The smell makes sense now because there’s blood everywhere. Pooling on the floor, dotted on the table, and splattered on the wall behind my father’s head that has a large bullet hole in it. The gun lays on the floor not too far from his limp arm that’s hanging over the arm of the chair. His skin is grey, lips a shadeof purple-blue that at any other time I’d find beautiful. He’s wearing that same black and red plaid shirt he always wears, with his jeans and his boots—those too with blood all over them.
A sob claws its way out of my throat. I turn away and vomit all over the floor. Everything I’d just had for breakfast comes up, along with tears pouring from my eyes. I stumble out of the house, choking out sobs as I pull my phone from my bag and dial 9-1-1.
I’m in the elevator going up, not sure where I am or how I got here. My eyes burn, my face tight with dried tears. My chest aches and my heart hurts. Blinking a few times, the reminder of what happened comes barreling back into my mind, the images playing on a slideshow in my head.
My father killed himself. I found him.
He killed himself, and I found him.
The blood… There was so much blood. All over the place. The floor, the wall, the table… all over him.
He wanted me to find him. Did it on purpose. He left a note addressed to me. That’s what the cops said. They showed it to me. It was inside a plastic bag, but they let me read it. I couldn’t though. Everything was a blur, but I made out some of the words. Words that are too painful to recall right now—maybe ever.
The elevator stops on the forty-first floor, and that rings a bell. When the doors open, I recognize the black and gold abstract painting that’s hanging on the wall in front of me.
Why did I come here? Even more than that, how the hell did I get here?
Even after remembering what happened, I don’t remember getting here. But I did for a reason, and as pathetic as that is, I don’t care. I have nowhere else to go, and right now, I need to be with someone.
My legs move by habit down the hall and to the last door on the end. I knock, holding my breath, unsure of what I’m going to say or do when he opens the door. If he even does because I don’t know if he’s home.
It’s only a moment before the door opens. Harrison’s face looks almost suspicious as he comes into view around the door, but then it turns to confusion.
“I’m so s-sorry. I d-didn’t know where else t-to go.” The words fall out of my mouth through sobs. It’s pathetic he’s the only person I can go to. After what he did to me, I shouldn’t want anything to do with him, but I need comfort. I need something familiar. And he is all I have.
“What’s going on, Seraphine?” he says, pulling me into his arms. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
I cry harder, tears soaking his shirt that smells of the detergent he uses. It reminds me of the way our bed sheets smelled, and my laundry too. His strong arms are around me and though everything in my life is terrible, this feels good. Even if it’s onlyfor a moment because this can’t ever work after what he did to me, but I’ll take what I can get from him. Just for a short time. Until I can pull myself together.
We stand there in the doorway for a long time, until I can’t cry anymore, and my hearing comes back, allowing me to make out his shushing. He’s rocking us slowly from side to side, cradling my head.
I take a deep, shuddering breath and pull back. Harrison cups my face, staring down at me with absolute concern. He wipes beneath my eyes with his thumbs, holding my gaze.
“My father, he…” My throat tightens again, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
“What did he do?”
Those words have my spine stiffening. It wasn’t Harrison who said them. Behind Harrison is his father. Elliot Caldwell stands there, furious—either at me or on my behalf. But why would that be? Why would he be angryforme? He doesn’t even know me.
“What did your father do, Sera?” Harrison asks more gently, sliding his hands down to my shoulders. I bring my gaze back to him, confused about why they’re here together. As far as I know, Elliot has never been here before, but honestly, I don’t know why that matters right now.
“He killed himself,” I finally manage to say. “He killed himself, and I found him.”
Harrison’s eyes widen and he curses under his breath. My gaze finds Elliot again, and he only looks angrier, his eyes heating with rage.
“Shit, I’m so sorry.” Harrison pulls me to him again, but this time I turn my head so I can stare at his father.
Are they messing with me? Could this really be blackmail? Is his father trying to find a reason to make me look bad? Say crude things to me to see if I’ll react, so he can paint me as the villain? This way, if I say something about what I saw, it won’t be credible. People like him always think others do mean things for the hell of it. They expect the worst of everyone. Elliot Caldwell doesn’t trust people like me, who are truly kind and don’t do mean things just because they have the opportunity to. I’m not that kind of person. But I push those thoughts away, tearing my gaze from Elliot, because I have more important issues to deal with.
Chapter Eleven
Elliot
The anger simmering beneath my skin is concerning. I’m not sure how I know, but I have a gut feeling that Seraphine’s father did this on purpose. The mention of her father being a horrible man by Harrison tells me all I need to know. And the thought of a father doing something like that to their child on purpose angers me beyond belief. Though my son and I don’t have the best relationship, I would never do something to hurt him. Quite the opposite, actually. I do all that I can to make his life good, to make him happy and give him everything he needs. I wouldneverdo something to hurt him.
Well, I suppose that remains to be seen… but really, how much could what Seraphine and I did hurt him, when he’s the one who cheated on her and effectively ended their relationship?
“Bring her inside. Let me close the door,” I say.
