Eamon doesn’t waste a moment securing him to the seat with rope, I didn’t even notice till just now.
I can’t contain myself any longer, his blithe attitude makes me want to slap him. “Why?!” I all but scream. “Why did you kill him?!”
His humor melts away all at once, morphing the unstable individual. Long gone was the man I shared gossip with, in the diner booth. In his place was a cruel, calculated man. “You’ll have to be more specific.” Each word pointed, he knew who I was referring to. Nicholas looks at the other people in the room. “Is that why we’re all here today? Fences mended over the loss of your pansy brother?”
Oh… no! Did he really just say that? I want to hit him. Beside myself with rage…before I have a chance to react, Andrea steps forward her fist winds back and drives into his face with a satisfying crunch to the side of his jaw.
Nicholas' face flies to the right and he spits blood onto the floor. “Bitch.”
Do we have duct tape or something? Why hasn’t Eamon gagged him yet?
Rhythmic footfalls echo down the hallway, getting louder upon approach until the next guest makes themself known. Mairead stands in the doorframe, somehow looking both adorable and menacing at the same time. She seamlessly twirls into the space, first visiting the prisoners with a pat on the head, before settling right next to Andrea. “This guy? He looks like an accountant,” the redhead teases, hopping up onto the desk surface. Promptly, she pulls out a colorful blade and proceeds to flip it open and close with ease.
Andrea wipes away residual blood from her knuckles with a small towel, before throwing it in a corner. I can’t help but glance back over to the splatter of blood on the floor. My arms fold over my stomach, eager to keep the sickening feeling at bay. Why did I think I could handle this?
“Looks can be deceiving." My roommate informs the newcomer.
With his mouth ajar, my uncle moves his tongue around as if searching for any missing teeth. We all watch as he sucks at his teeth and regurgitates even more blood onto the linoleum. “Well… Isn’t this a lovely site?” The words slither through the room. Despite his current disadvantage, he’s unable to censor himself.
Kent mumbles something off to the side; I nearly forgot he was here.
Andrea lets out an audible groan. Looking straight up to the ceiling. “Shuuuut upppp! You’ll get your turn soon enough.”
Without notice, the light from the hall is dimmed. We all turn to find Dax, poised just within the room. What took him so long? He was supposed to be here when I arrived. It doesn’t matter,he’s here now. The restrained man’s eyes narrow. I hate the way he’s glaring at Dax, following his every move as he strides into the space, coming straight to my side. My body instantly relaxes from his mere proximity. Maybe I can stomach one more punch to the ‘worst uncle ever.’ His finger brushes against the back of my hand, stealing my focus. As if we were alone, my eyes crawl up his broad chest, over his unique scar, where I find solace in his flawless gaze. He has the ability to tell me exactly what I need to hear, all without a word. My lighthouse in this storm.
Just past Dax, I watch as Eamon approaches us, stopping when he lifts his arm and puts a gun to Dax’s head.
“Uh-oh… Trouble in paradise?” Nicholas taunts.
This time, Mairead hops off the table and kicks him in the shin. “Shhhhhh…. not your turn linguine!” she scolds, before springing back onto the desktop. Then she proceeds to eat a handful of popcorn. Where in the Sam Hill did she get that from?!
“Eamon…” I speak evenly. “What are you doing? This isn’t a part of the plan.” Gradually, I stalk around Dax’s position, to face a fuming Eamon. His skin is redder than when he first came into the room. Eyes boring into the side of Dax’s face. “Dax didn’t do anything. Nicholas is responsible… remember?”
I wasn’t meant for this. The most mediating I’ve ever done was, when I took a summer job in high school as a camp counselor. I never realized how highly regarded Pokémon trading cards were, before using them as a bargaining chip between a group of wild six-year-old boys, who wouldn’t stop hitting each other with sticks. This couldn’t be much different, right? I raise both hands slowly, showing Eamon I’m not a threat.
“For so long, I couldn’t imagine you having a hand in this.” Eamon starts. “Not the seemingly innocent, little sister… but then, I found the brooch on my bedroom floor, after the nightyou came over. I didn’t think much of it at first, but once I thought about what you said…. I gave the pin another look. Quite to my surprise, I found a microphone inside the metallic flower.”
My eyes jump to Andrea for a moment, then back to Dax.
“Who was listening on the other side of the microphone, Cindel?”
Dax bares his teeth, but it was actually Andrea who rose and spoke. “It was me. I told her to wear the mic.”
Eamon regards my friend standing her ground, just beside his very entertained sister, as she shoves another mouthful of popcorn in. “I didn’t trust you.” She continues. “I thought for certain you were behind the Lombardi's adversities.”
Stepping forward, he towers over her, still; she levels Eamon with equal intensity. His gun never lowers from Dax. Neither party breaks from their unofficial, stare-down for long moments.
To my surprise, Eamon folds. Stretching his neck to each side, he returns his attention to the person his weapon was pointed at. “You’re capable of a lot more than I initially gave you credit for Cindel, but Dax has pulled the wool over both of our eyes!” He’s speaking to me, but not bothering to actually look in my direction.
My eyes jump between Eamon’s gun and Dax. Fuck. Should I do something? Say something? Dax is just standing there… like, he’s not even surprised that a gun is being held to his head. Instead… he watches me with a pained expression… as though his concern is for me and not himself.
“Everything. All our misfortunes… they lead back to HIM!” Eamon's shouts. His sleepless, bloodshot eyes water in their corners. This is crazy! He’s not thinking straight.
“Eamon, you're wrong!” I finally interjected. “Dax wants to help. He’s only ever tried to help.” My vision adjusts past themen before me, to the man tied within the chair. His disquieting smirk gives me chills.
Eamon doesn’t seem to hear me, nor will he even consider my objection. “Would you like to take a guess at what I found last night?” Eamon inquires. “I’ll give you a hint… it was in Lousie’s hide.”
A nauseous realization courses through me. My hands shoot up to my mouth, trying to hold in anything that may accompany my sickening astonishment. Eamon nods to himself more than me. Clearly, my physical response was enough of an answer.
