Page 17 of Dangerous Silence
“Do you know them?” Maddie whispered.
“No,” I said.
“Why didn’t you speak at the service?” the woman asked.
I shrugged. “Not really in the mood.”
“But you know that you’ll always live with the fact that you didn’t speak at the event that was supposed to honor your father’s life. You understand that, don’t you, dear?” The woman tossed her head. “I’m sure if you simply said that you loved your father, that would have been perfect. In fact, I think Clara could arrange something now if you’d like. Trust me, dear. I speak from experience. You need to honor his life.”
And that was the point, wasn’t it?Life. He was gone now. And I was living life. And I didn’t want to share his last words with a bunch of strangers. Maddie gave me a look, and I hung my head, staring down at my lap. I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch something. I wanted to rip that woman’s ugly earrings off and shove them down her throat. But it seemed like so much effort right then. None of it would’ve helped.
I needed to leave. But I couldn’t, not until I found Axe.
“Anyway, I was telling Hubert how amazing of a man your father was,” she said.
“But he did, you know, butcher those—”
“Wow, you must be Mr. and Mrs. Johnson,” Maddie said, grabbing their hands and shaking them enthusiastically. “My name is Maddie Vela.” She stood in front of me, covering me from their view. “So do you personally know Ms. Walcott?”
“Well, we met when she was little.”
“Still in the womb?”
“Well, not exactly—”
Maddie tilted her head to the side, then put a hand behind her back so that only I could see. She pointed to the kitchen as if to say,Save yourself while you still can!
“But I’m telling you,” the man said, “The things he did, didn’t make him an amazing man. He was a terrible person. Butchering so many of them. To pretend he was any less is a disservice to—”
“Go on, Demi,” Maddie whispered. “I’ll meet up with you later.”
I inched through the kitchen, avoiding eye contact, but every hot gaze beamed down on me. The more people realized that I was her,Shep’s daughter, the miscreant who hadn’t given a speech, the more anxious I was to get out of there. But what had that man, Mr. Johnson, said? Was he a vegetarian? Against butchers? I put my muffin on the counter. A lot of people were vegetarian these days, so those kinds of comments had been coming up more lately. I passed the bottles and beers, not bothering to look this time, and wandered out into the backyard. Darkness was settling over the sky, making everything seem quiet. But not quiet enough.
I walked into the forest. The ground was covered in heavy vines of ivy, the leaves pointed and washed with creamy streaks. Cool air lifted up from the ground, greeting my bare calves. Axe was out here, somewhere, looming around in the darkness. Or maybe he had left. It would have been a cruel joke to leave me there with the wolves, but he had no reason to look out for me. We had both agreed that our manufactured relationship wasn’t the best option for either of us.
I kept going until the buzzing insects were louder than the noise from the reception. I started thinking about Dad, whether he would have been mad if I drank at his reception or the fact that I hadn’t said a word at his ceremony.
Dad had always been hard on me, never letting me make a mistake. Was Dad like that with Axe? Strict to the point of making him feel inferior? After Mom died, when I got my first D, I came home and all of my pets were gone. No tweeting cockatiel. No clucking. No barking at my feet. No purr against my chest.
I thought about what the guy had said during the ceremony:You have to make sure that you are always ready to die.
Dad never seemed attached to anything. When it came to my pets, he didn’t have any sympathy when I cried. He had taken them to the shelter or given them away.Why do you think you deserve them?he had asked.
I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel now. And that pissed me off more.
A low gasp, like air being squeezed out of a bag, caught my ears. I turned, peering through the trees. It was hard to see. I went forward.
“Axe?” I asked. A figure straightened, growing in height, a long arm gripping an object in its fist. As I got closer, I realized it was round, like a skull. The figure was holding another person by the head. The tall figure took a gun out of his pocket and held the barrel against the person’s skull. The bullet shuddered through the barrel, going through the bone and flesh. The explosion was soft though, dulled.
Someone had committed murder.
Adrenaline instantly rocked through me.Come on, I thought.Think.I reached for my pockets, trying to find my phone, but my hands were clammy and energy pulsed through my veins hard. Shit. I had forgotten Axe had taken it. I peered out from behind the tree and saw the figure again, coming closer. Those dark eyes reached mine, the dull light from the reception reflected in them. Haunting me. Coming closer.
Axe.
I ran towards the house as fast as I could. Someone would be able to help. Axe leaped toward me.
“Someone help!” I shouted. Then someone from the side pushed me over, my body crashing into the ground, the roots and rocks biting my skin. The person, another man—not Axe—lifted a gun, aiming it toward my head. Death at my father’s funeral. A final end to the Walcotts.
