Killian

 

My dad answered the door, and I smiled and offered up a small wave, hoping to break the tension. The gesture seemed useless though when two enforcers appeared behind him like twin shadows. Was my dad really so afraid of me that he couldn’t meet with me without extra security? Perhaps convincing him of my innocence would be harder than I imagined.

 

Without changing his expression, he stepped back from the door and ushered me inside. The house looked exactly as it had the last time I’d seen it. One of Niall’s denim jackets hung from a hook behind the door, and his running shoes were in the exact same place he’d last kicked them off.

 

Dad had always hated mess, and he’d asked Niall too many times to count not to leave his shoes by the door, but there they were, a kind of monument to his absence. I wondered how long they’d stay there before someone moved them, whether on accident or on purpose.

 

“We can go to the dining room,” Dad said, walking ahead of me, leading me through the house as though I needed a guide. As though I didn’t have every square inch of the place burned into my memory.

 

“How have you been?” I asked, hoping to shift the tone of our meeting from an interrogation to a reunion, but that didn’t seem like a possibility.

 

My question received no response other than a slight tightening of Dad’s shoulders. As he passed by the large mahogany table, he pulled one of the chairs out, gesturing for me to take a seat, and then lowered himself into the chair directly opposite it, the enforcers standing on either side of him as if we were in an Al Pacino movie.

 

“So,” he said, his hands folded in front of him, his thumbs twirling around one another, “you wanted to talk.”

 

“Uhh, yeah.” I hated how nervous I sounded. Dad had always been the negotiator, at ease in even the tensest situations. I, on the other hand, had not inherited that trait.

 

Nervousness oozed out of me, so much so I was afraid I’d spill some of it on the table. My leg bounced wildly, making the table shake, and as soon as I gained control of the right one, the left one started up. I took a deep breath, trying to remind myself that I was talking to my father. The man who raised me. Who raised Niall. Who, though it was hard to see at the moment, somewhere deep down still loved me. Even with everything that had happened between us in the weeks since Niall’s death, I truly believed that.

 

“That was not a question,” he said, his voice cool and even. “It was an invitation for you to begin.”

 

“Right.” I nodded, and looked down at my hands, taking a deep, steadying breath as I pressed my palms to the smooth surface of the table.

 

How many times had I sat around this table with Niall and my dad? How many meals and conversations and family discussions and business meetings had we shared here? Too many to count. I hated that this meeting, this conversation about Niall and his death and his murderer, was taking place in the house and at the table where I had so many good memories.

 

This moment, despite the outcome, would always be a stain on the many good memories we’d shared here, and I hated the thought of that. Still, I tried to push these thoughts away, save them for another time when my entire future wasn’t hanging in the balance.

 

“I know you think I hurt Niall.” I chanced a glance at my father, hoping to read his reaction for any sign of how this conversation would go. However, aside from a subtle tightening of his lips, he gave away nothing except for a solitary nod.

 

I pressed on. “I can even understand how you may have come to that conclusion. I was the last person to be seen with Niall. I was the person who set up the meeting that night. I told Kevin Rourke to meet us there. I had my hand in every part of the planning that night. I see how guilty that makes me look, and I don’t blame you for thinking I played a part in how he died.”

 

“Murdered,” Dad said, his voice quiet.

 

“What?” I asked. I’d hit a stride in my speech, and I hadn’t anticipated being interrupted. It had thrown me.

 

“He didn’t die,” Dad said, his lip curling around the word as though it left a bad taste in his mouth. “He was murdered. I think you played a part in how he was murdered.”

 

I let the words sink in; opened myself fully to the reality that my father believed I murdered my own brother. For weeks, I’d deluded myself into thinking it wasn’t as bad as everyone said. I’d convinced myself that Dad may blame me for his death, but surely, he couldn’t truly believe I set out to murder my own brother. Now, though, the truth had been laid bare before me. And as much as they hurt, I needed to hear it. I needed to know what I was up against.

 

“Yes,” I said, hoping he couldn’t detect the shakiness of my voice. “You’re right. Niall was murdered. Calling it anything less is a dishonor to his memory. Your son, my brother, was murdered in cold-blood that night in the alley.”

 

Dad’s fists clenched on the table, and his teeth ground together behind his lips. He was always so calm and collected, but I could see the rage boiling just below the surface of him.

 

“But not by me.”

 

###

 

Heather

 

Caleb instructed me to drive to the back corner of the compound. The area was mostly deserted, nothing more than a few vacant homes and a storage warehouse.

