No. That has to be my imagination.
“What are you doing?” I scream, a stupid, pointless question. Theo answers it by swinging the ax down and implanting it in Owen’s head.
I scream and jerk away from the horror and there’s a terrible explosion that makes my ears ring and my whole body slam backward. Sheetrock showers down across Owen’s unmoving body, soaking up the blood.
“Fuck,” I whisper, fumbling with the gun. I hadn’t even realized I had my finger on the trigger.Don’t forget to pump it, Janet said, but I have no idea how to do that. I pull on the stock the way I’ve seen people do in movies, but nothing happens.
Theo steps toward me, his axe dripping blood at his side.
“Get away from me!” I scream, scrambling backward across the hallway until I slam up against the far wall. Theo stops, and I’m too paralyzed with fear to move.
Something clanks. I realize he’s dropped the axe to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he signs. “I couldn’t stop it.”
“Why did you do this?” I shriek, bracing my back against the wall to push myself up to standing. “I told you I would?—”
Take care of it, that’s what I want to say. But I didn’t take care of it. Calling CPS did nothing.
Theo signs something, but between the blood and the bright lights and the film of my tears, I don’t think I understood. It almost looks likeI knew it would be you.
“I trusted you!” I point the gun at his chest, like Janet said, and he doesn’t react at all. Just gazes at it with the same calm expression he used when we were sitting in front of the fire.
He signs again, and this time, I catch Oliver’s name.
“Oliver,” I whisper. “What did you do with Oliver?”
Theo’s hands move, slower this time. “Oliver is safe.”
I stare at him, hook my finger onto the trigger of the shotgun. Maybe it will still work.
“You killed his entire family,” I whisper.
“They didn’t love him,” Theo says.
My chest tightens. My hands shake, and the gun rattles in my grip. “And you expect me to believe that you do?”
Theo stares at me through the mask of blood on his face, his eyes the brightest thing in the room. I think, just for a second, that I see a woundedness in them.
“You won’t understand,” he says, each movement slow and careful. “But if I hadn’t done this, I might have unintentionally hurt him.”
I swear I see his hands shake.
“Or you.”
“Bullshit!” In a surge of adrenaline, I squeeze the trigger. Nothing happens. I look down at the gun in horror.
Theo moves closer to me, and I immediately jerk it up, holding it like a baseball bat. He holds out one hand, palm up, curls his fingers in.Give it to me.
“Get away,” I snarl, swinging the gun. He catches, and the strength of his grip reverberates down my arm.
Then he drags me up to him.
The stench of blood is overwhelming, a thick wet stink that’s like the inside of a human body. But I also think, just for a second, that I smell him. That scent like pine trees.
Disgust swells in my stomach. I try to jerk away. Theo grabs my arm, his hand sticky. “No.” He grabs my chin and makes me look at him. “Listen to me,” he signs with his free hand.
“Where’s Oliver?” I snarl.
