Chapter 29: Gun’s Don’t Kill People. I Kill People…. With Guns. (Pow)

The polished marble floor of the Knight mansion's living room reflects the dim glow of the chandeliers, casting eerie shadows across the worried faces of my family. Erica's arms are wrapped tightly around me, her familiar scent of roses mingling with the lingering aroma of cigarette smoke that seems to permeate every corner of this imposing house.

Our families were gathered for a reason unbeknownst to me. I hated that everyone was fussing over me but, it’s not like I can control the circumstances that surround me now. ‘I assume this has to do with a police interview maybe? None of the police have talked to me yet at least.’

Mom stared at me with genuine terror in her eyes. A first for me, an unwelcome one. "Ahhh," She remembers something. “All your tests came back negative.” Erica nodded at her as she was the hospital's first call.

“I like your turtle neck.” Brooke spoke to me awkwardly, trying to break the ice. “It’s very Stephanie Jobs-esque.” We still haven’t really reconciled since I showed up home drunk a while ago.

If they saw the marks underneath my collar, would they be more worried about me? Would they be mad if they found out I can’t wait for Erica to do it again?

The classical music playing softly in the background does little to ease the tension in the room. I clear my throat, changing the subject. I calmly address the elephant in the room. "Mom, am I... am I in trouble? For killing Lindsey or taking Lyra's eye?"

My question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. Brooke's eyes widen, her lips mouth out the word ‘eye’ in shock. I realize she didn't know about my little trophy.

‘Whoops.’

Erica's grip on me tightens, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispers fiercely, "No one's taking you away from me, Jason. I won't let them." Her possessiveness, ironically, is the only thing keeping me grounded. I lean into her embrace, grateful for her unwavering support.

Mom's face is a mix of emotions, shock, concern, and something else I can't quite place. She takes a deep breath before responding, her voice surprisingly steady.

"No, Jason. You're not in trouble."

Relief washes over me briefly. I decide since I got that win I might as well shoot for the stars with my next request. "Mom," I pause. "can I... can I get a gun?"

"What?" Rachel's voice pierces the silence, high-pitched and incredulous.

Erica's arms, once a comforting cocoon, now feel like iron bands constricting my chest. Her blue eyes, usually filled with fierce protectiveness, now reflect panic. It's as if I've morphed into some unrecognizable creature right before her eyes.

Mom's face drains of color, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. Brooke reaches out, her trembling hand hovering inches from my arm as if afraid to touch me. The worry etched on her face deepens, carving new lines around her eyes.

Vivian, usually the picture of poise and authority, seems utterly bewildered. She tilts her head, her sharp gaze darting between the shocked faces surrounding me. Her perfectly manicured brow furrows in confusion.

"Jason," Vivian says, her voice a mix of concern and disbelief, "it's illegal for men to own guns. How could you not know that?"

The room spins around me. I turn to my mother, silently pleading for an explanation.

Mom swallows hard. "Honey," she begins, her voice soft and careful, as if speaking to a wounded animal, "men are... well, they're considered too emotional to own guns. It's been that way for generations."

‘This fucking world. The rules are so weird.’ I sigh, still not used to the way.

"But... that's sexist, isn't it?" My voice rose with indignation. "How can an entire gender be deemed too emotional for something? That's... that's ridiculous!"

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the soft ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the corner. Its steady rhythm seems to mock the chaotic thoughts swirling in my head.

Mom's eyes dart to Vivian, seeking support. Vivian clears her throat, her crisp voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "Jason, darling, it may seem unfair, but the statistics don't lie. Once men were barred from gun ownership, gun-related crimes dropped dramatically. It's not about emotion. It's about public safety."

I open my mouth to argue, but Erica's arms tighten around me again, her embrace both comforting and restraining. She leans in close, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispers, "You don't need a gun, Jason. Guns aren’t even cool."

Her words, meant to reassure me, only fueled my frustration. I pull away slightly, turning to face her. "But don't you think it's unfair? Have you ever gone you shooting?"

Erica's face pales, her usual confidence faltering. She looks at Vivian and my mother. The silence stretches, taut as a bowstring.

Vivian's voice cuts through, "Erica is an expert shot, actually. Quite the huntress." Her words are tinged with pride, but there's an undercurrent of tension.

