Who You Least Expect (14 page)

TV shows and articles and little clips on the news couldn’t fully describe the horror of it all. The house was worn, in a state of disrepair, paint peeling, rotting beams barely holding up the sagging steps and porch, but those were just ordinary signs of neglect. The real tragedy lay in the way the house seemed to sag with the weight of stuff. He hadn’t set foot inside, for a moment wondered if he had the courage to, but even from the outside, he could see crap was literally everywhere. There was no rhyme or reason to it; it was as if there’d been a tornado of junk that had landed in this one spot. There was trash strewn about, clothes, children’s toys off to one side, what had to have been ten thousand empty cans, yogurt cups, which looked to have been meticulously cleaned and then discarded on the front porch. He rested his gaze on the front porch and shook his head. It seemed to almost crumple with its burden, newspapers, Styrofoam, furniture, everything haphazardly strewn about it.

The chaos of the yard seemed to be embodied in its human occupants. Two EMTs and a firefighter were in the yard and the sheriff stood near the house talking calmly to Blakely’s mother. Her pleasant demeanor from the day of the swap meet was nowhere in sight. She looked disheveled, frantic, the stress apparent on her face and in her stance.

“You heard my husband, Cyrus Thornehill. He is fine. We are fine!” she said emphatically.

“Ms. Bishop, we really should take him to the hospital.” Cyrus gentled his voice. “And we have to talk about the state of the property.”

“The state of my property is none of your business! And neither is my husband!”

“Mama,” Blakely said, stepping between her mother and the sheriff. “Just hear him out.”

Her mother’s expression softened, but she shook her head, turned, and rushed into the house, moving fast for a woman Cody pegged to be in her sixties.

“Don’t go!” Blakely said when Cyrus went to step toward the porch. “Just give me a minute.”

She stared at the house, the angst on her face ripping at him. The situation was so fucked up and, he could tell, not new. He wondered how many years she’d suffered this, been pulled between her parents, protecting them and their destructive way of life.

“I forgot my duct tape,” she said distractedly. “Oh well. I’ll be back, Cyrus,” she said.

Cody was half a step behind her.

“Wait here—”

She stopped short when she turned back to him, for which he was grateful. She may not have wanted him here and truth be told, he didn’t know if he could help, but he wouldn’t let her do this alone.

The rickety porch held his weight, so he pushed ahead and the floor—or rather the collected items that made up the floor—beneath his feet was soft, and he worried he might step right through. He stayed close to Blake as she navigated the unfathomable mess, her shoulders set tight.

He had no clue what was under his feet and didn’t dare examine it too closely, keeping his mind focused on blocking out the horrific smell, which was almost impossible. He couldn’t put words to what the smell was, the mix of decay, mold, trash and waste creating a stifling blanket of scent that seemed to make the air heavy with the weight of it. He thought he might gag, but he managed to choke it back. Then, though he hated to do so, he opened his mouth slightly, praying that shallow mouth breaths might help at least a little. He looked at Blake, who seemed unaffected by the smell, and his heart twisted again.

As they moved through what he assumed was the family room and then down a hallway, objects he could tell hadn’t been disturbed for years began to shift and his worry spiked. One wrong move and he would be trapped in this. It was a horrifying thought, one that sent a surge of panic through him before he could stop it. But after that initial burst, he took a deep breath—a necessary action, though a fully unpleasant one—and forced his mind to go clear. He’d been in far worse situations than this, and he wouldn’t be able to help Blakely if he didn’t stay in control. His sole mission was to get her out of here as soon as he could so he pushed aside everything, the smell, the claustrophobia, the anger that simmered in his gut, and focused on that alone.

When they reached the end of the hall, Blakely swung herself into the room, and he followed suit, landing halfway in, halfway out. His gaze settled on the older man sitting in…something.

“Daddy, you need to go to the hospital,” she said quietly.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ree. I’m fine; I just have a little cough.” He set his jaw in a firm line that reminded Cody of Blake so much that he would have laughed were it not for the gravity of the situation. “And how I choose to live is no one’s concern but my own,” her father said, voice full of conviction.

