Chapter 10
Emily's POV
I'd finished the dishes ten minutes ago. Now I sat on my bed with a textbook open in my lap.
I stared at the same paragraph about polynomial equations. I couldn't absorb a single word. My ears strained for any sound from outside. Sirens. Shouting. Anything that would tell me what was happening three blocks away.
The apartment was too quiet. Mom still wasn't back from the store. The clock on my nightstand ticked forward slowly. It was agony. 10:47, 10:48, 10:49. Each minute made the knot in my stomach pull tighter.
By now it should be over. By now something should have happened. By now I should know if my plan had worked. Or if I'd just made everything worse.
What if Marvin wasn't home? What if Dad sobered up on the walk over? What if they're drinking together right now, laughing about the stupid girl who thought she could manipulate them?
My fingers gripped the textbook hard enough to crease the pages. I forced myself to breathe slowly. I had to stay in my room like a normal daughter would. I couldn't give any sign that I was waiting for news. News about specific violence I'd set in motion.
Then I heard it. Heavy boots on the stairs outside. Slow and uneven. My heart kicked faster. My entire body went rigid. I tracked the sound of someone climbing toward our floor. Someone moving with the careful steps of exhaustion. Or injury. Or—
The apartment door opened.
I heard Dad stumble inside. The door slammed shut behind him. The frame rattled. Everything in me screamed to stay hidden! To remain invisible in my room until I knew what kind of danger I was facing.
But I needed to see. I needed to know what had happened. So I set the textbook aside. My hands were shaking. I stood up and forced my legs to carry me toward the bedroom door.
I opened my door slowly. Quietly. The first thing I saw was Dad's face.
He was pale. Not the flush of alcohol or exertion. This was a grayish pallor that made him look sick. Like something had drained out of him. Left only shock behind.
His shirt was torn at the collar. Dark stains splattered across the front. Blood or mud or both. His hands were shaking as he reached for the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter. The one he kept for when beer wasn't strong enough.
Is Marvin dead?
The question burned through my mind. But I couldn't ask it. I couldn't show that level of specific concern. That would reveal knowledge I wasn't supposed to have. So I just stood there in my doorway. Frozen. Watching Dad unscrew the bottle cap with fumbling fingers.
He raised it to his lips. Took a long pull. His throat worked. He grimaced like he was swallowing poison instead of comfort.
He didn't look at me. Didn't seem to notice I was there at all. Just kept drinking. Methodical and desperate. Like he was trying to drown something inside himself. Something that wouldn't die no matter how much alcohol he poured on it.
I couldn't read this. Couldn't tell if the pallor and shaking meant success or failure. I couldn't interpret whether he was in shock from killing someone. Or from being hurt himself. The uncertainty made my pulse hammer in my ears. Made my palms slick with sweat. I tried to decide what to do. What a normal daughter would do when her father came home looking like he'd walked through hell.
Minutes crawled past. Dad took another drink. Then another. His breathing was harsh and ragged in the silent apartment. I stayed in my doorway. Not quite entering the room but not retreating either. Caught between hiding and confronting. Between ignorance and knowledge.
Finally, without looking at me, Dad spoke. "Where'd your mother go?"
His voice came out rough. Abraded. Like he'd been shouting or screaming or maybe both. I swallowed hard. Forced my own voice to work despite the dryness in my throat. "She went shopping. To buy groceries."
He nodded slowly. Still didn't meet my eyes. Took another drink. The silence stretched out again. Thick and suffocating. Filled with everything neither of us was saying. About where he'd been. What he'd done. Why he looked like he was barely holding himself together.
I was just starting to think I should retreat back to my room. Let him drink in peace. Wait for answers to come some other way. Then I heard it.
Knock knock knock.
Three sharp raps on the door. Official and unmistakable.
"Police. Open the door. Now."
The effect on Dad was instant. Explosive. His head snapped up. His eyes went wide with animal panic. Before I could process what was happening, he hurled the whiskey bottle at the wall. He roared with incoherent rage. Glass shattered. Amber liquid splashed across the peeling wallpaper. He spun toward me. His face twisted into something monstrous. Something barely human.
"YOU SAID YOUR MOTHER WAS SHOPPING!" The words came out in a bellow. I flinched back against the doorframe. "You told me she was SHOPPING!"
What—
"You lying BITCH!" He was coming toward me now. Fury and betrayal radiated off him in waves. "You said Marvin took her! You said he TOOK HER and now you're—"
"I DIDN'T!" The denial ripped out of me in a scream. Genuine terror flooded through my body. I saw his hands reaching for me. I remembered what those hands could do when they decided to hurt. "I told you she went shopping! I've been saying that the whole time! She went shopping, Dad, she went to buy groceries, I never said—"
BANG BANG BANG.
"POLICE! OPEN THIS DOOR NOW OR WE'RE COMING IN!"