I look back at Erica, hurt and confusion warring within me. "You hunt? With guns? But you just said they weren't cool."

Erica's face crumples, torn between her desire to comfort me and the weight of societal expectations. "Jason, it's... it's complicated. I didn't want to upset you."

Brooke's eyes flash with annoyance, her patience finally snapping like a drum-tight rubber band. She steps forward, her delicate features contorting into a mask of frustration.

"For fuck’s sake, Jason!" she exclaims, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife through butter. "You absolutely cannot own a gun, especially not now! You've just... you've just killed someone in self-defense. Getting a weapon at this point would be the worst possible move!"

The room falls into a stunned silence, the air thick with shock at Brooke's sudden outburst. Erica's arms loosen around me, and her surprise is evident in the way her body stiffens. Vivian's perfectly manicured eyebrows shoot up, disappearing beneath her expertly styled bangs. Rachel, sitting in the corner, nods reluctantly, her eyes darting between Brooke and me.

"I'm just saying what we're all thinking." Brooke continues, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and concern. Her hands clench and unclench at her sides, knuckles white with tension. "We can't ignore the elephant in the room any longer. Jason, you're not in a position to even consider owning a weapon right now."

I turn to my mother, seeking some sort of validation or support, but to my surprise, she refuses to meet my gaze. Her eyes, usually so cold and distant, are fixed on a point somewhere beyond my shoulder. ‘What a coward.’ The muscles in her jaw work silently as if she's chewing on words she can't bring herself to say.

Finally, Mom speaks her voice tight with suppressed emotion. "Brooke," she says, still not looking at me, "that's enough."

But there's something in her tone, a note of reluctant agreement, that makes my stomach churn. She's angry. That much is clear, but it's as if she's at a loss for words. Her hands, usually so steady, tremble slightly as she smooths down her perfectly pressed uniform.

“It’s time to talk about why we’re here.” Vivian spoke looking at me with pity in her eyes. "Jason, honey... Your mother, Erica, and I have the footage from the two weeks you were kidnapped."

My blood runs cold, a chill creeping up my spine.

‘They saw what I did?’ I almost vomit. Every horrible moment, every degradation, every scream, the murder. All captured on video. I feel exposed and vulnerable, my deepest shame laid bare for all to see. My breathing quickens, panic threatening to overwhelm me.

But then Erica's arms tighten around me, her warmth enveloping me like a protective cocoon. Her voice is uncharacteristically soft as she whispers, "I've already watched it all, Jason, last night.” She spoke as if she already processed this. I remember how she choked me last night. It was so sexy. I didn’t know the videos provoked her.

She takes my hands in hers, her touch gentle on my mutilated fingers. The pain of my missing nails is a constant reminder of the brief torture I endured, but Erica's tenderness soothes the ache.

I struggle to hold back tears, overwhelmed by her unconditional acceptance. "Thank you," I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper. "For not being mad."

Erica's eyes flash with a mixture of love and fury, not directed at me but at those who hurt me. She opens her mouth to speak, but Vivian interrupts with a pointed cough.

"I hate to bring this up now," Vivian says, her tone businesslike yet tinged with sympathy, "but we need to address the matter of Lindsey Carter's mother today. That's why we're all gathered here."

The sudden shift in topic leaves me reeling. From my trauma to... what? Legal consequences? My mind races, trying to process this new threat. Erica's grip on me tightens protectively, and I'm grateful for her steady presence as we face whatever comes next.

‘Why the fuck did it take so long for them to tell me why we we’re really here.’

Mom's eyes meet Vivian's, and I'm struck by the depth of emotion that passes between them. There's a history there, unspoken but palpable, like a wound that never quite healed. Vivian looks very resentful of my mother.

Mom nods slowly, her shoulders sagging under the weight of unspoken memories. "You're right, Vivian. We can't avoid this any longer."

Vivian's expression softens, a flicker of shared understanding passing between them. She turns to address the room, her voice carrying the gravity of her words. "Lindsey's mother, Alicia Carter, is a billionaire. She's the CEO of Carter Enterprises, a global tech empire I have worked with in the past.”

‘Are all companies named this badly in this world?’ I think to myself.

