Welcome to chapter 21.

As always, I would like to extend my sincerest thanks to my editors and my supporters. My gratitude and admiration are beyond measure.

Now, on with the story.

********

I suppose that when it comes to timing, some things just work out better than others. It took the better part of a week for Jeeves to comb through the local-ish listings and find somewhere suitable to rent. It was a small, isolated bungalow on a deserted country lane. That lane provided the only means of access to the property and was surrounded on both sides by thick woodland. Woods might not sound like the best of options when it came to being able to see an enemy approaching, but Jeeves and the computer system quickly solved that problem with a dozen or so well-placed wireless cameras.

To be fair to Jeeves, it took him less than a few minutes to narrow the list of available properties down to one. The rest of the week was spent waiting for the letting agency to perform the relevant background checks, prepare the contracts and finally hand over the keys. All of it, of course, being done under the name of a quickly created alias. It took six days in total, all of them spent in a state of absolute, indescribable, mind-numbing boredom.

Knowing there was a self-inflicted target on my back meant I had to limit my public exposure as much as possible. In layman's terms, that meant sitting alone in my apartment playing the games my computer system had designed. Don't get me wrong, the games themselves were amazing. The engine and the system built around it were performing beyond anything I could have hoped for, and producing content that would keep the average human busy for the rest of their natural lives. The problem was I wasn't an average human. The mundanities of playing video games, especially when constantly on alert, did not come close to distracting me.

My college project was finished. I upgraded the system as much as I possibly could without resorting to inventing new computer components, I had done as much research on the Inquisition, the Royals, the crash, and the mysterious area of Ukraine as the internet allowed - even going as far as mapping out the actions in the ongoing war currently raging there - and after all that I still had four more days to kill. In an enormous break with tradition, and a good indicator of my state of mind, I was even too distracted to fuck Faye.

She was cool with it; she understood, and she was feeling the pressure as much as I was. Still, dismissing the opportunity for countless hours of hot, steamy, physics-defying sex with a drop-dead gorgeous redhead with a mind as perverted as mine, was something new for me. It set the benchmark for how I dealt with pressure. From that point in my life onward, I could measure how stressed I was by my willingness to bury myself into Faye's willing and eager sex. If I could without getting distracted, then I wasn't as stressed as I had been during those four days.

I spent more time than I would like to admit playing frisbee with my city's superhero mole.

It's funny the things you come up with when you are bored.

Anyway, timing.

The end of that week also marked the end of the academic semester, with the college breaking for Christmas. As much as I had previously detested the season thanks to my parents - you can imagine how badly they reacted to a holiday based around spoiling children - I had always enjoyed it whilst being a student. Jimmy and I spent most of the last couple of years painfully, liver-destroyingly drunk. Normally, this would have posed a problem, what with me moving out of the apartment, albeit temporarily, but as it turned out, I needn't have worried. His relationship with his Grandmother, his only living blood relative, wasn't a huge amount better than mine was with my family; he had always been happy to spend the holidays with Uncle Bob and me. This year, however, there was another option. In my preoccupation with the maelstrom of mystery and deceit surrounding my life, I had completely missed the strength and seriousness of his blossoming relationship with Lori. It was so serious, in fact, that she had invited him to go home with her for Christmas to meet her parents.

Yes, I mercilessly teased him about how much she would regret that choice by January. It was a joke, of course, and Jimmy, being Jimmy, took it as one. Even Lori - whose love for my friend had triggered the "within reason" clause of my powers, rendering her completely immune to them - had joined in the ribbing. Either way, I was happy for him. The most dedicated man-whore ever to grace the hallowed halls of our ever-anonymous college finally found the one girl capable of taming him.

Still, every time I watched their euphorically happy shared glances, I felt that sharp pang of pain, knowing that I would never share them with Faye outside of the confines of my own mind.

Maybe if this whole debacle was settled before Christmas, I could travel to Faye's parents' home and introduce myself. Faye assured me that it would go well if I tried but made a point of not outright asking.

