The Lost Relics Box Set Page 2

  “Hey,” he called after the two, but was drowned out by a loud shout of disgust.

  “Ahhhh! Gross!” Blake was slowly picking up each foot and looking on in horror. “Kill! We have to go…NOW!” Killian watched as a swaying Amanda leaned in toward Blake’s face. Disgusted Blake pushed her away gently and marched over to Killian.

  The strong smell of vomit burned his nostrils when Blake stood next to him.

  “We’re outta here,” Blake huffed. Killian looked to see if the emerald-eyed girl was still close, but she was gone. His heart sunk, but he still laughed at Blake and his vomit soaked shoes.

  ***

  Blake pulled into Killian’s driveway and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Sorry man, this was supposed to be an all-day thing,” he pouted.

  “Tell Mandy not to chug so many drinks next time, okay. Its nasty stuff anyway,” Killian teased. He was amused by what had happened, but his thoughts often drifted to concern for the girl drug away by blubbering Kevin.

  "Amanda didn't know you have a weird issue with alcohol," Blake said defensively.

  "I told her at school I hate the stuff. Come on Blake you don't honestly like her, do you?"

  "Why do you say it as if it’s a bad thing?" he asked, looking confused.

  "Blake," Killian laughed and covered his face with his hands, "the girl thought she could chug five beers! She threw up on your shoes and then tried to kiss you."

  Blake squirmed in his seat, but didn’t say anything more about Amanda. “Well, have an awesome evening hanging out with Mama Laura! I've got to go wash this smell out of my shoes. Maybe you guys can watch a nice Cary Grant.” Blake laughed at his own sarcasm. Killian scoffed, but couldn’t help but smile at the reference to Laura’s obsession.

  Perhaps it was her escape from Richard, Killian wondered to himself. She loved to run back in time to the simplicity of the classics.

  The house was dark inside, which was surprising since it was so early in the evening. Killian saw all the blinds were pulled shut and that made his hair stand on end. Setting the brown paper bag full of taffy on the kitchen table he knew something was wrong.

  “Laura?” he called out as he traipsed the halls of the large house. He heard a thud upstairs toward her bedroom. Killian ran up the stairs two at a time, he hadn’t seen Richard’s car—unless…

  Killian rushed down the hallway even faster to the master bedroom. Often Richard would leave his car at the office, and lock his door so his employees would think he was in a meeting, then slip out on the bus when he felt a rage coming on. If anyone ever saw a battered Laura, he would have an alibi to clear his involvement. The eccentric strategy had worked numerous times; it made Killian hate the man even more. It revealed how premeditated and deliberate all his attacks had been.

  The door to the master bedroom was cracked open. Killian paused, unsure if he dared enter the shadowed room until the hall was filled with a loud SMACK followed by a gurgled groan. Killian burst into the room—the sight before him made his stomach churn and he was afraid he would lose the contents on the soft Italian carpet.

  Richard stood over his wife, holding a clump of her light hair in his hand. His athletic build heaving from the exertion of beating her down. His French cuffed, perfectly pressed, white shirt was splattered in fresh blood. Laura lay on the floor with her eyes closed; at least Killian imagined they were. Her face was plastered with thick, streams of blood and swelling had already started to set in. The room smelled metallic and it made Killian feel certain he would be sick.

  Richard reeled around at the sound of the door opening and glared at Killian, his black eyes seething with anger and power. He smirked at the younger man as if to prove how out of his hands the situation was.

  “Looking to be a hero?" Richard hissed. "You—are—the most insig...insignificant waste of space I have 'er seen.” The words slipped out of his mouth so slurred the insult was barely audible.

  The ridiculous statement boiled beneath Killian’s skin. A strange sensation overwhelmed him; he felt his insides being split in two. A strange rage filled him, followed by a seething hate. It was almost as if Killian was feeling emotions that were not his own—emotions that matched the expression on Richard’s face. He hated the man to be sure, but not with such passion and viciousness as he was feeling. The sensation made Killian’s head spin—he couldn’t understand the strangeness of the feeling, but he quickly acted on the rage, even if it was causing discomfort. The anger built up inside him until his body seemed to perform on its own accord.

