No Rest for the Wicked

Chapter Forty-Eight

!! TW !!: This chapter contains mentions of pedophilia. Read at your own risk!

Jack stood in front of Mr. Galic's door, waiting patiently for the man to answer. He knocked a couple more times, this time a bit harder, hoping he would answer. The sooner he talked to Mr. Galic, the sooner he could get the pastor behind bars.

Tippens had picked up Riggs the night before and gotten him home safely. Jack had barely gotten a wink of sleep, running the conversation him and Riggs had had over and over again in his head. So Mr. Galic's son was a victim of the pastor... if he wanted to get more evidence, he'd have to dig deeper. Hopefully Mr. Galic could either contact him himself or give Jack a way to contact his son.

Jack's brows furrowed when he realized nobody was home. He glanced down at the doorknob, then back up to the door. An awful plan was formulating in his head, but his mind was moving too quickly to stop himself.

Jack slowly reached down and tried the doorknob, jiggling it slightly. It appeared to be locked. He gave it one last tug before stepping away, letting out a curse. He needed answers, and he needed them now. He couldn't wait on Mr. Galic to answer.

Jack began to glance around the parameter of the house, looking for any way he could possibly get in. He wouldn't do any damage to the home, but if any of the doors or windows were unlocked, he would use that to his advantage. He began to circle the Mr. Galic's home, wandering towards the side of the house until he was in the backyard.

Jack hesitantly peeked through the backdoor, peering into the house. The lights were out, meaning Mr. Galic most likely wasn't home. Jack continued to look into the house before reaching down and trying the backdoor knob, twisting it slightly. The door made a soft clicking noise before slowly falling open, giving Jack the opportunity he'd been looking for.

Jack took a moment before stepping into the home, shutting the door behind him as he took in his surroundings. He'd been in Mr. Galic's home before, but he'd been too focused on hounding Mr. Galic to really take in the place. Jack began to move, studying the sparse decorative pieces and bland atmosphere. He stepped into the living room, eyeing every surface in search of anything that could help him find out where Mr. Galic's son was.

Jack's eyes landed on a small picture frame sitting on the small side table next to the couch, making his way over and picking it up. He studied each member of the Galic family, his gaze falling to Mr. Galic himself first. He looked so much happier back then... had his wife's death really affected him that much?

Jack then looked to Mrs. Galic, her golden locks draped across her shoulders as the sun kissed her rosy cheeks. She smiled brightly, not a care in the world, simply just enjoying a sunny afternoon with her family. Jack's gaze softened.

She looked a lot like Cassidy.

Jack then turned to the teenager sitting in the photo, a dark haired boy with a smile that looked a tad bit forced. His dark and wispy hair was cut short and neat, his eyes an almost grayish blue. He had a striking resemblance to Mr. Galic himself. Jack's eyes narrowed. This was him. This was Mr. Galic's son.

Jack put down the picture frame, leaving the kitchen to explore the rest of the house. He looked through drawers, cabinets, everything, but he still couldn't find anything that could help his cause. Jack then stepped in front of the fridge, examining each scrap of paper that was stuck to it.

A couple of coupons and other photos littered the metal surface, decorating it with memories. There was another picture of Mr. Galic's wife, the woman posing with her eyes upturned and her hands clasped beneath her chin with a goofy grin plastered across her face. Another photo displayed Mr. Galic's son in a navy blue cap and gown, a high school diploma planted firmly in hand accompanied by a couple of different colored cords draped across his shoulders. Jack's eyes then finally fell to a piece of paper separated from the other photos, one that looked to be ripped out of a notebook with scribbled writing on it. He grabbed the paper, squinting to read it.