The end of the winter semester also meant that Olvia was heading home. Evie, apparently, was sticking around. Charlotte had won the professional lottery and scored some time off over Christmas, which she was planning on spending with family. Becky and Philippa, also not being students, were working as they normally would. In fact, the Christmas period was an extra busy time for their profession, thanks to the inebriation of most of the general population. Drunk people have more accidents. Who knew?

Contrary to making me feel more isolated at the departure of most of my support network, it was actually a relief. Not only would I not have to exert power possibly needed elsewhere in an attempt to make sure people stayed away from me while also not noticing I had moved out, but I also didn't have to worry about protecting them. They weren't around, so as long as the rogue Inquisitors got their shit together and found me before my people came back, I wouldn't have to worry about my friends getting caught in the crossfire.

On the sixth day, I had the keys in hand, and I moved the few belongings I actually needed to the new place. It was as busy as I had been for a week. Yet I couldn't help but be amazed by the lengths that Jeeves and the computer's intelligence had gone to to cover my tracks. Voting registers, bank statements, mobile phone bills, TV, internet, and utility bills, and even a healthy porn history had been created in my new alias's name for this house and backdated for months. The computer even doctored my credit file to show that I had been living here since leaving home. Every single digital trace of me ever living in the Queen's Head, or at my dorm before that had been erased from existence. Uncle Bob had been 'programmed' to have utterly no idea who I was until I needed to come back, along with every single regular who I thought could pick me out of a lineup. For good measure, the dynamic duo of Jeeves and the computer - who I quickly realized I would have to name - had checked to see if a search had been run on my name against any and every conceivable entity that could possibly have my information. If the Inquisitors so much as looked up the date I would be eligible for a state pension, Jeeves would know about it.

Fortunately, it would seem that no searches had been run.

The computer system itself had obviously stayed back in the lofts above the Head. The plan was to draw the Inquisitors to the cottage and then fuck them up. I had no faith or expectation that the cottage itself would survive and didn't want the computer caught up in the carnage. Communicating with it via its permanent link with my cell phone slowed things down a little, but not enough to hamper the plan.

On day seven, the plan started in earnest. I became Mr. Fucking Social! I was everywhere. Anywhere where I could possibly be spotted by someone looking for me. I went to a pub - not the Queen's Head, obviously - I went to the movies, I ate out, I got into a fight specifically to be arrested. Hell, I even visited the workingman's club where the attack had taken place on the off chance that Inquisitors were watching that. Anything I could think of to get my fake name and new address into the system. I even hired a car. I gave myself the ability to drive as well as the world's best race car driver and fabricated a license for myself that would show up on any records.

All the while, the Dynamic Duo was watching every single security camera within twenty miles of me and the bungalow to see if any unreadable people started getting closer. We had no idea if any of the people we were expecting to pick up were Inquisitors, blocking Evos, or even, I had realized, people like Evie. In fact, the only person it picked up for quite some time was Evie. If anyone else wandered into the perimeter for any reason whatsoever, they would be tagged and tracked like they owed me child support!

On day eleven, four days after putting the plan into action, the first of them was spotted.

By day fourteen, there were twenty of them. Splitting into smaller groups, they were very helpful in pointing out that they were who I was looking for by retracing the steps I had taken the previous few days. It was quite impressive to watch them narrow down the area, though.

I must admit, I felt more than a little spark of excitement when one group got as close as the end of the lane, but they turned back.

"Fucking spoilsports."

Then came Christmas eve.

Twas the night before Christmas, and bored in my house,

I was scrolling through porn sites, with deft clicks of my mouse.

When, all of a sudden, an alarm loudly rang

"Someone's approaching!" My old butler sang.

I lept to the window, and peered through the glass.

To spy a lone figure, stepping onto my grass,

Coatless and soaked through, her cold feet were bared,

An elderly woman, she was hurt... crying... and scared.

