Secondhand Sinners

by Genevieve Lynne

  ***

  When he got to Alan’s, he didn’t even bother knocking. He got his baseball bat out from behind the seat and slammed away at the cheap knob on the old door until it gave in. Idiot. People like Alan should really invest a little more in the barriers they erect between them and all the angry people who wanted to kill them.

  Once inside, he called out for Abby as he moved through the house. There was no one in the house. Maybe Alan had written Jenny’s phone number or address down. Where to look, though? The only thing to do was start at the back of the house and work his way forward, so Miller headed for Alan’s bedroom.

  He started by rummaging through the drawers in Alan’s chest of drawers. Then he moved to the drawer in the bedside table, in which he found a Jack Daniels, condoms, and porn. Miller knew that if he stopped long enough to think about the fact that this bastard had been alone with Abby for any length of time, he’d lose his mind.

  He sat down on the bed, knowing Sara had probably been in it with Alan. How had another man, who liked porn and younger women, gotten ahold of his life? Was Alan that cunning, or was Miller that oblivious? What was he doing that he couldn’t see Alan had worked his way into Sara’s head? Where was he when Alan was using the key Sara had given him to let himself into his house and into his wife? They were quite a pair—Alan was too focused on righting wrongs of his past while Miller was too worried they’d be discovered.

  He was beginning to feel the same sensation as walking through Abby’s room and seeing that everything had changed. On his way out of the house, he passed by the kitchen and saw a laptop. He opened it, opened the browser, typed in the Facebook address and Alan’s ugly mug stared back at him in the form of a selfie. He knew enough about the website from Abby to know Alan would have a friend list. When he found that, he typed Jenny A into the search box. There she was. His first break of the day. He clicked on her name and scanned that page until he saw the About box and the words: Blue, OK. That was only a few miles away. Not bad. It wasn’t far at all, and he knew the town well because he used to live there. He clicked on the link to that page, but there was no street address listed.

  Miller was furiously scanning the page to find some more information when a box popped up on the bottom of the screen with Jenny’s picture.

  Jenny: Why u on fb?

  Miller: Forgot ur address.

  Jenny: Whatever.

  Miller: No. rlly.

  Jenny: 1212 Lilac.

  Miller: How’s the girl?

  Jenny: Scared.

  Miller smiled to himself a little. He was about to get his daughter back.

  He was about to close the browser when he noticed the box at the top that asked: What’s on your mind? He typed:

  I have a small brain and a smaller penis.

  Post.

  While not exactly payback for everything Alan had done, it was a good start.

  He closed the laptop and was about to stand up when he looked closer at the papers on the table. There had to have been fifteen pads of yellow paper, and each pad was filled with Alan’s handwriting, full of phrases like if…next…then…do…don’t…This was how he planned everything. How long had he been working on this?

  He picked up a handful of the pads of paper. He could show one of them to Sheriff Owens, and the old man would have to see Alan had been lying to him. Miller’s eye caught a splash of red peeking out from underneath what was left of the pile. It was a red heart sticker. No, not one. Lots. He pushed the pads of paper out of the way and uncovered the blue notebook that Hoyt had saved in a safe deposit box for so many years.

  He swallowed hard, opened the book and saw what had made Alan so angry—Emily. It was full of pictures of Emily. The pictures were crooked, taped to the pages with old masking tape. The first few pages had pictures of her and Daniel together. The next three or four were full of torn pieces of paper from doodles she used to do when they all studied together and then threw away when they were finished. He recognized them because she always drew flowers when she doodled. He flipped to the end of the book. The last thing in it was a lock of hair he could only assume was Emily’s as a baby. It was tied with a yellow ribbon and taped down with the thick, yellowing tape. It looked like a stalker’s homage to his prey, like an old man obsessed with a young girl, like Hoyt was in love with Emily. With his worst fears confirmed, Miller sat down again and waited for the storm of emotion to pass. He couldn’t show up to get Abby with so much dread hanging off him. She’d see it, she’d know something was wrong, and since he refused to lie to her anymore, he’d have to tell her the truth.

