Chapter 22 ** Three Years Ago ** He's in one of his joyous moods again. I'd just managed to fall asleep when his excessive stomping and huffing around the house woke me. Normally, that wouldn't be troublesome for most people. But when it's accompanied by heated whispers and self motivating pep talks, it's cause for alarm. I toss back the blanket with a sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. I'll need to go deal with him before he ends up naked outside and traumatizes Mrs. Miller next door. The poor woman is newly widowed and I'm not sure seeing my father's dick in the middle of the night is on her bucket list. Garden tools? Yes. Wrinkly midnight dick? No. It's frustrating because the past few weeks, I've already had trouble sleeping. It's that time of year when flashbacks re-emerge as if my mind is a fucking Google calendar. Oh, hey. Remember the time Mom took you to the alpaca farm and you tried to ride one like a horse? Mom's birthday is coming up-maybe send a card and remind her that you exist. I stopped caring after she walked out and left me to deal with my father alone. I don't blame her for wanting to break free-he's more than a handful. His schizophrenic episodes have been getting more frequent over the past few years. I caught him laying a hand on her during one of them. She wasn't strong enough to fight him off and I had to do it for her. He didn't take too kindly to me putting him through the glass coffee table, but I digress. If a method is effective, then that's all that matters. But still, she didn't have to just leave like that. When people want to exit relationships, you see a lawyer. Not your dentist. Though, I suppose they are renowned for their oral skills. I'm not sure what she thought would happen when she blurted out the infidelity to him. Even someone without a medical degree could guess it would take a negative turn. To be fair, I think she tried to stick around for as long as possible before riding off into the sunset with Dr. Pussy Eater. I just don't understand why she didn't take me with her. I guess a stepchild would dampen the thrill of an affair or she assumed I'd be fine to handle Dad. Or perhaps she felt so guilty about cheating with their dentist that she left me as a consolation prize. Either way, tonight I was finally able to fall asleep peacefully after work. I've only been at Angus' Butchery for three months and we were run off our feet today with an upcoming barbecue festival. So many knives to play with, so little time. Creeping out of my bedroom, I listen for the rambling, tracking his location. It sounds like he's in the kitchen. The fridge door slamming closed all but confirms my suspicions and I head in his direction. It doesn't take long to find him in there, his tense body pacing with wide eyes as he mutters to himself. 'You can't go. Don't go. He did what?! I know you said that. The boy is an imposter. They are watching. Are you watching? Grey is dead. He killed him.' I slump against the doorframe, eyes following his path. He hasn't noticed me yet, in full conversation with himself. 'Dad,' I say firmly. 'Go to bed.' He stops abruptly, spinning to face me. My eyebrow lifts at the knife in his hand. No surprise where I developed my kink from. I guess it's true that you inherit kinks from your parents. 'What are you doing here?' he snaps in a low, husky voice. 'Our son is upstairs.' 'I'm your son,' I remind him, recognizing he's in an episode. 'It's me-Grey.' Dad laughs maniacally, waving the knife around carelessly. 'I see how it is.' His pewter eyes look at me unfocused. 'You think you can fool me.' Fuck me. I just want to go back to bed. I have to be up at dawn for another shift. 'Dad-go to bed,' I repeat. 'You need sleep.' The doctors warned us that his drinking and lack of sleep could make his symptoms difficult to manage. For a while there, he was doing well. But gradually after Mom left, he stopped caring too. I guess I get my poor sleeping habits from him as well. When his body stiffens like a statue, I straighten up. It's the same cycle as usual. We argue, he gets defensive and physical, then retreats. I can read him like a book. 'You can't have her, Brent. Anne is my wife!' 'You're right,' I agree, holding my hands up in an act of resignation. 'I'll leave and never come back. She's all yours.' This is the equivalent to a movie I've watched a hundred times. Same lines, same scenes. I've got my act down to a fine art. Panting, Dad relaxes slightly, seemingly satisfied. I take a few steps forward as his head dips, pain on his face. 'Come on, big man. Let's get you up to your bed to Anne.' I place a hand on his bare shoulder, pleased that at least he's got shorts on today. He's calming down, and my bed is singing my name in sweet, melodic tunes like a siren. As I swivel sideways to make room for him to pass, I feel him tense under my hand. Oh, no. That's not the usual reaction. Before I can turn back, I spot the knife swinging around toward me. I just manage to lunge out of the way into the sink, Dad stumbling off balance. 'Oh, come on,' I groan. 'Bed-now.' He catches his footing, spinning to face me. His eyes are wild again, and I'm pretty sure life is having a laugh at my expense. You want to go to bed? Ha. Too bad. 'You can't have her!' He yells in full battle cry mode, moving at an alarming speed. 'Fucking hell,' I grumble, dodging again. 