Over the Edge

Ch. 20 Losing It

~Rhys~

I sat in my car at eleven-thirty. I was in my driveway, thinking over everything that had happened over the past hour, but in reality, only one thing was circling my mind.

Emma was raped.

Some idiot freaking raped her.

My fists curled. Every time I thought about that, stupid helpless rage churned through me. It was unexplainable but undeniable. What asshole would do that to her? What asshole would do that to anybody?

I growled, knowing what I had to do but detesting it. I shoved open my car door and loped up to the front door, thrusting angrily through it. There were a few lights on still. When I stooped through the kitchen I saw Judy at the table drinking tea.

“Rhys!” she exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing home?”

“Where’s my dad?” I asked her, completely ignoring her question. All I could see was Emma’s face and all I could hear was her unbelievable confession and it was quickly driving me way passed that point with which I could handle things.

“He’s in his study,” she replied, pencil-thin eyebrows creasing. “Are you—”

“Fucking perfect,” I ground out, before stalking off in search of the bastard who spawned me. The study door was cracked, a wedge of light streaking out. I slammed the door open so hard it banged against the wall. My father jerked around in his chair, whipping off his glasses. “You’re helping me,” I demanded sternly.

“No, please come in,” he muttered, shutting his computer and crossing his ankle over his knee as he gazed at me. I stood in the doorway, fuming. I was so angry and I didn’t know where to direct my rage.

I stormed over to his cabinet and yanked open a drawer, rifling wildly through it. I discarded folders that were of no use to me and tossed them to the floor. There had to be something in here that could help. Anything.

“Rhys!” my father cried, grabbing my arms and stealing me away from the cabinet. “What the hell are you doing?”

I was shaking with uncontainable amounts of pent-up emotion. “I need to find him, Dad.”

“Who?”

“That son of a bitch who raped her!” I ripped myself away from him and moved back to the open drawers, but he blocked me off again and slammed them shut. “Get out of my way!”

“Son, you need to calm down,” he ordered. I decided to ignore the fact he referred to me in a familial way. “Now, who are you talking about?”

I fell into one of the winged chairs, holding my throbbing head in my hands. It occurred to me I was acting the slightest bit maniacal. “Emma.”

He frowned. “Who’s Emma?”

That’s right. Because I had blocked him out of my life completely he had no idea. “She’s my partner for this English project.”

“I see.” He still looked wholeheartedly confused. “And what is making you say such accusations?”

“I don’t see that I have to explain myself to you,” I growled. “Do you have anything on this guy?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “What’s his name?”

“Mike Packer.”

My dad stiffened, eyes narrowing in deep thought. “Mike Packer, you say?”

“Yes.”

He scratched at his hair, tapping the fingers of his other hand against his thigh. “That name sounds awfully familiar.”

“How?” I asked eagerly. He used to be a fairly well-known lawyer before expanding his businesses, and he had dealt with a lot of people. I was hoping he would know something. 

He didn’t respond, striding to a different filing cabinet entirely and thumbing through it with considerably more finesse. I bounced impatiently. It seemed like an eternity later but he released some sort of victorious grunt and turned to face me. “He’s twenty now.”

“Fantastic, I’ll be sure to send him a birthday cake. What else does it say?”

He didn’t look too impressed with my show of sarcasm, but returned his attention to the file, flicking through it. “Well, my goodness,” he murmured. “Emmalyn Hall. That’s her name, isn’t it?”

I nodded, slouching back in the chair. “Why?”

He looked up and met my eyes. “Her family came to me on this case.”

My eyebrows shot to my hairline. “What?”

“The Halls.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ll never forget them. Fought with everything they were worth to get that boy convicted for rape and in the end there just wasn’t enough evidence. Not even I could help them. Here, I recorded this.” He flicked on the television and pressed play, and I watched a silent news reel of a man being taken out of jail in hand-cuffs. He looked tired and pissed, not a good combination.

“That’s Mike,” I stated, not as a question.

“Yep.” He clicked it off. “That’s him.”

“He’s the reason Emma’s in the hospital.”

My father sat down. “If you need my help, Rhys, just ask.”

I ground my teeth together. I would sooner set my clothes on fire.

“Rhys.”

“Fine,” I growled. “But I’m not asking you for me. I’m asking for Emma’s sake.” And without waiting for a reply I snatched the file off his desk and stomped up to my room. Judy might have said something but I couldn’t care less.

I slammed my door closed and flicked on a light, dropping to my bed and flicking open the file. Papers and pictures spilled out. I didn’t want to read any of it, to prove it was real, but I couldn’t stop.

Rape.

Victim.

Not guilty.

Those were a few of the words I picked up more than once throughout the papers. I hadn’t realized I was gripping them so hard until my fingers punctured holes through it. I growled in frustration, tossing the information aside and dropping my head to my knees, rubbing my hands furiously over the back of my neck.

You’re an idiot.

I couldn’t help but feel like one. What the hell was I doing? I didn’t owe anything to Emma, I shouldn’t even be helping her. She didn’t need my help.

“Dammit,” I hissed, lashing out a foot and kicking angrily out at my desk chair. It topped  over. I relished in the clatter.

What the hell was Mr. Matthews doing involving her with someone like me? Involving me with her?

 What did he know that we didn’t?