Page 20 of Almost Ravaged

He scoffs, like I’m out of my mind.

I am.

I’m out of my mind and so fucking sorry. All I want is to swap places with one of them. Both of them.

The Davvies family didn’t deserve this. Just like I didn’t deserve all they’ve done for me.

They’re dead. They died because ofme.

“I have to check for a pulse,” Atty argues, yanking against my hold. “We have to call 911.”

“You can’t touch him,” I repeat. “We can’t put fingerprints on anything.”

The fucker across the room coughs, startling Atty. He jolts and swivels away from his dad. Eyes wide, horror and fear twisting his face into a grimace, he looks from the poor excuse of a human on the floor to me.

“That’s your dad,” he croaks out.

As if on cue, the man rolls over and groans.

I’m rooted to the spot. Atty is frozen, too.

Only when a soft sob breaks the silence do we scramble to our feet.

“Sawyer. Get out of here,” my best friend cries, his voice weak.

Sawyer hiccups, then sniffles. “Did he—didhe kill them?”

Yes.

But he’s not to blame.

I killed them. Her parents are dead because of me.

“The allowance I’m fucking owed,” my dad slurs from his place on the floor.

While Atty stumbles back, I stride forward, putting myself between this disgusting excuse for a man and the two people I care about most in this world. My dad is injured and probably drunk, but he’s still a threat. He’s done irrevocable damage here today. His terror stops now.

“Five dollars a day. Guy from Ontario told me down at the yard.”

“What is he talking about?” Sawyer whispers just behind me.

I startle at her proximity. “Get back,” I hiss, shifting to position my body in front of hers.

She’s too close. He’s right fucking there.

Panic flares inside me, overshadowing the shame.

“We have to call the police,” Atty says, coming to stand by my side.

I nod, yet I can’t move. Can’t speak. I’m trapped in a paralyzed state of overwhelm and fear. I can’t take my eyes off my father. I can’t look away or turn my back for even a second.

“Not gonna give me what I’m owed,” my dad says, “then I’ll take it. Take my boy before he turns eighteen. Get that money. Ain’t nothing gonna get in my way.”

He groans again, his head lolling from side to side.

I should hit him again. Or lock him in this room until the police arrive.

“If he don’t come, I’ll take it out on those kids,” he slurs. “Atticus.”