Blow My House Down

Chapter 42

Trigger Warning: Violence

1100 Riverside Dr. stood tall before us, heavy and distant. I swallowed the nervous ball in my throat, trying to calm the butterflies of fear flitting around in my stomach. My mother had to be here, and I was going to get her. Micky was right.

Micky and I approached the front door and found a note taped to it. We glanced at each other and I plucked it off, opening it.

Dearest Kathleen,

Come alone. Leave your Monkee man outside where he belongs.

Micky snorted. "Guess someone doesn't like me."

I rolled my eyes and taped the note back, then took a deep breath and put my hand on the knob. Before I could twist it open to seal my fate, Micky grabbed my arm.

"Wait," he said.

I turned around expectantly. He pulled me in for a long, deep kiss. I savored it, praying it wouldn't be the last and that fate would be kinder to us. I soaked him up, dredging tenderness from his lips, feeling all love dipping between us. I was shaking, wanting to hold on tight and stay with him. But I had to put the nightmare to rest.

Reluctantly, I pulled away and put a hand to his cheek. "I love you."

He squeezed my hand. "Don't say it like you aren't coming back."

I didn't say anything in return, only gave him a small smile and stepped into the house.

The door creaked shut behind me. The house was grim and dusty, full of ancient artifacts and a distinct smell of bubblegum permeated the air. White painted arrows lined the wall, pointing to the heart of the house. I knew I was close.

I cautiously made my way through the house, scared he would come around a corner and that would be the end of me. But the arrows led me to a door, which I opened. A staircase presented itself to me.

The basement. How cliche.

I was tempted to roll my eyes, but then remembered how grave the situation was. Instead, I sighed and descended the staircase. Waiting for me was Tommy Boyce, wearing a smirk.

I didn't flinch, just stared at him when he began to clap. There were several feet between us and I wanted to keep it that way.

"You're smarter than I gave you credit for, Kathleen," Boyce said.

"Where's my mother?" I asked, crossing my arms.

Boyce shook his head. "Uh-uh. The game isn't over yet. You said you'd do anything for her."

Boyce stepped closer. I instinctively backed away, ankles hitting the musty wooden step. I flinched at the sharp shooting pain. Rage boiled in my blood, but the back of my mind whispered all the things he did to me. I pushed down the bile rising in my throat, desperately clinging to the faith that I could face the man who haunted me and come out okay. It was easier said than done. It wasn't a delirious moment of violence at a Christmas party.

Boyce chuckled. I flinched at the sound, fighting myself from sinking back into helplessness. I refused to let him win.

"Anything is relative," I said, steady. Even a slight waver would alert him to my fear. "I'm not going to have sex with you, if that's what you're implying." Boyce narrowed his eyes. Briefly, I felt triumphant. "Looks like I'm not the only pathetic one here."

"Kathleen," he warned. "You're on thin ice. Remember your mother's life is still at stake."

He took another step closer. I stood my ground.