The Calling Of Quinn Taylor

Chapter Thirteen

I sit with my arms wrapped around my legs. What if he did it? My own guidance counselor, the one whom I put my trust in. I trusted him with my life up until yesterday… until he nearly hurt me. 
    It came close; too close.
    But I escaped. 
    “I loved him,” Mia croaks as she falls on top of me with sobbing tears and a face whiter than a ghost. “Every day I was with Jessie, I-I wanted to be with Brandon.”
    She loved him? That’s why she walked away from me the night of the party. After Brandon told her he’d take care of me, she just left. 
    She didn’t want to see me with him. 
    But that night, she left me. And I made out with Brandon Hamilton, then woke up without a clue as to what happened. 
    If she didn’t leave me, I wouldn’t have ended up with him. I wouldn’t have worried about it. 
    I would never have told Mr. Milgram. 
    No-- I’m thinking nonsense. This wasn’t her fault-- none of this was. 
    “It’s okay,” I whisper, stroking her hair as my tears drip on to the black, silky locks. I swallow the lump in my throat and close my eyes. 
    Two deaths in less than a month. 
    Both in the same town. 
    Both a murder. 
    Maybe I just need to move towns, move schools… just start over. I can forget about all of this. I can move on with life.
    I don’t need to be a part of this. 
    My shaky arms wrap around her and my head rests on her’s as we mourn with a downfall of tears. 
    He’s dead. 
    He wasn’t a part of Maeve’s murder. 
    And that’s the only thing I know to be true. 
***
    With Mia gone and parents at work, I sit utterly alone in my closet. 
    My phone has been blowing up with texts and calls from my parents, from Keller… from Wesley. I tell Mom and Dad I’m fine, but no one else gets an answer. 
    I need to do this. 
    Everything adds up to him. 
    I stare at the wall; Brandon’s picture is removed and placed next to Maeve’s and every other suspect is gone. Skye, Carter, Maeve’s birth parents, Riley, and even Jessie-- they’re all ripped off. 
    The only suspect remaining is Mr. Milgram. 
    And I need to find him; preferably at his house. 
    Finally, the pieces of the puzzle come together. 
    Maeve was hurt-- but by who? 
    That day she came out of the guidance office crying, I thought it was because of stress or maybe a mental issue she had, but it wasn’t. 
    She was crying because he hurt her. 
    And the paper in her diary.
    She said she felt stuck-- like she couldn’t tell anyone why she was hurting or who did it to her. She was blackmailed.
    Mr. Milgram must’ve threatened to hurt her family, or maybe her friends. 
    And so she let it happen. She let it happen until she had enough-- and she turned the tables. 
    She must’ve told someone. 
    And he wanted her quiet.
    So he resorted to murder. 
    And here’s my plan.

Show up at Mr. Milgram’s house.

Find the garage and search for a damaged car.

Knock on his door.

Tell him I need someone to talk to.

Tell him I need to use the restroom before “talking”

Search for clues; pictures, notes... a gun

Fake getting a call from Mom and flee the scene.

