Page 25 of The Shadowed Oracle
“Your mom,” Ingrid said innocently, warming up to it. “She’s gone now?”
“Almost a decade ago. Just haven’t been able to sell the place.”
“Why?”
“Haven’t had time.” He avoided her dagger-like stare, trying to laugh it off. “I’ve been pretty busy. You know, making sure you don’t get yourself killed and all.”
“Bullshit.” Ingrid wasn’t amused. “I remember that little comment you made about your mom. You didn’t get along, at the very least. So why haven’t you sold the house? Is there even a house? Or is this?—”
“Why would I lie about that?” Dean cut her off. “I haven’t sold it because there are too many memories. Too many… well, you know how complicated parents can be.” He trailed off, hoping Ingrid would move on.
She didn’t.
There was something in the way he’d said it. It wasn’t the usual assumed understanding another person would have for familial issues. It was more like he knew about her own parents.
And then, just as Ingrid’s anger peaked, Dean did something that put any lingering doubt she had to rest.
For a half-second, angling only his eyes, he glanced at her necklace.
It was all Ingrid needed.
“I can see that you’re trying to help.” She said it calmly, smiled with just the corners of her mouth, dropped her suitcase, then palmed her gun within the confines of her handbag. “I can also see you’re not telling me the truth. Not the entirety of it.”
Dean opened his mouth to defend himself, but quickly closed it as he watched Ingrid pull out the gun and point it directly at his chest.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he said, deathly quiet. “I thought you were joking about the gun. Do you know how to use that?”
She knew more than that. Monthly gun range visits for the last seven years had also given her the comfort and confidence to hold it intently. It didn’t matter that she’d never drawn it on another human being. At that moment, she was at ease. She felt in control.
“Either move,” Ingrid said. “Or start giving me some answers. Tell me why you were so upset that I didn’t recognize that second set of symbols. Tell me why you looked at my father’s necklace just now. And tell me why that—” She cocked her head toward the spot in the hallway, where she’d been held captive. “That thing didn’t scare you. Or even rattle you.”
He made the slightest gesture to the gun, smiling as if it were a toy. “I’m scared now, believe me. But that Thing… just because I’ve seen one before, it doesn’t mean it didn’t scare me too.”
“Stop acting like—” Ingrid cut herself short. She had just pulled a gun, yet somehow, she was the one who suddenly felt blindsided. She’d been so ready to doubt him, so ready to expose him, to shoot him, even, that she didn’t register the vague admission.
“You know what that Thing was?” she asked.
Dean let out a long exhale, looking so relieved that Ingrid swore she saw a few wrinkles in his forehead vanish. “Yes, I do. This wasn’t how I wanted to tell you all this, but damnit, I’m glad you figured it out.”
The room went so still that Ingrid could hear the metallic sound of her finger slightly adjusting on her gun. She kept it fixed on him, staring.
“I’ll tell you everything,” he went on. “I’ve been dying to, really. But it’s best if I show you something first.” Dean stepped toward her slowly, stopped, and then stiffened as the barrel was raised to his head.
“I like you better where you are,” Ingrid demanded.
Dean obeyed. “I’m on your side here, Ingrid. Please, believe me.”
“Give me a reason to.”
“Please, just—please. Ingrid, let me show you.”
“Show me what?”
“I can’t explain it properly. I have to show you. It’s in my jacket pocket. Can I reach for it?”
Ingrid knew it would be stupid to agree. She knew he carried a weapon and she knew he wasn’t what he seemed to be. Yet, above all else, she wanted answers. And at the moment, Dean was the only one offering them.
“Okay,” she said. “Slow. Don’t think I won’t shoot you.”
