Page 29 of A Simple Mistake (Deadly Mistakes #1)
TWENTY-NINE
Liam
Twenty-three years ago—age fifteen
“Do you want chicken or pork?” Mom asks as she stares into the fridge like if she looks long enough, a meal will materialize before her.
“Steak,” I say.
“Well then you’re hopping on your bike and pedaling to the nearest shop to get some because I’m not leaving.”
The idea of doing any of that sounds atrocious. “Fine, chicken.”
“Eh…” She stares into the fridge some more as I question why chicken was even an option if it really wasn’t an option.
“Pork?”
“Eh.”
I raise an eyebrow. “So you also want steak? You want me to go out in the vicious weather and possibly freeze to death for steak because you don’t want to drive to the store?”
“It’s like fifty out,” she says. “Which you’d know if you stuck your head outside at any point today.”
“I did at some point. The air smelled so fresh that it immediately made me nauseous,” I inform her.
“Of course it did. Guess what we’re doing tomorrow?”
“Probably something torturous.”
“You think everything in life is torturous.”
“Because it is!”
“We’re going to paint the fence.”
“Aren’t we rich for a reason? Why don’t we hire someone to do it? We’re the only rich people who still do everything ourselves.”
“It builds character.”
“Yet you’re convinced I already have too much character,” I mutter.
“Let’s order pizza. You want pizza? If not, you can bike into town.”
“Pizza sounds good. When’s Dad get home?”
“Tomorrow, although it sounds like he has quite a lot to accomplish to be home by tomorrow.”
“Let’s make him paint the fence for leaving us!” I suggest. “We can kick back and watch. Sip our drinks. Chastise him. I like that idea significantly better.”
“I bet you do. I’m going to get pineapple on the pizza.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“I’m your mother; I can do anything I want.”
“Besides that. I will disown you as my mother if you litter my pizza with pineapple.”
“That’s awfully mean, don’t you think?”
“Sometimes sacrifices have to be made,” I say.
She laughs and shoos me off as she orders the pizza. I sink down in front of the TV and grab my controller so I can get to a good spot to shut off the video game before the pizza comes.
“Want to watch a movie?” I ask as my mom comes in.
“Sure. Figure something out. The pizza should be here shortly.”
“Horror since Dad’s not here and we don’t have to hear him cry about it,” I decide.
“On our first date we went to see a horror movie, and I looked over and he was just sitting there with his eyes closed, back rigid.”
“And you still married him?”
“I know, right? Rather embarrassing,” she teases.
The doorbell rings, and I look over at it. “Is that the pizza already?”
“That was fast. They’re like fifteen minutes early,” she says. “I’ll get it. You find a movie.”
“Got it,” I respond as she heads off, leaving me to keep clicking through channels as I try to find something worthwhile. When I finally find one we haven’t seen, I click it just as I hear Mom coming back.
“I found…”
I freeze when I realize she’s not alone.
“Liam, run!” she yells.
I jump up, but one of the three masked men swings a gun off her and onto me. “Don’t move.”
“Please let him go. Please,” Mom begs. “Please. He won’t do anything. Please.”
“Where’s your husband?” the tallest of the men asks.
“He’s out of town. Please.”
“You didn’t fucking know he was out of town? I thought you said you saw him here,” the shortest of the men says to the third person who hasn’t said anything yet.
They’re all dressed the same, each wearing a ski mask that covers everything but their eyes and mouth, as well as black pants and shirts.
“When will he be back?” the tallest one inquires.
“Tomorrow. Please. If it’s money that you want, I can give it to you. Please just let my son go.”
They ignore her as the tall guy comes over to me. I take a step backward, but he wiggles the gun like he wants to remind me that he can kill me if I move. When he reaches me, my heart is pounding out of my chest. He takes the remote from me with a gloved hand and drops it onto the couch. Then he pats my pockets down, but I don’t have anything in them.
