Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
I open my mouth to tell him, but Mommy’s hand covers it.
“You know you’ll never be able to hide them, and when I find them, they’ll die because you’re a traitor. A shame for Audrey and the kid, suffering for your mistakes.”
Mommy bites her hand, her crying harder, but trying to win the quiet game. She pushes my face into her neck. I try to pull away, but I can’t. She’s stronger than me, not something she’s ever tried to show me before.
“Please, baby,” she whispers. “Don’t move. Don’t look. Mommy needs you to be quiet. We have to do what Daddy said.” Her voice is so low, I can barely hear it, but I want to do what she says. I want to listen to Daddy, to make him proud. He can always count on me. I’ll be the best son in the whole world. He’s going to be so proud of me when he gets us out of here.
“You’re not going to touch them. I’ll fucking kill you, do you hear me? I’ll fucking kill you, Sloan!”
I turn slightly—Mommy must not realize she’s not holding my head so tightly against her neck anymore—and now I can see what’s happening. There’s a sound like something hitting something else, and then Daddy falls to his knees, the side of his head bleeding.
And I know this is all wrong. Uncle Sloan is the bad man this time. Daddy says they take care of bad people, but this time, the bad man is Uncle Sloan.
He laughs, the sound making me almost throw up, making my teeth grind together. “How are you going to do that when you’re dead? It’ll be fun. I’ll do them real slow. You know how much I’ve always liked Audrey. Maybe I’ll play with her a little first.”
“You motherfucker.” Daddy lunges, but at the same time a gun goes off, and he falls to the floor, blood gushing from his head, spilling all over Mommy’s pretty white rug. It’s her favorite one. She doesn’t even let me eat on it.
Mommy’s body is vibrating so hard, it feels like she could take the house down with her. I hear her soft cries as she shushes me and hugs me, tells me she loves me, but I’m not crying anymore. I don’t feel anything at all. It’s like everything inside me shuts off, the sound of the gun somehow having scooped everything out of me.
Sloan leaves, and someone else comes in, wraps Dad in Mom’s favorite rug, and takes him away.
We stay hidden in the tiny room. I have to pee in the corner, and my stomach is growling, but there are people in and out of the house all day, cleaning and going through our stuff. I try to color, it’s one of my favorite things, but it’s hard to see and my dad is dead.
When it’s dark and the house has been empty for a while, Mom drags me out of the room. My legs are stiff from being locked up for so long.
“Come on, kiddo. We have to go.”
I want to ask her why, why that happened, and what about my things, but it’s like I forgot how to let words out.
We walk out back and through the woods. There’s a flashlight and a bag of food hidden in a tree.
“You’re being so brave. I’m so proud of you,” she says, but still, no words come out.
Finally, when we get through the trees, to the houses behind ours, Mom goes to a car, bends under it, pulls something out, then unlocks it.
“Let’s get you strapped in, big boy.” She tries to smile, but her chin wobbles.
All I can do is nod.
Mom takes us to a house I don’t recognize. It’s tiny…and empty, except for suitcases and bags hidden in the closet.
“We’re going to play another game now—the name game. Your new name is Dean. If anyone asks, you must tell them you’re Dean, okay?”
I nod. Why can’t I talk? Did my words get lost?
“We’ll be okay, Dean,” Mom says.
I nod again, and we drive away, getting as far away from Boston as we can.
*
Dean
Fifteen years later
I’ve been stalking the O’Sheas for as long as I’ve been able to be on the internet by myself. Mom spent most of my life being overprotective, hardly letting me out of her sight, but she couldn’t keep the internet from me. It became my only friend, in a way, because we moved too much for me to find any real friends—not that I want to. Fuck that. To have friends, you have to trust people, and I sure as shit won’t ever do that. Dad had trusted the O’Sheas, considered them family, and look what happened to him.
So yeah, I’ve spent a lot of fucking time online. There’s not much I can’t do with a computer. It comes naturally to me—coding, hacking—but so much of what I do is watch him, watch them. The people who used to say we’re family, who said they loved us, then killed my father in cold blood, simply because he wanted a different life for my mom and me.