Page 21 of Carter

I’m worried about him, but every time I’ve spoken to him, I’ve stayed strong. I need to be strong for him. I always have, even before our parents died. That’s what big brothers do.

I spend my afternoon going through case files, making notes, and calling witnesses and people who left statements. Most of the numbers are wrong because people change them over the years. I, of course, have ways of finding them, and I will, but not today. It’s all part of the notes I make for myself, and I’ll get that all done on Monday and start fresh with calling people again. I can’t start something at the end of the week like this, because then I’ll only worry about it all weekend and end up working.

No matter the case, everyone I speak to is shocked, not expecting a call from a detective asking about a murder that happened a few years ago. Some people get hopeful, and I have to speak to them carefully. Just because I’m looking into things doesn’t mean I’m going to solve it. It doesn’t even mean the case will officially be re-opened, so I have to tread carefully. I’ve already had plenty of people get angry with me. Grief will do that to you. I don’t take it offensively. If I did, I’d never be able to do this job. But I didn’t get here by having thin skin and wearing my emotions on my sleeve. I bury them deep down and act like they aren’t there.

I’ve learned a lot about grief from dealing with my own. I didn’t have anyone to turn to or speak with, so I did the digging on my own. Learned from my own feelings and actions. I’ve used those feelings to do what I do now, pushing myself harder to help others since there’s nothing I can do for myself. I’ve dealt with it the best I can, there is no more resolution for me. I’ve hit a dead end.

My father killed my mother. Then he killed himself. What more is there? He’s gone. There was no arrest, no trial, no jail time. No letters from him begging for forgiveness. No apology. No worries of parole or him coming after me.

So no, I can’t do anything about my story but I can help others get closure.

Nightmares still plague me at times, though not as often as they used to. I’d see my father’s face morph into an actual monster with big teeth and claws, his voice sounding nothing short of demonic as he told me and my brothers to watch or he’d kill us.

Which is exactly what he said that day.

We believed him, so we did. We watched as he shot my mother. The one parent I loved dearly. The only person who ever truly understood me. She was my mother, and I was her baby—her first. He took that from me.

I still remember the way the blood sprayed against the wall and the thud her body made when it crumpled to the wooden floor. It felt like hours but it was only seconds before he put the gun beneath his chin and pulled the trigger for the second time. By then, I was so gone I don’t remember hearing a thud or seeing blood spray. But it was there. Blood was everywhere, pooling beneath their bodies, on the ceiling, the walls, even on us.

I always thought it was funny the way his body fell over hers. Anyone seeing the scene might’ve thought he was protecting her. Holding her. Loving her. They wouldn’t know he’d been the one to kill her. They wouldn’t know that the closest he ever came to shielding my mother was after she was already dead. But at that point, there was nothing to shield her from because he was the danger.

I’ll never know why he spared us. Why he didn’t just kill us all. Not that I want that. I don’t. I, like Carter, am not suicidal… but it has crossed my mind that I should be. This is just one of those things that fucks you up so hard, so deep, that it’s impossible to get over.

Maybe it’s spite that keeps me going. Maybe it’s the hatred I have for my father, wanting to prove that I am not him. ThatI’m a good man. That I do the opposite of hurting people. I help them. I heal them. Something he couldn’t even begin to understand.

Then there’s my brothers. I do it mostly for them. Because they’re all I have.

Chapter ten

Carter

The cold air bites at my cheeks as I step onto the sidewalk, scanning the road and parked cars for Detective Bennett. I don’t know what he drives, so I don’t know what I’m looking for. Something showy, like an SUV, probably. Eh, I’m not sure that fits his personality.

A truck. Yep. Definitely a truck. One of those giant ones that rumbles like a plane, and someone my size needs to hold on to the bar to step up into.

“Have a good night, Carter.”

“Yeah, you too.” I smile at Jackson, who lifts his hand in a wave, then starts down the street.

“You sure you’re good?” Kane asks, coming up to my side.

“Yes, Kane.” I roll my eyes. “Thank you, but I’m good. I’m getting picked up.”

“All right, just making sure. See ya.”

A few more people come out, saying their goodbyes or waving as they head to wherever they need to go for the night.

I sniffle and hunch my shoulders as a sharp breeze blows, small bits of snow from the piles on the street lifting and landing against my skin. My hands go into my pockets, and I sure do wish I had those mittens Ryan always yelled at me about wearing.

“Hey!” I look to my left and see the detective hurrying over. I raise a brow, wondering where he came from. He stops in front of me.

“When you said you’d pick me up, I hadn’t imagined a piggyback ride.” I smirk.

His eyes narrow, and he hooks his thumb over his shoulder.

“I parked around the block.”

I nod and start walking. He keeps up the pace.