What the fuck? It was amazing how quickly the buoyant, almost gleeful, and totally unconcerning excitement over the possibility of upcoming violence vanished. Yes, yes, I could try to lie to myself by saying I was eager to get answers, not to inflict death and destruction upon my foe, but the simple fact is that I was itching for a fight. The ball of power had already been sizzling in my hand before I had made it to the window, ready to utterly obliterate any threat that approached. Answers would come, but they would be violently pulled out of an attacker with the devastated bodies of his friends lying around us. But no assault force leapt over the garden walls, and no armed men were running across my lawn. There was just a single, staggering old lady, wearing what could only be described as a nightdress, bracing herself against the damp and freezing winds.

Of course, I had been fooled by an outward appearance once before.

"Jeeves?"

"Sir, she is human! We didn't identify her as an intruder because your mind could see hers."

"Where the hell did she come from?" I asked, my murderous plan faltering almost immediately.

"I don't know, Sir. It will take time to back-trace her movements. As I said, she is human, so we didn't pay attention to her until she was already here."

"And we are absolutely sure she is not another Sterling? Able to disguise herself and then attack when my guard is down."

"Sir, she is very, very human. And, if I may say, in quite a bad way."

"What do you mean?"

"With all due respect, Sir... Open the damned door!"

The doorbell rang.

I stepped cautiously to the door; I wasn't convinced yet. I had spent the past few days watching the enemy getting closer; I was literally waiting for the attack to come. More than that, Sterling's attack, his complete mastery of the ability to bypass my strongest defenses, the way he was able to fool me and everyone else so completely, and the intimacy with which he had attempted to kill me had left their scars. The woman on the other side of the door had no conceivable reason to be here, and I was honestly wondering if the mantra of "better safe than sorry" included preemptively killing a half-naked pensioner.

Still, my hand unfastened the latch and slid down the door handle.

The woman's eyes locked onto mine as soon as the door opened. It didn't take my abilities to be able to see the fear and panic behind them.

"Please," she whimpered weakly. "You have to... help... them."

Her eyes rolled, and she collapsed forward into my arms.

Without even thinking about it, my mind entered hers.

********

Mary Jones was, as her generation liked to say, in her element.

She had spent a lifetime, one long decade after another, working so she could enjoy moments just like these. She had suffered through arthritis, failing eyesight, and growing bodily aches to build for herself a retirement that she could enjoy. It had been hard work, it had taken more years than she cared to admit, but she had done it. A week before her last shift in the bank, her eldest daughter had blessed her with the one gift she had always wanted.

Her first grandchild.

Eight years later, the count was up to three. Two girls from her own firstborn, followed only three years ago by a bouncing baby boy from her youngest daughter. Her middle child, her only boy, was still defiant in refusing to settle down and give her the full set, but - as she often joked with her husband - he always was the stubborn one.

Either way, it was Christmas Eve, and the family tradition had remained intact. All of the children, bringing all of the grandchildren, swarmed her modest-sized home on the outskirts of town, stayed the night, opened their gifts in the morning, ate food as a family, and then parted later on Christmas day. With free childcare, her grown kids opted to attend the various Christmas parties that they were invited to, while Mary got to do the thing she enjoyed the most.

Spoiling the grandkids rotten.

She had heard the jokes. That grandparents enjoy their role so much because they can top the little ones up on sugar and then give them back, that they could encourage them to act up just as their parents had done to her, then gleefully watch their children go through the same stress they'd gone through with them, that it was a parents job to raise a child, it was a grandparents job to spoil them. She'd heard them all and jokingly agreed with all of them. But the real reason she loved having them around so much was much simpler.

Working all those hours, for all those years, meant she had missed so much of her own children's childhood. The simple joy of being able to pick them up from school and ask how their day had been was something that she rarely got to enjoy with her own. The indescribable pleasure she found in just playing with them. Added to that was the fact retirement - robbing her life of the stress that work had always brought - had seen her relationship with her husband, Stan, become stronger than ever. They had fallen in love all over again. These really were the golden years of her life.