  Killian immediately rushed between the two people, causing Richard to stumble for a moment. He stood over the battered, moaning woman in an attempt to protect her. Richard stumbled toward him, tripping on his feet, but caught himself. This attack was unlike others, Richard's eyes were pure black—there was no light. Killian had to protect Laura, or she may not live through the night. A strange sensation pooled in his chest, almost as if his desire to defend formed into physical matter. He coughed and weakened slightly as the feeling seeped through his pores and toward Laura. It was an insane thought, but he could almost see a barrier forming around Laura, leaving her protected for the time being. Shaking his head, he focused again on Richard. The man was attempting a charge again, and without thought, the fire that burned through his blood pushed his fist toward the side of Richard’s taut jaw.

  Richard stumbled backward from the blow and fell against the couple’s dresser, slicing the side of his head. A clean trail of blood trickled down his temple from his scalp. Richard’s mouth fell open dumbly, a flash of anger ripped through his vicious eyes. Killian recognized the hate. He had lived with it most of his life, but he also saw hesitation toward Killian’s strength. Richard lifted his head toward his closet and Killian’s heart pounded—he knew he kept his 9mm on the top shelf.

  Killian rushed in front of his line of sight and pushed Richard back against the wall.

  “Don’t bother Richard, I’m leaving, you won’t see me again. Just remember every time you beat her down, you are nothing—nothing but a worthless, sorry excuse for a man.” Killian spat at the stunned man’s feet then rushed out of the room.

  His heart panged. Perhaps I should stay and protect Laura, he thought to himself. He quickly talked himself out of the idea, believing Richard may kill them both if he tried to take her. Something inside him urged him to leave, he knew the attack on Laura was over—though he didn't know how he knew it. Rushing down the stairs he quickly dialed 9-1-1 on the phone in the kitchen. His breath grew ragged as he heard Richard scuffling off the floor above him.

  "9-1-1 what is your emergency?" the calm female voice sounded on the other end.

  "He attacked her, 421 Blue Bell Street," he breathed into the phone. Before the operator could answer, Killian left the phone connected to the operator, but dropped it on the counter. He heard Laura's sobs, but Richard’s sloshing feet on the stairs urged him to move. He had to leave now, or he wouldn't leave at all. Killian rushed out the front door and ran—he knew there was only one place he would be safe.

  A half hour later, Blake shoved Killian down the stairs to his grandparents’ basement.

  “You really hit him Kill? Are you crazy?” Blake breathed quietly.

  “You should’ve seen her, Blake. He was going to kill her, I know he would’ve.” Killian was still reeling from the adrenaline rush of the entire ordeal.

  “You should’ve called the cops man, Richard will never let you live now.”

  “I tried, but…” Killian didn’t finish and swallowed a lump built up in his throat. Blake didn’t know how true he believed that statement was. Richard was violent, and had no love in his heart for Killian. His life as he had known it was over.

  The two boys rested on the soft leather couch. They sat in silence, neither knowing what to say.

  A knock came to the front door and Blake shuffled upstairs to answer it. Killian recognized that Blake did a lot of work for his grandparents around the house. In truth, Killian ha
d never met the two elderly people. Blake said they spent most their days at the country club spending their vast retirement fund. He knew at this time of night they were most likely in bed, although it was still early for their grandson.

  “Kill, uh—you gotta come here dude,” he heard Blake’s nervous voice call from the top of the stairs. He swallowed hard, readying himself to face Richard, who he was certain had sniffed him out to Blake’s house.

  To his surprise, he was met at the front door by a hefty dark man in a police uniform. His lanky partner leaned against the side of the house, putting on a stern, serious face that meant he was in no mood for delinquent behavior.

  “Killian Thomas?” the officer asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Killian Thomas you are under arrest for the assault on a Mrs. Laura Peterson, you have the right to remain silent…”

  The man’s voice blurred as he continued to read him his rights. This was not happening. He hadn’t touched Laura. The police officer reached for his wrist to place the cold handcuffs around it, but Killian yanked it away.

