“And the drugs?”
“I kept sending them.” His father shuddered. “I sent the newer ones, hoping they’d be stronger, hoping they’d work better.”
“But they didn’t.”
“A week after Taylor’s attempted suicide, I went to the hospital to check on him. He was in a coma… the doctors said he’d never wake up. And when he did… a year later, I panicked. Your mom never knew he even existed. You only found out because of the journal that was mailed to you and… I didn’t know what to do. His real mom had passed away from a drug overdose, so he had nobody, nobody but me.”
“So you let him go?” Tristan cursed.
“After several rounds of psychological therapy and being at the institution, he was showing such great progress that he was released, got a job working on his own and… he was… good. For a while, he was good.”
Tristan exhaled. “Until he saw the news.”
“I remember that night so vividly. He called me, asked if I knew about his ex-girlfriend, could I make some calls, he thinks she’s in Seattle and wants to surprise her. Her picture was everywhere — Melanie Faye, found! He said he was in love with her, thought about her all the time. I believed him.”
“So all his planning…” Tristan let out a heavy sigh. “He sent the journals truly thinking he was going to die… and when he didn’t… when he saw her picture on the news, he snapped all over again.”
“A psychotic break,” his dad repeated. “I’ve been trying to reach him for weeks. When he finally called and sai
d he was in Seattle, I panicked, more worried for you than anyone. I arrived at the house just as he pulled up with Lisa in tow. I had no idea…” Things went silent, and then he spoke softly. “I told security to stay at the hotel, that I was going to the pool for a swim. I begged for some private time when I should have had them follow me. If I would have had them with me, none of this would have happened.”
“Dad…” Tristan put his hand on Mark Westinghouse’s arm. “…we all made mistakes here.”
“A young girl was raped, tortured, and almost died because of me.” His dad shook his head. His voice sounded more tired than I felt. “Not to mention, I lost one son, only to see the look of disappointment on another’s face. No… this is on me, Tristan. This is all on me.”
He slowly got up from his seat and walked out of the room.
“You can stop pretending you’re asleep now,” Tristan whispered as I opened my eyes.
“Sorry.” My throat ached. “I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s probably good for you to hear. At least you know that Taylor wasn’t stewing for the past two years, thinking about ruining your life.”
I snorted. “No, my picture just caused him to have a mental breakdown.”
Tristan smiled sadly and sat on the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“I hurt.”
“I almost had to give you a lung.”
“You can’t give people lungs.“
“I know,” he whispered. “But for you I’d have died to give you a lung.” Tears pooled in his eyes. “You can’t do that to me again. You can’t be brave. I’m begging you, just be weak for the rest of your life. If I ever have to see you stand up to a psychopath again, I’m going to be the one that needs to be institutionalized.”
“Tristan,” I croaked. “I had to… he had a fantasy. I was playing into it.”
“Yeah, well, stop listening so well in class. Better yet, I hereby revoke all criminal minds’ privileges.”
I smiled, but it hurt. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You probably saved all our lives.”
With a soft chuckle I said, “I always wanted to be a hero.”
Tristan leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Think you could let me step up to the plate next time?”
A big grin tugged at my mouth. “You were too slow.”