However, utter shock came when they turned on the bright garage lights. The girl looked remarkably like not only Blackie, but Judd and Rebel, as well.
She stared at them with hauntingly familiar eyes.
Eyes the same color shared by him, both his brothers, and just about everyone they were related to.
McCassey royal blue eyes.
Not sure why he was suddenly angry, Blackie stepped forward, placed a hand on each side of the back of her chair, and leaned in until the two of them were nose to nose. “You'd better start talkin'."
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it and raised her head, looking him dead in the eye.
And that's when he noticed it.
Her pupils were so constricted that they were no bigger than the head of a pin.
She was high as a kite.
Christ, this changes everything.
Blackie backed away and sighed. He then splayed the fingers on his right hand and ran them through his hair. Trying to hide his confusion, he unrolled the pack of Marlboros from his shirtsleeve and placed a cigarette between his lips. He lit up and tossed the pack away, watching it slide halfway across the card table before coming to a stop just inches from the edge. A bit more kind to his lighter, he jammed it into the side pocket of his navy blue mechanics coveralls.
The silence in the room was so deafening that Blackie could almost hear the smoke filling his lungs as he dragged on the cigarette. Glancing at his brothers, he was surprised to notice they were staring at him, almost as if they were waiting to be told what to do. That was odd, since Rebel—even though he was the youngest—was a natural born leader, often reminding Blackie of The Pied Piper. Rebel, with his level head and quick thinking, almost always stepped forward and took command when the situation warranted.
So why was he hanging back this time?
Blackie turned away from them and took another look at the girl. There was no doubt in his mind that she was a McCassey; a blind man could see the resemblance.
But who the hell was she, and where had she come from? Blackie knew every last McCassey cousin from Hagerstown to hell and back, and he'd never laid eyes on this girl. Not even once. If he had, he would've remembered, because the McCassey clan had always been dominated by men; his female cousins were few and far between. One was born not long after Rebel, and the handful born since then were too young to be anywhere near this girl's age; which Blackie guessed to be early to mid twenties.
Taking one last drag and tossing the butt of his cigarette to the floor, Blackie covered the short distance between himself and the card table in two long strides. He grabbed a chair and turned it around backwards, then straddled it and sat down across from the girl. The instant he looked at her, she bowed her head and stared at the floor.
"Why'd you come here?” Blackie waited a few seconds for an answer, but the girl remained quiet.
"I asked you a question,” he said, trying to keep his temper in check; knowing that if he lost control and exploded, he'd never get any information out of her. “I want an answer, girl. Now! What the hell do you want?"
"I don't want anything,” she whispered in a heavy, southern twang, continuing to stare at the floor.
"Bullshit! You must want somethin',” he told her, feeling his control beginning to slip. “You sat out in the empty, freezin’ cold lot across the street all goddamn day watchin’ us. Ain't nobody gonna do that unless they want somethin'!"
She raised her head sharply as he yelled the last half of his sentence.
Suddenly too angry to care whether or not he was scaring her, Blackie grabbed her left wrist and shoved the sleeve of her flannel coat up above her elbow. He'd known what he was going to find even before he saw the needle tracks running along the veins in her arm. But for some reason, having his suspicions proven was like a slap in the face ... and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why.
He released her arm as quickly as if it had scalded him, relinquished the temporary rein he had on his temper, and let it fly. “Didn't want nothin', huh? Liar! You're nothin’ more than a junkie who was here to steal what you could to feed your habit! You probably stole that new coat, too, didn't you?"
"No!” she suddenly yelled, taking Blackie off guard. “This coat was given to me! I've never stolen anything in my life! I'm not a thief and would never take anything from you guys, Blackie, I—"
Blackie stilled when she called him by name. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Judd and Rebel had moved in closer, and were now standing only a foot away.
The girl obviously hadn't planned on letting them know she knew who they were, because her hand had flown to her mouth, covering it the instant his name left her lips.
Judd and Rebel, who each looked more confused than the other, simply shrugged when he glanced at them. Great, he thought, fat lot of help they're going to be. I guess it's up to me to handle this one.
Turning back to the girl, Blackie leaned down and got in her face. “How do you know my name?"
When she didn't respond, he sat down across from her again. “Okay, then, I guess a better question would be, what's your name?"
"Georgia,” she responded, the sound muffled since her hand was still covering her mouth.
Blackie reached out and gently took hold of her right hand, removing it from the front of her mouth. Surprised she allowed him to guide her arm down, he carefully rested it on her thigh before leaning in closer. “Georgia, what?"
"Georgia Virginia."
A game-player Blackie wasn't. If he didn't get a straight answer to his next question, she was going to have a hell of a lot more to worry about than just his anger. “Georgia Virginia, what?"
She took a deep breath, then raised her head and looked him in the eye. “McCassey."
He'd known that was coming, and knew his next question would provide all the answers they needed. “What's your father's name?"
Still looking him dead in the eye, the girl never hesitated before answering. “Dolan."
Blackie jumped out of his chair and leaned down, pointing a finger in Georgia's face. “Bullshit!” he yelled. “You're lyin'!"
