Page 31 of Remorseless
Especially Mom’s, the most important person in this sad situation. The one who was hurt the most by Torie’s determination to steal Dad away.Momordered Torie’s death. She didn’t gentle Dad’s intentions with reminders of what a good man he was. She’d allowed the beast lurking within him free rein.
CJ never saw the monster. He’d witnessed his father kill two men and saw the aftermath when he’d killed two more. CJ hadn’t seen remorse, but neither had he glimpsed such viciousness.
Days later, CJ still didn’t know how to feel. He hated the part of himself that rejoiced Torie’s demise. She was gone. His parents could finally return to the place they’d been prior to November 23rd.
On the other hand, CJ knew Torie’s ex-husband. He knew of her son. When she didn’t return what would happen then? D. Elliot would report her as missing and news outlets would plaster her image everywhere as they had Mom’s dickhead financial advisor?
What would that mean for Dad? Sooner or later, a smart cop would put two and two together and realize Brett and Torie had ties to Dad. Of all the things he and Dad talked about, D. Elliot and his response once he realized Torie wouldn’t return hadn’t come up.
CJ rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept much since Friday. His thoughts ran amok. He couldn’t forget Dad strangling…he couldn’t forget the fear on Uncle Johnnie’s, Uncle Digger’s, and Uncle Val’s faces. Uncle Val didn’t have a reason, but the other two did. CJ couldn’t forget tension so thick, it should’ve stopped one of the bullets Dad fired into Torie’s head.
Tipping his head back, he stared at the ceiling. “Goddamn,” he mumbled.
“Mr. Caldwell?”
Sighing, CJ looked at Mr. Wilhemhein. The math teacher was a combination of Lumbly and Billson. Whether he was a motherfucker or a caring authority figure depended on the day.
“Sir?”
“I don’t remember writing anything on the ceiling. Since you think I did, please provide the answer to my question.”
Definitely a motherfucker today. Of all fucking days.
“Can you repeat the question?”
The teacher shook his bald head and smirked. “I cannot.”
Annoyance surged into CJ. He was in no mood for his bullshit. Fuck, he wasn’t in the mood for school. “Then I can’t answer the question.”
“If you don’t, you will get a zero for today.”
Passing Pre-Calc was the least of his fucking problems. CJ shrugged. “Save us both time and give me the zero, sir.”
The bell rang, rescuing CJ from more interaction with the teacher. He waited a moment, in case Wilhemhein asked to speak to him. When that didn’t happen, he stood, and snatched his backpack from his chair.
Students crowded the hallway, rushing to their next class or, like him, to a place to spend their lunch break. Unlike most of the buildings, Pacific Hall, or the math building, enjoyed natural light from the dozens of windows on all three floors. Motivational posters, bulletin boards, and whiteboards decorated the interior walls.
In his freshman year, CJ was excited to have access to all the buildings that made up the Upper School. Columbia Hall—the Middle School—felt stifling with its depressing Gothic décor.
Every two steps, someone threw a, “hey, CJ,” his way. The greetings slowed him down, though he nodded or spoke to everyone. The fucked up images in his head weren’t their fault.
Outside, the cold air hit CJ immediately. He needed to go to his locker in Franklin Hall, the Language Arts building, then head to Lewis Hall for a bite to eat, although he wasn’t hungry.
Zipping his jacket, he turned onto the walkway between the buildings, taking the shorter route, though the longer one might’ve helped clear his head.
On the side of Merriweather Hall, a lone figure caught his attention.Harley. She was crying. But when wasn’t she crying lately? Thank fuck, she didn’t notice him. He started forward, then halted. His anger at her deceit faded in one of his father’s twelve gunshots into Torie’s head.
Fuck.
Even after her death, she continued to fuck up everything.
As for Harley, he felt nothing for her. Not love nor hate. However, she was a club member’s daughter. Long ago, the older kids were tasked with watching over the younger ones. As the president’s son, he bore an even greater burden.
He redirected his steps, reaching her within seconds. “What’s up, Harley?”
She raised her pitiful gaze to him. Her bruises from the fight she’d had with her mother were all but gone, but her eyes were haunted. She sniffled.
A smidgeon of sympathy hit CJ. He gritted his teeth and looked at his watch. “Shouldn’t you be at rehearsal for the play?”