'Just go for a run then. You have shorts on.' Apparently, my words fall on deaf ears. He continues to launch himself at me with a stream of jumbled words and threats. I'm going to have to subdue him before one of the neighbors calls the cops for noise disturbance. It wouldn't be the first time they have paid us a visit. And part of me feels a tiny bit guilty at the thought-having the house to myself to get sleep sounds pretty fucking awesome. But I'm responsible for this man, even if he is swinging a knife at my face. 'That's enough,' I grunt, grabbing his wrist and halting the blade in mid-air. 'I'm getting annoyed now.' I expect more fast spoken sentences but instead he lets out a blood-curdling yell. My ears ring as I squeeze my eyes shut. Who knew he had a set of lungs on him? 'Oof.' The wind is knocked out of me when a fist connects with my stomach. I guess that's what I get for closing my eyes. I still have his wrist in my hold but he's using his other hand to strike me, shoving his weight into my body as my back hits the countertop behind me. 'Let go,' I growl, bending his wrist backwards. It has to hurt, nearly snapping the bone but he seems indifferent to it. When his fist clocks me in the eye, I push him back to gather myself, well and truly pissed off now. Except he's on the move again. Fast. All I see is the reflection of the ceiling light on stainless steel as it rushes toward me. Pain erupts through my head, and that's when I lose control. I briefly register the first hit I lay into him. And the second. Then suddenly, I'm staring at white walls, chained to a hospital bed with a bandage on my neck and a fuzzy recollection of his dead body beneath me. ** Present Day ** There's something satisfying about new toys. It's like that feeling at Christmas, when your whole body is filled with excitement after ripping open a brand new toy that you'll inevitably break within a week. Holding the blowtorch in my hand, I feel the same way. That's the best part about being an adult-more expensive toys to play with. 'This is amazing,' I murmur, grinning at Deadman. 'Compact too.' He nods, completely unfazed by my overly enthusiastic reaction. 'Portable handheld torch. We just need to be mindful of the butane canister. Don't go wasting it.' 'You're no fun,' I pout, whirling it around like a lightsaber. 'Pew pew.' I quickly hide it behind my back when there's a small knock on Damon's door. I leave him to do the honors, wondering if there's someone on the other side that I'll get to use my new toy on straight away. 'Connor,' Damon acknowledges, and I feel a pang of disappointment. Damn. 'I have some information for you,' Connor grunts out, giving me a small nod as he notices me. 'Go on,' Damon says, only partially interested. 'It's about Avery.' Well, that grabs both of our undivided attention. I slip the blowtorch out from behind my back, Connor glancing at it for a brief second as if it's nothing more than a shoe. I suppose he did help Deadman purchase it so there's no element of surprise. 'Dr. Smith is absent today. Some of his sessions have been rescheduled with Dr. Elsher.' 'Avery better not be with him,' I cut in, clearly echoing Damon's thoughts as he nods sharply. A pained, constipated expression appears on Connor's face, confirming the worst. That motherfucker. I'm going to melt his face off and sizzle his balls. 'She was,' Connor quickly answers, noticing the change in my demeanor. 'She left though. The guards have been instructed to look for her.' Damon steps toward him. 'What do you mean she left?' he asks dangerously. 'Walked out of session. We've been warned that she could be hostile.' A laugh bursts out of my mouth, startling our friendly little guard. He jumps, pursing his lips as he glances at me cautiously. 'Avery, hostile?' I repeat, amused. 'Come on. That's just being overly dramatic.' Connor nods. 'I don't disagree. But according to Dr. Elsher, she threatened him so the guards have been instructed to take her to Whittingham once she's located. They've deemed her a flight risk.' My little killer threatened him? I need to find her now before one of the guards do, but given the fact my dick is hardening at the news she threatened Elsher, we might need to make a pitstop on the way back. 'A flight risk?' Damon spits out with disgust. 'She's not a risk at all. Do not let anyone touch her. Grey-' 'I'm on it,' I answer, begrudgingly handing the blowtorch back to him. While the idea of setting things alight sounds delightful, I don't have the patience to be stopped by one of Arthur's minions for carrying a weapon. I push past Connor and head straight for the library. It's empty to my disappointment, and a quick trip past Elsher's office confirms she's definitely not there either. Christopher's office is also vacant and for a moment, I'm actually stumped. Normally, I'd consider the morgue but given we can't access the stairwell, there's no way Avery would be able to get past the doors. The classrooms are also empty which only leaves one other option. If I'm correct, which I believe I am, it means our girl is smart and quick thinking. It's the one place no one would check-practically in plain sight with witnesses. Kitchen staff are wandering around the hall, setting up food for lunch. A few glance in my direction, and when one smiles uncharacteristically at me, I realize it's a sign I'm on the right path. The doors swing open as I stroll in shamelessly, grinning at our good old grumpy friend. Tony pauses, letting out a sigh at my presence but not seeming surprised, before nodding his head to the other side of the room. 'In there.' 'Well, thank you.' As soon as I rip open the freezer door, Avery glances up at me, her face softening. 'Fancy meeting you here,' she says with a smile. I close the door behind me, tilting my head as I smirk at her. 'Ever fucked in a freezer before, little killer?'