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Zoey and I stay on my couch, neither one of us ready to let go of each other. I’m not sure how much time passes, but by the way the moonbeams stream through my window, having replaced daylight, I know it’s been a while.
“Are you hungry? Want me to fix you something to eat?” I ask, combing her short hair with my fingers.
“No, I’m okay.”
“Want to take a shower, or maybe even sleep for a bit?”
She shakes her head.
“Then what do you want to do?”
She lifts her head off my shoulder just a tad and grabs the book I had been holding too tightly with my other hand.
“Show me,” she commands with steel in her voice.
I don’t have to ask her what she means. I know exactly what she’s referring to.
By now, and with the little panic attack I had, it’s obvious that she’s pieced together that I was in the same group home she infiltrated once upon a time.
“Show me,” she insists, holding my finger to scroll down the page of numerous names. I stop immediately when we get to the one that causes such loathing and fear in me.
“Master,” she mumbles in disgust. “Mr. Thomas Henderson. 24 Maiden Lane.”
I swallow dryly and nod.
She takes her eyes off the name to meet my gaze.
“How about we pay Mr. Henderson a visit? I think he warrants one by now, don’t you?”
With my heart slamming against my rib cage, I nod.
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
* * *
“We should have brought the van,” Zoey mumbles, her feet on my dashboard. “At least there would be more leg room in the van.”
“You look like you’re plenty comfortable to me,” I tease, rubbing her cheek with the back of my knuckles, needing to touch her to ground myself.
My emotions are all over the place, and I know seeing him again won’t be easy. I need her. Maybe that’s why I waited so long to do it, even though I told myself it was because I didn’t have the skills yet.
“I could be more comfortable,” she retorts, pretending to bite my hand off. “Who would have guessed that casing a joint could be so boring?”
“Part of the job,” I explain while keeping a watchful eye on the dark home in front of us.
Master—or Thomas Henderson, as he’s known to the outside world—wasn’t inside his home when I broke in earlier while Zoey stood outside as a lookout. Not knowing when he would be back, I ran a quick reconnaissance of his home to make sure there weren’t any weapons or guns hidden away. Luckily, I didn’t find any in the two-story house, but what I did find made me sick to my stomach. As I scoured through the well decorated home, I noticed there were small, feminine touches all throughout the house, such as fresh cut flowers in the hall and a hint of vanilla incense in the air, amongst other things. My skin started to crawl when I picked up one of the various framed photographs all strategically placed around the walls, and on every even surface, and I saw the monster’s face again after so many years smiling back at me.
With his hand wrapped around his young bride.
Fucker.
The sick fuck is happily married and leading a perfect, white-collar life, while he made every attempt at leaving my life, and other kids like me, in chaotic shambles.
But that wasn’t even the worst thing I found in my search.
It was the small room right next to his bedroom that caused real fear to seep through my pores. Unable to move from the door, I just stared at the empty crib, plus the abundance of boxes lying all around the floor next to it, filled to the brim with everything an expectant mother would need to be fully prepared for when her baby finally made its way into this world. Just as I found the strength to leave, a glimpse of a paperback lying on top of the crib pulled me into the room.
My fingers trembled as I picked it up.
