Page 40 of Hate So Deep (Hate #4)

We make our way to the first level, and I take him to my mom’s room. She hasn’t bothered to clean up after her mess and from the door, I watch while he picks up the dresser and leans it against the wall before assessing the damage.

“What happened here?” he asks.

“Mom freaked out,” I mutter.

“Does anything look different?”

“I don’t think so, but I don’t know.”

Turning to me, he raises a brow. “You don’t know?”

“My mom is very private. We aren’t allowed in here.” I shrug helplessly and his eyes narrow before he approaches the closet.

“Did your mom look through her shit after everything went down?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe someone broke in. Maybe they weren’t expecting anyone to be here and attacked.”

Although it sounds implausible even to my ears, I follow when he searches through Mom’s closet.

“What about jewelry? Valuables? Is anything missing?” he asks.

“I don’t really have anything worth taking. It’s mostly costume jewelry. Mom’s stuff is in her safe.”

“And you can’t open it?”

“No. I don’t know the combination. She hasn’t shared it with me.”

“Could it be your birthday or Buck’s?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care,” I mumble, and Dirk turns back to me.

“We need to search everything, Lauren.”

“We didn’t get robbed, Dirk,” I snap, and his eyes widen before he holds out his hands palm up.

I appreciate his efforts to help me figure this out, but robbery is not the solution.

Nothing fucking is…dammit.

While I glare at him, he says, “I’ll check the living room.”

Once he’s gone, I collapse on the bed and cover my face, hiding the tears, building behind my eyes.

Why did she go through my room? What was she looking for?

Does it matter? Not really.

She’s been off since Buck died and short of asking her, I’ll never know what’s going through her head.

Frankly, I’m not sure I want to know anyway.

When I finally emerge, Dirk glances my way from where he was standing in the kitchen and gazing into the backyard.

“Is there anywhere else we should check?” he asks.

“No,” I mumble, and he eyes me sideways.

When I wave my hand, he precedes me to the living room but stops beside the basement door. When he looks back, I say, “That’s the basement.”

Although I’m no longer in the mood to play detective, I grudgingly follow when he opens the door and switches on the light.

The basement is huge. To my right is the media room where the old couch Dad moved down here when we got a new one sits facing our old T.V. I’ve never much liked it down here so the space they designed for us was wasted, although I appreciated the effort.

Once we reach the bottom, Dirk steps past me while I glance around for the box of pictures I saw by the door.

I should have aborted you.

My throat closes once again but I push away the memories that threaten to come through.

I can’t fall apart here and now. Call it stubborn pride but I would rather Dirk think I’m a spoiled princess than a pathetic one.

With a silent sigh, I step into the media area and pause by the couch. The only odd thing about this space is the fact that my mom spent so much time down here in the last few weeks but given the circumstances, I don’t think that points to anything macabre.

I’m tired. My chest fucking hurts and I just want to bury myself under the covers of my bed and hide from everything.

Since Dirk is determined to search every square inch though, I drop to the couch with a groan and rest my head in my hands.

How is this my life? What am I going to do?

When a tear sneaks down my cheek, I wipe it away and look up, zeroing in on the corner where Mom stores the area rugs.

She has different colors and patterns for different seasons so there are quite a few rolled up and resting together.

But…

“Dirk?” I whisper.

“Yeah,” he says, poking his head around the half wall.

Pointing toward the corner, I say, “That wasn’t there before.”

“What?” he asks.

“The blue rug. That was upstairs.”

“You sure?” he asks, and I nod. The blue rug replaces the green one once the winter weather comes on. This has been Mom’s ritual for years.

“You got any gloves?” he asks, and the question sends a shiver down my spine as I back away before rushing up the steps.

After searching through the cabinets in the kitchen upstairs, I bring him the rubber gloves we use to wash the dishes, and he carefully pulls the rug from behind two others before laying it down on the floor.

I’d rather be anywhere else while he does this but like a car crash, I can’t look away as he slowly unrolls it.

Once it’s fully stretched out, we both circle the fabric, but I don’t see anything of note and I’m just exhaling a relieved sigh when I spy something caught between the tufts.

“Wait? Is that my earring?” I ask before picking up the diamond stud and holding it in my hand.

I would recognize it anywhere because my grandfather gave me the earrings on my twelfth birthday. He was the only person on my mom’s side of the family who cared about me and when he passed away four years ago, I was beyond devastated.

Perhaps that’s the first time that I realized I’m truly damned and it’s only gotten worse since.

“Is it?” he asks, his back warming my chest as he gazes over my shoulder.

Touching my right ear, I nod before asking, “Why is it here, in the blue rug that should be upstairs?”

“When was the last time you saw it?” he asks and meeting his solemn stare, I suck in air before letting it loose, but it doesn’t quell the panic clawing at my throat.

“That morning,” I mumble. “Dirk…”

With my heart in my throat, I drop to my knees and Dirk kneels beside me, saying, "Breathe, baby girl.”

“What if it was me?” I sob. “What if I really did do this?”

“Baby,” he says, grabbing my cheeks. “Deep breaths, hm.”

But I can't regulate my breathing, and I bury my head in his shoulder as the hysteria consumes me.

I've been fighting off the specter of this since the first wicked inkling crept into my mind. Now, it's become a stone-cold reality and fuck me, but I don't know what to do.

“Sh,” he says but I can’t stop shaking and eventually he lifts me into his arms and carries me up the stairs to the living room where he sets me down on the couch.

Numbly I watch while he opens a cabinet by the wall, grabs a bottle of whiskey and a glass before bringing them back to me.

I wrinkle my nose at the scent but down the shot when he urges me to.

Afterwards, he crouches before me and says, “I have to go back down there. Will you be, okay?”

Searching his gaze, I finally nod but as soon as he’s gone, I curl into a ball and the tears fall.

Despite everything, I hoped this was all a mistake. I hoped that Aimee would walk through her parents’ door alive and confused by all the police involvement.

Those dreams are now coated with the blood embedded in the fabric of a shirt now destroyed and the rug that was in the hall upstairs before all this went down.

When Dirk returns, I blink my eyes open and yawn as he sits beside me.

“Dirk?” I whisper and he blinks before meeting my gaze. "Did I kill Aimee?"

“Come here,” he says, pulling me into his arms, and I snuggle into his warmth.

I thought the worst things to ever happen to me were in the past, but it would seem I was woefully naive.

Now I’m facing something that I fear will change me forever and the thought terrifies me because it doesn't go unnoticed that Dirk never answered my question.