Daryl's Angel: Saviour (Book Two)

Chapter 10: What's Going On

We chase Noah to a grey-blue bungalow, where Tyreese finally gets in front of Noah. Noah slows down, staring at the house as he catches his breath. I catch up, lingering a few paces behind them.

"This is my house," Noah says.

Tyreese glances back at me, then shakes his head. "You don't want to go in there," he says.

I eye the broken front door. Whatever happened in there, it wasn't good, and my sympathy for Noah grows. That house holds closure, however painful it is.

Noah steps forward, but Tyreese plants his hand on his chest, pushing him back.

"Let me see it," Noah says, and it's almost a plea more than a command.

"Let him," I say. Tyreese looks at me over Noah's shoulder. My voice chokes a little. "Just...let him."

Tyreese stares at me for another second before he pulls out his hammer. "Me first."

The three of us approach the house. The front door isn't just broken; it's shattered, like someone busted through the glass, the stained residue on the jagged edges telling us as much. The main wooden door is already open. Tyreese bangs his hammer on the side of the house, waiting for anything to come out, but nothing does.

We go in.

Between the door and the stuff that's been knocked over as we go inside, it's clear that someone broke in. We find ourselves in a living room with a long couch and a TV, but what grabs our attention first is the body—a woman with long black braids, her skull caved in, her once-white blouse stained with long-dried blood, lying face down on the carpet.

The house stays dead quiet.

Noah comes around the side of the couch, kneeling next to his mother. He pulls a blanket over her body, his voice weak as he murmurs to her. "I came back," he whispers. "I'm sorry it took so long. I'm sorry, but I'm here now. I came home."

A burst of emotion floods through me, and I blink hard at the sudden tears in my eyes. I turn away, trying to give him and myself a bit more privacy, and end up following Tyreese down a short hallway. I drag my arm beneath my nose, sniffling, and I wave Tyreese away when he gives me a concerned look.

There's something down the hallway that keeps making a thumping sound. We look around the corner and find a door that's just barely open, tiny fingers clawing at the gap between the door and the jamb. The door shakes, but doesn't open. Something must be keeping it shut.

There's another bedroom with the door wide open, a body lying on the bed—a young boy who couldn't have been older than twelve, his stomach torn open, a knife wound between his eyes. There are toys littering the carpet, trucks and toy soldiers and a colouring book with a half-done scribble of a clown.

Tyreese moves into the room. I spare a glance at the other door just as the tiny fingertips disappear back inside. For a moment, I debate going in and taking care of it. I remember the little one from the temporary housing in Atlanta, and my stomach flips. Daryl spared me from seeing a child like that. I'll spare myself now. We'll face it if we have to.

As I enter the bedroom after Tyreese, he turns to me. "Why?" he asks, shaking his head. "Why did you want him to see this? Why did you want to let him see it?"

I swallow back the lump in my throat. I can still hear Noah's faint voice as he talks to his mother, cries over her body. "Closure," I say. I want to smile, to act okay, but my mouth barely twitches. "My parents are far away. I'll never know whether or not they're alive and...and sometimes, I wish I knew for sure. That way, I could move on, stop thinking that someday, maybe, I'd be able to apologize."