Richard watched from the far corner of the living room as Peter and the woman—who he was now certain was his sister—sat stiffly on the couch. Peter had the baby in his arms, gently rocking him back and forth.
“What are you going to do?” Peter asked.
She snapped out of her trance and turned to him, grimacing hard. “What do you mean?”
“Well, are you going to go to the police?”
She sighed. “That’s what I should do.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
“What do you think’s stopping me?”
He smiled tightly and kissed the baby on the forehead. “What are we gonna do, then?”
“What do you mean ‘we’?” she snapped.
He rubbed his face with his hand. “All right—me then. What am I gonna do?”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs, her head facing the floor as if she were about to vomit. “You have to leave this house. For good.” She tilted her head up at the ceiling, with a look of deep disgust. “And you have to get rid of the evidence.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“You and the baby will have to drive to St. Clears and stay in Granddad’s old farm.”
He nodded, clearly relieved. “All right. And what about the body?”
Closing her eyes, she exhaled loudly in revolt. “You’ll have to take her with you and bury her somewhere. Or use granddad’s old furnace.” She shook her head bitterly. “Do whatever you have to do. But you can’t come back here. Not ever.”
“What about her car? It’s still parked in the garage.”
Sitting up straight, she turned to the window. “You’ll have to take it with you. And then find somewhere to dump it.”
He nodded and then stood. “Thanks.”
Shaking her head again, she failed to make eye contact. “Don’t thank me. I’ll never forgive you or understand what you’ve done here. But you’re still my brother. And it’s my job to look out for you. But don’t expect me to help you any more. From now on you’re on your own, Pete. This is where my part in this ends. Do you understand me? This is it.”
He nodded again. “Yes. Let me put Jake to bed and I’ll make a start.”
She leaned back on the sofa, groaning loudly. “Okay.”
Richard was looking down at Dean as he slept peacefully in his cot. He had blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair. He was the prettiest baby he had ever seen. So calm and happy—oblivious to the evil that surrounded him. He felt sick.
No more. Take me home. Please, God…
Then suddenly Peter reached into the cot, carefully pulled the baby out, and headed downstairs. Richard followed closely, weeping loudly as they reached the backdoor.
Get back here, you bastard! Richard screamed. They crossed the pitch-black garden, walking toward the garage. He’s not yours! Bring him back! Do you hear me? Bring him back right now!
But no one was listening.
As he opened the door, Richard saw Christina’s car parked inside, the passenger door and trunk wide open. He carried the sleeping baby over to the open door and fastened him into a baby seat, shutting the door when he was finished.
Lying against the wall, wrapped in a white sheet, was Christina’s body. Her face was yellow with dried sores at the sides of her mouth, and her eyes were gray as concrete. Peter secured the bottom half of the body and began to drag her toward the trunk of the car.
Richard followed her contorted expression as she disappeared into the car.
Closing the trunk, Peter pushed a button on his key ring and the garage door noisily opened. He climbed into the car and drove out. And was gone.
Richard suddenly found himself sitting at the foot of the stairs. He scanned the dead silent hallway. This was not his house. It may have looked the same, but was too tainted with sadness and pain to feel like home. And then he cried—harder than he had ever cried before.
I’ll find you, Dean, Richard heard a voice call out. I’ll never forget you.Not ever.
He can’t take my memories away…
Chapter 13