Zane

 

I looked down at Lionel, dead in my arms. My own father, stabbed to death. I couldn’t believe it. His skin was already cold and hard to the touch, and the blood was starting to congeal on the sheets, making them look like they were covered in gobs of jelly. I shuddered as I gently laid him down on the bed. His eyes were open, like he was staring ahead at some horrible sight. Steeling my nerve, I reached forward and brought my hand to his face, closing his lids. I let out a sigh and pulled the covers over Lionel’s head. When he was covered like that, he looked like a doll: small, inconsequential. Like he’d never even been alive in the first place.

 

Heading downstairs, I realized I hadn’t seen any sign of Terry in the bedroom. My throat tightened again, threating to close. I wondered if she was hiding somewhere. “Terry?” I called loudly. “It’s just me, Zane. You need to come out, okay? No one is gonna hurt you, Ter!”

 

There was no reply. The sickening feeling in my gut got worse as I crept down the stairs one by one this time. Please don’t let her be dead, please don’t let her be dead, please don’t let her be dead, I thought desperately. Please don’t let Theresa be dead, please.

 

“Theresa!” I yelled loudly. “Where are you?”

 

There was a sound coming from the kitchen, like a crash, and I bolted in. The lights were off and the blinds were drawn. Dishes were in the sink, stinking to high heaven, and covered with the remains of food. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer.

 

“Terry, if you’re in here, please come out,” I begged. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just need to talk to you. You need to get out of here, Ter. It’s not a good place for you to stick around, okay?”

 

I closed my eyes and tried to tune out all of my senses except for hearing. The smell of foul, rotten food was making my nauseous but I clamped my lips shut and walked towards the sink. It looked like days since anyone had been in here, much less thought to clean.

 

“Terry, come on,” I called again. “I’m getting mad. Terry, come on, this is serious!”

 

There was still nothing. The bad feeling went from bad to worse as I walked into the dining room.

 

“Terry, come on. I’m getting really exasperated with you, and I gotta get going, but I wanna make sure you’re okay!”

 

There was a sound like a muffled thump coming from one of the cabinets where Lionel had used to keep the silver. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It’ll be over soon, Ricci, just get this shit done. Wrapping my hand around the cabinet handle, I yanked it open.

 

Terry’s naked body fell out. She was recently dead — almost as recent as Lionel — but it looked like she’d gone down with a fight, unlike my poor Pops. Her face was blue and swollen and her fat tongue was sticking out of her mouth. All traces of her beauty had completely disappeared. Her brown hair was matted with blood, and I realized there were cut and stab wounds all over the lithe body that had brought my father so much pleasure in his last few months.

 

“Oh, my God,” I mumbled under my breath. The vomit came up faster than I expected it to and I had to twist away to keep from throwing up all over the body. I gagged and coughed and spat up hot, sour chunks of bile. The smell invaded my nostrils, mixing with the slightly sweet, rank odor coming from Terry’s body.

 

Getting to my feet, I wiped my mouth with my sleeve and turned away. I couldn’t bring myself to just leave her like that, but I didn’t exactly want to pick the body up either. Finally, I yanked the muslin tablecloth off Lionel’s dining room table. Underneath the cloth, the surface was as smooth and polished as wax.

 

“Terry, I’m sorry this had to happen to you,” I said as I draped the sheet over her naked body. “I wish things had turned out differently.”

 

Something buzzed in my pocket and I had a start when I realized it was my phone. I shivered. There was something creepy about being on the phone around dead people. I quickly walked over to the front door and let myself out of Lionel’s house for the last time.

 

“Hello?”

 

There was a cold, high laugh on the other end of the phone. A fresh wave of nausea hit me and I doubled over, gagging and spitting in the bushes.

 

“Hello? Who is this?”

 

“We have Isabella,” said a gruff voice. “And if you don’t pay up a hundred million for her return, she ain’t gonna have legs to return on.”

 

There was another laugh and I yanked the phone away from my ear to look at the number. A cold chill hit my body when I realized it was Unknown. A rush of anger hit me, hot and cold and like pins and needles all over my body. I realized it was Jake. He had betrayed me, he had murdered my father, he had murdered Terry, and now he had Isabella. This had been his plan from the beginning. No coke deal, no working plan to help me out. None of that shit.

 

“Fuck you,” I spat into the receiver. “You don’t fucking know who you’re messing with here!”

 

The voice laughed. “Oh, Zane,” Jake replied. “Don’t you think I understand who you are by now? You’re a little hotheaded prick and you don’t think about shit before you move your mouth. You got the biggest fuckin’ mouth in New Jersey, and I don’t think you should be flapping it around anymore.”

 

“Fuck you,” I replied. The phone kept banging up against my ear and I realized my hands were shaking. “I can’t fucking believe you, Jake. You’re a sonuvabitch, do you know that?”

 

Jake laughed again. “I’m whatever you say I am, brother,” he replied, putting a cold emphasis on the last word.

 

“Were you one of the men who tried to kidnap Isabella behind Maison Bridges? Did I punch you in the face, Action Jake?” I was so angry I could spit.

 

“Like I’d tell you anything,” Jake said with a snort. “It doesn’t matter. Even if that had been me, would that change anything now? I don’t think it would, you fuck.”

 

I felt dizzy and groped for one of the columns outside of Lionel’s house. I felt like I was going to faint, or vomit again, or pass out. Get your shit together, Zane, I ordered myself. This kind of shit happens in the business all the time. You’re just lucky it didn’t happen sooner.

 

“You have twenty-four hours to get me the money before this sweet little blonde of yours gets it,” Jake snarled into the phone.

 

“Where do you want it?”

 

“Business headquarters,” Jake said. “Nice to see you’re coming around, Zane. Maybe this will be more of a pleasant transaction than I thought.”

 

“Don’t fucking bet on it,” I snapped. “And don’t fucking touch her. Don’t lay a fucking finger on her!”

 

Jake laughed. “She’ll be dead if you don’t get me the money,” he replied. Before I could answer, he’d hung up the phone.

 

I felt like my world was collapsing. Fuck. What the hell was I supposed to do now? When did Jake grab Isabella? I cursed myself for ever locking her up in my bedroom. I probably deserved this. I thought I was so great, thought I was on top of the world. God fucking damn it!

 

A chill ran through me as I realized Jake hadn’t been fucking around. If he wanted to hurt Isabella, nothing would stop him. He didn’t have a conscience, and he definitely didn’t feel compelled to listen to me when I warned him against something. Jake had always been like that. He’d always done his own thing, marched to the beat of his own drum. I’d always been jealous. Even though I was tough, I’d always listened to Lionel. I’d always done exactly what he wanted me to do.

 

And that’s why Lionel preferred Jake, I thought bitterly. And look how well that treated him in the end. I knew my father preferred his foster son to me, but I didn’t realize how angry and bitter it would make me after his death. I was willing to bet anything that until the moment Jake had plunged the knife in Lionel’s gut, Lionel would have said he was the better son.

 

It was all fucked up. None of it made sense. Nothing in the world made sense anymore.

 

Maybe Lionel can help with this, I thought, turning around. The realization that my father was dead hit me like a ton of bricks. He can’t help. He can’t help with anything ever again. Because he’s dead. Jake killed him. Your foster brother killed him.

 

I’d never felt so alone in my entire life. I knew I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and go get Isabella. She was the future; she was carrying my child.

 

“I’ll keep you safe,” I mumbled as I looked up to the sky. “I’ll keep you safe because I couldn’t keep Lionel safe, or Terry safe. I’ll protect you and our child until my dying breath.”