This time, Georgia jumped up as well. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared up at him. “Would you lie and pretend he was your father if he really wasn't?"
As much as he hated to admit it, Georgia did have a point. Blackie had spent everyday of the last forty years trying to forget who'd sired him. If Dolan McCassey weren't his biological father, nothing on earth would make Blackie say that he was.
Still, there was a small chance she wasn't telling the truth. And that was a chance he wasn't willing to take.
Without taking his eyes off Georgia, Blackie shouted instructions to his brothers. “Judd, go call your new wife and tell her you're gonna be late.” Almost immediately, he added, “And call our wives, too, while you're at it. Rebel, search through that duffel bag. See if you can find some kind of identification card, a license or somethin'. Be careful, though, there're probably dirty needles in there."
Rebel shot Blackie a curious look, but Blackie ignored it, continuing to stare at Georgia. “Do it, Reb."
"No!” Georgia yelled as Rebel reached into her bag. She lunged forward, trying to stop him, but Blackie caught her around the waist, holding her tight against his body as she struggled weakly to free herself, preventing her from going anywhere. “That's my stuff!” she shouted. “You have no right to touch it!"
"Well, this is our garage,” Blackie reminded her, unsure of why he was holding her so tight. She was obviously so relaxed from being high that he wasn't sure she even wanted to get away. “And you had no right snoopin’ around here. So what Rebel's doin’ makes us even."
Calling a cease-fire to her half-hearted struggle, Georgia stilled.
As Rebel was gingerly picking through Georgia's duffle bag, Judd hung up the phone in the office and rejoined his brothers. “What's up?” he asked Blackie.
"I'll let you know in a minute; Rebel ain
't found nothin’ yet."
"Yeah I have,” he told his brothers as he pulled a small pink and black wallet from the bag. Blackie felt Georgia stiffen as Rebel opened and began rifling through the billfold.
No more than a few seconds passed before he pulled out a small, laminated, rectangle card. After taking a moment to scan it, Rebel looked at Georgia. “She is who she says she is,” Rebel said, waiving the card in the air. “Georgia Virginia McCassey. But this is an old high school ID card from four years ago. That's all I could find."
She is who she says she is, a stunned Blackie repeated in his mind. She's a McCassey. A McCassey with the same father as Judd, Rebel, and me. She's our half-sister.
"That's because there's nothing else in there.” Georgia's angry voice broke into Blackie's thoughts. “I don't have a license. I never had one. I—"
"Shut up!” Blackie instructed, leading her back to her chair.
Shrugging away from him, Georgia sat down on her own, but didn't keep quiet. “First you want me to talk and now you want me to shut up. Make up your damn mind."
Judd's chuckle didn't go unnoticed by any of them. Neither did the dirty look Blackie flashed him.
Blackie followed her lead and sat down, too. From across the table, Georgia looked at him warily, fear and distrust written all over her face. Damn.
It was suddenly clear to Blackie that if he wanted to get a straight answer from her, he was going to have to be nice. So, in the calmest, most easy-going voice he could come up with, he finally spoke. “Is Dolan McCassey really your father?"
She stared at him warily for just a moment, her guarded expression making him feel like a tyrannical son of a bitch. “Yes."
"You know he's our father, too, don't you?"
Georgia nodded, her fear seeming to vanish. “That's how I found out about the three of you. He used to complain about you all the time."
It was no surprise to Blackie that their father had badmouthed him and his brothers. What did surprise him was that Georgia had referred to the man as ‘He'. Not Dolan, not Dad or Daddy, just He. His gut told him that her experience had been just as bad—if not worse—than the one he, Judd, and Rebel had growing up in Dolan's house.
While he tried hard to let the fact that they had a younger sister sink in, Blackie remained silent, trying to organize the hundreds of questions that had flooded his mind.
"I can only imagine what that bastard had to say about us."
"It was all bad. He cursed you boys, your families, and this town every chance he got. That's how I knew you guys had to be really cool. I knew he was a liar. I never believed any of the stuff he said."
Blackie had started to run a frustrated hand through his hair again when he noticed that at some point, Judd and Rebel had joined him and Georgia at the table.
"Somethin’ tells me you got quite a story to tell, ain't you?"
Georgia blinked and nodded, and for the first time, Blackie realized that she probably wasn't anywhere near as old as he'd first thought. A closer look at the smooth, freckle-dotted skin on her face, even though it was pale and gaunt, revealed a hidden innocence. Blackie then found himself wondering exactly what she'd been through, and why, at the tender age of maybe nineteen or twenty, she was a full-fledged junkie.
"Well then, I guess you'd better start at the beginnin'."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 3
Georgia used her right hand to tuck a stray strand of limp, lifeless hair behind her ear as she stared at all three of her brothers.
They're here. They're all here. Sitting across from me just like I always dreamed they would be.
Wishing her mind wasn't so clouded, Georgia concentrated, trying to organize her thoughts. The boys wanted answers, just like she'd known they would. And, she realized, she wanted to give them those answers, tell them everything they wanted to know.
