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“She just stopped everything. She stopped talking to me. She stopped calling me. I was like a ghost to her. I didn't exist anymore after my father died.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Don't be. It's not your fault. It's my fault my mother abandoned me. I'm the reason she walked away. There's no one else to blame but myself. My mother wanted a son, and instead, she was given a purebred killer. Her baby had died a long time ago, and she knew it.”

Chapter Eighteen

Vega

We drove most of the day, only stopping for gas. Poppy fell asleep about an hour into our journey and barely stirred while I filled the tank. I was taking her far away from this place.

I knew Poppy wanted to talk to her father, but that wouldn't end well. Poppy would never feel a sense of closure from talking to him. There were no answers he could give her that would rationalize what he had done. Her father had killed her mother. Gerard Aneska had drugged his wife, driven her to insanity, and killed her. And then he attempted to do the same thing to Poppy.

He was a cruel and vile man. Gerard didn't deserve to ever call himself her father again. Call me a killer. Call me emotionless. Call me a soulless devil. But what he did to his wife and daughter was far worse than anything I had ever done.

The sun was starting to go down as we pulled into the driveway. The house was set back on the top of a hill. It was a small, rundown cottage with wood shingle siding and peeling gray paint. The salt off the ocean had done a number on the outside. Shingles were missing from the roof, and a few windows were broken. There was a rust-colored hue seeping up from the ground and tinting the base of the house. The bushes were all overgrown. The grass was thick and tall, and bags of trash were piled up against the side of the house. No one had touched the house in years. I would assume the place was abandoned if I didn't know better.

“What time is it?” Poppy asked with a yawn as she lifted her head.

“Six thirty.” I put the car in park and turned off the engine. “We'll finally be able to get some rest, at least.”

“Where are we?” Poppy asked as she rubbed her eyes and looked out the window.

“An olive branch,” I said. “Hopefully.”

“Olive branch, huh?” Poppy peered up at the house through the windshield. “Does this olive branch know we're coming?”

I watched the front window but didn't see any movement. The house was dark; not a single light could be seen. “They will in a minute,” I said. “Come on.”

I climbed out of the Jeep, and Poppy followed suit. We both stood in the driveway for a long moment. We were still, wary, and uncertain of so many things. I was uncertain of the future and how I would set this girl free, and Poppy looked uncertain of the present and what was about to happen.

She followed me up the stone steps to the front door. I pressed my face to the giant glass window but couldn't see inside. The curtains were pulled tight, and there were no sounds of movement inside. I paused to run my fingers through my hair and brush any loose dirt off my clothes.

Poppy watched me quietly. “Are you alright?” she asked. “You're white as a ghost.”

“I'm fine. I just. . .” I stopped talking and swallowed my words. “Forget it. I'm fine.”

Poppy's eyebrow arched high as her jaw crooked to one side in thought. “Whose house is this, Vega?” she finally asked.

I didn't answer her; I rang the doorbell instead. I wasn't sure how I would be received. It could be open arms. It could be a slap, and then the door slammed in my face. It could be unanswered, and a call to the cops. I had no idea. It might not even be the same owner anymore. Maybe I'll be met with a confused stranger, and then what?

The door opened a crack. I saw a set of weathered, blue eyes peeking out from the dark interior. I exhaled a slow breath and then forced an awkward smile.

“Hey,” I said. That was all I could muster out. I didn't expect the door to open, and I was surprised it did.

There was a gut-wrenching silence as her eyes shifted around my face. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice cold. I was a stranger to this woman.

“Good to see you, too, Mom,” I said.

Poppy's eyes widened, and she took a small step backward. The door opened as my mother glared at me. She looked so much older than the last time I saw her. I hadn't seen her since my father's funeral twelve years ago. Time had not been kind to her. But why would it?

Her entire world had been uplifted and twisted into something unrecognizable. She had become a hermit with no family. I could smell the scent of stale cigarettes and alcohol wafting out from inside.

“Why are you here, Vega?” she demanded. Her eyes moved between me and Poppy. Her thin fingers with knobby knuckles clutched the door frame as if to hold herself upright.

“Can we come inside?” I asked. My heart was breaking. To see what I had done to this woman. To see the pain I had caused her. It hit hard.

My mother's lips thinned and pulled tight as she stepped to the side. She grunted instead of answering the question. I went in first, and Poppy followed closely behind me. “Close the door,” she said with an icy tone as she turned her back to us and walked deeper into the house.