Marissa quieted. Isleen could practically see the wheels in her mind turning, processing Mr. Goodspeed’s words. Score one for him.
Finally, she spoke. “This isn’t about anyone’s rights other than Rory’s. We will still need to investigate, but I assure you our policy is reunification. We want you to be with your child. We’re not against you in any way. We just have to see that being with you is a safe environment for him. That’s all.”
Mr. Goodspeed nodded his head. “I get that. So when he gets here, I want a moment alone with him to explain everything that’s happening. He’s a kid. He’s got to be confused. I can help him understand.”
Marissa cocked her head slightly to the side, her eyes squinting. The look either conveyed confusion or suspicion. Maybe both. “No. You are not allowed to be alone with him or to speak with him alone.”
“He’s my son.”
“You are not allowed to be alone with him or to speak to him alone.”
Mr. Goodspeed straightened from his hunched, victim-like posture. His face changed from concerned, conciliatory father to hard-edged, barely restrained rage. This guy had the Jekyll and Hyde thing down.
“You will not prevent me from being with my son.” His voice, so mild mannered before, boomed in the enclosed space.
Marissa’s impassive expression faltered, and she stepped back from the palpable menace emanating from the man. “Mr. Goodspeed…” Her voice trailed off when the door opened.
Isleen’s head turned again. A petite woman entered, carrying a small, carrot-haired boy. The boy clung to his mother’s body, arms locked around her neck, legs pinioned around her waist. Something about how he held on was sweet and sad at the same time.
Isleen’s head swung back to Mr. Goodspeed so fast her eyeballs almost couldn’t keep up.
The expression on Mr. Goodspeed’s face was purely human—no animal could ever show so much hate and anger. “I told you what would happen, Molly. I told you. So this…this is all your fault.”
“William, you’re scaring Rory.” The woman tightened her arms around her child and began backing away.
Isleen’s attention locked on Marissa. Her cool demeanor had slipped completely away, leaving wild fear rolling in her eyes. “Mr. Goodspeed, if you—”
Kkkrrr. A gunshot. The blast shot the rest of Marissa’s words—and her jaw—off her face.
Right after the blast, when the sound of it was only a ringing in her head, Isleen knew she was about to watch Mr. Goodspeed murder them all.
“No!” Isleen screamed, the sound echoing around inside the rind of her body, never entering the world. She fought the prison of her flesh, clawed at the confines of her skin. Tried to break free, to stop what was about to happen. Mr. Goodspeed aimed the gun at his wife, at his precious child. The monster at her controls had a moment of mercy and allowed her to close her eyes. But Isleen heard everything; the frantic screams of mother and son, the two shots used to take down wife and child, the slap and splash of blood dripping on the floor—just before the final suicide shot.
Chapter 9
Xander paced the length of his porch, his bare feet padding across the wood, the sound pleasantly mixing with the chorus of nighttime noises rocking out on the hillside. But still turmoil roiled inside him. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he was worried about Isleen. Worried about her health, her sanity, and—after finding that cross on her forehead—her safety. The thing that worried him the most was the simple fact that he cared at all. She shouldn’t dominate his mind. Was Matt right? Did the women in her family possess some strange power to enchant the men in his?
A rhythmic sound invaded. He paused in his pacing, trying to place the origin. It was the crunch of gravel under feet. Someone was jogging up the driveway toward his place. He leaped off the porch, oblivious to his bare feet, and raced toward the sound.
His eyes weren’t as sharp as his ears, but he knew—fucking knew—the figure that emerged from the curve was Isleen. She sucked and wheezed rapid breaths. Her heart beat a frantic duh-dum, duh-dum tempo. Her gait was all wrong—sloppy and disjointed, arms flailing almost as if she were swimming instead of running. With the way she’d acted earlier toward him, something had to be terribly wrong for her to seek him out.
Adrenaline bucked through his system, charging his muscles, readying him for a fight. He scanned the lane behind her, expecting to see someone pursuing her. Nothing. He listened for the sounds of a chase. Nothing.