  “No, this isn’t right! I stopped it! It was Richard, I called you,” Killian was shouting and desperately fighting against the officer.

  Blake had a hand on his forehead and just stared, not knowing what to do. The hefty officer gripped his wrist so hard Killian shouted out in pain. The second, lanky officer had joined his partner and was helping detain him.

  “It's okay, Kill. It will work out,” Blake shouted, trying to reassure him. “Laura will tell them what really happened! I’ll talk to my Grandpa, we’ll straighten this out for you! I promise.” Blake’s voice faded as the police officers walked Killian to their patrol car. They pushed his head briskly so he didn’t hit the side and shut the door on his face.

  Killian was sure he was going to be sick. His shoulders heaved up and down. "I didn't do it," he whispered obsessively under his breath. "How is this happening?”

  Killian glared out the patrol car window as he held firm to a single moment of clarity. "Richard," he hissed. Inside he knew it was over— no one would ever believe him over Richard.

  ***

  Killian looked over his shoulder. Blake and several other kids from his school sat behind him, certainly recruited by his friend. Blake gave him a thumbs up as Laura made her way to the witness box. Killian was dressed in a bright, pumpkin colored jumpsuit—his hands were still cuffed in his lap.

  This was his moment. Laura was going to tell the judge what happened and it would match with the statement he had given the police. Blake had testified of his character, and he was certain the 9-1-1 call would help his case. He would finally be able to walk free of the prison and Richard would be trading places with him.

  “Mrs. Peterson, what happened on the seventh of July, the night of the assault?” a neatly pressed lawyer asked a nervous Laura.

  Laura glanced quickly at a Killian, making brief eye contact. Her eyes were glazed with pain and fear. Killian’s heart sunk and he shook his head. He felt a wave of emotion overcome him. The sensation was thick and encompassing. It was guilt as he had never felt before. He believed he was going mad, but he knew the feeling was not his own. He had felt guilty for leaving Laura that night, but not in such a deep, agonizing way. He knew what was going to happen even before Laura opened her mouth.

  “I was alone in my room, cleaning up before my husband came home from work. My foster son came in—he was angry I hadn’t let him stay out with his friends longer,” Laura began quietly, she hiccupped with emotion before continuing. “Killian, began to hit me. I don’t know what would’ve happened if Richard hadn’t come home. Killian pushed Richard against the dresser when he tried to stop him. Then he ran.” She sniffled into the microphone.

  Killian believed his heart would rip in two. He knew Laura wasn't his mother, but she had told him many times she wanted to be. How could she slander him in such a way? His pain and disbelief were broken by a loud shout coming from several rows behind.

  “THAT'S A LIE! Richard did this and you know it, Laura!” Blake shouted, coming to his feet. The judge pounded the gavel at the commotion that had rippled through the courtroom until the bailiff forcibly led a ranting Blake from the room.

  Laura had stepped down and returned to her seat next to Richard, who looked directly at Killian. His face was smug as he smiled in victory. The blackness in his eyes was pure hatred.

  Killian stared at the man’s face and physically felt the stone wall build itself around his heart. These people had, in technicality, raised him. Yet, there they were—one controlled by fear, the other by power, sentencing him to a life of banishment. He knew he would never forget this moment—Killian Thomas knew his faith in love and trust would be forever tainted and damaged.

  Chapter 2

  The Attack

  One Year Later

  Killian sat upright on his hard, rickety cot gasping for breath. Instinctively, he reached for the comfort of his gold charm, but his hands came up empty. He cursed remembering the small trinket had been missing for the last two days.

  Laura, after his sentencing, had made a special deal with the judge, explaining his troubled childhood. She expressed the charm was a keepsake from his biological family. Eventually, he was allowed to keep the charm with him. He scowled as the memories from the trial cursed his mind. Brushing his hand through his hair he shook Laura’s painful ghost from his mind.