    And I’m simply praying his family isn’t home. 
    His email said had his work days on it-- Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Luckily, today is Tuesday. That means he’s home. The only thing I need to find out, is his address. 
    My phone rings, making me jump in fear; it’s Keller. 
    “Hey,” my shaky voice trembles. 
    “Quinn, what the hell? We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours! Are you okay? God, please tell me you’re okay. If you gotta talk, I’m at Wesley’s.” 
    Why is he at Wes’s?  They aren’t friends. They just properly met yesterday. 
    “Um,” I stutter. “I just have something to do, but if you need me to, I’ll come over after. I’m fine; I promise.” I squint my eyes shut. “Can you just… just let Wes know I hope he’s okay-- genuinely.” 
    “Quinn,” he says. “Quinn, what are you doing?” 
    With the realization of what I’m doing is truly and utterly dangerous seeping into my skin, I tell Keller what I need him to hear.
    “I love you,” I say. “And it’s awful for someone our age to experience what we have, but I promise it’s going to get better.” A salty tear drips onto my sweatshirt sleeve. “And tell Wes and Mia I’ve solved it-- I’m so grateful for you and I love you so much.” 
    With those last words, I hang up and prepare myself for the inevitable danger I’m sitting myself up for. 
***
    Getting his address is the easy part-- all I had to do was call the hospital he works at and say I’m a patient's mother who simply needs to drop urgent paperwork into his mailbox. With his office being in the city, it was easy to make up a name-- just use the last name Brown and you’re sure to get in anywhere. 
    So here I am with my car parked an entire block down, staring at his house. 
    It’s big-- I’ll give him that. 
    Windows occupy nearly every wall and an underground pool sits in the front yard with immaculate landscaping. 
    I’ve never seen a house this beautiful.
    Focus.
    I search the premises and finally lay eyes on it-- the garage. It sits at the far end of his property, almost touching the near mansion next to his. 
    With a racing heart, I make a run for it-- the quicker I am, the less chance I have of being spotted. 
    When I reach the door, I quietly open it, sliding myself in. 
    What the hell am I doing? 
    I’m crazy. Sweat beads down my back and blood flushes to my head, making my cheeks burn with heat. My heart can be heard a mile away, making me fear it’s too loud-- if someone walks in, I’ll be heard. I can’t hide.
    His garage is full of three cars-- two of which are covered in cloth. 
    So, I do what makes sense. 
    I pull back the cloth of the two cars, examining both-- one is an unused, vintage Porsche, obviously hidden away for value. 
    But the other one makes my skin crawl. 
    It’s an SUV.
    An SUV with the entire front of it shoved in, with the headlights cracked and paint chipping away. 
    It’s a murder weapon. 
    My heart rate quickens as I jump away from the car, instantly terrified of contaminating the evidence.
    At first, not everything was together. But now, I have the evidence… now all I need is more. 
    So I slowly edge towards the cover and slide it back over the two cars.
    And now… now I must put on an act; an act of needing the man who killed not only one, but two highschool students. 
    And who knows who could be next?
    So I make my way to the front door, wiping my sweaty palms on my shorts. Is this really what I need to do? Evidence. That’s what I need. And doing this provides evidence that my guidance counselor is responsible for all of this. 
    I knock; and when it’s answered, I throw on an act. 
    The woman who answers is his wife--a beautiful, dark skinned, gorgeous woman. I can already tell she doesn’t deserve a man like Mr. Milgram… if only she knew  what I do. 
    Her hair is laid out in perfect curls that rest on her shoulders. 
    “Is um…” I stutter, trying my best to force a tear out. “Is Mr. Milgram here? I know I’m kind of invading, but I didn’t know where else to go-- I-I just need someone to talk to, ya know?” My hand runs up and down on my arm and my heart pounds. Will she believe me? “With everything that’s happened.” When I’m not satisfied with her concern, I bend the story more-- nearly snapping it. “Brandon,” I quiver. “He was my boyfriend.” I force my lips to quiver and then it happens; my eyes begin to fill with water and she buys it. 
    “Sweetie,” she says, placing a hand on my shoulder. “It’s a truly awful thing that happened… I’ll go get him for you. Please, come in.” 
    I step in and examine the room. 
    I’m standing between the kitchen and living room-- this place is gigantic. A statue that seems to belong in the Renaissance age sits next to the stairs that lie directly in front of me. 
    “Honey,” she says after the sound of creaking door. “There’s a young lady here; she seems extremely disturbed and says she needs to talk to you.” Her voice lowers. “The gentleman who died… he was her boyfriend.”
    Then the clanking of her heels echoes back into the room I’m standing in.
    I can’t believe it-- it actually worked. 