Suddenly, my mind wanders to my house. ‘Fuck!’ I've heard of Carter Enterprises, their logo is plastered on half the devices in our house. The realization that I've killed the daughter of such a powerful figure makes my stomach churn.

‘She never flaunted her cash to me did she? Maybe a little i guess.’ I think about how Lindsey never told me who her mom was.

Vivian continues, her words measured and careful. "Alicia is coming here today to meet with all of us. She wants to... assess the situation and decide how to move forward with this potential scandal."

The word 'scandal' hangs in the air, heavy and oppressive. It feels surreal to think of my trauma, my fight for survival, reduced to a tabloid.

"Her company's stock would go into free fall if the story broke," Vivian explains.

I can only imagine. The daughter of a tech mogul was involved in a kidnapping and ultimately killed by her victim. It's the kind of story that would dominate news cycles for weeks.

‘What if the news find out I took Lyra’s eye.’ I get nervous at the thought of the weird thing I did coming to light in school and everyone calling me the ‘Eyeball’ guy’.

Erica's arms contract around me protectively, her voice low and fierce in my ear. "Don't worry, Jason. We won't let her hurt you. You did what you had to do to survive."

I nod, grateful for her unwavering support, but anxiety still gnaws at my insides. The thought of facing Alicia Carter, of looking into the eyes of the woman whose daughter I killed, fills me with dread.

"When is she arriving?" I ask.

Vivian glances at her watch, her brow furrowing slightly. "In a few minutes, actually. I wanted us all to be prepared."

The words have barely left Vivian's lips when a sharp knock echoes through the mansion. My heart leaps into my throat, and I feel Erica's muscles tense around me again. This is it. The moment we've been dreading.

Vivian smooths her perfectly pressed suit and nods to one of the staff members hovering near the door. As footsteps approach, I try to steel myself, but my mind is racing. What will Alicia Carter be like? Will she be consumed by grief or cold with fury? Will she blame me, demand justice, or...

The door swings open, and time seems to slow.

Alicia Carter strides into the room, her presence immediately commanding attention. She's tall, with sharp features and steely gray eyes that sweep across the room, assessing each of us in turn. Her tailored black suit speaks of wealth and power, but there's an aura of barely contained emotion simmering beneath her polished exterior.

When those piercing eyes land on me, I feel exposed, like she can see right through me to every terrible moment of the past two weeks. I resist the urge to shrink back, instead forcing myself to meet her gaze.

"So," Alicia says, her voice low and controlled. "You're Jason Parker."

It's not a question, but I nod anyway, my throat too dry to speak. Alicia's eyes flick to Erica, then back to me. Something flashes across her face. Anger? Pain? I really don’t know. Finally her expression smooths into an unreadable mask.

"I've seen the footage," she states flatly. "Or at least the parts where you weren’t just sitting alone in a cell."

Alicia's words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. The opulent living room suddenly feels claustrophobic, the ornate wallpaper closing in around us. I can hear the soft ticking of an antique clock, each second stretching into eternity as we wait for her next words.

"Let's cut to the chase," Alicia says, her voice as sharp as the crease in her immaculate suit. "How much will it cost to ensure your silence?"

The question lands like a bomb in the middle of the room. I can feel Erica’s heart pounding against my back. Brooke's sharp breath is audible in the sudden silence. Rachel's eyes dart between Alicia and me, wide with disbelief.

I turn to look at Mom and Vivian, seeking guidance in this surreal moment. Mom's face is a mask of stress, her usual composure cracking under the weight of the situation. She exhales heavily, the sound seeming to echo in the tense quiet.

"Is it... is it even possible to cover this up?" I ask.

Mom opens her mouth to respond, but Vivian cuts her off. Her tone is gentle but measured and all knowing. "Jason, darling, Alicia wouldn't own a mansion in a town where she didn't have the police in her back pocket."

The implications of her words sink in slowly, like poison seeping into my veins. The reach of Alicia's power, the extent of her influence it's staggering. I feel small and helpless in the face of it all.

Alicia's steely gaze sweeps over us again, lingering on each face as if committing them to memory. The chandelier above casts dancing shadows across her features, making her expression even more unreadable.

