Page 130 of I Never Stopped Loving You

“Yeah, something like that.”

He glances around, probably wondering where Noah is.

“He’s finally sleeping,” I say before he can ask, and he smirks.

“Ah, you wore him out, huh?” he laughs.

“What? No. We just…”

“Willow…This house is old as fuck. Sound travels a bit too well, I might add. Even though you guys were hardly discreet.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Um…would you care if I went over to see Jenna for a bit? I mean, are you okay on your own here with him?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“No, I just mean…Sorry. It was just scary what happened the other day, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed really shaken up from the amount of blood.”

“I mean, who wouldn’t be?”

He stares at me for a moment, and I get this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he finally says. “I’m gonna head out. I should be back by morning.”

“Should be?” I tease, and he smiles.

“I don’t know if I’m going to fall asleep on the couch again.”

“Or in her bed?” I laugh, and he blushes.

He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it and shakes his head.

“Call me if you need anything. My number’s on the fridge. Seriously, if anything seems off or you need me back, call. I always have my ringer on…unlike some people.”

He glares up at the ceiling, where two flights above us, Noah is hopefully still passed out.

“No worries, we’ll be fine. Go have fun.”

“Thanks, Willow. Night.”

“Night, Jeremy.”

I watch out the window as his taillights go down the drive before disappearing out onto the main road. Once I’m sure he’s gone and the house is dead silent, I finally glance back over at the dining room table. He didn’t put anything away. All his papers and that manila envelope are still scattered across the table.

I silently make my way back into the dining room and pick up the folder. My heart is racing, but I know I need to do this. I’ve had a few domestic violence and murder cases that I’ve dealt with as I shadowed different cases over the years, so this shouldn’t be any different.

Just one look. Just to see what I might be working on once I fully get hired on.

I close my eyes and open the folder. When I finally open my eyes again, all I can see are photos that are nearly identical to the ones I’ve seen hundreds of times. The ones taken from inside my childhood home, where my father murdered my mother and nearly killed me.

The wife is curled in a fetal position. A large kitchen knife is on the ground near her body…If you could even call it that anymore. The man looks like he was in a fit of rage. You can see the stab wounds scattered across her body. Chunks of flesh ripped open, exposing down to the bone. He didn’t just kill her, he mutilated her.

My chest feels like it’s being crushed as I flip through the photos. The marble floor in the photos is clean and polished other than the bright red streaking across its surface, unlike the dirty linoleum that I remember from that night. The cabinets are stark white, splattered with blood spray. Even the stainless-steel appliances are now streaked with her blood.

The memory comes flooding back again. The nightmare. My mother curled around my small body, trying to protect me from his rage. The sickening sounds each time the knife pierced her skin. The gasping cries she tried to hide as she whispered everything would be okay as my world slowly faded to black.

I can’t breathe. My heart is racing, my vision is fading in and out, and I can feel my whole body shaking. No…Someone is shaking my body.