“Daddy…” she said, pleading.

“He’s right,” her mother interjected. “This is our home. We haven’t done anything to anybody and they should just leave us be!”

To Cody’s eye, the entire place needed to be torched and then razed, and Blakely knew it too, he could tell. That her parents couldn’t see it, or wouldn’t, was mind-blowing.

Blakely’s mother stood next to her father, her arm on his shoulder, and they both stared at Blakely—and him—as if they were the enemy. Nature took over and Cody was determined to resolve this situation as quickly as possible. Five seconds in this awful room had confirmed that there was nothing Blakely could do to reach them, that there was a possibility that nothing would reach them, so the best outcome he could hope for right now was a quick resolution to the current crisis. Blakely should never have been in this situation and he wouldn’t let her stay in it for a second longer than necessary. He bit back the anger that amped from low boil to raging inferno and set about the task at hand.

As if he heard the direction of Cody’s thoughts, her father turned his sharp gaze toward Cody, looking at him suspiciously.

“And who are you? You’re one of them?” he asked.

“I’m a friend of Blake’s,” Cody said.

“And why are you here?”

“I’m here for her, and I hope you’ll let me help you.”

The older man’s suspicion didn’t wane, so he glanced at Blakely and then her mother, holding the woman’s gaze. Cody took note of the silent communication that passed between them, and of the fact that his presence was more concerning than the mountains of garbage that filled the room or the vermin that skittered around as casual as they pleased. Or that their daughter’s face was a twisted mask of pain and torment so undeniable that he wanted to sweep her into his arms and out of this place and never let her come back.

She’d fight him on it though. However complicated her feelings were toward her parents, he knew she wouldn’t leave them. In the long run, Cody didn’t know if they could be saved but today, right now, he would get them, and Blakely, out of this house and hope that it would be a first step for the Bishops to try and get better.

“Nice to see you again, ma’am, though not under these circumstances,” he said to Mrs. Bishop, voice easy and completely at odds with what was happening.

She gave a grudging nod of acknowledgment.

“Would you mind waiting outside with Blakely while me and Mr. Bishop talk?”

He didn’t turn his gaze from her mother, but he saw Blake from the corner of his eye, didn’t miss the tears that now streamed down her face. Her father saw them too, and Cody saw the first break in the older man’s facade. That was something he could use to his advantage. Maybe, on some level, Mr. Bishop wanted help though even if he did, Cody knew that pride would keep him from asking for it in front of his wife and daughter. But if they were alone, had a chance to talk man-to-man, he could get somewhere.

“Let me talk to him, Mayree,” he said gruffly.

Blake and her mother looked at Mr. Bishop and without further conversation, they set off to leave the men alone. Cody kept his eyes trained on Mr. Bishop, listening to the sound of the women’s footsteps and of the items they had stirred as they moved down the hallway. When he heard the front door slam, he took a tentative step toward Mr. Bishop.

“No one’s trying to embarrass you, but you can’t stay here, sir. And you know that,” Cody said, letting an edge bleed into his voice.

Mr. Bishop’s eyes flared with insult, but Cody didn’t back down. He wanted the man to come willingly, but he’d get him out by force if necessary. As sickly-looking as the man was, Cody thought it was a miracle that he wasn’t in worse shape. This house was a death trap, and it was only a matter of time before it claimed one or both of the Bishops. They might not see it, but everyone else, including Blake, did, and he didn’t want to imagine the pain and responsibility she’d feel if—when—that happened. But it wouldn’t happen today, not on his watch.

“Why can’t everyone just leave us alone? I’m fine, my wife is fine, and my home is fine.”