  How could he explain such a thing? How could such an amazing creature be the product of something so vile? How could he make her believe that it didn’t matter to him where she came from, and he was simply glad she was in his life?

  Miller opened the notebook again and looked at the lock of hair. It was the same shade of blonde as Abby’s, had the same texture, even. It reminded him of the lock of Abby’s hair that was in her baby book.

  Her baby book? He went back to the beginning and thumbed through it once more, this time looking at it through the eyes of a father who couldn’t acknowledge his own daughter. With his focus shifted, he no longer saw photos of Daniel and one of his friends. They were pictures of a brother and sister. Then the second wave of realization hit. Emily’s family hated her, hated the time she spent with Daniel and his family, hated the very mention of Hoyt’s name. The horrible screech with which Violet called out Hoyt’s name in the nursing home came back to him. What was it she said? I kilt one ‘a your bastards before, Hoyt Thornton, and I’ll do it again. I swear to Jesus I will.

  Miller replaced the notebook and pads of paper, carefully arranging them like they were. Then he thought about it and took one of the pads. Owens might be interested in seeing it. He was walking out the door of Alan’s house as the third wave hit. Abby didn’t get her Wilson’s from Hoyt. She got it from Emily. He was going to go get his daughter. His and Emily’s.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Emily

  With Alan’s hands on hers, Emily closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger to the gun. Nothing happened. There was no loud pop, no whiff of sulphur, no blood. It didn’t work. How much time did she have until the lady on the other end of the phone injected Jack with bleach? She squeezed the trigger again. Again, nothing happened.

  “It’s not working,” she said, and squeezed it over and over. Each time she tried to shoot, Hoyt flinched.

  “That’s because it’s not loaded,” Alan whispered in her ear as he took the gun out of her hand.

  “What?” She twirled around and pushed on Alan’s chest. “No!” she screamed. “You can’t hurt him!” She struggled to remain standing through the dizziness of a head rush. She gripped Alan’s arms for stability as her legs started to give out. “Tell her not to hurt him. Tell her. She can’t hurt him.”

  “Shhh.” Alan wrapped his arms around her and held her tight around her waist.

  “I did what you asked. I tried. Tell her not to hurt Jack. Please,” Emily begged.

  “She’s not going to hurt him. She doesn’t even have him.”

  “She sent you pictures.”

  “Which I sent to her an hour ago.”

  “Why? I don’t understand.” The whole experience had drained her of every ounce of strength, which was probably what Alan wanted. He won. She couldn’t take anymore. “Why did you do that? Where is my son?”

  He held her tighter. “I have a story to tell you.”

  “Let me go. Tell me where Jack is and let me go to him.” She tried to break free from his grasp, but he was too strong for her.

  “Shhh. Listen.” He put his hand on the back of her head and braced her cheek to his shoulder. “Hoyt made up a game he called Oklahoma Roulette. I thought it would be appropriate for you to play that game with him at least once before he died, seeing as how you’re his treasure.”

  “What?”

  He ignored her and continue
d with his story. “He’d hand us a gun and tell one of his drinking buddies to pick a body part. They’d laugh and say something like ‘foot’ or ‘pecker,’ usually. Sometimes they’d say ‘head.’ Couple of times they said ‘arm.’ They didn’t think we’d actually squeeze the trigger, but the look on their faces when we did? Man, Hoyt got off on that.

  “He made us all do it—me, Daniel, Mother. If we didn’t, he said he’d beat up Mom or kill one of us in our sleep. He would have too. We all knew he’d kill us if we made him mad enough and if he was drunk enough or high enough. The gun was only loaded once. It was during my turn, Hoyt gave me the gun and told me to shoot myself in the leg. I had the angle wrong, so it only grazed me. That one time was all it took because there was that moment when I’d start to squeeze the trigger that I’d wonder if it was loaded this time. I don’t guess Daniel ever talked about that, did he?”

