The Bad Things (Book 5)

Chapter 11. Not This Time

            "We have to go back to California," I said.

Abigail stared at me dumbfounded as I threw some of our belongings into suitcases. Her lips parted. Abigail grabbed my wrist to stop me. "Andy, stop. What the hell is going on? Who was that?"

I spun around and grabbed her arms. "Listen to me," I said in a low voice. "Call your mother and tell her that we are picking up Stormy."

"Our flight doesn't leave until tomorrow, and it's late," Abigail argued.

My face inched closer to her. "We have to get her and get the fuck out of Florida. We'll drive. Anywhere is safer than here. I have to get the two of you out of here. Just trust me."

Abigail inhaled slowly, and she stiffened up. She already knew the answer, but she asked again. "Who were you talking to?" Abigail's voice came out barely above a whisper.

I bowed my head and dropped my hands. "Harold."

Abigail spun around and started shoving things into the bags. She picked up her cellphone and dialed a number. The phone rang several times. Abigail groaned in frustration. "She's not answering." She fought with the zipper on the duffel bag.

I shoved her aside and closed the duffel bag smoothly. We had two vehicles meant to stay here in Florida for us to drive around in and two back home in California. It wasn't likely that I could get tickets at such short notice, and I refused to be stuck in an airport for hours. There wasn't any time to waste.

Abigail and I ran through the house and turned off the lights as we went. The alarm had already been set. I locked up the house, and we ran out to the car.

"He did something to Irena," I said. The engine of the car roared to life, and I peeled out of the driveway. "I've got to get up to her place to see if I can save her. It's bad enough that I couldn't save Iris." My teeth clenched, and my nostrils flared.

"What are we going to do?" Abigail asked.

"You and Stormy are going back home. I'm going to Irena's place."

"You can't go alone."

"Look, this is between Harold and me." I pointed a thumb at my chest. "I'm tired of running from him. I've been doing it my entire life. I'm done. No more running or hiding. Harold is going to die."

Abigail shivered slightly and sank into her seat. "You have to promise me you're coming back."

My eyes flickered to her. Her face became torn from the look on my face. A foreign pain deep inside of me surfaced because I knew that it wasn't a promise that I could keep. The only thing I could be sure of was that I would kill Harold. My own fate wasn't clear.

The car rolled to a stop in front of Marlena's house. Abigail had the car door open before I could turn the car off.

We ran up to the front porch, and Abigail pounded on the door.

Moments passed, and nobody answered. Abigail kept driving her fists against the door.

"Move over," I said and pushed her off to the side. I searched my pockets for a bobby pin.

"What are you doing?"

I pulled the bobby pin from my pocket and showed it to her.

"Can you really pick a lock?"

"Sometimes, I would lock myself out of my apartment. I had to get creative," I muttered. After jiggling the bobby pin around in the lock for a few seconds, we both heard a click. Our gazes met briefly, and I smirked.