“Where’s the door to the basement?” the tall guy asks, turning back to my mom. The third man still hasn’t said anything yet. He just holds his gun and keeps a tight grip on my mom’s wrists.
Mom hesitates, but when she doesn’t immediately reply, the short guy smashes her in the side of the head with the butt of his gun.
“When we ask a fucking question, you answer,” he growls.
“Over there,” she says shakily as she gestures toward it with her chin. They start dragging her over to the door that leads to our finished basement as the tall guy holds tightly on to me. My eyes flicker over to the front door with the large glass panes as I question how far away the pizza delivery man could be. Is there any chance he might see us?
As my eyes drift from the door, I see the security system with the big red button that would silently alert the police if I could just touch it. All I’d have to do is just hit it.
But should I hit it? Would it scare them off if I did? Or would they hurt us if they realized what I’d done? But what if I pretended I was going for the door? What if I hit it and he doesn’t see?
They’ve already pulled my mom out of sight as they lead her down into the basement and I know I have seconds to decide what to do.
Unsure whether I’m making a huge mistake, I twist out of the tall man’s grip and lunge toward the door. I try to pretend I’m reaching for the door and use my body to block the security system that I’m going for, but the man is fast. He slams into me, ramming me into the side of the wall.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he growls as he smashes my head into the wall again. I’m so startled that I pull back without realizing that I’m pulling away from the alarm. I try to scramble to my feet, but he grabs me by the back of my hoodie and starts dragging me as the fabric digs into my neck, cutting my air off.
“You really shouldn’t test my patience,” the man says as he flings me forward. When I try to catch my footing, I realize that I can’t feel anything under me a moment before it hits me that he’s thrown me through the door leading to the stairs. My foot drops down hard, not hitting the flat ground I’d been looking for as I fall, slamming onto my side before he kicks me, sending me rolling down the stairs to where I crash onto the hard floor. I gasp and force myself to stop moving as pain tears through my arm.
“Liam!” Mom yells, and I see her try to get up before the short guy hits her hard enough that she’s pushed back down.
“What the fuck are you guys doing?” the third guy asks. “She already said she’d give us money. Let’s just take the money and fucking go.”
“It’s not enough,” the tall guy says as he starts dragging me over to where my mom is. The short man has a backpack open, and he’s pulling a roll of duct tape out of it. He starts winding it around her wrists.
“Liam, are you okay?” she asks, and I try to pretend I am until my arm is shoved back.
I cry out as pain shoots up my left arm when it’s forced behind my back and taped. Nausea rolls through me as I tuck my head and try to keep the world from growing dark around me.
“Please. I will give you all the money you want. Please. Anything you want, I’ll give it to you,” Mom begs.
“Shut the fuck up,” the short one says.
And that’s when the doorbell rings.
All of them look up as the sound of the doorbell carries throughout the house. Mom’s eyes catch mine before glancing up. The men are watching the stairwell, but I notice Mom looks over at the wall that is directly beneath the spot the delivery man would be standing.
Fear tightens in my stomach as I shake my head. I don’t want her to make the same mistake I did, but what the fuck else are we going to do? Just sit here and pray they’ll have mercy on us? The pain tearing through my body tells me they don’t give a shit at all. If they felt even the slightest hint of remorse, would they have forced my arm behind my back?
The tallest of the men walks over and presses a gun against Mom’s head. “Don’t say a fucking word,” he orders, quashing any ideas of freedom.
He slaps tape over her mouth and then mine… leaving us nothing to do but wait.
The phone ringing startles me from the state of being half awake. It isn’t that I’m tired, it’s that the pain is making it hard to focus. My arm throbs so consistently that any shift of movement seems to tug at the binds and sends nausea and darkness radiating through me.
I groan as I look over at the men. The short guy and the tall guy are staring at the phone while the third guy paces, much like he has for the past hour.
The short guy thrusts the phone toward my mother. “Your husband is calling. Why don’t you tell him you’d like him home early, got it? Tell him that your son has the flu, and you feel yourself getting it too, so you’d love for him to come home early to help out.”
