Page 105 of The Sound in Silence

“Unchain him,” I repeat. “Trust me, he won’t escape.”

My captive’s happy expression falters in a blink, and he scans the warehouse again, licking at dried, chapped lips. He’s seeking an escape and locks onto the door far behind me, but he won’t even make it three steps toward his fatal attempt.

Caladin obeys me, digging out a key from his pocket, while still shooting me confused glances. The moment the man is completely freed, he takes off toward the door.

Big mistake.

I lunge.

* * *

Aslow clap fills the now-silent warehouse, the skin-on-skin sound echoing through the building. It seems somehow louder and quieter than the screams, the squealing of blood, the breaking of bones that’s otherwise been the music.

Straightening, I watch my cousin approach, appreciation and surprise filling his expression, while my breath catches up from the workout.

“Erico, what the fuck was that about?”

With his foot, he nudges the body on the ground, which is growing as cold as the cement floor. There’s nothing distinguishable about him anymore. A face smashed in, body parts cut and strewn around us. The scent of blood and death fill my nose, but I breathe it all in.

And feel fucking fantastic.

Thinking he could escape and proving to him how he couldn’t was exactly what I needed to feelsomething. He managed to fight back pretty decently and got a hit to my ribs, and one to my cheek, which is now sore. But his hits only alleviated my urge to make him pay. For her, for Della, for their mother, the fucker’s dead. Everyone involved in their pain is gone.

“Um,” my cousin’s loud voice breaks my thoughts, “I ask again: what the fuck was that? I’ve never seen you so psychotic. I mean, when you asked for him to be released, I assumed you lost your fuckin’ mind, which after witnessing this bloodshed, I think is exactly the case.” He pauses, studying my blood-soaked shirt, which is cold and sticky against my chest. “Erico, you completely lost your shit in a way I’ve never seen. What’s going on?”

“He killed their mother.” First instinct says to hide the truth for as long as possible, to not let this get out to the rest of theFamiglia.

“Yeah, but that was…” He trails off, glancing at the lump of flesh between us. “It was something, Erico. Quite the show. Clearly, something’s on your mind.”

Caladin’s not only family, but he’s my most trusted, and really, I don’twantto hide this from him.

“What I’m about to tell you needs to stay between you and me.”

His sharp gaze narrows, and he straightens, as though aware what he’ll be hearing isn’t light.

“Doc checked her blood. She’s unlikely to conceive.”

His mouth falls open. “Um. Wow. Okay. Not what I was expecting.”

With the single fact out, the rest of my emotions pour out. Right here, in a blood-stained warehouse, with a mangled corpse between us, I admit everything to my cousin, my chest growing lighter with every single syllable.

“I’ll get every fucking test available ran. Hire every doctor. Get second, third, fiftieth opinions before giving it up.” My breath becomes harsher, the next truth painful in ways knives and violence can’t match. “Caladin, she fuckingwantskids. You know what she told me last night, in between tears and speaking in a tone so fucking calm, it was nearly deadly? Since childhood, all she’s wanted was the happy life. Grow up, meet a guy, get married, pop out some kids.”

“And she got you,” he jokes lightly, trying his usual thing of easing tension. Except it’s not a laughing matter because he’s correct.

“Yeah. She volunteered herself, searching for the happy ending she craves, knowing that with this life, children would be a guarantee.”

He sighs, his dark eyes filled with regret. “Fuck. I’m sorry, man.”

Finally, I lift my head, meeting his gaze so he realizes the meaning behind my words. “You know as well as I do, I didn’t expect to enjoy my wife. Caring for her wasn’t supposed to happen, but it’s what has. You didn’t see her face. This shattered her, and it fuckingkillsme, that no matter how many alternatives I offer, it won’t change the news she received.

“But there’s still hope, right?”

I called Dr. Rancott on the drive in, begging for every test he can muster, demanding he hire every specialist in the world. And asked for the gritty truth: the likelihood of his results being incorrect.

“Very little,”was his response. I hung up after that. It was the best I could do before turning the car around and hunting him instead.

“Yeah,” I tell my cousin, a partial lie. “Yeah, there’s some hope.”

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