In the center of the room, where I’d normally find the backs of two decorative chairs, was Jezebel. She was sitting on a stool, her hands behind her back, one of my ties covering her mouth. Black tears streamed from her eyes, leaving dark gray streaks in their wake. I took a step toward her and saw movement out of the corner of my eye.
Before I could react, Abigail had her arms around me, pulling me close to her. I went rigid. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think.
“I’ve waited so long for this moment, Jamesy.”
I nodded, my chin rubbing against the top of her head. My eyes were on Jezebel. I tried to convey that she was going to be fine, that I would keep her safe. Jezebel was a fighter, and I knew she would lash out at Abigail the moment she could. Without speaking, I tried to tell her to remain calm, to do nothing. I mouthed that I loved her. She sniffled and nodded.
“I’ve been telling Jezebel all about our wedding. How we’ve been planning it for such a long time.”
I frowned. “Our wedding?”
“It’s okay, Jamesy. Jezebel knows about us now, about how we’re destined to be together. I’ve waited for you, to marry you, like God wanted.”
I looked into her eyes as she pulled back from me. She was about an arm’s length away, but everything had changed. She wasn’t a psychotic stalker intent on revenge. She was a mentally ill girl, damaged by the actions of her father. She was…like me. Marred by her father’s actions.
“Abigail, you and I are not getting married.” I spoke slowly, hoping she could process each and every word.
She took several steps back, furrowing her brow. She looked at me as if she truly couldn’t comprehend my words. All these years I’d feared her, she was nothing but a lost girl in search of her truth.
“Marriage is about love, and I love Jezebel.”
I watched as Abigail’s features changed from confusion to pain to anger. She’d taken so many steps backward that she now stood just behind Jezebel.
“You love her? Are you going to marry her, Jamesy?” Her voice cracked, and it made my chest hurt.
“Abigail…” I said softly.
“No! Answer my question!” she yelled.
In a movement too quick for my sleepy eyes, Abigail stepped closer to Jezebel, withdrew a knife, and pushed it against Jezebel’s neck. Jezebel squealed as the blade moved against her skin, a single crimson drop sliding down her neck.
“Stop!” I yelled, taking a step forward.
“If you come any closer, I will kill her.”
I halted, waiting for her next order. I was at the mercy of her blade.
“Answer me. Are you marrying her?”
“No…” I spoke slowly, carefully, hoping I didn’t bring Abigail to the edge.
Jezebel sniffled, but I couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eyes. I was watching Abigail, focusing on her every move. I watched her muscles tighten in response to my answer. Her eyes narrowed, her breathing hitched. I watched every move, searching for any sign she might yank the blade across Jezebel’s soft, smooth skin. In all my years of military training, I’d become good at anticipating an opponent’s next move. I hoped this skill wouldn’t fail me today.
“You and I, we’re leaving together,” she said, her voice dangerously low. Little did she know, that was exactly what I wanted.
I nodded. “Yes, come with me, Abi.” I used the name I used to call her, hoping it would spark something within her. She smiled, and the pressure of the blade on Jezebel’s neck released ever so slightly.
“We’ll get married?” she asked.
I pressed my lips together and nodded. I hated lying to her. Even she deserved better. “Let’s go now.” I offered her my hand. “We can go straight to the courthouse. Come with me.”
She snorted. “Oh, Jamesy. I knew you were in love with me.” She bit her lower lip, and I felt queasy. “But we can’t get married without Daddy.”
I inhaled sharply, my breath seething through my teeth. My sputtering heart seemed to slow in that moment. “Daddy? He’s…alive?”
Abigail nodded enthusiastically, like a bobblehead toy on the dash of a Manhattan taxi. “He’ll be so excited when we tell him we’re finally getting married.”
“I think your daddy should marry us,” I said. My hands were in fists at my sides. My shock dissipated, and all I could feel in that moment was pure rage.
Abigail gasped. “Yes! That would be perfect.”
