Talk To Me

Chapter Seventeen

Present

Oliver scoffed, throwing his arms up in frustration. "Great."

Mark lifted his head from his palms, eyes weary. "What?"

"Leah left. Again." Oliver pushed himself up from the couch, his movements sharp with irritation.

Mark's frown deepened as he followed suit. "Did she say anything?"

Oliver exhaled harshly, digging his phone out of his jeans pocket. "She has a plan, and we need to listen to her." His fingers hovered over the screen before he stopped, brows knitting together. "That doesn't sound reassuring to me. How the hell do I even put that place in my phone?"

"I already did." Mark swayed his own phone in the air, displaying the set location. "We ready?" He stepped toward the door, his tone firm, expectant.

Oliver paced, his boots scuffing against the hardwood floor. The weight in his chest only grew. "This is beyond fucked up, Mark. I don't trust this so-called plan—she explained nothing at this point."

Mark bent down, shoving his feet into his sneakers. "It's clear Lily is in trouble. What more do you need?"

"Yeah, I get that." Oliver yanked his black coat from the rack, slipping it on with stiff movements. "But it seems like Leah only cares about the girl—she didn't even ask about our dad."

Mark's gaze flicked up, unimpressed. "Maybe saving Lily is more urgent than chatting about your dad." He swung the apartment door open. "You're acting weird, Oliver. Even for you."

"This whole situation is weird," Oliver muttered, pushing past him through the open doorway.

They descended the stairs in silence, both moving with a sense of urgency that neither wanted to acknowledge aloud. Outside, the night air was cold, biting through Oliver's jacket as they climbed into the car.

The GPS chimed, instructing them to turn left. As Mark pulled onto the road, they passed the Pine Hill Cemetery, its iron gates barely visible in the darkness. Mark gripped the wheel tighter and accelerated, the city lights fading behind them.

"What exactly is bothering you?" he asked, his eyes flickering between the road and Oliver's tense posture.

Oliver rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers digging into his skin. "Everything."

"Are you afraid we can't take the guy out or something?"

Oliver scoffed a humorless sound. "Define 'take out,' Mark."

Mark shrugged. "I mean, I assume you don't actually want to kill the guy."

Oliver clenched his jaw. "I'm more afraid of what I'm going to do when I see him." His voice came out low, steady. Dangerous. "I still think we should call the cops. We just need a valid story. And if—when we save Lily, she could help us bring everything to light."

Mark exhaled through his nose, adjusting his grip on the wheel. "Okay. But we can at least agree that we're not killing this guy. Right, Oli?"

"No promises," Oliver said flatly, lifting his palms from his knees. Mark gave him a side glance. "And don't call me O—"

"Oli," Mark finished with a smirk. Oliver scowled, shaking his head. Mark's tone turned more serious. "Look, we're talking about a human life. He might be a scumbag, but we can't just stoop to their level." He turned the steering wheel left, guiding the car onto a dimly lit road.

The further they drove, the darker it became. Tall trees loomed on the left side, their skinny branches reaching toward the sky. Mark switched on the fog lights, cracked the driver's window, and lit a cigarette. The spicy scent of burning tobacco filled the cabin, mixing with the cold night air.