 

“What’s your plan, Caleb?” I asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

 

“God!” he shouted, shaking the gun in frustration. “Would you stop asking me that? I’m not going to tell, okay? And sorry, but this time there isn’t a journal lying around for you to snoop through.”

 

I flinched away from his thinly veiled anger. He was trying to smile, look happy and excited, but I knew Caleb. Despite the monster he’d become, he was my brother. I’d grown up with his moods and his tempers. I could read him, and it was clear he was close to cracking. The one thing I didn’t know, was what he’d do when that happened.

 

“You know about that?” I asked, following Caleb’s direction and pulling into the lot behind the warehouse.

 

“I knew someone had been in my room, and I suspected they’d gone through my things, but I wasn’t sure who. Then, of course, you made your little announcement to Dad and gave yourself away.”

 

“Does Dad know?” I asked.

 

“He knows what you think, but he doesn’t believe you,” Caleb said. “It is a pretty far-fetched story. Especially when Killian looks so guilty. I’m not surprised no one has figured it out. Honestly, I’m surprised you did. With Niall dying and the pregnancy, I’d pegged you as being way too self-involved to ever suspect me.”

 

I shifted the car into park and leaned back in my seat, trying to get as far away from the gun as possible, though I knew that ultimately wouldn’t really help. “You knew about me being pregnant?”

 

He smiled. “Let’s just say, I had to act pretty surprised when Dad told me about the message from the doctor’s office.”

 

“How?” I asked, a hatred I’d never known growing inside of me, aching to break free and claw Caleb to shreds.

 

Part of it was anger at myself, as well. For the trust I’d placed in him, the naivety with which I’d lived, assuming he wanted nothing but the best for me. Caleb was the one to blame for everything that had happened, but I couldn’t help but feel that I shared a tiny bit of it myself.

 

“You weren’t exactly subtle.” He laughed, and the icy tones of it sent goosebumps up and down my arms. “Do you remember the night I came in to tell you about Niall? I’d wanted to be the one to break the news to you, to see the look on your face. I know that sounds cruel, but I was curious to see how much you actually cared for him. I wondered whether you’d break down in tears or confess everything to me once you heard the news, but props to you, little sister, you kept a poker face. However, I did see you hide something under the covers when I walked in the room. At the time, I suspected they were love letters from Niall or a dirty magazine, but still, I had to know for sure. So, I snuck into your room while you were showering the next morning, and I found the pregnancy tests in your drawer. They weren’t even hidden under a piece of paper or anything. I opened the drawer, and they were just laying there, on display for anyone to see.”

 

“I wouldn’t say that being in a closed drawer in my bedroom counts as being ‘on display,’ ” I said.

 

“Now, now, Heather. Who is the pot and who is the kettle here? You looked through my things, as well. I don’t think you have the moral high ground in this situation that you think you do.”

 

I laughed. “Well, considering I haven’t killed anyone, let’s agree to disagree on that.”

 

“I don’t know. The argument could be made that you killed Niall by hooking up with him despite knowing how Dad and I felt about the O’Donnells.”

 

“You work for the O’Donnells,” I shouted. “How can you hate a family you have been sworn to protect? It doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“Perhaps Dad will fill you in on the details,” Caleb said, stepping out of the car. He leaned down to look through the door at me. “Please follow me.”

 

“Is Dad in there? Does he know you’re doing this?”

 

“All will be revealed soon enough,” he said, using the gun to gesture for me to hurry up.

 

I sighed, trying to pretend I wasn’t frightened. “Would you stop acting like you’re the villain in some movie? There are no cameras around. This is real-life. Just be a normal person for a second, and tell me what is going on.”

 

Rather than respond, Caleb walked around the back of the car, pushed the gun into my spine, and forced me towards the back door of the warehouse. The door opened on squeaky hinges, and it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust to the gloom. Most of the windows had been blacked out with years of dirt and grime, and there weren’t any lights on.

 

Caleb shoved me again, apologizing with a sneer when I stumbled and directed me to a door just to the right. I could see light peeking around the edges of the frame, and a shadow moved across the floor on the other side. Then, just as we approached the door, it was thrown open, a man silhouetted in the doorway.

 

“Heather, you aren’t looking so well,” my dad’s voice said, mock concern etched into every word.

 

“Why are you doing this, Dad? Why are you working with Caleb?” I asked.

 

“The real question,” he said, as he stepped back so Caleb could push me into the room, “is why you are working against us? We are your family, Heather. We care about you more than anyone else. We only want what is best for you.”