"Name your price," she says, her words clipped and businesslike. "But understand this. Whatever figure you come up with comes with conditions. Absolute silence about what happened to you at my house. It’ll be like you never even knew Lindsey.” She suddenly sighs. “And Lyra will suffer no repercussions as well. I owe her parents from…” She sighs. “Something else. So she’s getting rolled into the silence too.”

I look at Mom again, silently pleading for direction. Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of the fierce protectiveness that's always been there, buried beneath layers of duty and discipline. She nods almost imperceptibly, giving me permission to speak.

“What if I want to talk?” I ask.

“Then you would be waging a war against a billionaire.” She spoke coldly. I could feel Erica behind me, leering at her.

I turn to Vivian and my mother for what feels like the millionth time as I am just far out of my depth. Mom's face is a mask of disappointment and barely contained fury. The lines around her eyes seem deeper, etched by the weight of her conflicting duties as both a mother and a police officer.

"Jason," she says, her voice low and strained, "the cover-up is already in motion. It's... it's out of my hands."

The admission seems to physically pain her, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her words. I can see the anger simmering beneath the surface, her fingers twitching as if longing to reach for the gun at her hip. She wants justice for what Lindsey did, but she's powerless against the machinations of wealth and influence.

Mom takes a deep breath, steeling herself before turning to face Alicia. Her voice is cold and hard when she speaks, "One hundred million dollars."

The demand hangs in the air, heavy and audacious. Alicia's eyebrows raise a fraction, the only indication of her surprise. "No," she replies flatly, her tone brooking no argument.

Vivian steps forward, her perfectly manicured hand resting on the back of an antique armchair. "Seventy-five million," she counters smoothly, her voice carrying the practiced ease of a seasoned negotiator.

Alicia's steely gaze sweeps from Vivian to me, then back again. "Fifty million," she says, her words clipped and businesslike.

I watch in stunned silence as Vivian sighs, a calculated show of reluctance. "Sixty million." she says, her tone suggesting this is her final offer.

The room falls silent, the soft ticking of the grandfather clock marking the passage of time as Alicia considers the proposal. After what feels like an eternity, she gives a curt nod.

"Agreed," Alicia says, her eyes locking onto mine. "Sixty million dollars for your silence and cooperation.” She pauses for a moment. “You don’t have to be friends with Lyra, but if you hurt her in any way.” She points to all of us. “Any of you or anyone you know, I will attack you with every resource I have.”

"Sixty million dollars..." I breathe, the enormity of the sum barely registering. It's more money than I could have ever imagined.

Erica's arms tighten around me protectively as Alicia's threat hangs in the air. I can feel the tension radiating from her body, her muscles coiled and ready to spring into action if needed.

"We understand," Vivian says smoothly, her voice calm despite the underlying current of tension in the room. "No harm will come to Lyra."

Alicia's gaze sweeps over us once more, lingering on each face as if committing them to memory. When her eyes meet mine, I see a flicker of something, pain, perhaps, or regret, before it's quickly masked by her steely resolve.

"Very well," she says, reaching into her designer briefcase. She pulls out a thick stack of papers, setting them on the ornate coffee table with a soft thud. "These are the non-disclosure agreements. I expect them signed by everyone in this room before I leave."

As Vivian begins distributing the documents, I turn to Erica, my voice barely above a whisper. "Is this... is this really happening?"

Erica's blue eyes meet mine, fierce and protective. "I guess so.” Her voice sounded exhausted from the day.

I nod agreeing with her as I watch my family and Erica's begin to sign away the truth of what happened.

‘Did I even need money?’ I wonder as my fate was sealed.

Mom catches my eye as she signs her name with a flourish, her expression a mix of resignation and barely contained fury. I know she hates this. Hates the cover-up, the corruption of it all. But what choice do we have? Alicia could probably have Mom, Brooke, and I killed with ease.

As the pen is passed to me, I hesitate, my hand hovering over the paper. The weight of the decision presses down on me, suffocating in its intensity. With a deep breath, I sign my name, feeling as though I'm sealing away a part of myself with each stroke of the pen.

Alicia collects the signed documents, her movements brisk and efficient. "Remember," she says, her voice low and threatening, "Absolute silence. As far as the world is concerned, you never knew my daughter."

With that, she turns on her heel and strides out of the room, leaving a wake of secrets behind her. The soft click of the door closing echoes through the mansion, marking the end of one chapter and the uncertain beginning of another.