Page 80 of Redemption
Mount
The estate is a madhouse when we pull up. Workers are hustling patients outside from seemingly all exits. As one might expect with a mental facility, it’s not a tidy process. One patient already looks like he’s trying to make a break for it, and multiple employees are chasing him down one side of the horseshoe-shaped driveway—where Joy’s mother’s courier van is driving away.
Someone waves us forward, and Joy drives up under the porte cochere before throwing the truck into park.
“Visors down,” I remind Marco before grasping the handle and shoving open the door.
“Thank goodness! That was so quick! Please, we don’t know where the fire is, but people smelled smoke. Please, help,” a brunette in a white apron says as she wrings her hands. She looks like she’s about to fall apart.
“That’s our job, ma’am. Don’t worry. We’ve got this.”
With a quick glance to confirm that Marco is behind me, I jog into the large historic home. My attention is on high alert, and I check every face that passes me.
Where are you, J? I know you’re here somewhere. Make this easy for us.
She wasn’t one of the patients out front, which means she’s still inside.
I don’t know how much she’s changed since she’s been a resident, receiving treatment, but every instinct I have says that my former right-hand woman and foster sister—also known as Destiny Jones—is exactly who I need to help me pull this off. If I can find her.
We check the dining hall—empty.
The back porch—empty.
Three bathrooms and the kitchen—empty.
“Upstairs. Let’s go upstairs.”
Come on, J. Where are you?
As we jog up the stairs, a woman comes rushing down, slamming right into me. I check her face—not J.
“Is anyone still upstairs?” I ask her.
She shrieks and runs past us.
So helpful. I take the stairs two at a time and finally reach the level where the patient rooms are.
“You take the right side; I’ll take the left,” I call to Marco.
“On it.”
First three rooms on the left—all empty.
Fuck. Did I miscalculate? Did she already make her escape, like the guy running down the driveway?
Fourth room—empty.
“Anything?” I call out, hoping Marco will answer affirmatively.
I shove my arm out to open the door to the fifth room, and the wood bounces off the plaster as a reply in a familiar voice greets me.
“Please tell me this is what I think it is. Because I’ve been waiting.”
And there she is. Destiny Jones—the infamous J. Her hair is longer, but other than that, she looks exactly the same as the day she left my house for the care of this institution … after trying to murder my wife and almost succeeding with Magnolia.
I flip up the visor on my helmet. As soon as she sees my face, her entire countenance shifts into a grin. For a split second, she looks like the little girl I once knew. The one who hadn’t killed anyone.
“You ready?”
