The Red Roots

by Andrea Johnson Beck

  “I do, and I will destroy those who threaten family.”

  “What family?”

  “My family. It isn’t always about blood, it’s about loyalty and trust. It’s about sacrifice.”

  “What would you sacrifice in return for family?”

  “Myself.”

  “Enough, Father,” Reed said glaring down the table.

  Tears flooded her eyes as she looked to her husband. “It’s not. I’ve hurt you for far too long. I’m not who you think I am. You don’t know me. You love a lie.”

  Ellis reached for Isla’s arm and pulled it toward him. His fingers traced Isla’s veins, he stopped midway, right at a pale scar. Two freckles positioned above the contour mark. Ellis pointed to the scar and first looked to Reed, then to her. Isla was consumed with her torture.

  Disgrace. Distrust. Repulsion.

  “Tell him the story, Isla. Tell your husband what happened.”

  Ellis’ touch and fatherly tone entranced her. The memory slipped from her lips.

  “It was raining. Ronan was told by a chaperone that I had sex with a boy at our school’s winter social in the girl’s locker room. I didn’t. He was enraged and demanded I prove my virginity.” Isla’s voice quivered. She squeezed her eyes shut reliving the violation, his callous palms scraping along her skin. “I begged him to stop.”

  “Did he?”

  “No. I was punished.”

  “With what?”

  “He removed his belt and ripped my dress off, told me to grab the end of the bed.” Isla paused and took a breath. She couldn’t look at Reed, frightened to see his grotesque expression. Isla continued to stare at the scar on her arm. “I screamed at him but that made him angrier. He hoisted his arm back, whipped it forward. The leather snapped in the air. He did it again. I turned, and the belt hit my arm. It was the perfect angle to break the skin.”

  “What did you do?” Ellis said.

  “I cried.”

  “Did he continue?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many times?”

  “Ten.”

  Isla trembled. Murderous thoughts mixed with great strain inside of her. She waited to hear Reed’s chair push away from the table, his footsteps fading. Instead, Isla felt Reed’s hand slip into hers under the table. With small strokes, he soothed her humiliation. She didn’t turn to him as she released a stuttered breath. His touch was what she wanted. It was what she needed.

  Ellis continued. “Why did he do this to you?”

  “He wanted to break me.”

  “For who?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did he apologize?”

  “No.”

  “Did he do it again?”

  “Yes.”

  Ellis released her arm, disconnecting the pull he had on Isla. He rose, smoothed out his jacket, and moved behind Isla’s chair. Reed squeezed her hand.

  “Who saved Isla?” Ellis said.

  “Carys and—”

  “No.” He leaned down. “You saved you. You, no one else. Remember that, my dear. To survive is to sacrifice. We all sacrifice. We all give a piece of flesh to the devil.”

  Ellis walked to the back of his chair, fingers wrapped around the impressed wood. He ticked his head to Erik who waved to two men at the top of the stairs. A minute later, being dragged down the stairs by his arms, was Ronan. Isla fixed her gaze on him unable to breathe.

  Static. Cold. Stiff.

  Her life prior to Walker Plantation was decimated by a hit and run. The driver never slowed. Her mom and dad were run down outside the movie theater. Both struck. Both died at the scene. Isla had hacked the police department’s database and clicked through their evidence photos—her parents, mangled, bloody, and left to die in the street.

  She was placed in the care of her maternal grandmother and her second husband. Isla relocated near Hillsborough Bay in Tampa, Ronan’s family home since the mid-1800s. Demons came alive at night and stalked Isla while she slept, and eventually while she was wide awake.

  Bruised and bloodied, a gaunt Ronan was shoved down in the chair across from her. Isla hadn’t seen him since her escape. With jagged features and coarse white hair, people spoke of him like he was a fictitious villain, but he was real. No heart. No soul. Ronan’s evil was laced with scripture and false shame preaching of a dominant bloodline. Isla’s pulse quickened the longer she stared at him. Under the influence of her rage, she wanted to launch across the table and rip his throat out.