“I think you should take me to Daddy, Abi.”
She nodded again, smiling.
“Let’s go now. Daddy’s waited so long. I think he’ll be happy to see us together.”
“Okay,” she squeaked. She stepped away from Jezebel, knife in hand, and walked toward me. “Let’s go, Jamesy.” She grabbed my hand, linking her fingers between my own. Unlike Jezebel’s soft, smooth hands, Abigail’s were rough, dry, cracked. It felt unnatural to have them there, and I shook the desire to rip my hand free from her clutches.
As I turned to leave with her, I offered Jezebel one final, parting goodbye. We didn’t speak, but the pain in her eyes matched the pain in my heart. In our silence, I tried to convey that I loved her, that she would be okay, and I had to go now. I had to finish this. She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.
The door slammed shut behind me, and hand in hand with Abigail, I went to the man who’d stolen everything from me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Then
By the time I found the courage to walk back home, the sun was low in the sky. I shivered, the night air much cooler than the day’s heat.
I saw them in the distance. No one had moved. Their bodies were limp, right where they had been. I walked slowly, scanning my surroundings with each step I took, but I knew I was alone. I whimpered, tears streaming down my cheeks, as I stepped over the bodies. Everyone was here, but no one was left.
Some of my friends’ eyes were still open. They had been taken so quickly they didn’t have time to blink. Their usually bright eyes were turning a cloudy white, a color so haunting I shut my eyes closed to shake it. I knew this sight would stay with me until the day I died.
“Mommy?” I said, my voice cracking. “Daddy?”
No one responded. I kept walking until I reached the front of the group, where Father and the pastor had had their scuffle. Tears stung as I fell to their sides, knees buckling under my weight.
Mother died with her arm reaching for Father, whose neck was bruised with two small blue circles. His face was puffy, and he looked nothing like the man I’d known all my life. I reached for Mother. Her skin was cold. I nudged her.
“Mommy?”
I nudged her again. Her body was stiff, her eyes closed, her chest unmoving.
“Please wake up,” I whispered. Snot bubbled from my nose, and I wiped it with the back of my hand, hiccupping as I sucked in breath through my mouth.
I heard a noise in the distance. It sounded like a branch snapping. I shot to my feet and squinted, trying to see past the tree line. With the setting sun, I saw nothing. I turned on my heel and ran. I dashed beyond the safety of the brush and ran until the night made running too hard. I walked then, never unmoving. I didn’t know where I was going, but I had to get away.
I shivered under the moon’s glow and pulled my arms to my chest, trying to stay warm. Another snap of a branch had me crying out. I slammed into a tree and then climbed it until I couldn’t get any higher. I sat, straddling the branch and leaning against the thick trunk. I was high up, and I felt safe.
Someone was coming. I jerked my head at every noise, and my heart raced. I didn’t think I’d ever stop crying, but soon, my eyes tired and I drifted to sleep.
I woke and jolted upright while reaching out frantically. I’d shifted in my sleep, but I hadn’t fallen from my makeshift bed. My eyes were tired, my stomach was rumbling from hunger, and my back ached from the long night.
I climbed down, jumping to the ground when I was low enough. I slammed onto my butt and cried out when I fe
ll. My legs hurt so bad I was sure I couldn’t walk another step, but I did. I never looked back but was always watching my surroundings. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t alone, that someone was watching me.
When I reached a stream, I fell to my knees and drank handful after handful of water. I hadn’t realized I was so thirsty, but it felt like I hadn’t drunk water in days. When I’d had my fill and glanced around, my heart nearly fell from my chest when our gazes met.
“Are you okay?” the man asked.
I didn’t know who he was, so I jumped to my feet and ran. I glanced back, watching him as I retreated. I smacked into something and fell to the ground. Dazed, I looked up. The sun was bright above me, and I raised my arm to shield my eyes. Another man towered before me. He leaned in, blocking the sun.
