Allison Brennan - The Kill

January! He had no money, his job paid next to nothing, and he had to get out of town. Just in case someone figured out he’d whacked the cop and the attorney.

He thought if he came down here today, did his fucking civic duty , they’d at least give him a friggin’ reward.

Chris Driscoll had set him up. Motherfucking asshole let him rot in prison while he walked away free.

It was the cops’ fault. They should have asked those questions before. No one ever asked him if anyone had a reason to set him up. No, they just assumed he was guilty and wanted to know where he was, who he was with, and didn’t buy that he was sleeping off a drinking binge. Who cares if he lied about where he was? Everyone knows the cops are lazy S.O.B.’s who don’t care if you’re innocent.

As he left the courthouse, he saw his half-broke pickup truck in front of the building. A yellow ticket flapped from his windshield.

Well, fuck.

He pulled off the ticket and tore it in two. No way he was going to pay it.

That’s when he saw her .

She was standing under a tree, dressed impeccably, the cop who’d asked him about Driscoll holding her by the shoulders. Looking at her. Then he leaned over and kissed her, wrapped his arm around her, and they walked away, toward the parking garage across the street.

There she was. He didn’t have his gun; he didn’t dare bring it to the courthouse. He could have shot her right here, right now.

Seattle. She was in Seattle with the cop? Brian scratched his head. He’d gone through the cop’s desk and found an address for Olivia St. Martin in Fairfax, Virginia. He’d planned on going on to Virginia, whack her, then maybe up to Canada and just hang low for a while. But maybe seeing her was a sign. She wasn’t in Virginia; she was working with the cop from Seattle.

Maybe he should head up to Seattle. It wouldn’t take him more than two days’ driving. He’d swing by his rat-hole apartment and grab his stuff and go. He had enough money for gas.

But how would he find her in Seattle? He had her home address. Eventually, she had to go home, right? And he could be waiting for her. Blow her brains out as soon as she walked through the door.

But Seattle was closer. Eenie-meenie-miney-moe.

Virginia?

Or Seattle?

“Where did you grow up?” Zack asked when they were back in the car and heading toward the freeway.

Olivia waved vaguely to the west. “Not far.”

“Your sister was kidnapped from your neighborhood park?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to go back?”

She had been thinking exactly that. She’d wondered if going to the park would help purge some of the pain she still felt inside. After Missy’s murder, she’d never walked through the park again. She took the long way to school in the morning. She hated walking alone, so she tried to blend in with some of the older girls in the neighborhood. She’d wait just inside the front door until the girls passed her house, then she’d run out and follow them. They ignored her, but that was okay. She felt safer just because they were there.

“Do we have time?”

“We have a few minutes. Since we’re here-if you want to.”

She nodded and directed Zack to continue west, instead of turning north onto the freeway.

It surprised her how much things had changed, and how much they’d stayed the same. Everything seemed more . More houses, more stores, more businesses. But the streets were the same, and she had no doubt how to get home.

Home . She’d never thought of her house as a home, not after Missy was gone.

A couple of turns later, Olivia said, “Stop.”

Zack pulled over and looked at the houses on either side of the street. “Did they build over the park or something?”

She shook her head, her chest tight, her mind thick with competing emotions. She pointed to a house directly across the street, its brick front stately even though the house wasn’t large, the white shutters freshly painted, the drapes open to bring in light.

Her mother had never opened the drapes after Missy died.

“That’s where we lived.”

To her, the house had been lifeless, large, and forbidding, cutting off warmth and light as well as love.

She stared at the modest two-story on Eucalyptus Street. The magnolia tree in the front, a mere sapling in her youth, had matured, its trunk thicker than her embrace, the dark chunky leaves and huge white flowers arching stiffly over the freshly mowed lawn. A grouping of three white-trunked birch trees gathered at the southernmost corner of the house, partially shielding a healthy clematis that had reached the top of an eight-foot trellis. Meticulously groomed rosebushes in every shade from white to peach to vibrant red lined both sides of the property line. Her father had spent at least three hours a day tending his yard.

The new owners must have appreciated that, because they kept the garden thriving.

Her heart pounded so loudly she could hear its thump-thump vibrating in her ears. Her vision narrowed until the beautiful garden disappeared and all she saw was the hostile face of her childhood house. The upstairs windows glaring at her, accusing her. The shut door like pursed lips. Her mother’s rage and gut-wrenching grief.

She hated coming home.

It was the house itself that terrified her. She still heard her mother’s sobs, as if the walls themselves had recorded five years of maternal agony to replay every anguished cry for her.

Olivia’s shaking hand reached for the door handle. “Let’s walk,” she said.

Zack jumped out and opened her door for her, extending his hand for support and comfort. She felt like such an invalid, an albatross. She saw the house as it was in her memory, not as it was today.

But standing there, staring, she saw that some things had changed.

There was a minivan in the driveway.

A tricycle on the front porch.

Children’s laughter flitting through open windows.

As she watched the door opened and two small children, maybe four and five, ran from the house. They giggled, the sound sliding over Olivia’s ears like an oasis in the desert.

The giggles brought back memories of before . Before Missy died and the world changed. When they used to run down the street to the park, laughing and teasing each other. When they planned Daddy’s birthday party or surprised Mommy with flowers. When they played with dolls and set up house.

The mother, an attractive brunette with wide hips and a smile on her lips, quickly followed her children.

“Hold it!” she called as she locked the door.

The kids stopped in their tracks, a boy and a girl. “Please can we get ice cream?”

“If you’re good at the store,” she said.

“We’ll be good! Promise!”

The mother smiled wide, hoisted a large purse over her shoulder, and slid open the minivan door. The kids scrambled into the car and she buckled them into car seats. Moments later they drove away.

“Liv?” Zack said softly, using his thumb to wipe away tears she hadn’t known were there.

“I’m glad the house found a family.” She squeezed his hand. “Let’s walk. The park is around the corner.”

They rounded the corner and faced the park, the memory of Missy’s abduction so vivid Olivia could feel the bruise on her face from Driscoll’s assault. It had healed before they knew for certain Missy was dead.

She walked up to the memorial plaque the city council had erected a year after Missy’s murder and ran her fingers over the recessed letters.

Melissa Anne St. Martin Memorial Park.

The rickety metal jungle gym had been replaced several times over the years. The current bright red-and-yellow play structure had three slides, a bridge, and a pole to slide down. Four separate horses were cemented into the foundation under the bark so children could gallop in place.