For all the aches and pains, for the agony in her hip and in her fingers from the arthritis, those three little angels and her doting husband made her feel young again. She loved them all beyond anything that could be put into words.

The Muppets Christmas Carol had been a family tradition since its release in the 90s. The more modern and sentimental movies had their place, she supposed, but there was something about the innocent and humorous retelling of an age-old classic that just resonated with her. Her kids had loved it, she had loved it, and her grandchildren were learning to love it too.

The final credits were just starting to roll up the screen; Stan - his slippers on his feet and the glass of whiskey in his hand - was just starting to corral the kids into getting on their Pajamas while Mary stood to prepare Santa's milk and cookies when the front door was kicked in.

Five men barged in, each of their faces covered in black ski masks and each of them carrying dangerous-looking assault rifles. Stan, despite his age, his frailty, and the amount of whiskey coursing through his system, was on his feet in an instant, lunging forward to tackle the closest intruder while screaming at Mary to get the kids and run.

A lifetime of working grueling hours to provide for his family already made him a hero in her eyes; he was still every bit the man she had fallen in love with and married fifty-two years earlier. But in that instant, he became even more so.

Mary grabbed the youngest of her three charges and made a break for the kitchen, the older two a few steps ahead of her. She looked back in time to watch the butt of the intruder's rifle smash into Stan's head, a nasty-looking gash ripping through the skin as he crumpled to the floor.

She looked to see three more heavily armed men step through the back door and into the kitchen ahead of her. They were trapped.

The oldest of the children screamed, the youngest was already crying, and the middle child, old enough to understand what was happening but too young to process the fear, was frozen to the spot, a puddle of her own terror wetting her pants and pooling around her feet as one of the men approached her menacingly.

Mary grabbed the children, all three of them, shepherding them behind her to protect them, and instinctively pulled a cleaver out of the knife block on the counter beside her. She may have been old, she may have been frail, but she would fight to the death to protect her family if that was what was necessary.

She backed herself toward the corner of the room, making sure that she was between the intruders and the children. One hand waved the knife at whichever armed man came closest, while the other was bent behind her, making sure the children stayed where they were safe.

"Don't come any closer!" She snarled at them.

Two of the men stopped, looking at a third as he stepped forward. "We can just shoot you, you know," He said, his voice terrifyingly calm given the circumstances. "But we don't want to do that. Put the knife down, and you have my word; no harm will come to you or your family."

"No harm?? You killed Stan!"

"Your husband is fine. A few stitches, and he will be right as rain." Mary couldn't quite place the man's accent, but she chanced a glance into the living room. Stan was still lying on the ground, but she could make out his chest rising and falling heavily.

"What... What do you want?"

"All I want is for you to deliver a message for us." The man said calmly, reaching into a pocket of his vest and pulling out an envelope. "There is a man living not too far from here; he is the one we want."

"What has that got to do with us?!?" Mary screamed at him.

"Nothing at all," The man replied in his eerily calm tone. "You have my apologies for dragging you into this. You are... What is the phrase... a necessary evil. All I am asking you to do is to go to his home, give him this message, and when you come back, your family will be in one of the bedrooms upstairs, and we will be gone."

"How do you know I won't just call the police?"

"How do you know we are not the police? And how do you know we won't be watching you and won't just kill your family if you don't follow our instructions?"

"And If I refuse?"

The man slung his rifle over his shoulder with a sigh before unholstering his sidearm, then reached into another pocket to pull out a silencer and slowly screwed it onto the barrel. "If you refuse, I will kill all of you, right here, right now. There are four other families on this street. One of them will do it."

There was no doubting the resolve in the man's eyes. The cold, calculating way he looked at her, the firmness with which he held his weapon, she knew this was no idle threat.

"How do I know you won't kill them anyway?"

