The Homecoming: Book Three of The Psychopath Maker Series

Chapter 5: The Endless Night

Malachi asked Isabeth where she wanted to go after taking Teddy back to Aunt Jade's house. Do you want to go home? It was a simple question even for a girl with places to call home on both coasts. Her brain abruptly halted as she fitted the seatbelt over her body.

Isabeth yearned to get out of her clothes, fall into bed, and take refuge in her dreams where things were placid and serene, but she heard Alex's words—it's not safe being this far from civilization. She could go to her row house in town but then she'd have to see people; people who'll incessantly ask her about Faith or pity since she was the girl left behind after having friends slaughtered in high school.

All she could do was give him a lazy shrug. Malachi made the decision. He eased her car into the driveway of his house. The first thing she did was take a shower—in the same shower Alex had not too long ago refreshed himself. She let the beads of hot water pour over the knotted muscles of her back not caring about the splashes falling on the wispy tresses at the nape of her neck. 

Images fluttered in her mind as she lathered his Molton Brown body wash into her pores. She didn't care that it wasn't her signature scent and the robust, woodsy notes weren't anything she'd wear. Isabeth was sure of one thing if she could have him near her; she'd needed to breathe in a simple redolence of him. She inhaled the Russian Leather scent wafting in the mist taken back to the time they stumbled on the shop after sneaking away to London for a weekend.

"Chamomile," Malachi said offering her a ceramic cup with the color palette of a setting sun sitting on a matching saucer.

Isabeth sat cuddled under a chunky navy Lands End throw-on in the corner of an L-shaped couch. "Thanks." She lowly told holding up her hands.

Malachi sat the saucer on her palms, "No problem." He shuffled over to the stem of the couch and gingerly sat down so as not to spill the hot beverage on his lap. His eye went to the analog clock on the wall, "9:14. This is the night that won't end."

"Or maybe it's our fault for not just going to sleep." She traced her finger around the rim of the warm cup, feeling the steam that danced over the liquid nip at her flesh.

"Maybe." Malachi tipped his mug to her, "But hopefully that'll do the trick."

She gave him a half-nod, "I think we need something stronger than leaves."

"Drugs are out of the question." He placed stern eyes on her before taking another sip. "We have enough problems to deal with now."

Isabeth rudiment over those problems as she looked around the room that Malachi dubbed his oasis. He wanted something with an urban flair, so he replaced the carpet with stone tiles. Then Alex played a red brick wall while he painted the other walls an earthy taupe. The bookshelf slash TV console was a creation Malachi configured while taking a trip to Home Depot and the photography hanging behind to couch of a lion was straight off Preston's cloud.

"What are we going to do about this?" Malachi held up Alex's ankle monitor—the light still green.

"Don't take it out of the house and it should be good."

"Where the hell is he?" Malachi asked the question knowing neither one of them could answer. His fist balled as anger and fear teemed through his body, "This was all supposed to be behind us. I told him to leave this only. But he never listens."

His words lit a fire in Isabeth as she sat up, and her leg fell off the couch, "He didn't...we didn't go looking for anything. This hunted us down. We had no choice."

"You don't participate in devious and lawless acts." Malachi tilted his body toward her with his grip tightly around the mug pooling redness in his fingertips. "And once he knew his stalker and its team of equally demented minds he should tell our Father."

"Oh! Now, you're a fan of Benjamin Lemen." Isabeth outburst throwing her arms out as the saucer was balanced on her lap. "I thought you couldn't stand him. He's not my daddy." She put some bass in her voice mocking his tone with the words he told her.

Malachi tsked with a quick eye-roll at her, "This has nothing to do with paternal bonds." He scooted to the edge of the couch. "I don't care if he didn't teach me to drive or how to hold a bat." He smugly orated. "This is about safety and he may be a shitty Dad every day but he did one thing right. He. Kept. Us. Safe."

"How?"

"I don't know."

"But...you'll ask right?"

Malachi lifted his chin, leaning back a little, "You want me to go to Benjamin Lemen and sit this shit in his lap."

Isabeth felt the heaviness of the yes on her tongue but the rigidness blanketing the planes of Malachi's face made her rethink her option. "If he knows what to do...shouldn't we...at least ask?"

"Now... it's we." Malachi shook his head before standing up. "But when ya'll be dabbling into shit ya'll know nothing about ya'll go behind my back fucking up."

Isabeth sunk back against the couch with the somberness of a child who spilled a glass of Kool-Aid on the white carpet. She knew all too well Malachi only cussed when he was extremely irked unlike Faith who breathed in damns and exhaled fucks.

"I'll think of something." Malachi stopped pacing, "So, who are you going to pick?"

Isabeth's shoulders rose in a shrug, "Not sure but I know one thing. Only one of them can adapt to anything."

"I know you'll make the right choice," Malachi affirmed standing in front of her holding the side of his face. "No matter what."

The corners of Isabeth's mouth quirked up weakly, "You shouldn't have so much faith in me. I haven't done the right thing."

"True." He blankly told dropping his hand from his face. "But if it was just Alex and Faith, their necks would've been snapped." 

Who do you think is the most adaptable? Alex or Faith.

Should Malachi go to his father and tell him what's happening?