Mom nods.
“What if he sends someone over to help instead?” the tall guy snaps. “What the fuck are you going to do then? We just need to be patient. Just act like everything is normal. Ask when he’s coming home. Tell him you miss him and wish his flight was sooner. That’s it. Got it?”
Mom nods again and the tall guy tears the tape off her mouth. “And if you say a fucking word about this situation, I’m going to break your son’s other arm. Got it?”
“Yes,” Mom whispers.
He accepts the call and puts it on speaker. “H-Hello?” Mom says.
“Hey, I know it’s late, but I didn’t get a chance to call you sooner. Are you in bed?”
“Not yet,” Mom says. “When are you coming home?”
“I’ll be home about eleven tomorrow night.”
“There wasn’t an earlier flight?”
“I wish. The issue is Grant can’t get here until tomorrow morning. So by the time I’m done dealing with him, send him off, and get to the airport, I’m already going to be pushing it. The time zone makes a bit of a difference.”
“I really wish you could come home sooner, Robert.”
“Me too. But I’m sure you and Liam are having a blast watching all the scary movies you can fit in.”
“Yeah.”
“Something wrong?” he asks.
The tall man’s hand shifts as he reaches for me and Mom tenses.
“No, just tired. I think I was half asleep when you called. If you find an earlier flight, we’d love to have you home sooner.”
“I’ll do my best,” he says. “Love you. Tell Liam that I love him too.”
“Love you too,” she responds, and I can hear a catch in her voice as the phone call is ended and the tape is placed back over her mouth.
“I’m not staying here all fucking night, this is your fuck-up,” the third guy says. “You fucked this up. Let’s get the money and go. You don’t already think this is a big enough fuck you to him? I don’t think he needs to fucking see us take the money to see the fuck you. You fucking… broke the kid’s arm.”
“If you have a goddamn problem with it, how about you leave?” the tall man demands as he gets right up in the other man’s face. He grabs him by the collar of his shirt and twists it, choking the man a little. “You know where the fucking door is.”
The third man knocks his hand off and steps back as he straightens the collar of his shirt.
Mom catches my eyes, and I can tell she’s trying to reassure me. But how? They’re clearly fucking psychopaths. Pissed at Dad about something.
“Just get comfortable. Enjoy the place,” the tall man says before turning to the short man. “See what the guy who rang the doorbell earlier left. Should be safe to check at this point.”
He heads off and the tall man grabs one of the couches I sit on to game when my parents are using the bigger TV upstairs. He gives it a push and turns it to face us before kicking back like he’s having the time of his life.
“Got some pizza. Warmed it up,” the short man announces when he returns, sounding quite pleased as the two of them dig into it while the third man stares at us. It’s obvious he’s struggling to enjoy this as much as the other two are.
“Go get me a fucking beer or something,” the tall guy says as he looks at his gloves getting dirty and pulls them off to grab another slice.
“This is fucking good. This rich people’s pizza?” he asks, although it’s just a little place down the road. I don’t even think they charge as much as the chains. “People like you two don’t know what it’s like to hurt… to struggle… bet neither of you ever fucking questioned if you’d get to eat that day, huh? You just want something and you fucking snap your fingers and get it, huh?”
Of course Mom can’t say anything, but if she could, would she tell him she knows just what that’s like? She was raised by her sister who was barely old enough to keep them afloat. When her sister died in a car accident before her twenty-first birthday, Mom raised herself. Dad lived a better life, but he was raised by middle-class parents. None of this money that they seem to think was handed to us came easy for either of them.
The third man paces for a bit before coming over and tearing the tape off Mom’s mouth. “What’s in the safe?”
Mom looks over at the safe in the corner. “You can have everything in it. Please, just let my son go. Please.”
The tall guy comes over and pushes back the guy talking to Mom. “I guess we might as well see what’s inside while we wait.”
He grabs Mom by her hair and drags her over to the safe. “Open it up.”
“It’s my husband’s safe. The code is upstairs, or I can call him.”