“Hey, it’s okay. We won’t hurt you,” he said. His voice was soft, kind.
I scooted on my butt, trying to escape him, but it was no use. I was trapped between the two.
“Are you alone?” one asked.
I didn’t answer as I stood. I didn’t know what to do. Did I run? Did I hide? Did I fight?
“Are you hungry? We have some food.”
I remembered what Mother told me. I wasn’t to eat anything anyone gave me, but I was so hungry. My stomach hurt so bad I thought I would die. I nodded, ashamed of my weakness.
“Okay, I’m going to reach inside my bag. I have some energy bars. You can have some. Sound good, kid?”
I nodded again, watching as he slowly reached into his bag and tossed me a few small packages of food. They scattered on the ground at my feet. I looked at them, confused. What were these? I picked up one and stared at it. I’d never seen food in a casing like this.
“Just rip it open.”
I tried to tear at its covering, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Would you like me to help you?”
I swallowed and nodded. Slowly, he closed the distance between us. When he reached me, I offered him the food. He ripped it open with ease and handed it back to me. I brought it to my nose, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply. It smelled weird, but I was starving. I devoured it quickly, my stomach turning at its dry taste. The man opened the others for me, and I swallowed them down just as quickly.
“Where are your parents?”
I chewed the final bites of the bar, not answering his question. I didn’t want to think about them. I didn’t want to talk about it.
“I think we should call the cops, man.”
“We don’t get service out here, remember?”
I tossed the wrappers on the ground, and the man leaned over to pick them up. He shoved them into his pockets and smiled at me.
“We don’t want to litter, little man.” His floppy black hair fell into his eyes, and he pushed it to the side with the flick of his head. His eyes were so dark they looked almost black, but when the sun hit them, I could tell they were a really dark brown. It was unnerving. He looked almost demonic. Briefly, I wondered if I should trust him or if he was another test from God.
“Are you alone?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Would you like to stay with us?”
I swallowed and nodded. I didn’t want to be alone. I hadn’t seen the pastor or Abi with my parents in the field, and I was sure they were out here, looking for me. If they found me and I wasn’t alone, maybe they wouldn’t hurt me. My chest ached when I thought about my parents. I felt guilty for leaving them, but I was scared to go back. What if the pastor waited for me there?
“I think we should take him to the police. I saw a sign for a town when we turned down that little side road. I don’t think it was too far. Maybe someone there knows him,” the other man said.
I didn’t look at him. I didn’t know how to tell him that no one knew me. I was alone. Forever.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Now
Abigail took me to a flashy, high-rise apartment building in the middle of one of Manhattan’s most expensive neighborhoods. The gray building was nearly wall-to-wall windows. As we stood in front of the doors, I saw nothing but my own reflection in them. My clothes were still damp, my hair frizzing as it dried. Save for my suit, I looked like a homeless person. Abigail looked well put together, but I wondered if they’d let both of us in the building. I was sure there was a dress code just to stand in the lobby, and I was sure it didn’t include yesterday’s clothes cleaned by today’s rain shower.
“Your father lives here?” I asked, scanning the expanse of the high-rise.
In her window’s reflection, I watched her nod in response.
Anger boiled in the pit of my gut. This apartment would cost him millions of dollars. Could he have afforded this if not for the families he murdered and robbed? Had our land and our possessions afforded him this lavish lifestyle? Had my parents died for this?
“Come on, Jamesy,” Abigail said, pulling me toward the door.
We entered the lobby. Abigail’s shoes smacked against the marble floors until we reached the elevators. Each clunk of her sandal drew more unnecessary attention to us, to me. I shouldn’t be here—not with only my intentions fueling me.
“Ms. Martin.” Abigail was greeted by the attendant, who pressed the button for the penthouse suite.
I suppressed the urge to punch the wall. As the doors closed, I was offered my reflection once again. Everything in this building was shiny, polished, expensive. I gritted my teeth, jaw clenched, as I thought about meeting her father again.
