Page 104 of Hate So Deep
“Dirk?” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he says, poking his head around the half wall.
Pointing toward the corner, I say, “That wasn’t there before.”
“What?” he asks.
“The blue rug. That was upstairs.”
“You sure?” he asks, and I nod. The blue rug replaces the green one once the winter weather comes on. This has been Mom’s ritual for years.
“You got any gloves?” he asks, and the question sends a shiver down my spine as I back away before rushing up the steps.
After searching through the cabinets in the kitchen upstairs, I bring him the rubber gloves we use to wash the dishes, and he carefully pulls the rug from behind two others before laying it down on the floor.
I’d rather be anywhere else while he does this but like a car crash, I can’t look away as he slowly unrolls it.
Once it’s fully stretched out, we both circle the fabric, but I don’t see anything of note and I’m just exhaling a relieved sigh when I spy something caught between the tufts.
“Wait? Is that my earring?” I ask before picking up the diamond stud and holding it in my hand.
I would recognize it anywhere because my grandfather gave me the earrings on my twelfth birthday. He was the only person on my mom’s side of the family who cared about me and when he passed away four years ago, I was beyond devastated.
Perhaps that’s the first time that I realized I’m truly damned and it’s only gotten worse since.
“Is it?” he asks, his back warming my chest as he gazes over my shoulder.
Touching my right ear, I nod before asking, “Why is it here, in the blue rug that should be upstairs?”
“When was the last time you saw it?” he asks and meeting his solemn stare, I suck in air before letting it loose, but it doesn’t quell the panic clawing at my throat.
“That morning,” I mumble. “Dirk…”
With my heart in my throat, I drop to my knees and Dirk kneels beside me, saying, "Breathe, baby girl.”
“What if it was me?” I sob. “What if I really did do this?”
“Baby,” he says, grabbing my cheeks. “Deep breaths, hm.”
But I can't regulate my breathing, and I bury my head in his shoulder as the hysteria consumes me.
I've been fighting off the specter of this since the first wicked inkling crept into my mind. Now, it's become a stone-cold reality and fuck me, but I don't know what to do.
“Sh,” he says but I can’t stop shaking and eventually he lifts me into his arms and carries me up the stairs to the living room where he sets me down on the couch.
Numbly I watch while he opens a cabinet by the wall, grabs a bottle of whiskey and a glass before bringing them back to me.
I wrinkle my nose at the scent but down the shot when he urges me to.
Afterwards, he crouches before me and says, “I have to go back down there. Will you be, okay?”
Searching his gaze, I finally nod but as soon as he’s gone, I curl into a ball and the tears fall.
Despite everything, I hoped this was all a mistake. I hoped that Aimee would walk through her parents’ door alive and confused by all the police involvement.
Those dreams are now coated with the blood embedded in the fabric of a shirt now destroyed and the rug that was in the hall upstairs before all this went down.
When Dirk returns, I blink my eyes open and yawn as he sits beside me.