  She shook her head as best she could with Alan’s hand holding it still. Daniel had never told her Hoyt did that to him. He must’ve been afraid she wouldn’t come around if she knew.

  “One night I came home, thinking I was about to get my ass kicked for being so late. Lucky for me Hoyt and Daniel were arguing over that damn key. Hoyt couldn’t find it, and he accused Daniel of stealing it. Daniel admitted taking it, but he wouldn’t give it back because he caught Hoyt stashing something of yours in the drawer of the table by his bed. Daniel called Hoyt a pervert and told him he was going to stop inviting you over. Hoyt didn’t like that, so he made me go get his gun for him. I got it, but I didn’t take it to him right away because I had this brilliant idea. I put a bullet in the chamber because I thought it would be funny to watch Daniel shoot himself in the foot.”

  Emily gasped. Her stomach had been gradually sinking as Alan told his story, and now she realized what he was telling her.

  “I handed Daniel the gun, and when Hoyt told him to hold it to his own neck, I knew my stepbrother was about to die and that all I had to do was say something. I didn’t want to say anything because I thought if he was gone, then I’d have a shot with you. Next thing I knew, Hoyt was screaming, Momma was crying, and Daniel was on the floor with blood pouring out of his neck and that gun in his hand. I killed him. I killed him for you. It’s finally worked because now I’ve got you all to myself.”

  So Daniel hadn’t wanted to die, Jack was alone, and Abby was missing. Alan had stolen everything from her. She couldn’t stand to be in his arms another second.

  “Let go of me,” she demanded, struggling against his grasp, although the more she fought, the rougher he got. She managed to get an arm free, so she balled her hand in a fist and hit him in the chest as hard as she could. She only got three or four hits in because he seized her arm, twisted it behind her back, and pulled her close to him again.

  The tears Emily had been holding back all day started to come, and she was too weak to stop them. They were like their own force of gravity, pulling her down with them and causing her knees to buckle.

  Alan released his hold on her and let her slide down to the floor. He put his gun back in his waistband and his phone back in his pocket, then patted Hoyt on the shoulder. “Now you know how it feels, old bastard.”

  He squatted in front of her and lifted her chin. “Let’s go home, Emily. We have a big night ahead of us.”

  ***

  When they got to Alan’s house, he pulled around to the back and ushered Emily in through the back door. She sat at the dining table while Alan gathered up a dozen yellow pads and tossed them into the trashcan.

  “Don’t need these anymore,” he said as he threw the final one away. “This thing here, though,” he picked up the blue notebook with the red stickers, “I do believe I’m going to keep this.”

  “You planned everything down to the last detail, didn’t you?”

  “I planned contingencies. All along I was preparing for when your grandmother died and you came to town for her funeral. When your brother bashed your father’s skull in, I was ready. I thought getting Hoyt’s money was the most important thing, then when I learned there was no money, I decided having you was better. Because you have money, right? You said you had money from your divorce.”

  “I have some money; it’s not a lot. Nothing like what you were hoping to get from Hoyt’s box.”

  “It’s enough to get us started, though.”

  “When can I see Jack?”

  “Later.”

  “Is Abby okay?”

  “Last I heard.”

  “Why did you make me do that back there at the nursing home?”

  “You’re his treasure.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He tossed the book on the table in front of her. “See for yourself. You have makeup in your purse? You need to get cleaned up.”

  Emily opened the book and saw pictures of herself, some candids she remembered taking with Daniel. Some of the pictures, though, were from when she was younger, before Daniel even moved to town. Those were odd because someone from her family would have had to have given them to Hoyt. The lock of hair was creepy.

  “This must’ve been what Daniel and Hoyt were arguing over the night he killed…the night he was murdered.”

  Alan frowned, causing the deep line between his eyebrows to appear again. “You’re going to have to get over that.”

