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"You had too much to drink," Oliver chided softly.
I put my head against his chest while he carried me into the elevator.
“Should I undress you and put you to bed?” Oliver said as we entered his apartment.
“No. Put me down.”
“Take off your heels before you fall down.”
He steadied me as he put me on the marble floor, holding my shoulders while I removed my heels. The air in the apartment was cooler than the restaurant and I started to wake up.
“Why did you drink so much? You had three martinis.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Who told you that? Vlad?”
Oliver clenched his jaw. “His job is to keep an eye on you.”
I sighed. “Ty asked me something that upset me.”
“What?” he asked.
"Ty found video, and the digital department is working on making the photo clearer. He wants me to see a hypnotist," I informed Oliver, the weight of the conversation settling heavily between us.
"So, he thinks you’ll be able to identify the murderer from a memory that’s years old?" Oliver's concern mirrored my own doubts.
"Yes. He wants to solve the case," I confirmed, a note of uncertainty tainting my words.
"Does anyone else in the family know Ty is working on it?" Oliver inquired, his brow furrowing with worry.
I shook my head. "No. I don’t want to upset my mother. She was a mess after my father died. I didn’t speak after it happened, and I took a year off from school because of it. You know this," I explained, a pang of guilt gnawing at me.
"I understand he wants to solve the case, but I don’t like him upsetting you," Oliver admitted, his protective instincts kicking in.
"Ty means well. He loved my father. When we were kids, we all used to play ball in the backyard. My father was always the pitcher. Ty took it hard when he was killed," I reminisced, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
"I don’t want you seeing a hypnotist," Oliver declared, his tone firm.
"I don’t want to see one either," I agreed, relieved to find common ground.
"It’s your choice," Oliver said.
"I don’t feel so good," I admitted, a wave of dizziness washing over me.
As I started to sway, Oliver swiftly swept me up in his arms, carrying me to the bedroom with ease.
"Do you have to throw up?" Oliver's concern was palpable, his voice gentle.
"No, just a little dizzy," I assured him, grateful for his steady presence.
He settled me on the bed, his hands deftly assisting me as I shed my dress and bra, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me like a heavy blanket. Nestling under the covers, I succumbed to the warmth of sleep, the comfort of Oliver's presence lulling me into a peaceful slumber within moments of my head hitting the pillow.
My mind is a whirlwind of panic, every nerve screaming in terror. Daddy’s voice echoed in my head, urging me to hide, but I couldn’t move. I'm frozen in place as I watched the figure approach, the sound of gunshots ringing in my ears as my father stepped out of our SUV. His silhouette crumpled to the ground, a grotesque dance of violence unfolding before my eyes. "Daddy!" I screamed, but he didn’t answer, and the world narrowed to the sight of his lifeless form.
The acrid scent of gunpowder filled the air, suffocating me like a vise. With trembling hands, I clawed at the car seat strap, finally wrenching it open. Desperation fueled my actions as I stumbled out of the car, my gaze fixed on my father's prone figure. Blood stains his chest, a stark contrast against the fabric of his shirt. "Daddy!" I cry out again, my voice breaking with raw anguish as I scrambled towards him.
His hazel eyes, once warm with love, now stare blankly into the void, and my heart shattered at the emptiness within them. Tears blurred my vision as I reached out to shake him, to wake him from this nightmare. But there’s no response, no comforting embrace to chase away the terror.
I screamed, a primal sound of agony tearing through the silence, reverberating off the walls of my shattered reality. My body trembled with each gut-wrenching wail, my mind consumed by a maelstrom of grief and disbelief. I kneel beside him, my fingers stained with his blood, and I don’t know what to do. All I can do is scream, to release the torrent of anguish that threatens to consume me whole.
