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And he’d found one.
“Amanda was taking insulin during her last trimester to control her blood sugar…gestational diabetes.”
Even after seeing the proof with his own two eyes, Kellan found it hard to believe.
“It’s not entirely uncommon with pregnancy. Some women are unable to make enough insulin on their own to meet the demands of their changing bodies,” Victor had explained in terms he could understand.
Amanda was nineteen when Kellan was born, and otherwise healthy. The condition would have resolved itself, and her blood sugar would have normalized, in the weeks following delivery.
Heather, her older sister and Tanner’s mother, didn’t have it. Neither did Jennifer.
“Look at the dates on the vials, son.”
It wasn’t a weak heart or diabetes that killed them. But an intentional overdose of human insulin did. Its onset rapid, the effects would have been felt in as little as two minutes. Confusion, fatigue, clammy skin, before losing consciousness, though they were likely injected while asleep. Eventually the heart just stops. The substance degrades, leaving the body just as quickly, not that anyone would have even thought to look for it post-mortem.
Three empty vials. Two more than twenty years old. One of them new. Each once contained a thousand units in ten small milliliters. Death can occur with as little as twenty, but in that quantity, it’s certain.
I’m so fucking sorry, baby.
With the sound of Arien breathing against his throat, her heart beating against his skin, Kellan gave in to a fitful slumber.
They left Arien at home with Emily and Benjamin. She’d endured enough pain and there was no reason for her to witness this. Grams and Aunt Kim stayed behind to keep her busy, helping her style the YouTube set in the new studio he and Tanner put in for her in a spare room behind the kitchen.
New Year’s Day. The Sunday after Christmas. Seven subdued faces gathered in the parlor of Victor’s house. Not yet noon, his wife, who had to be in her forties but sure didn’t look it, brought in a bottle of Macallan on a tray of rocks glasses. The voluptuous blonde had always reminded Kellan of a mature Pamela Anderson. She set down the tray, kissed her husband’s cheek, and taking her brother by the hand, quietly left the room.
Jake metered out the whiskey in generous doses. The single malt warming his throat, with its notes of peppery clove as he swallowed, Kellan exhaled, and steeling himself for what was to come, poured himself another.
From his left, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Archer. “Easy, bro. We got your back,” his lead rider assured him.
Matthew paced.
Tanner, numb and in disbelief beside him, slowly sipped, rotating the glass in his fingers.
So it had to be him.
Kellan would be the one to confront his grandfather.
He still couldn’t fathom it, how a man could murder his own flesh and blood. Pops never really cared about him or Tanner, did he? He couldn’t have loved them. If he had, he wouldn’t have left them without a mother.
Long, black hair pulled back in a queue, Victor stood before him. “Are you ready, son?”
“Yeah.” Downing his shot, Kellan nodded.
It was a short walk through town from the Gantry home to his grandfather’s place that sat alongside the stream. With the holiday, and the January wind bitter, there weren’t many folks wandering about the square. And even though the sun was shining, it held no apricity for him.
Kellan stepped up on the porch, walking past the childhood ghosts of the countless times he and his brother had played here, and knocked at his grandfather’s door. Licking his lips, he held the cold air in his lungs until the old man answered it.
“Well, well, happy New Year, my boy.” His grandfather smiled at first, until he observed the others behind him. “What do we have here?”
“Hey, Pops.” Kellan smirked, attempting to be his usual self. Acting job of his life. For now, he had to turn everything else off. He’d think about it all later. “We gotta talk to you. It’s important.”
Side-eyeing Matthew, he curtly nodded. “Can do. C’mon in, the heat’s gettin’ out.”
None of them taking a seat, they assembled in the living room.
“Maizie, make some coffee, will ya? We got company.”
“That isn’t necessary, John.” Victor stepped forward. “We won’t be long.”