He laughs and lets go of her before walking back to me.
“Please! I’m not lying! It’s his gun safe. If you want money, we have a smaller safe with only money and important documents in it that’s upstairs. I know the code to that one, but the code to this one is written on a Post-it Note in my desk. Bottom left drawer.”
The tall guy grabs my right arm but because it’s connected to the broken one, I nearly pass out as I’m dragged over to the safe next to Mom.
“Please don’t hurt him. Please! Open the other safe that’s in my office. The code to that one is 93253. Please. The money’s in there. There’s not even any money in here.”
He throws me against the side of the safe and presses my head hard against it as the edge of the metal door digs into my cheek.
“You better fucking figure it out.”
“I don’t know it! But I already told you where the code is! While you’re in my office, you can open the other safe and take all the money.”
I want to tell him that I know the numbers because I watched Dad put them in. Just because I was fucking nosy, I know how to open it, but I can’t do anything with the tape over my mouth. I try to tell him through it, but all I’m doing is mumbling and he’s fixated on Mom.
“Will you fucking stop hurting them! We came here for the goddamn money. She told us the code, so let’s grab it and go,” the third man says.
The tall man digs his nails into Mom’s head. “Open it.”
I push forward, moving toward the dial, and the man seems to get the hint. He rips the tape off my mouth as I see the third guy hurry up the stairs. I can’t help but wonder if he’s taking everything in the safe in the office, and whether or not he’ll ever come back.
When the phone rings, I’m jerked out of my sleep and look over at the two men. The third man really never did come back, and it’s been at least sixteen hours since then. The two guys left don’t seem to mind as they kick back, sip Dad’s whisky, and watch a football game.
“I put some of these chicken things in the oven. They looked kind of boring, so I fancied them up,” the shorter guy says.
“You a fucking chef now?” the taller guy scoffs as he goes over to Mom with the ringing phone in his hand. “You know the protocol.”
And then he rips the tape off her mouth before pressing a knife against my neck. I can feel the way it digs into my skin, and I find myself wanting to take that knife and make him hurt. Every time he screams at Mom or hits her, I want to know what it’d feel like to hit him back. To make him hurt. To make him scream and beg.
But instead, all I can do is sit here, sweat soaking my shirt, pain creeping throughout my body.
“H-Hello?” Mom calls.
“Hon, shittiest news. A storm hit and they delayed the flight… until tomorrow. I’m fucking tired, just done with this shit. And now I’m stuck here for the night. They fly out at eight in the morning now, but that means I won’t be home until one or so once I drive home from the airport.”
“There’s nothing you can do?” Mom asks, although I can’t quite tell whether she wants him here or not. I mean… what the fuck is he going to do? Become one more body to add to the mix?
“No. I’m sorry, hon. Did you guys eat yet?”
“No.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” he says.
“Okay. I love you, Robert.”
“You sound like something’s wrong.”
“No. I’m good.”
“Alright. I love you guys. Tell Liam I love him.”
“I will,” Mom says with a slight quaver in her voice.
And the call ends.
What the two smug men don’t realize is that Dad said, “I’ll make it up to you,” which means he’s going to order us food. He always does when he’s late like this. It’s why he asked if we’d eaten. If he calls and someone delivers it…
The two men are cussing up a storm about being here another night, though it’s not like they haven’t enjoyed their stay. They’re so preoccupied with being pissed that they forget to put the tape back over my mom’s mouth.
They turn the TV on, and Mom looks over at me, telling me she’s planning something. I flick my eyes to the far wall in question, and she gives me the smallest nod. But I don’t know what she should do. I don’t know what any of us should do. I just want to close my eyes, and have everything be fixed…
And I want to hurt these men… I want to hurt them so badly.
I bite back those thoughts. Bite them back and stomp them down. They’re wrong. I know they’re wrong.
About twenty minutes later, the oven timer goes off. It’s barely audible, but the short man must have been waiting for it because he rushes up the stairs, leaving us alone with the tall man.