In all the years I’d lived with the memories of my past, I never thought about seeing him again. I was sure he wasn’t even alive. I hadn’t heard anything about him or the community. I’d researched it once. The land had slowly been sold to multiple buyers. Most of the land was left intact. Each sale was done for under-assessed value and in cash, so I couldn’t trace anything without raising suspicion. But that was years ago. How had we been living in the same city all this time? Did he know I was here, too?
The elevators pinged, and we stepped into the foyer of the penthouse apartment.
“Daddy?” Abigail called. Her hand was slick in my own, and I wondered if it was from my sweat or hers. Was she just as nervous as I was?
A muffled greeting came from a distance.
“He’s in the living room,” Abigail said, dragging me through a hallway.
As we walked from room to room, one thing was clear. This man was not struggling. The expensive look of the building didn’t end at the lobby. His floors were of the same marble, with swirling whites and grays. His walls were a ridiculous shade of white that was probably marketed with an equally absurd name, like Angel Kiss. Walls that weren’t lined with floor-to-ceiling breathtaking views of Manhattan were cluttered with paintings. I didn’t know much about art, but I did know it was an expensive hobby for collectors.
We walked into the living room, and I saw him. He stood in the far corner, staring out through his wall of windows. He was a king in his castle as he looked out at his domain. And I was here as the Trojan horse.
He sipped a cocktail. His back was to us, but I still assessed him. He was dressed casually and was thinner than I remembered. Even across the room, I could see he was shorter than me. Had he always looked this weak? Had his power truly been in only his words?
“Daddy, I have a surprise for you,” Abigail said cheerfully.
He turned, and our gazes locked. He had just taken a sip of his drink, and he hacked. I prayed he’d choke on it. I smiled as he fought to catch his breath, his eyes watering as the alcohol burned his lungs. I imagined his pain. Alcohol burning your lungs couldn’t be a pleasant feeling.
“Abigail,” he said. His voice was weak as he tried to catch his breath. I was sure the alcohol still burned, and I took great pleasure in that. I never knew I could be such a sadist.
“Are you okay, Daddy?”
She dropped my hand and rushed to his side. Finally, I was free of her. I rubbed the sweat from my hands onto my pants. My arms were weak. I felt
like I’d been squeezing my hands in fists since I’d arrived at Jezebel’s and my apartment.
She leaned against him, grabbing on to his arm to support him, but he pushed her away.
“You brought him here? Are you fucking stupid?” he screamed.
She gasped, her eyes wide as she stumbled backward. I wondered if that was the first time he’d ever spoken to her in anger. I doubted that. He seemed like a weak man who used his words to belittle her.
“Why would you bring him here?”
“I found him, Daddy. I found him so we could finish God’s work. We have to get married. We wanted you to marry us, Daddy.” She smiled widely, her eyes brightening at the idea of marrying me.
The pastor took a step back, shock plastered on his face. He stared into Abigail’s eyes before his gaze dropped to give her a once-over. In that moment, it was like he was seeing her—really seeing her—for the first time. She was so honest, so completely sure that marrying me was what she wanted. She had no idea the decision to marry me was never truly her own. She was utterly faithful to the dishonest and manipulative man before her, and she had no idea that he never truly cared for her, her future, or to whom he gave her hand in marriage. She’d been a tool for him, and now he could finally see how his past shaped her future.
“Abigail…” His voice was low, soft, nearly inaudible.
She frowned. “Are you unhappy with me, Daddy? I thought this was what you wanted.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want you to marry him. Not anymore. You deserve better. Don’t you see that?”
“But I love him, Daddy. You told me to love him, and I did. I’ve loved him for all these years.”
I swallowed, my heart aching for her. I’d spent my life cursing her name. Knowing she was out there, writing a blog about her father’s role in the massacre of my family and friends, caused me to carry such hate, such uncontrollable anger for her. But she was not what I was expecting.
Truth We Bear Page 11