  Emily opened to a page close to the end of the book and gasped. “Oh God. How did…” She pulled the charm that was held down by masking tape off the page. It was the missing charm from her bracelet. Her family tree. There was only one person who could have given that to Hoyt and then hid the bracelet to keep her from asking questions about it. Her mother.

  I can’t look at you without seeing him. Go. Before you find out what kind of a monster your father really is.

  Emily closed her eyes, knowing that when she opened them, everything would be different. She was right. It was like a darkened film had been ripped off her life and blanched everything. She wasn’t who she thought she was. She was Hoyt’s daughter.

  She closed the book. She should have felt something. Her whole life—her mother’s and grandmother’s absolute panic over her relationship with Daniel and Hoyt, her father’s inability to see any good in her, her special bond with Daniel—was finally explained by the presence of her tarnished tree in Hoyt’s blue notebook with the heart stickers.

  She was numb.

  “When can I see Jack?”

  “I said later. Is this makeup?” He held up her makeup bag.

  “Yeah.”

  He unzipped the bag, looked it in briefly, and zipped it back up. “Go to the bathroom and make yourself look presentable.”

  She took the bag and went to the bathroom. Obedience to Alan was the only strategy she had left. Whatever he had planned for them, whatever their “big night” entailed, she wanted to get it over with. Even then, she had a terrible feeling that she wasn’t going to see Jack for a long time. She washed her face and combed her hair. Was Hoyt really her father? She looked in the mirror and studied her features. Was he in there somewhere?

  She left the bathroom and went back to the table where the notebook was. She opened it to one of the pages at the back that had a picture of her, Daniel, and Miller. They were all smiling at the camera. She stared at the three of them, and then she saw it. Abby. In all three of them. She was in the hands Emily had folded in her lap, in Daniel's jawline, and in Miller’s smile. Abby was hers and Miller’s daughter. She was Daniel's niece. That was why she didn’t know her own daughter when she met her. Emily didn’t even know who she was.

  She put the book down and looked for Alan. The front door was ajar. Assuming Alan was out in his front yard, she opened the door only to have it ripped out of her hand and slammed shut.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Alan’s sharp tone hit her like darts.

  “The door was open. I thought you went outside.”

  “I was changing.” He glared at her for what must have been a whole minute then inspec
ted the door. “Damn thing’s busted. What the hell did you do to it?”

  “Nothing. It was already like that.”

  He opened the door farther and looked out. Then he closed it and took her by the elbow. “Come with me.” He pulled her to his bedroom in the back of the house and shut her in. Without saying another word, he wedged something under the door so she couldn’t get out.

  “I wasn’t trying to leave!” she called out. “You’re the only one who knows where my son is! Hey!” She banged on the door. “I wasn’t trying to leave!” When he didn’t answer, she gave up and sat on the side of the bed next to a suitcase. The pounding in her head was back. She lost all hope at the sight the two airline tickets on top of a pile of neatly folded clothes. Two tickets. She picked them up to see where Alan was planning to take her. Her vision was too blurry to see.

  He walked in and looked at the tickets in her hand. “I guess my little surprise is out.”

  “There are only two tickets here, Alan. What about Jack?”

  “We’re driving to Dallas tonight. When we get there, I’ll call Owens and tell him where the kid is.”

  “Why?”

  “Please,” he scoffed. “You were right when you said I’d never get away with this. I got what I want. Now it’s time to go.”

  “You’ve been lying to me all day.”

  “You got that right. Once we get to Colorado, things will be better. You’ll get settled in, and we’ll start our own family.”

  “Jack is my family. Who’s supposed to take care of him?”

  “He has a dad, doesn’t he? Let him deal with him.”

  Jack’s dad didn’t want him. “I have to throw up.” She ran across the hall to the bathroom and retched into the toilet while Alan stood in the doorway watching her.

  When she was finished, he took a towel from the cabinet and dropped it on the floor next to her. “Clean yourself up. Don’t forget the makeup.”