    She comes back with keys in her hands and Mr. Milgram by her side. 
    Just the sight of him makes me want to hurl. 
    “I’m going to get Hunter from day care,” she says. “Bye honey.” She plants a kiss on his cheek and proceeds to walk out. 
    A part of me wishes she could stay; he certainly wouldn’t hurt me in the sight of his wife.
    “You shouldn’t show up at my house,” he says, taking a step closer to me. The door closes and suddenly, we’re both alone. 
    I want Wes.
    He’d protect me. 
    “Why did you lie to my wife?” he says. I can smell the scent of alcohol breathing down my neck. 
    “I just want to talk,” I say in a near mumble as fear pants down my spine. 
    My fists clench as I stand as stiff as a stick, terrified to move an inch. 
    “I see,” he says, taking a step back. “You can take a seat in my office.” 
    He points me to the direction he wants me to go, and I play into his little game. 
    This man is sick; but he seems to be just any normal husband or dad. He has the look to go with it-- a beer belly hanging over his belt and a scruffy beard that pairs with balding hair. The thing is, he isn’t… this man deserves to rot in jail. 
    I walk into his office. A leather couch sits in front of a desk, which holds an open laptop that gleams a bright light into the dimly lit room.
    “Can I have some... “ My skin tingles and all I want to do is run. “Could you get me some water?”
    Just as he’s about to close the door, he freezes and glares at me. 
    Please say yes. I need you gone. I need clues. Anything I can give the police. 
    “Don’t move.” 
    He starts to walk out. 
    “Maybe a lemon,” I say. He pivots around. “If possible.” 
    I hate lemon water. 
    He sighs then finally leaves me alone-- in a closed room, I should add. 
    Quickly, I take my chance. 
    I jump up and instantly start searching the room. I check the laptop, but all that’s pulled up is his school email. The drawers, maybe. All that’s there are cluttered supplies of pnes, pencils, notepads, even a charger. 
    This man knows how to clean up his messes.
    I can hear the sound of the water faucet going and I know my time is coming to an end. 
    The last thing I do is pull up the couch cushion.
    And that’s when I find it. 
    Pictures… pictures of Maeve Kingston. Some of them, her body is mangled and drenched in blood. It makes me shudder, makes my skin crawl, and sends a sinking feeling swirling in my gut. She’s dead. Completely. Dead. 
    In another picture, she’s passed out, but alive… and she’s stripped of her clothes-- in this. Very. Room. 
    In others, they’re taken from afar. She’s talking to Mia… to Riley… to Wes. She was happy.
    And he took that from her. 
    Rapidly, I pull my phone out and take pictures of them with my hands threatening to drop my phone with shakiness. 
    When I hear his footsteps echo down the hall, I dial the police and inform them I’m in danger and I’ve found haunting things. But that’s it. I don’t have time to talk. They have my location and that’s all that matters. 
    I throw the cushions back on just in time for him to open the door and for me to jump back on the couch, acting as if nothing has happened.
    But the second I see him holding that glass of water, my eyes instantly take over me and tears pour from them. 
    “Here’s your water,” he says, handing me the glass. 
    I grab it and wipe the tears from my eyes.
    “Was he really?” he asks, sitting on his desk. “Your boyfriend.”
    What does he care? All he wants from me is to hurt me. 
    The picture of Maeve’s contorted, broken body flashes in my mind, making head fall light and the world starts spinning. 
    “He’s dead,” I say, closing my eyes, trying to stop the world from moving. “And so is Maeve.” 
    His cold touch grazes my thigh, but I keep my eyes glued shut. If I open them, it’ll only get worse. I can feel the salty water slip from my eyes once again. 
    “Did you really come here to talk?” he whispers, breathing into my ear. 
    And then I lose it. 
    “Yes!” I scream, shoving him off of me. 
    The sirens sound. I’m saved. 
    “I know what you did!” I shout, running for the door. I need out. “I know you hurt Maeve and she told someone… and you-you wanted her dead!” 
    He finally realizes his trap I’ve built for him when hears the sirens. 
    “You bitch,” he hisses, jumping up. But I throw the glass of water at him, hitting his head and the glass falls everywhere. 
    “No,” I say, leaving the room at once. “You are.” 
    And that’s the last thing I say before storming out of the house just in time to find Chief Larsen stepping out of her car with a gun followed by nearly ten other officers. Her maroon hair is thrown in a bun and a bullet proof vest sits on top of her dark, ashy skin. 
    “Check the garage,” I say with panting breath. “And in his office, there’s pictures hidden under the sofa.”
    “Pictures of what?” she says, desperate for information. 
    Catching my breath, I simply stare at her for what seems like forever. 
    “Of Maeve.” 
    “He’s in there,” I say as she starts to move in. 
    “Stay out here,” is all she says before her and the officers pound the door open and enter the home.