"Frankly, you don't," the man answered. "But your choice is very simple. Refuse my request, and your family will die. Or do as I ask, and your family might die. I have given you my word that they will be safe, but I also realize you know nothing about me or my word, and I am holding you at gunpoint. You have no reason to trust me. So trust the math. You worked in a bank for thirty years; this is a simple assessment of risk."

"I want to see my husband first," She finally said. The man was right; there was no question about it. She would do what he asked if there were the slightest chance it would protect her family.

"Of course, but please. Put down the knife first."

Mary glanced at the blade in her hand. It was part of a set that was a mother's day gift from her daughter, the woman whose children were cowering in terror behind her. With a deep, resigned breath, she set it down on the counter.

One of the men stepped forward and picked it up, then dropped it into the sink behind him before all three men stood aside to let Mary and the children edge into the lounge.

As soon as the little ones saw their grandpa on the ground, they broke from behind her and ran for him, weeping uncontrollably as they pressed themselves into his body. Mary felt the slightest breath of relief wash over her as one of his arms raised to wrap around the youngest two.

She knelt close to his head, leaning down and kissing the man she had spent her life with. Even now, even possibly facing the end, she didn't regret a moment of it. She was proud of the life she had built with Stan. "You silly old fool," she smiled tenderly as she leaned over and kissed him softly. "What were you thinking?"

"You know me, love," he smiled weakly back. "Thinking was always your area. I'm more of a doer."

She laughed through the tears that were clouding her vision. The gash on his head looked bad, but not as bad as it had originally looked. The man in the kitchen, if he could be trusted to keep his word, was probably right. A few stitches and a nasty headache were probably all that was standing between Stan and a clean bill of health. "They want me to..."

"I know, love, I heard them. It doesn't sound like you have much of a choice."

She nodded. "Stan, if they don't keep their promise..."

"Shhh Mary, I know. I have always known." He smiled up at her. Those grey eyes, the ones that had pierced her very soul on their wedding day all those years ago, once again bore into her. "You are and have always been, the very best part of my life. Go do what you have to do. I will keep these little rascals out of trouble til you get home." He smiled again as he gave a playful, reassuring squeeze to the kids still hugging him. It had the desired effect; the three of them smiled, feeling safe in his arms.

"I love you, Stan. I love all of you, so very much." She said, it took all her strength to keep her voice from breaking as she stood. She needed to stay calm for the children; there would be time to let out the fear later... she hoped.

She didn't wait for an answer. She turned and walked toward the front door. The man who had spoken to her in the kitchen was waiting there for her. He tucked the envelope into her hand. "Do you know the lane by the river?" He asked. "The one leading to the cottage?"

Mary nodded. She used to walk her dog there almost every day before he died a few years ago.

"Take this envelope to the man who lives there," The man went on. "There is a tracker inside; we will know if you decide to wander off - say, to a pay phone to contact the police or to a friend's house. I don't need to tell you again what will happen if you do. Once you reach his front door, we will leave. Your family will be here waiting for you, safe and well, when you get back, provided you follow these instructions."

Mary swallowed hard and nodded. The man opened the door for her; she took another look back at the love of her life and the grandchildren that their love had produced, said a silent prayer for them, and stepped out into the night.

********

I was in and out of her mind in a matter of seconds. The memories, the fear, and the panic were so fresh that there was no doubt whatsoever that this had just happened. The woman, Mary, was in shock. Her body was violently shivering against more than just the bitter winter cold. In the time it had taken her to walk the few miles to my house, it had started to rain. With no coat, no shoes, and only a thin nightdress to ward off the wind and the wet, she was close to collapsing long before she made it to my door. It was pure will that had pushed her on. All she had to do was get here, and her family would be safe.

But now that she was, the exhaustion and the onsetting hypothermia hit her hard.

She was almost weightless in my arms as I carried her to the sofa, piling every blanket and spare item of clothing I could onto her to warm her up. The kettle was clicked on in the kitchen with a simple flick of my fingers. She was old, and she was British. Tea was a no-brainer.