 

Hearing the lies I’d believed for so long pour from my father’s mouth made me feel sick. He couldn’t care about me and still stand in front of me with a smile on his face while a gun was pointed at my back.

 

I pointed to my stomach. “This is my family now. This baby is my flesh and blood. If you want me to work with you, then you are going to have to accept that.”

 

He lowered himself into one of three metal fold-out chairs, and I wondered whether he’d brought them to the warehouse especially for this meeting because, otherwise, the room was empty. Wood shelves lined the walls, but aside from an empty cardboard box and years of dust, they were bare.

 

“The hospital called me yesterday,” he said, his hands folded across his knee. “Apparently, you were admitted to the ER.”

 

“How did you—”

 

“If you really want me out of your personal business, you should change your emergency contact and get your own health insurance,” he said, not waiting for me to finish. “Anyway, they said you had a seizure, and they needed your medical history. Apparently, the person who brought you in—who I can only assume was Killian—didn’t have much useful information for them. He didn’t know you were allergic to Penicillin, for example, and he had no idea if you had a history of seizures. Is that the person into whose hands you want to trust your life? Over your brother and me? Someone who doesn’t even know you well enough to know whether you’re epileptic or not?”

 

“At least I know Killian isn’t a murderer. Can you say the same about your partner in crime? Do you really believe Caleb is telling you the truth?” I asked, using the only move I had left: driving a wedge between them. “I read his journals. I saw his entire plan. You weren’t there the night Niall was killed because Caleb sent you a message. He pretended to be Killian and called you off.”

 

Behind me, Caleb snorted. “This is absurd.”

 

“Is it?” I asked, turning around to face him, the gun now pointed at my chest. “It seems to me that anyone who is willing to hold their own sister at gunpoint is a pretty loose cannon.”

 

“It seems to me that any sister who is willing to throw her own brother under the bus for her baby daddy isn’t a real sister,” he replied, his smile slipping into a snarl.

 

“Enough,” Dad said, making us both jump. “I won’t stand here and let you two talk to one another like that.”

 

“He has a gun to my back, and you’re worried about what he’s saying to me. Dad, are you joking?” I asked, almost laughing at the absurdity of it all.

 

“I said that’s enough,” he repeated, his voice low but threatening, reminding me of when we were kids, poking each other’s arms and pulling hair in the back seat. But back then, my biggest fear was that I’d be grounded. Now, a whole new world of horror was opening up before me. “Besides, none of this will matter soon enough. Things will go back to the way they used to be.”

 

“What does that mean?” I asked, staring at my dad, terror gripping my chest. I turned back to Caleb, even though I knew it was useless. “What does he mean?”

 

“The doctor said your body is having a hard time with the pregnancy. Don’t you understand what that means? It means that fate has intervened. You will lose this baby, and we will forget this happened,” Dad said, his face smooth and spiritual like he’d just returned from a year-long meditation.

 

“That’s not what the doctor said.” I felt like I was talking to a brick wall for all the impact my words were having. Still, I tried. “The doctor said I was stressed. I just needed to relax, and everything could turn out fine.”

 

“Yes,” Dad said, his face growing long and somber. “I’ve prepared for that possibility, as well. If nature doesn’t run its course, then I will be forced to step in.”

 

“What do you—”

 

The words died on my lips as he reached into his front pocket and pulled out a small bottle of pills. He shook them, the pills inside rattling around like a horrific maraca.

 

“What are those?” I croaked, though I feared I already knew the answer.

 

He sighed, put the pills back in his pocket, and sat down in the chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “A solution to your problem.”

 

“No!” I shouted. “Those are a solution to your problem. My problem is the two of you. I’m an adult. I can do what I please, and that includes having this baby. You can’t control me forever.”

 

“I’m not trying to control you, Heather. I’m trying to make sure you don’t make a horrible mistake.”

 

“Dad, Caleb killed someone! That is a mistake. That is a royal, massive, life-shattering mistake. This baby? This baby is a miracle. It’s the only good thing in my life, and if you take it away from me, I will never speak to you again. I will go to the police. I’ll turn Caleb in. I’ll turn you in for murdering my baby. You’ll both go to prison, and I’ll never see you again.”

 

The words were coming out too fast. I could feel my breath leaving me, saw the black creeping around the edges of my vision. The room went fuzzy, and my thoughts were whirlpools, drawing me in and pulling me around and around until I didn’t know which way was up.

 

I don’t know who caught me when I fell, or if anyone did, but my knees buckled under my weight just as the world went dark.