Page 78 of The Atonement
“Why are you leaving Dad? For him? What’s he done to you?”
“No. Dylan, you’ve got it all wrong—”
“Do I? What happened to your face? What did he do?”
“He? Oh, sweetheart, Matt didn’t do this. Matt’s a friend. But, listen, honey, we have to go. Your dad could be here any minute, and—”
“He’s already here,” he said firmly.
“What?” she gasped.
“He brought me.”
“At least he brought him back to you,” Adele said. “See, he was trying to help.”
Ignoring her now, Ainsley spoke directly to our son. “Dylan, there are some things you need to know about your father, and—”
“There’s a car outside,” Matt confirmed.
“We don’t need you to tell her what I already told her, asshole,” Dylan shouted, his voice erratic. He was losing control. Getting too emotional. He wasn’t ready for this.
“Sorry,” Matt mumbled. “I was just trying to—”
“Dylan! No!” Ainsley shouted, her voice echoing through the halls. The crack of a gunshot rang out. I smiled as I heard a thud.
A body had fallen to the floor.
His body.
I stepped out of my hiding place, taking in the scene: Matt was slumped in the corner against the wall; Adele was on the stairs, her eyes wide with the horror of what had happened; Ainsley stood in the center of the room, a hand over her agape mouth; Dylan was pale-faced and quivering, the gun dangling in his hand at his side.
“What did you do?” Ainsley asked in horror, crossing the room to examine Matt.
“I’m sorry… I had to…” He couldn’t seem to form words. It was time for me to interject.
“Attaboy,” I said, approaching him from behind and placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Peter?” Ainsley stood, her back slamming into the wall. She shot a glance at Dylan, then leered at me. “You did this? You…you had him kill an innocent person? Why? Why would you do this? To get back at me?”
“Of course, he didn’t,” Adele argued, looking at me with disbelief. “Tell her you didn’t, Peter.”
“He’s hardly innocent,” I said, gesturing toward her face. “You can give up the act. I told him everything. He knows Matt’s the one who did that to you.”
“You’re…you’re insane. Delusion—”
At her feet, Matt groaned, his body shuddering as he released an exasperated breath.
“He’s not dead.” Ainsley fell to the ground, a hand over the wound on his shoulder.
“You know what you have to do,” I told Dylan, lowering my mouth to his ear.
“Dylan, sweetheart, don’t listen to him. Just…bring the gun to me,” Ainsley urged. “Please. Please, son. Bring it to me. You’re confused. You don’t want to hurt anyone. I know that.”
“He’s protecting you, Ainsley,” I argued. “Stop lying.”
“Dad, I’m scared—” His voice quivered.
“Sweetheart, please,” Ainsley begged, one hand on Matt’s shoulder and the other—bloody and shaking—outstretched for Dylan. “Please come to me.”