He’d started off forcefully but by the end of the sentence, Mr. Bishop had broken into hard, wet-sounding coughs that racked his frame. Cody went to step toward him, but the old man lifted a hand to keep him away and slowly, the coughing subsided. The man’s face was unreadable as he stared off into nothing. They stayed in that silence for so long that Cody felt the strain of trying to maintain his balance in the ever-shifting mass on the floor begin to take its toll, but he didn’t move.

“Mr. Bishop,” he said.

Finally, Blakely’s father responded, “I won’t be run from my home.”

“No one’s doing that, and I’ll make sure your things aren’t disturbed. But first thing’s first.”

The man hadn’t given in outright, but Cody could see his acquiescence. Poole would be proud of the way Cody had handled things if he was still speaking to him after the ass chewing Cody intended to deliver.

The older man nodded, and Cody made his way over. It was impossible to find a solid place to stand, but Cody offered his arm, which Blakely’s father used to brace himself as he stood. Ignoring the sour stench that the shifting items stirred, Cody began slowly, painstakingly, making his way toward the front door.

It took over fifteen minutes to reach the front door, Mr. Bishop’s age and illness slowing him as much as the clutter. By the time they stepped outside, both men were covered in sweat, breathing heavy with the exertion. He was in excellent shape, but one entry and exit from the house had been taxing for him. That the elderly Bishops did so on a regular basis was as mind-blowing as it was depressing.

As he stood on the porch, his eyes immediately went to Blakely, who stood next to the ambulance, her eyes puffy and red, but tears no longer flowing. The paramedics went to Mr. Bishop immediately and helped him onto the stretcher. Under the defiance, Cody could see the shame in the older man’s face.

He walked to Blakely, who refused to meet his gaze.

“The doctors might keep you overnight, sir, but you seem to be breathing better than earlier,” the EMT said.

Blakely’s mother, who stood next to the stretcher, looked relieved but the expression was short-lived.

“Mrs. Bishop, if you aren’t able to come home soon, is there somewhere you can go?” Cyrus Thornehill asked.

The implication of the question was clear, as was the intent of the expectant gaze the sheriff gave Blakely. Cody had known that the Bishops wouldn’t be back here anytime soon, but he hadn’t considered where they might go and as he did so now, Blakely’s did not seem like a viable choice.

Apparently the Bishops agreed, for as they loaded Mr. Bishop into the ambulance, Blakely’s mother looked at her, and then the sheriff.

“No,” she said, “there’s nowhere else.”

By the time the ambulance pulled off, tears again streamed down Blakely’s face.

••••

She blinked when she felt the strong arm slip around her shoulders and then the gentle brush against her face. Then she slammed her eyes shut, needing to block out the world around her, unwilling to see him after he’d seen this.

“Blakely, the EMT called Adult Protective Services,” Cyrus said, mercifully sparing her from having to look at Cody, at least for another moment.

She turned to Cyrus and nodded. And then, somehow finding her voice around the tight ball of tension that clogged her throat, she said, “I know. Is there a place for them?”

Cyrus kept his professional demeanor, and the sunglasses blocked his eyes, but the faint tic in his jaw gave the unspoken question away.
Why can’t they stay with you
? Cody probably wondered the same thing. Hell, some part of her even asked the question, tried to work out a way that such a thing would be possible.

But it wouldn’t, and as much as it shamed her, made her a hypocrite of the worst kind, Blakely knew that couldn’t happen. The gossamer threads of control that she only managed to hold would be snapped in an instant, leaving her untethered and sending her careening out of control. And she couldn’t let that happen. She loved them, but the cost of letting them infest her home, and her heart, was too high. She couldn’t pay it.

“Charity’s Wings downtown can take them for a while, but they’ll need someplace long-term until they can get this cleaned up,” he said.

She couldn’t contain the bitter laugh. “If cleaning up is a requirement, you’d better make long-term permanent,” she said.

He didn’t bother to correct her. “I have to get back to the station, but the ambulance should be at the medical center by now. Let me know if you need anything,” he said. And then, with a brisk nod, presumably directed at Cody, he got into the cruiser and drove down the road, dust flying in his wake.