my knife and drink my wine instead.

I have no idea why the fuck she thought a “family” dinner was necessary, but here we are. The only good thing about this fiasco is that Bobby seems to be enjoying his meal.

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