“It’s me.”
“The Restorer?”
That’s the only name I gave them. My guarantee they wouldn’t expose me.
Someone else talked. I’ll get the name out of Barclay once I’m done with him, just to know who to stay away from.
“Open the gates,” I order.
“You’re here?” He sounds worried. “As in the Montgomery house?”
“Yes.” I’m about to repeat my order, but then the gates creak as they begin to part. “Thanks. Leave the front door unlocked and join the other nurse in your quarters. Don’t leave until you hear from me.”
The line goes silent for a beat while my SUV bumps over the weathered driveway.
“I don’t mean to overstep,” the idiot starts. “I just—you sound, um, like you mean him harm. I can’t be an accomplice to a crime, in case that’s what this is. I won’t let you kill my patient.”
Motherfucker.
“First of all, you don’t answer to him. You answer to me. The man who signs your fucking checks.” There’s no mistaking the threat in my voice. How I could and would fire him in a heartbeat. “Second, I won’t kill him. Stop arguing and do as I fucking say. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Not gracing him with a goodbye, I end the call.
Overgrown grounds flank the driveway as I approach the house I once called home. Even before the Montgomerys became my legal guardians, I practically lived here.
Now, there’s nothing left but decay. Flickering lampposts. Wild grass.
At the end of the driveway, the house waits, brick and stone crumbling in plain sight.
I cut the engine, step out, and walk past the front door. What I find inside is worse than I expected. Sickly yellow stains taint the once-white walls. Cracks split the marble flooring. A pot has been placed beneath a leak that’s eaten through the roof and the floor above, half full from last night’s rain.
It looks like renovation—or even basic upkeep—had been out of their budget long before Barclay’s last and most epic fuck-up.
If I had to guess, Elowyn had been setting money aside for when shit hit the fan.
It worked. The legal fees were paid. The civil settlement covered.
While the house itself continued to rot.
I shake my head, reminding myself it’s not my problem, nor is it Elowyn’s. I told the nurses as much too, in so many words. Their job is to keep Barclay pain-free. The house isn’t part of the deal.
My heart twists uncomfortably as I ascend the steps toward Barclay’s room. I can’t help thinking back to what Neil included in his first report about Barclay’s condition.
“He’s doing exceptionally well for someone being cared for by a family member.”
I never doubted Elowyn had bent over backward for her brother. Still, it doesn’t soothe the sting. She was forced to tend to her abuser.
The suit jacket I put on at home feels too hot. Too tight.
I’m going to murder Barclay.
“He had my hair in his fist and a knife pinned to my throat. He was going to hurt me.”
The shitface Barclay put an end to.
Fine.Fine.
