He ran his hand over the back of his neck. This was where he always felt his stress first. Gwen was the best at talking him down, only she wasn't here now and that was only part of the problem. "I didn't want it to go like this," he muttered as he reached for her arm and began to lead her into the den.
She could feel the desperation in his actions. Nothing was worse than feeling desperate. It made you do crazy things, things you wouldn't normally do, things you knew were wrong, things that didn't make sense. She'd been desperate before. Desperate people were dangerous. "It doesn't have to go like this." She spoke as calmly as possible as she tried to meet his gaze. "I'll go tell them it was a mistake. I'll tell you're here to fix something. I'll tell them I didn't realize that Nick called you. They'll leave. They'll think it was just a misunderstanding."
"You're lying to me."
"I'm not. Just let me go talk to them and explain and everything'll be fine." She could feel her entire body trembling as he gripped her arm and pushed her towards the couch.
"You're not gonna do that. You'll go out there and you'll tell them everything. You'll tell them why I'm here. You'll tell them what I planned." He could sense it now, when people were lying to him, when they were filling his head with visions of grandeur only to pacify him in the moment. They'd done the same thing to him during the investigation. The woman interviewing him had been so kind and so full of reassurances. She'd agreed with everything he'd said and she'd seemed to be so understanding as he'd explained his reasons for everything he'd done. It wasn't about breaking the law, it was about saving his family. He wasn't trying to get rich. He was just trying to survive. She'd blinked up at him with those big brown eyes and recorded his every word. All the while she'd nodded her head and spouted empty promises that everything would be okay.
It most certainly was not. He lost everything, his job, his reputation, his family … all of it. He wouldn't be lied to that way again. He was smarter now. He knew better. Nothing would ever work out for him. It would never be okay again.
"Sir, I'm sorry but we're not allowing any traffic through this area."
Nick threw the car into park and roughly ripped the seatbelt from around his body. He was standing outside the now parked car before the police officer could respond. "I live here." He pointed towards the house where he saw a group of officers congregated. "There actually." He could feel his heart racing as he asked the question that was screaming inside his mind. "What's going on?"
"You live there?" The young officer turned and called out a name.
It wasn't one he recognized and Nick watched as a virtual stranger approached him. "Who are you?" Nick spat. "I'm Sergeant Brunson. I'm handling this case. Are you the owner of the home?"
Nick nodded. "I'm Nicholas Newman." In most instances, he didn't like to throw around his last name, but in situations like this, he found it helped. The name Newman seemed to inspire people to make things happen, to move a little faster, to make sure that no corners were cut. He could immediately see the Detective react and he stood a little straighter himself as he continued his conversation. "Phyllis Summers … she lives with me. She's inside. Is she alright?"
The older man nodded towards the younger officer and he stepped away towards the group of officers that still stood near the cars on the lawn. "Mr. Newman," Sergeant Brunson began, "We received a call from Ms. Summers that indicated she believed there was an intruder in the home. We sent out a team of officers and, upon the arrival, they noted a suspicious vehicle near the premises." He gestured towards the car on his left.
"I don't know whose car that is," Nick said quickly. "Neither of us have a lot of visitors come by the house. There's no reason anyone would …"
"We ran the plates. They belong to a Cameron Brooks. Does that name mean anything to you?"
There was a flicker of recognition somewhere in his mind and then a sickeningly sobering realization. "He was the owner … the builder of the house. It was a foreclosure. I own a real estate development company and …"
The sergeant nodded. "Mr. Brooks has had some financial difficulties as well as a few other issues in the last few months and we have reason to believe he might have come back to the house with some less than wholesome motives."
It was a like a kick in the gut.
"Mr. Newman?" The look of horror that had flashed across his face was something he'd seen far too often in his line of work. "If there's something you can know or something you remember that could help us get an idea of what we might be dealing with in there …"
"Phyllis …" He reached out to grip the side mirror of his car, needing the extra stability to steady himself. His legs felt as if they might give out beneath him. He hadn't taken her comments seriously. If he had, she might not be here now. He could have stopped this. If he'd just listened to her … "She called me earlier, when she was coming home. She had just driven back into the garage." Piece after piece of this horrible puzzle seemed to fall into place in his own mind and each tiny bit of data seemed to make him feel even more guilty. "God," he breathed. "She was probably just about to walk into the house. I could have stopped her." He looked up at the man's stone face, expecting to see more compassion, more feeling, more something …
"What are they doing?!" He yelled as he looked over to the group of three officers that now stood gathered around the car. "Aren't they gonna go in there? Aren't they gonna try to help her?"
"Mr. Newman," Sergeant Brunson said again, "The worst thing we can possibly do is go into a situation unprepared. We need to know as much information as we can before we go into that house. We don't want to do anything to put anyone in any more danger. So please, if you could just finish what you were saying."
He forced the anger back down, willing his body to relax as best he could. "She said she smelled gasoline. What if …"
"Sergeant!"
Both men turned towards the voice across the yard. Nick followed the sergeant's quick steps as he walked over to meet them.
"What is it?"
The officer pointed down at the driveway. The small dots of liquid could have easily gone unnoticed until now. The cool night air brought with it a brisk breeze and they all understood the significance. Their steps were slow and deliberate as the followed the trail towards the garage door. The odor only intensified as they got closer.
Nick watched silently as the officer stooped down, his face very close to the concrete. He nodded as he stood up again. "Definitely," he said with a nod. "Some form of accelerant."
"Okay." He couldn't remain calm any longer. "So what do we do? How do we fix this?"
"You don't do anything." Sergeant Brunson eyed him carefully. "We will handle this. Right now, we need to assess the situation and determine the best course of action."
"And while you're doing that, what's happening inside? How do we know what he's doing to her? You said he's had issues. What kind of issues? How dangerous is this guy?" He knew he should be calmer. Hysterics weren't helping, but this felt every kind of wrong. They were far too calm and somehow his reaction seemed to at least balance things. "You're the police. You're supposed to be protecting people. He doesn't belong in there. Why don't you and get him out?" He stood, waiting for someone to respond. "Or I will." He moved towards the garage door, only to feel hands on his shoulders almost immediately.
"Mr. Newman."
He turned towards the man's stony expression again.
"Please. Don't do anything foolish."
He hated this … feeling helpless. "What do you expect me to do?" His voice shook as he said the words. He and Phyllis had just found some happiness again. This wasn't fair. "I can't just sit here and do nothing."
"If you want to help her," he said, "you can … and you will."