And the moment he’s gone, it’s like luck hits us.
The doorbell rings.
“Who the fuck is that now! Goddammit,” the tall man grumbles as he gets up.
The second he’s distracted, Mom gets to her feet and rushes to the far wall. “HELP! CALL 911!” she screams. “HELP!”
The tall man’s fast as he turns, and I push forward, hoping to plow him to the ground, but he slams into my broken arm, sending me to the ground as the world around me fades in and out. He stumbles over me as Mom screams again.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU GODDAMN BITCH,” he roars as he grabs her by the back of the head and slams her head into the wall. When she manages to cry out for help again, he smashes her head into the wall two more times before dropping her on the floor.
I lie sprawled out on the floor, fighting off the darkness as I watch blood bloom out and pool under her head. I want to call to her because I don’t understand why she’s not moving.
“What the fuck’s happening?” the short guy asks as he runs down the stairs.
“Stupid bitch wouldn’t shut up.”
I scoot forward as the world rotates around me, but it’s not enough to put me down. I try to get up to my feet, but the short guy notices what I’m doing and grabs my ankle, knocking me down onto my chest before he drags me back to my spot. “Why the fuck aren’t their feet tied?”
“Because I don’t feel like undoing them every time they need to use the bathroom. They’re fine.”
“They’re not so fine. I think the chick is dead.”
No… she’s not dead… she wouldn’t… she couldn’t… she can’t be.
I try to get up again, but I’m shoved against the ground where he puts a knee on my back as the tall guy wanders over and kicks Mom’s foot. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t blink… she just lies there.
He picks up her leg and drags her a bit closer to him as he stares at her. “Well fuck. Didn’t hit her that hard.”
I rub my face against the ground, working the tape off just enough. “Mom! MOM! Mom, please answer me. Mom!”
“Shut the fuck up ,” the short man snaps as he holds my head down while he works the tape back over my mouth.
“That shit done in the oven? I’m hungry.”
“He must have ordered them Chinese after calling.”
“Oh, now you’re talking.”
I lie on my side and stare at Mom as the two of them chat and eat the food that Dad sent us as an apology. The food that resulted in Mom calling for help—that ended up getting her killed.
Dad’s in the air by now.
Mom’s still dead.
I’m still lying on the floor.
I feel like if I play dead, they might ignore me, forget I exist, but when Dad calls the moment he lands, they drag me over to the couch and force me to answer it. I don’t even know what I say, but it must sound good enough because they seem pleased and toast to his upcoming arrival as I think about how it’d feel to bash the glasses in their hands against their heads until they never get up again.
Just like Mom is never going to get up again.
I stagger, fixated on this idea of bashing their heads in, and instead of sitting back down after the call, I fall into the taller of the two and he drops his glass just like I’d hoped.
I drop with it, hitting the floor as I listen to it shatter. And when he comes for me, I twist onto my back and feel the glass underneath me poking me. I scoot up quickly, grabbing a shard tightly as he drags me back to my spot. I can feel the glass digging into my hands, but I wait until their attention isn’t on me so I can try to get it aimed at the tape.
The issue is that while the other man kicks the glass under the couch, the tall man is left staring at me.
Did he notice I took a shard of glass? Did he see what I did? Does he know what I want to do to him?
I lie there waiting… wondering when he’ll ever look away… or what the hell I’ll even do when I get the tape on my wrists off.
I know what I want to do.
I want to bury the glass in his throat and watch him choke on his blood.
Instead, he just watches me, his eyes holding mine like he sees something fascinating in them. Does he know what I want to do to him? Does he know that I want to drive the glass into his body until he joins my mother in the afterlife?
“What the fuck are you looking at?” he asks, but I refuse to look away. “I can take care of those eyes for you.”
“Paige should be home soon. What the fuck’s your plan then? That fuckhead took all of the money in the safe.”
“I’m going to take everything from him,” the tall man says, still refusing to look away. “I took his wife… and then I’m going to take his son… and then I’m going to take his life.”