I pressed a little of my power into her, just enough to start bringing up her core temperature. It took a while, but she was starting to come round. Not wanting to rush her, and giving in to the feeling of urgent curiosity, I prized the half-soaked envelope out of her hand and ripped it open.

To the abomination, Roberts.

The bungalow was a good effort, but such an obvious trap. This poor family would have been spared the trauma of this evening if you had just died like you were supposed to.

It is my sacred duty to inform you that you have been found guilty of crimes against the Royal Inquisition and the New Order. The murder of Reinard Montreaux while he was carrying out his holy and lawful duties and the murders of the honorable and righteous members of the New Order who were assisting him. Furthermore, you are an unrepentant Evo, an evolutionary abomination whose existence cannot be tolerated. You have been sentenced to death.

It has been decided that it is not enough for you to die for your crimes. First, you will be made to watch your world burn. Everyone you have ever loved or cared for will be consumed in the fires that you started. Only then, once the very heart has been burned out of you, will you be granted the small relief of death. This is the decree of the King and the will of God.

I, however, am a man of mercy.

We have already taken two of the people you hold most dear. Proof of this can be found in the home of the person delivering this message. The commandments in our Lord's holy bible are clear. Thou shall not kill. When I stand before his divine judgment, I will need to atone for every death inflicted by my hand. Yours can be justified with ease. As the spawn of hell, you are no more human than any other beast and, therefore, require no atonement. The same cannot be said for the women we have taken this night.

I wish to avoid the spilling of innocent or righteous blood. So, against the commands of my King, I am willing to offer you mercy. Surrender yourself to me, and your loved ones will be spared. Your life is already forfeit, only God can grant you redemption now, but the fates of those I hold in my hands are yet to be decided. If you surrender yourself to judgment, your loved ones will go free.

You have until midnight to decide.

You know where to find us.

Jean-Pierre Toussant.

I quickly checked the clock that hung on the wall above the TV - 9.40 pm. My heart was already pounding in my chest, and that hole into oblivion had opened in the pit of my stomach again. The eagerness that had graced the last few days was instantly replaced by an almost overwhelming urge to immediately hunt these fuckers down. There were lots of references to hell and fire in the letter, it must have been one of their cult's fetishes, but I would show them an inferno the likes of which even their god would not be able to save them from.

"Jeeves?" I growled dangerously

"Six are still at Mary's house. The rest are at an abandoned warehouse about eight miles outside town."

"Who do they have?"

"Checking, Sir."

I could feel the stretch of my mind, the flexing of my brain like it was any other muscle in my body. Every single mind I had ever been in contact with was scanned in a matter of seconds.

"They have Becky and Philippa," Jeeves said after an interminably long few moments. "No, wait. Philippa is at home, but she is scared and furiously angry. Becky, I don't know where she is. Her eyes have been covered."

"Can't you, like, GPS track her or something?"

"No, Sir, I can only see what she can see through her eyes, and tell you something that she knows. She cannot see anything and has no idea where she is."

"Fuck! Well, okay, it stands to reason that she will be wherever this Toussant prick is, right?"

"I agree, Sir."

"Okay, So who else do they have? The note says they have two."

"I... I don't know, Sir."

I blinked. It was the first time I had ever heard Jeeves sound unsure of himself. During the duels, the attack at the party, the battle with Sterling, and everything that had happened to us, Jeeves had always been the voice of calm certainty. Now, however, he sounded... scared.

"What do you mean you don't know? How can you not know?"

"Sir, I have checked everyone! Jimmy and Lori are at her parent's house in the Lake District, Olivia is in Canturbury, Evie can't be tracked, but the cameras watching her house haven't shown her leaving or anyone else entering. Your parents are home, Uncle Bob is behind the bar at the Queen's Head, and every girl you experimented with after you left the hospital is accounted for. I have checked all of Olivia's friends from the Karaoke night, every Evo who survived the party, and any of the Doctors and nurses involved in your care. There is nobody else they could have taken."

"Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck! Okay..."

I picked up my phone, scrolled through my contacts until I found Philippa's name, and hit dial. Taking a moment to check on the still unconscious Mary while it rang, I started to pace around the living room.

"What do you want?" Philippa's voice suddenly barked down the phone. The aggression in it took me back for a moment before I composed myself.

"Philippa?"

"I said what do you fucking want!?!"

"Pip, what is going on? Are you okay? Where is Becky?"

The shriek of laughter that echoed down the line chilled me to the bone. It was the level of maniacal laughter that is rarely found outside of Hollywood villains or insane asylums. "Oh, of course, you ask about her. You never cared about me. You never wanted me. I am you cunt, isn't that right? Just a hole to stick your dick in and then cast aside." Another bout of insane laughter filled my ears. "But not anymore. I refuse to be your toy! You ruined everything; you should have died after that accident! You are the fucking devil!"

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. I could hear the manic madness in her voice. I could feel the strings of her sanity stretched to breaking point. "Philippa, I need you to snap the fuck out of it and tell me what happened. This is Becky we are talking about. Your Becky. If you feel I have mistreated you, I am sorry. If you hate me, that is fine; I won't ever bother you again. But something very bad can happen to her if you don't tell me what happened!"

More crazed frantic laughter. "She is not my Becky. She hasn't been since she chose you! She deserves what is coming to her for helping you to ruin my life!"

My pacing stopped immediately.

"Philippa... what did you do?"

"Oh, they came! They came with their masks and their guns, and their threats. They told me all about you. They showed me the kind of person you are. They made me see the real you. How you used me and discarded me, how I was corrupted by your touch, how Becky was as lost as you were." Another bout of Hitchcock-esque laughter, "So when they asked their questions, I told them everything they wanted to know. I told them all about you, all about Jimmy and that bitch he left me for, all about the pub you fuck other women above, all about your college and your precious project, everything I know about you. I told them all of it."

"What happened to Becky?" I asked after a small pause, trying my hardest not to lose my temper.

"Who knows? Who cares? Maybe they snatched her after work? She's not here. Which is a good thing cause I would rip out her fucking eyeballs if she were. Fucking traitor! Maybe they've killed her already. They've said they only wanted to kill you. Maybe they were lying. I hope they get you, you piece of shit. I hope they make it slow..." She was barely breathing between sentences by this point. "....who knows where she is, and who cares. I don't. I dontIdontIdontIdontI...."

I hung up.

I couldn't even begin to process all of that.

Something had clearly happened to Philippa, but she was safe. She was frantic, manic, and batshit crazy, but she wasn't in any immediate danger. I could deal with that shitshow later. The same couldn't be said for Becky.

"Hello? Are you there?" Mary's weak voice came from the sofa and pulled me out of my musings.

"I'm here. Are you okay?"

"I feel much better now, thank you. But please, we have to save...."

"I know. I know what has happened. Let's get you wrapped up, and put something on your feet, then I will drive you back."

"What if... what if they are still there?"

"Oh, they will be. But I will deal with them."

"Please, I can't let anything happen to the children." She pleaded, the tears coming back to her eyes.

"Mary, listen." I took her hand reassuringly. "If your family is still alive when we get there. I will do everything in my power to make sure they stay that way. For what it's worth, though, I don't think they have hurt them."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because," I answered with an easy smile. "If they have, there is nothing stopping me from bringing the house down on their heads. They know that."

"You... you can do that?"

I simply smiled and held out my hand to help her up. "Are you ready?"

She nodded weakly as I helped her up. I wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, not having a coat that would fit her, and tucked her feet into an older pair of sneakers before picking up the keys to the hire car and then leading her back out into the cold Christmas night.

********

Thank you for reading chapter 21,

New chapters are posted every week, and updates can be found on my profile. Thank you again for the continued support, both here and on the Discord server. Your comments, votes, and feedback are always greatly appreciated.

See you next week.

Stay Awesome.

Nova