  “Ronan, you’re late. Dinner has ended but I have had the pleasure of talking to your granddaughter.”

  He flinched his head. “My—my granddaughter?” Ronan fumbled over his reply. His head wavered. Red saliva fell from the corner of his mouth. He leaned to the side but caught himself. His glassy gaze landed on Isla.

  “Isla is lovely, do you not believe so?” Ellis asked. Ronan didn’t respond. “I have tolerated much over the years. I’ve allowed Isla to carry on with her plan but no more. What you did to my daughter-in-law is disgusting, and I’ve moved along her plan. Ask your wife.” Ellis moved closer to Ronan. “Oh, you cannot. She’s dead.”

  “I did nothing,” his speech woozy. “I did nothing wrong.”

  Ellis ignored him. “You sicken me. The mighty Ronan Walker is nothing but a child-molesting bastard. You have nothing. Brain tumor is it? If you believe God will save you, guide you back into power, and cure you of your disease. Trust me, God wants nothing to do with you.”

  Ronan looked up. Dread sobering his mind. Ronan was on trial, and Ellis was judge, jury, and executioner.

  “You killed Martha?”

  Ellis sneered. “She sold you out, Ronan. Hiding out in Atlanta, admitting she was privy to your abuse. Isla is a Pierce, not a Walker. She’s my strongest associate. I’m proud to call her family, as is my son. Are you regretting what you’ve done yet?”

  Reed demanded answers from Ellis but Isla couldn’t focus on their discussion. She couldn’t take her eyes off of Ronan. Years had passed since she’d seen him. Her plan was to destroy him last so she could savor his demise but there he sat, still with a hint of smugness.

  Isla stood. “You tried to kill my soul but you didn’t. I didn’t let you. The crimes you committed will be answered for, but not in this world. My daughter will never know the immoral acts she was conceived from.” Tears covered her eyes. “I’ve tried for years to understand your hatred, what made you believe what you did to me was okay.” Ronan’s focus was distracted, he squinted and scowled but she continued. “I wanted answers. I wanted to know why but, you know, it doesn’t matter. It takes a weak man to do what he did to a child because he knew she was stronger than him. You stole my innocence, but a beautiful little girl restored it—a girl you’ll never destroy with your sickness or abuse. I refuse to waste another breath on you.” Her voice was raw, and she shivered from her words.

  Erik pulled a gun out from inside his jacket and laid it in the center of the table, within Isla’s grasp.

  “Ronan, you don’t deserve to live.” Ellis said. “You deserve to rot in hell with your wife.”

  “God will forgive me.”

  Ellis pounded his fist on the table. Silverware clanked, glasses shook. “The devil will claim you.”

  “My soul is clean.”

  “Your soul is far from clean.”

  “Isla,” Ronan said, “you are damned, just as your mother and father were. All your children will be the devil’s servants. Abigail knew of her sins, and she knew of the consequences.”

  “Don’t ever speak my mother’s name. You know nothing about them.”

  “I know she and your father were an embarrassment to Martha and to the entire family. We did what was called upon us to do.”

  Truth struck her chest, cutting into the core of Isla. “You killed them. That’s why the driver was never found. You hired someone to kill my parents.” Isla slammed her palms down onto the table. “Who? Tell me who fucking killed them.”

  “But if th
e wicked turn away from all the sins that they have committed, keep all my regulations, and act justly and responsibly, they will surely live and not die,” Ronan quoted from scripture.

  Isla was fed up with his biblical recitals. It was sick how he hid behind religion.

  The blurred rims of her vision moved and darkened, she reached for the gun, holding her stare on Ronan. The space where the gun had laid was empty. A bullet exploded next to her and tore through Ronan’s forehead. Isla jerked back and covered her ears but she didn’t look away. His head whiplashed, blood spurted out the back. The sky drained of light, and her depravities washed away in the gore of the scene.

  Reed lowered the gun.

  Ellis motioned to Erik.

  Ronan slanted.

  Isla grinned.

  RONAN WAS DEAD.

  68% of sexual assaults are not reported to the police.

  98% of rapists will never spend a day in jail or prison.

