Song Rec': Margaret — Lana Del Rey ft. Bleachers.
Daylight (Instrumental): David Kushner.
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E L S P E T H
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"You imbecile! So this is why you didn't want money, huh? You were planning to rip me off by abducting my child. An innocent little girl! You had an issue with me—why didn't you just come for me? Why? Did Heather send you?!" I hissed, thrusting my hands against his chest. He stood rooted to the ground, unfazed by my attempts to push him away.
Some officers tried to restrain me, but I shoved them aside. "I will make sure you pay for this and rot in jail for the rest of your miserable life, psychopath!" I huffed.
He blinked at me, and for a brief moment, all I could hear was my heavy breathing. Then he uttered three words in a tone I couldn't quite grasp, "Are you done?"
My resolve wavered. Doubts crept in—maybe Reese wasn't even here, and we had gone to the wrong house—until I heard her voice from inside. "Is that mummy?"
Castiel leaned inside and offered his hand for her to reach. She took it, and he nudged her towards me. My joy was uncontainable; I lifted her into my arms, tears of relief streaming down my face as I inhaled her familiar scent.
I quickly spun on my heels to leave, but hesitated at the sight of the police officers lingering nearby.
"What are you waiting for? Arrest this criminal!" I barked, and the officers flinched.
"It's fine," I heard Castiel say as I made my way to the car. I couldn't care less; he was just a buffoon. I'd make sure his teaching license was revoked, that he never worked anywhere again.
Once I got into the car and strapped Reese in, I asked, "Baby, where's your backpack? Did that man do anything to you? Do you want to go to the hospital—"
"Mummy, where are they taking Sweetheart?" she replied.
I glanced out the window and saw Castiel sitting voluntarily in the police car, handcuffed. Then I scanned the area for her "Sweetheart."
"Baby, who's Sweetheart?" I asked with a forced smile as the car began to move. I needed to return to the station to retrieve my car, file my statement, and start looking for new schools for Reese; Springfield wouldn't exist in a few hours.
"The pawlice are taking him away," Reese answered. A sinking feeling settled in my stomach. Oh no.
"Did he ask you to call him that?!" I growled. "What else did he do to you?" I scrutinized her body for any marks or bruises.
"Is that not his name? You called him 'Sweetheart,' mummy," she added, rubbing salt into my wounds and leaving me momentarily frozen.
My mind raced back to the events of this morning as I pressed my lips together and squeezed my eyes shut. Someone, please pass me a pillow to scream into.
All my attempts to convince her that Castiel's name wasn't Sweetheart failed, and we nearly slipped into another mini-argument. I hated this phase of childhood—where they copy everything they hear and see, even when it's wrong.
For someone who had just been kidnapped, Reese didn't appear traumatized at all, which was so unlike her. Once, we had seen a wild bull in Spain, and the image had lingered in her mind for ages. But now, she was calling that horrible man "Sweetheart." If he had cast a spell on her, I hoped he'd reverse it before I got to the station.
As if calling him Sweetheart wasn't enough, nothing could prepare me for the shocking revelation I received when I arrived at the police station.
An officer informed me that the inspector wanted to see me in his office with Reese. I steeled myself to give my statement while mentally preparing for a courtroom appearance against him.
My brows furrowed as I noticed him chatting with the inspector, still without cuffs. Shouldn't he be in a cell?
"Nice of you to join us, Ms. Loughton," the inspector said, while Castiel didn't spare me a glance.
"Sweetheart!" Reese squealed, running towards him. I swiftly held her back before shooting a glare at him as he smiled at her but hardened his gaze when it met mine.
I took the seat in front of the inspector's desk, shifting my chair as far from Castiel as possible. "What is the meaning of this?" I demanded, pointing at Castiel while setting Reese on my lap.
"Ms. Loughton, Mr. Stepanov didn't abduct your daughter."
"Are you joking, inspector? Didn't we find her in his residence?"
"Yes, but Mr. Stepanov's assistant reached out to us at 4:40 PM today, claiming he rescued a school child from an attempted kidnapping. We asked him to return to the station tomorrow morning for further information, as Mr. Stepanov was injured. I apologize for not stating it earlier, but I had no clue that it was your child who was missing." The inspector slid a tablet towards me. "Here are the images from the scene that his assistant provided. The man claimed he's the father of your daughter. Do you know him?"
I scrolled shakily through the images: four shots of Castiel punching a disheveled and shorter figure, an image of his arm injury, a shot of scattered bullets, and another of a blood-covered tarred road.
I zoomed in on the picture of the man. "No. I don't know him," I replied to the inspector.
If only the ground would swallow me whole or if I could turn invisible.
"You could run again, you know," Castiel's deep baritone broke through my thoughts, as if reading my mind.
Normally, I would glare at him and lash out, but this time he deserved to be angry.
I looked at Reese, still silent because I had told her to stay put. "Baby, why did you follow this man after school? You're not supposed to talk to strangers, remember?"
"Auntie said she'd take me to my daddy," she answered.
My heart trembled. Heather did this. That insane maniac did this. I inhaled deeply, trying to stay calm as the inspector dared to look at Reese with sympathy. Why did she even need her stupid father? I had done everything, hadn't I? Why was the thought of meeting him a valid bait to lure her into danger?
"We've looked into our database," the inspector continued. "The man has been wanted for a long time. I suggest you bring her aunt in for questioning if you want to press charges, so we can get a lead on finding him. Where's your daughter's real father—"
"While we're at it, inspector, if a random stranger walks up to you and kisses you without your consent, how long would they spend in jail?"
My head whipped towards Castiel, my eyes wide. Oh, come on!
The inspector chuckled. "Well, they would violate the Person Act of 1861—about six months or so, plus a fine. Who's the person, and would you like to press charges, Mr. Stepanov?"
Castiel looked at me with a smirk, and I mouthed, "Cut it out," but he simply responded, "No. It's just some deranged admirer."
The inspector laughed. "It must be tough dealing with multiple admirers, considering you're young and wealthy, Mr. Stepanov. Do reach out if you need to take matters legally."
"Of course," he replied.
I would give anything to wipe that smug grin off his ridiculously handsome face. But I needed to handle him quickly and deal with Heather later.
I didn't quite grasp the wealthy part, but I was glad Reese was too occupied scribbling on the inspector's desk to hear our conversation.
"I apologize for the misunderstanding, Mr. Stepanov."
"You should get her home; it's getting late," he said, ignoring my apology.
I wouldn't push it further. I nodded and set Reese down before standing to smooth the creases from my dress. "Thank you very much, inspector, for your help."
"Inspector, Ms. Loughton's eyes are on her head, not her thighs," Castiel added. The man chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his neck. Only then did I realize he'd been staring at my thighs. Stupid perv. I didn't have time for him tonight; my focus was on that bastard named Heather.
"See you tomorrow, Sweetheart. Good night, Mr. Inspector." Reese waved at both men, and they returned the gesture as we walked out.
I had learned many things while growing up—one was how to start a fire at summer camp. Once, our director added extra petroleum to an already raging blaze, burning his hand in the process, which left a scar. Tonight, however, Heather hadn't just added gasoline to the fire she started; her entire being would be consumed by it.