They weren't going to like anything they were about to hear ... anymore than she was going to like saying it. But Georgia hated the life she'd been living, and was ready to begin a new one. Maybe, just maybe, telling Blackie, Judd, and Rebel the whole story would somehow cleanse her, give her the fresh start she was looking for, and help her find just a little bit of the person she used to be.
Scanning their faces, she could tell it was taking all the patience they possessed to wait as quietly as they were. Georgia took a deep breath, sat back in her chair, and focused on her oldest brother, Blackie, as she tried to remember everything from the very beginning...
"The reason Rebel didn't find a driver's license is because I never had the chance to get one. Dolan took me from my mother just after I turned fifteen."
"Took you?” Blackie asked, his voice laced with confusion.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
Why? She wished she knew why. Actually ... that wasn't true. She did know why, she just didn't understand how a man could do what he did to his own daughter.
"He and my mom weren't married,” she started to explain, avoiding Blackie's question. “They met at a party about a week after she graduated from high school. She drank too much of the moonshine he gave her, and the next thing she knew—"
"He raped her,” Blackie interrupted matter-of-factly.
Georgia gave him a half-nod. “That's what I think, too, but my mom would never admit it."
"We're pretty sure he raped our mom,” Rebel explained, drawing an angry look from Blackie. “She was only fifteen when she had Blackie. He was seventeen. Her father forced them to get married."
Georgia knew that because her father had told her. He also mentioned, several times, that his wife, Mary, had died when she was thirty-two. He'd never said how, though, and Georgia had never wanted to know, fearing the worst.
"So what happened?” Judd asked. “Why'd he take you from your mom?"
"My mom was good to me,” she told them, “she really was. I always had food, clothes, and a roof over my head. Her one downfall was that she didn't always make the best decisions. Up until the last day I saw her, she swore she loved Dolan McCassey, swore he was going to marry her someday. I don't understand how a woman could even like such a sleaze, but she must've. Otherwise, she never would've given me his last name."
"Did he live with you and your mom?” Rebel wanted to know.
"No. My mom and I lived in an apartment in a small town in southwestern Virginia. He lived a little farther east, I think. At least that's what he told my mom. But he did come around every few months or so.
"Each time he showed up, she was like a kid on Christmas. She was always happiest when he was around, no matter how bad he was treating her."
"Bad?” Blackie repeated.
Georgia nodded. “He yelled and screamed at her all the time. He never touched her in front of me, but I know he hit her because the only time I ever saw bruises on her body was when he was around."
"How—” Blackie started, looking as if he was almost afraid to finish his question. “How did he treat you?"
"When I was little, I was so afraid of him that I hid and stayed out of his way whenever I could. When I couldn't, I stayed quiet, never speaking unless I was spoken to. That worked for a long time, because he never bothered me.
"In fact, I was thirteen before he even acknowledged that I existed. Then, during an unusually long visit, he suddenly started paying a lot of attention to me. Sometimes, I'd catch him staring at me when he thought I wasn't looking. And he was always making weird comments about my body and my looks.
"A year later, he and my mom had some kind of falling out over money. My mom must've borrowed some from him at one point. I don't know where he got it, though, because he was always screaming poverty."
"What'd she borrow it for?” Blackie asked.
Georgia yawned and shrugged. “I don't know. I don't even know how much it was. But I do know that she couldn't pay any of it back. Dolan gave her a deadline and threatened to find another way to make her pay if she couldn't get his cash."
"She
didn't pay him,” Judd said somberly, “did she?"
Georgia shook her head. “Not long after I turned fifteen, I came home from school one day and there he was, sitting at the kitchen table across from my mom with a .22 lying in his lap. She'd been crying, so he didn't need to pick up the gun and wave it in her face for me to know he'd use it on her. That's why when he announced that I had two minutes to pack a bag and kiss my mom goodbye, I listened. He said I was never going to see her again."
It had been years since Georgia had thought about the last time she saw her mom, about the mixture of fear and regret she'd seen written on the woman's face as Georgia walked past her and into her bedroom.
With all three men glaring as if she was under a microscope, she sniffed and blinked, allowing the hot tears that had welled in her eyes to spill over and run down her cheeks. Georgia tried not to remember any more of what she'd been through in the past four years, but it was impossible. Her high was gone, and she could feel it now; all the pain, anger, and humiliation she'd suffered. Had she known that ‘feeling’ was going to be like this, she would've kept the story to herself. It was so much easier, and a lot less painful, to be numb.
She wiped hurriedly at her tears, wondering briefly how long it'd been since she'd cried; how long ago it was that she actually let herself feel some type of emotion. The heroin was going to kill her someday, she knew that, sometimes even wished for it. But until then, it was the only thing keeping her sane.
Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, Georgia continued. “I never even turned around as he led me out the door. My mom was crying, calling for me, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't look at her because I felt like she didn't fight for me; it was like I'd been abandoned."
"Weren't you scared?” Rebel asked.
Was he kidding? “You grew up living in his house, Rebel. You know what the man was like. Of course I was scared! But no matter what my mom had done, I loved her, and was more scared about what he'd do to her if I didn't cooperate. I thought that if I went willingly, he'd leave her alone, she'd go to the police, and they'd rescue me."
The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book] Page 2