  *statistics from RAINN Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network*

  SHE COULDN’T TAKE her eyes off of Ronan. Conversation between Erik and Ellis faded into the background. A flick and flutter stirred beneath Isla’s skin.

  Happiness. Satisfaction.

  Reed grazed her cheek with his lips and moved close to her ear. “Are you with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For what happened to you.”

  “You didn’t violate me over and over again. You didn’t beat me with a belt. You didn’t force me to go into hiding, live in a shelter, or give birth to his child.”

  Her response was cold but at the moment she didn’t have a better one.

  “Tell me about this child.”

  Isla wiped under her eyes. “She’s my everything, and I kept her from the world—from you. I had to.”

  Reed’s response was interrupted by Ellis’s gesture to Isla. “Come, take a walk with me. The men can clean up the mess. Reed will see to it.”

  Wet touched her toes. She stepped back.

  Blood.

  She dragged the tip of her big toe along the ground, leaving behind a streak of red. As Isla walked around Reed and through the quiet chaos, she glanced over her shoulder at Ronan again.

  Still dead.

  Good.

  Give my regards to grandmother.

  ISLA’S ARM WAS looped through Ellis’. She ignored the twinges shooting from her shoulder. A pattern of stone and grass guided them to a large deck looking over the water. Violets and blues dimmed the sky as the moon glowed with a hazed aura.

  “Are you happy?”

  “I’m happy Ronan’s dead. Even though I wanted to pull the trigger, I’m grateful for Reed.”

  “My noble son.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I want your daughter to be safe.”

  “Why are you really doing this?”

  They reached the balcony. “I was not a good father. All my children are grown. Reed and Carys are the only ones who stomach me. I have no relationship with my grandchildren.” He paused. “When I took my father’s place, it was to please him. Everything I have done on this earth was for him, but I fear my time is running short so I want to meet your daughter. I want to meet my granddaughter.”

  “What is going on?”

  “I sacrificed for my family. I don’t regret that decision. And when I’m gone, Reed will take over my affairs. You two will do great things with Amaranthine.”

  “Jesus, Ellis. What did you do?”

  “Ronan was an ally for Detroit, cancer or no cancer, Zargotta looked up to the old man.”

  “What about my parents? Why were they cast out?”

  Ellis took a deep inhale. “Your mother became pregnant with you before she was married. In 1981 it was still forbidden, especially amongst families of class and wealth. I don’t know anything beyond that. Secrets keep a family together and they tear them apart. That is why I sent for your daughter. She will be a Pierce and will be under our protection. No more running. No more hiding.”

  “She’s coming here?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Martin, Zargotta or whoever hired Kata?”

  “We’ll finish them and anyone else before my last breath.”

  Pain burned through her shoulder blades stalling her thoughts.

  “You need something.”

  “No, I’m good.” Isla said through gritted teeth.

  “Come back to the house.”

  “I’m not taking any drugs.”

  Ellis laughed. “Rosa prepares homeopathic remedies. She gave you her special recipe while bandaging your injuries.”

  “That explains a lot.”

  He phoned Rosa instructing her to fix something up for Isla’s pain. It was a short walk back to the secluded palace. Erik met them near a lit fountain; Ellis had an important phone call. With a quick squeeze of the arm, he instructed Erik to escort Isla back to the guesthouse. He disappeared through a tower of manicured shrubs and armed guards. Erik and Isla strolled the grounds. It was easy to get lost in false nirvana.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “You can but I may not answer.” Erik said.

  “Did you dump Ronan’s body?”

  “He will not be found.”

  “Martha?”

  He didn’t speak further. Through the corridor Rosa stood outside of Isla’s bedroom door holding a glass bottle filled with weeds and sticks.

  “Are you giving her your witch brew?”

  “It works. You hush your mouth, Erik.”

  Isla swallowed hard. “What is it?”

  “It will heal you quicker.”

  “Or you’ll wake up with a horn in the middle of your forehead.”

  Rosa swatted at him. “Go, you are needed elsewhere.”

