The Calling Of Quinn Taylor

Chapter Fourteen

I’ve called Wes and Mia. Her and the boys are now standing next to me in fear of what’s about to walk out that door. 
    “I never thought it’d be him,” Mia says with a broken voice. 
    “You should’ve let me help,” Keller says, still staring at the door. “Doing this was dangerous.” 
    Wes stays quiet as he stands with his arms crossed, leaning against Keller’s car. 
    Then the door opens and out walks Mr. Milgram in handcuffs, yelling nonsense. When the rest of the officers file out, one of them is holding an evidence bag with a pistol lying inside. 
    I shudder. 
    “I don’t know where those pictures came from!” he persists. “I didn’t take them!” 
    “You have the right to remain silent,” Sheriff Larsen says as her and another officer guide him to a police car. 
    The sound of footsteps crunch on the rocked driveway, forcing me to look up. 
    Wes is making his way to him, making my heart break. Seeing him like this makes me want to run up to him and hug him as tight as I can and tell him everything will be alright.
    But it also worries me.
    His anger… his aggression is getting the best of him.
    “Wes!” I try, pushing myself up from the car I’ve been leaning on. “Wes, stop it!” 
    But he continues on his path until he’s able to hit him. And he does; he shoves him to the ground, taking the police officers aback. 
    “Mr. Kingston,” Larsen says. “I suggest you step back or else you’re gonna’ need a lawyer yourself, young man.” The officer picks Milgram up.
    What is he doing? Is he insane? 
    “He killed her!” he cries, falling to the ground. His body rocks back and forth, like a baby in a fetal position. “He killed her.” Tears cascade like a waterfall down his eyes. 
    He’s broken beyond repair. 
    Maeve killed him. 
    “Wesley,” I whisper, crouching down. 
    “You kids shouldn’t be here,” Larsen says. “This is a crime scene.” 
    “Yes ma’am,” Keller says. 
    “We were just leaving,” finishes Mia. 
    I pick Wes up, letting him wrap his arm around my shoulder for support and allow his tears to fall onto my sweatshirt. 
    “I’ve got him,” I say, leading him to my car. “Go home… the both of you.” I start to walk down the driveway; my car is still a block away. “I think we all just need to be with our families right now.” 
***
           "What were you doing there anyway?" Mom asks, sitting a cup of tea in front of Wes. 
           "I needed to talk," I say. "I told you… his office is in his house." 
           Wes wraps his hands around the warm mug and lifts it up, his hands shaking like an alcoholic's. 
              "Sweetie," she says, leaving against the kitchen bar. "Your dad and I are always here." 
              "I know, Mom," I say, rubbing Wes's arm in Hope's of comfort. "I just wanted someone who was like… trained to help this kind of thing, ya know?" 
              She sits next to Wes and I at the dinner table and folds her hands together, interlacing her fingers. She's always been good at this kind of thing-- helping. 
              "I know… I know," she says, placing a hand on top of mine. "Honey," she says, looking at Wes. "Is there anything else I can get you? Just let us know when you're ready to head back home, okay?" She smiles. "And one of us will bring ya." 
             He looks down, infatuated with the tea in front of him. Instead of speaking, he simply nods his head. 
    I can’t begin to imagine what he’s going through right now… I’m an only child; I don’t even know what it’s like to be a sibling-- to care that much about a person.
    But I care about Wesley Kingston and if something happened to him, I’d lose myself. 
    Keller’s just about as close as I can get to a sibling. We’ve grown up together, we’ve seen each other at our highs and lows. I couldn’t dare to part with him. 
    “I want to go home,” Wes whimpers. 
    “Okay,” I say, grabbing his hand. “I’ll take you home.” 
    After taking him home, he speaks to his mom, telling her everything’s okay. He fails to mention that it wasn’t an accident; perhaps it’s for the best. 
    But after that, I leave him be. 
    He needs to be with his family.
    So I drive back home and let it all sink in-- Mr. Milgram killed Maeve because she must’ve told… or threatened to tell someone the hardships he forced her to go through. 
    And he killed Brandon. 
    He killed him because of me; I told Milgram Brandon might’ve hurt me. And now he’s dead. He was found with a bullet hole in his head in a city alley. 
    He’s dead because of me. 
    I throw my head onto my steering wheel and let the tears flow out. Everything that happened is my fault. 
    When Maeve came out of that office, I could’ve helped her; I could’ve asked what’s wrong. 
          I could’ve helped the both of them. 
    And neither would be dead right now. 
    I scream, letting all my pain escape through my vocal chords as my head bangs on the steering wheel. 
    My heart aches. It aches with the terrifying thoughts swarming throughout my head. It aches because it’s missing something… it’s missing the lives of two young and happy kids. 
    Brandon was a good person-- he just made some mistakes. 
    And I’m sure it all one big misunderstanding. 
    I want it all gone. It just needs to be gone. All this pain isn’t healthy to hold in… I need to release it. I need to tell someone. 
    So instead of walking inside, I pull out of my driveway and find my way to Mia’s house. 
    When I get there, I knock on her door and a man answers, asking if he can help me. He has these dark hooded eyes like Mia’s and black hair that pairs with his pale skin. It must be her older brother.
    “Can I talk to Mia?” I ask just as she appears from behind him. 
    “It’s okay,” she says. “She’s my friend.” 
    Then I’m welcomed in.
    Her house is a mobile home, consisting of two bedrooms and a small front room that holds the kitchen and living room. It’s nicely decorated with vibrant colors-- a yellow couch with red and blue pillows, a white rug sitting between the sofa and T.V, and a glass coffee table to top it off. 
    In her kitchen, sits a small, round table with a vase full of bright, colorful flowers. 
    Wes told me where she lives-- in between the city and subdivisions; a place full of trailers, dirt roads, and houses with shower curtains as doors.
    But her’s is beautiful inside and out. Flowers are planted outside her home, showing how much pride her family has. They’ll take whatever they have and make it look stunning. I admire people like that. 
    “You okay?” I say. “It’s been rough, I’m-I’m-”
    “Why are you here?” she asks, crossing her arms. “How did you find out where I live?”
    Excuse me? She’s the one who barged in at my house and begged to see what I was hiding in my closet! 
    “Well how did you find mine?” I say, watching her brother disappear into a room. 
    “Quinn,” she says, wiping her face in frustration. “I don’t want you here… I don’t want anyone here.”
    “Why?” I immediately question. “Are you-”
    “I’m ashamed,” she says. “All my friends live in beautiful, rich homes and here I am, living in… in garbage.” 
    Oh. 
    “I never even lnet Jessie see my house; the only people that did were Maeve and Brandon-- and I mean, Wesley when he dropped Maeve off.” 
    Why was Brandon here? I know she loved him and all, but she was with Jessie, so why would she let Brandon see her true self and not her own boyfriend? 
    “Are you okay?” I whisper, taking a step closer. A single tear rolls down her cheek. 
    This isn’t just about her home life. 
    “I really miss him,” she cries, letting herself collapse into my arms. “You know, I hated you at first? When-when you went on a date with him and then I saw you at that party and I-I figured I’d be the bigger person and just be nice, ya know?” She whimpers, letting her tears soak my sweatshirt. “And then… then you asked me if he’d… if he’d…”
    “If he hurt me,” I finish, finally hugging her back. 
    That night. That’s the night when everything went downhill. I didn’t have anyone to run to, no one to express my feelings to. 
    The only person I had was myself. 
    And I threw myself at Brandon Hamilton. 
    “Mia,” I say, resting my head on her shoulder. “There’s something I need to tell you.” 
    And that’s when everything starts to escalate