  His hands brushed against his sweat drenched T-shirt, as he rehashed images from his dream.

  The little boy needed help! Killian had experienced the cold breeze and the smell of ash in the cramped, dark room where the child held his small knees against his chest. It had been so real. The red-headed woman had tried to keep him, to protect him; but the haunting, dark figures had taken the small boy from her. His brain wildly recounted the dream that had been recurring for the last month. He remembered the dream, like a ghost from his past. The same dream had come to him many times when he'd lived with Richard and Laura, but since coming to the prison, most of his dreams were replays of the horrible night that had landed him in jail.

  Killian flipped his legs over the side of his makeshift bed and slowly took several deep breaths. His feet crushed the shoebox that had once been filled with smutty pictures and cookies Blake had sent. He smiled remembering what Blake had told him at his sentencing hearing.

  "As long as you're locked up, just think of me as your mistress, waiting to greet you on the outside! You'll get so many care packages you won't even know you're in a cage—it'll be a vacation!"

  The latest package had been intercepted by Killian's rough cellmate, Nicco. He staked his claim on the pictures and passed the cookies to Alex in the cell over. Alex had, in turn, given them to Brooks, the vicious work release guard. Killian scoffed. Alex was the biggest brown nose in the prison but it often paid off. He received less degrading comments from the cantankerous guard and lighter workloads.

  "If I have to listen to your insane ramblings one more night, I promise you, sin valor, you will regret it!" Nicco said after several moments glaring at Killian as he stared absently at the package. His face was coated with numerous tattoos and scars. The appearance was used as a scare tactic for other inmates, although Nicco had never acted upon his threats. Killian had long ago outgrown his strategy and simply blocked him out.

  "GET UP MORONS!" a voice shouted down the long corridor. Killian's skin crawled hearing Brooks' voice. "I don't have time to waste getting you trash to the worksite!"

  For the last month, Killian had been involved in the work release program and was able to leave the prison three days out of the week to work his way into society before his upcoming release.

  Seven inmates were selected to go to Central Oregon Community College for landscaping duty. They filed out of their cells and lined up against the bars. Nicco stood next to Killian smirking at Alex who stood straight and tall, intently listening to what Brooks had to say. Brooks paced back and forth looking each of the seven men
up and down with contempt.

  "You are all a waste of my time; I'm amazed the prison board believes you will make useful members of society. If I had my way, none of you would ever get out there on my streets. Unfortunately, until then I have to babysit you losers," Brooks spat out each word, until a string of saliva dangled from his chin. Alex was nodding, vigilant in his attention of the guard's tirade. "I want all of you to get out to the van in a single file line. Do not raise a hand or say a word. If you do, you'll wish you never were assigned to my crew! MOVE OUT!"

  Killian couldn't help but laugh inwardly at the ridiculous speeches the guard shouted as often as possible.

  The ride to the campus was uneventful; none of the men spoke to one another. The few guards assigned to their small crew sat at the front of the van at strong attention, awaiting Brooks' orders. As Killian waited for the other crew members and group of guards to pile out the door, he looked out the window at the bright campus across the street. The college was clean and busy, surrounded by beautiful wooded areas full of trails and picnic spots. Students and staff shuffled by the neatly hedged bushes next to the college marquee.

  He observed how the bowed heads of the students pouring over their books, mimicked the bowed heads of the inmates. The blaring difference was the students didn’t wear metal cuffs around their wrists. Killian rubbed the red grooves on his skin as he bitterly turned his attention away from the free students.

  Before he left his seat in the van, Killian's hair on the back of his neck stood on end as the eerie sense of someone watching him prickled over him. The vehicle was empty, but turning his head toward the campus once again, his blood drained from his face as he locked eyes with the red-haired woman from his dream only hours earlier. Her face was outlined with worry and anxiety as her sad eyes bore into his.

  "THOMAS! Don't make me drag you off this van," Brooks' voice sounded in Killian's ears, making him break eye contact from the mystery woman. When he looked back through the window again, she was gone.