“Uh… but… we were here for the money…”
“Forget the fucking money. You think you’re going to get away with that?” he asks as he points at my mother’s body.
“I’m not the one who killed her, you did!” the short man says indignantly.
The second they look away, I start working at the tape, but it hurts so fucking bad every time I draw the sharp end against the tape because it pulls at my broken arm. I can’t tell whether the blood is coming from my arm from when I fell or from my hand, but it makes the glass slippery. I keep working at the tape, hoping and begging that it’ll pull free. The problem is that when I hear the front door open and Dad call out, I’m still not free.
“I’m finally home!” Dad shouts. “Where are you two?”
He sounds so fucking happy to be home. He has absolutely no idea what’s waiting for him. He has no idea that our lives have just been destroyed by two men who’ve decided to fuck them up for no reason other than greed.
The tall man kneels down. “You’re going to tell him to come down here and join us or I’m going to slit your fucking throat.” He peels the tape off before staring at me. “What the fuck are you grinning about?”
“I can’t stop thinking about how much I’d like to kill you,” I inform him.
“I think you’re on the wrong end of the fight for that,” he says with a laugh.
“DAD, RUN. THEY KILLED MOM,” I scream.
He hits me hard before clamping his hand over my mouth.
“Paige, if you make a fucking noise, I’m going to kill your son too. Get your fucking ass down here,” he yells.
There’s a moment of silence.
“If you don’t want a fucking bullet in his head, get down here.”
I hear Dad’s steps on the top stair before I see his feet. The tall man pulls his gun out and shoots him right in the ankle. Dad’s weight drops down, and he slides down the stairs as he cries out.
“That’s it. Come on down and enjoy the party.”
Dad’s eyes hit mine before they latch on to Mom. “Cassandra… Cassandra!” he shouts as he tries to get to his feet. His eyes shift back to mine and that’s when the glass cuts the rest of the way through the tape. I tear my arm free, pain escalating when I do since it jerks my left arm as the tape fights to hold on for one more moment. Then I slam the shard of glass into the tall man’s stomach. He jerks back, so startled that he drops the gun.
Dad lunges for the gun safe that they’d never locked back up, jerks the rifle out, and pulls the trigger.
The tall man is thrown back before he darts under the stairwell as I see the short man bury two rounds into my father’s head.
With a shriek, I rush the short man and drive the glass into the side of his neck, stabbing him again and again as he jerks back and opens his mouth like he’s going to scream, but all that comes out is blood bubbling between his lips. He stumbles back, foot catching on the base of the stairs as I rush up the steps, unsure where the tall man is. I dash to the security system and hit the alert as I hear the man’s footsteps when he hurries up the stairs.
Turning, I run as hard as I can, pushing through the back door. I want to kill him. I want to kill him so badly, but I know he has a gun and if I make even a single mistake, he’ll kill me.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” the tall man screams from inside the house. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going to hide?”
My foot catches and I trip, dropping the shard of glass that falls down between the cracks in the porch flooring.
Anxiety swamps me as I realize that I’ve lost my only weapon, but I can’t hesitate. I have to keep running.
I hit the wooden fence and grab it as adrenaline pushes me over. I crash to the ground on the other side and nearly black out. Recovering quickly, I race right into the trees, running as fast as I can while I hear that man screaming after me. At one point, I even hear a gunshot, but I don’t know what he’s trying to hit.
I run until my lungs burn. I run until my legs give out. I run until I crash down in some cornfield. Pain hits me and I look down at my hand that’s been cut open. I need to get back up, but every time I try to move my left arm, I nearly pass out. Somehow, I end up crawling to the edge of the field where I nearly find myself under the tires of a semitruck hauling produce. The man slams on his brakes and I can smell the rubber from his tires… I can hear the noise of the door opening before I see him running to me. He’s talking… asking me things, but all I can keep saying is, “I’m going to kill him… I’m going to kill him…” before I pass out.