Page 108 of Finding Us
“It’s a fucking mansion,” Connor replies.
“I know, but I guess when you’re a kid your perception of things are different.”
“When was the last time you were here?”
“Sixteen years ago.”
“Wow. So, you and your mum got away then?”
“My mum disappeared when I was twelve … I ran away when I was thirteen.”
“What do you mean disappeared? She left you here with him?”
“I don’t know what happened to her. She was here one day and gone the next.”
“You are my best friend, how come there’s so much I don’t know about your past?”
“One, because I don’t like talking about it, and two, we’re not chicks.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Men don’t sit around talking about feelings.”
“I told you my mum died when I was a kid.”
“Of cancer, not at the hands of your father.”
I see his attention snap to me in my peripheral vision. “You think your dad killed your mum?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Stuff happened the night before she disappeared … it’s a possibility.”
“What kind of stuff?”
I remove my seat belt and reach for the door handle. “You’re acting like a chick, Maloney.”
“I am not,” he whines as he exits the car and jogs to catch up to me as I duck under the police tape and stalk down the driveway. I don’t want to be back here; so much fucked-up shit is running through my head already as we approach the house. “Did you ever report it?”
“I was twelve … my father was a well-respected judge with friends in high places. You of all people should understand that.”
“Enough said.” He falls into step beside me. “We might find some evidence when we’re in there,” he states, flicking his head towards the house. That’s the law in him speaking … I seriously doubt my father was stupid enough not to cover his tracks. If by chance there is anything, I know exactly where to look. His office. It was always locked, and somewhere my mother and I were never allowed to enter.
Connor shakes hands with the officer who’s standing by the front door when we climb the stairs that lead to the porch. “Are we right to go in?” he asks.
“You’ll need to put on these,” the officer replies, reaching into the box near his feet and pulling out two pairs of blue booties. It makes me seethe inside. I hate that my father is getting any kind of special treatment just because he died. That motherfucker doesn’t deserve it.
After sliding the stupid booties over my shoes, I push through the front door and I pause as soon as we enter the house. My gaze moves around the foyer, and my first thought is nothing has changed since I left. I close my eyes and dip my head as a multitude of images plays out in my head, like a fast forward snapshot of my life.
“You okay?” Connor asks, placing his hand on my shoulder. “We can walk straight back out if you’re not ready.”
I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to face the hell that I lived through in this house, but if I leave now, I know I’ll never return. “I’m fine,” I answer, releasing the breath I’d been holding. “I want to go to my father’s office first. I want to know what’s in there.”
“Lead the way.”
I take a few steps forward, pausing briefly to take in the mahogany staircase. My eyes move down to the base, specifically to the rug that’s now lying there. I head straight for it, lifting one corner, and bile rises to my throat the moment I do. You can clearly see the dark stain embedded into the hardwood floors, and that sight conjures up the image of my mother’s twisted body lying right there before me.
Quickly dropping the rug, I take a few hasty steps backwards. My reaction is enough to alert Connor. He mimics me by looking under the rug.
“Is there a way to test if that stain is blood?” I ask.