  Erik bid farewell still laughing, leaving Isla alone with Rosa and her strange bottled brew. She gave instructions to drink it while she dug out pajamas from the dresser. Isla breathed in the stench and gagged. What was mixed in, gasoline? Formaldehyde? Isla plugged her nose and gulped the liquid down. Her guts grumbled. She coughed and looked at Rosa.

  “Whose clothes are these?

  “Fresh garments are always kept in the guesthouses.”

  “Do you know where my bag ended up?”

  “No.”

  Isla held up the floral chemise. “Is there more?”

  “More?”

  “Like bottoms.”

  Rosa handed her panties. Not what she meant. She shimmied from the dress and undergarments and slipped into the nightgown, she used the word loosely. Tight in the bust, Isla searched for a robe in the bathroom. No luck. Rosa came from the closet and handed her a long pink robe reading her mind. More silk. Great. She wanted flannel pants and tank tops that didn’t suffocate the girls.

  Rosa turned down the bed. “You will be sleepy soon.”

  Power of suggestion, Isla wrapped her fingers around the engraved ribbons of the bedpost. A wave of drowsiness slammed into her. Rosa guided Isla down into the cool linen sheets. Her vision muddled.

  “You will feel better soon. You had a long day.”

  As the euphoric concoction played Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 across her nerve endings, Isla giggled. Her eyes rolled and she could no longer keep them focused, nor did she want to. The night pulled her in as Rosa sang her a lullaby.

  Sweet girl, play with the starlight

  Dance on the moonbeams

  Give your soul to the heavens

  Let your heart take flight

  Isla never sang to Jules. Hummed while she was in her belly but never crooned lullabies. Holding Jules in her arms couldn’t come soon enough. The aroma that her long blonde strands emitted reminded Isla of sunflowers in spring, and her skin was still as soft as a newborn. Though elated, a confessional was to happen between her and Reed. A war raged inside of Isla. She had battled her feelings for far too long.

  He killed Ronan. He did it for her—
for Jules . . .

  About 30% of perpetrators of child sexual abuse are family members.

  *The U.S. Department of Justice NSOPW*

  SHE DRIFTED THROUGH the hours until whispers pulled her back.

  ISLA PEEKED THROUGH matted lashes. Lit pillar candles lined the dresser and fireplace mantle. Slits of moonlight shone through the blinds. Isla rubbed her eyes and noticed smeared makeup on the pillow. Dark tangled strands fell over her shoulders.

  “What happened?” She said and moaned.

  “You were healing.” Rosa chimed.

  “How long?”

  “You miss one day.”

  Isla twisted around in the bed, the comforter slid onto the floor. Rosa approached her and checked Isla’s bandage.

  “Are you the only one in here?”

  “Reed left. He will be back later. You go shower. I will bring you ginger tea.”

  Isla padded into the bathroom and flipped on the light. She cringed at her reflection. You look like a deranged clown. She turned the faucet on until steam billowed around her. Isla hoped Rosa would bring more than tea, maybe a burger with Parmesan fries. She’d love a shot of Kentucky bourbon, too.

  Isla noticed most of her aches were gone. Whatever voodoo elixir Rosa gave her, it worked. Isla felt great. She hummed a ditty, her hips swayed under the water while she lathered up her hair.

  In the middle of her dance party, reality dripped soap in her eyes and the events played out in her mind.

  Reed.

  Ronan dead.

  Ellis.

  Jules arriving to the safe house with Henry.

  Ronan dead.

  Reed.

  Can’t forget about Kata or Crosby’s father. I have to call Carys. She had to tell her what she’d heard and seen. She was confident Ronan’s disappearance would stir up suspicions, but knowing Ellis he’d planned it all out and pinned it on someone. Protecting Jules is what mattered. Martin was volatile and had aligned with God only knows who.

  I’m going to beat the hell out of Joe. Snake. Maybe he was the one after her. Made sense. He was the perfect blend of Zargotta thug and Sutton savvy. She hated that she didn’t get to speak with Jules or Henry before their departure. Ellis’s death omen didn’t ease Isla’s worries. Too much was out of her control.