by E. C. Diskin
She put on the speaker function and ran back down the stairs with the phone in her hand. Finally, Ginny’s voice mail picked up. Brooklyn disconnected and threw the phone to the floor. She looked at her father, lifeless. It wasn’t Darius’s fault. He had a right to be angry. Her dad had pulled a gun on him. Her dad had said vile things. If Darius hit him, she understood why. John Anderson was an old man, but he was not harmless.
Her mind raced through the questions the sheriff would ask. What she heard, what she saw. What if the sheriff didn’t believe her? What if someone decided that in that moment Darius had wanted to kill him? That he and his father came over here to hurt her dad? She looked at Martin’s bat.
She could imagine the assumptions of those white officers, framing the scene as an elderly, sick white man trying to defend himself against the young, strong black man who struck a fatal blow. They might not care why it happened. They might not listen. She was biased, they’d think, as a girl who’d want to protect her idol, a man she’d just learned was her birth father.
She couldn’t tell anyone.
Darius and Martin were never here, she suddenly decided. Her dad simply collapsed again. She grabbed the bat and ran to the kitchen, quickly rubbing it down with paper towels. She dropped it, running back to the study. The gun. Darius’s prints might be on it. She felt the tingling of an impending panic attack, walls closing in. Fuzzy edges and black spots clouded her vision as she held the gun, using her shirt to clean the handle.
Suddenly the screen door slammed closed. She jumped and turned toward the doorway. Sheriff Wilson was standing there, his eyes moving from her father, dead on the floor, to her, standing there with a gun.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
DAY SEVEN
10:45 p.m.
BOLINE COUNTY JAIL
EDDIE WAS SNORING LOUDLY. IT had to be after ten, Brooklyn thought. She didn’t understand how Ginny could have come to the station and not asked to see her. Would they have refused to let them talk? Was that even legal? Maybe she’d come to the station earlier in the day, she thought, before Brooklyn’s arrest. It’s not like there hadn’t been time. She’d left to tell Darius the truth. That couldn’t have gone well. She wondered if Ginny was off somewhere drinking, maybe drowning out the pain of that conversation.
The door hinges at the end of the hall squeaked. And then the familiar lock, the footfalls on concrete. Only two feet this time, she realized. It was probably just the guard.
He stopped before reaching her. “Hey, Eddie,” a man said. “Eddie, wake up!” Eddie grumbled. “Eddie,” the man shouted. “Sheriff Goodwin wanted me to let you know that you’re free to go. Lab came back on that gun you were carrying. We know it wasn’t used in the shooting.”
She could have told them that.
“Where’s my dad?” Eddie asked, still groggy.
“Can’t get ahold of him.”
Eddie mumbled something she didn’t hear, and then, “You gonna drive me home?”
“I can’t leave right now. I’m the only one on duty. Sheriff Goodwin just took off for an emergency at the Garden of the Gods. But listen, you’re free to leave. Okay? You’re not being held any longer.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I’m not gonna sue.” The bedsprings squeaked under his weight. She imagined him rolling over. “Bed’s no worse than the twin at home. Just have my dad here in the morning.”
Brooklyn quickly went to the bars, looking down the dimly lit hall as the guard walked away. “Hey, what happened at the Garden?” Darius had written about going there with Ginny, about how she often went there when stressed. There was no reason to think this emergency had anything to do with Ginny—it could have just been Brooklyn’s imagination running wild again—but she had tried to call Ginny after what happened at the house. Ginny never answered.
The guard stopped and walked back to her cell.
“I couldn’t help but overhear,” she continued. “You said there was an emergency.”
“Someone died,” the guard answered. “Can’t imagine there will be any real answers before morning.”
CHAPTER FORTY
WILSON’S BEST FRIEND WAS DEAD. He would have thought nothing could be darker than the moment he saw John lying there, but watching Brooklyn get put in that squad car was worse. He had sat with her on the front steps of John’s house, his arm around her, comforting her until Donny and the others arrived. She’d refused to speak, saying only that it was an accident. She was in shock, but it was clear she was holding back. The room indicated a struggle. She was wiping down a gun. His blood was on her hands. But there was zero chance that girl was glad for what had happened. He’d known her for twenty years. She loved John.
“I’m so sorry,” Wilson had said. “I loved your dad. And I know he loved you.”
“Did you know?” she asked, her focus remaining on the dusty gravel driveway.
She’d obviously learned the truth about her parents and all the secrets and lies. “No,” he answered, squeezing her closer.
“He lied and he—”
“Shhh.” He stopped her. He didn’t want her saying anything to incriminate herself. He didn’t want to see another child of his dear friend in trouble. This was all a terrible accident.
“He tried to kill Darius last week. Ginny told me today.”
Wilson nodded silently, his worst fear confirmed. It made sense, though sense was probably the wrong word. “Was Ginny here?”
“Earlier. Before I picked up Dad at the hospital. She left to see Darius. She was finally coming clean with everyone.”
Wilson couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be for Ginny to tell Woods the truth, how difficult it would be for him to hear it. In all his years on the force, the worst pain, sometimes the worst violence, came after the secrets spilled. Today had been no different.
“I still loved him,” she’d cried. “He was my dad.” She could barely get the words out.
When Donny and the other officers arrived, Brooklyn said no one else had been there. She told Donny that John must have collapsed, but his body wasn’t even close to the broken lamp. She had no explanation for the gun or the bullet hole in the ceiling or the bat they found in the kitchen.
Wilson pulled Donny aside and said he didn’t believe that Brooklyn did anything, but Donny just smiled and raised one brow. He said he’d just gotten a lot of information from Ginny at the station. “That girl,” he said, nodding in Brooklyn’s direction, “had plenty of reason to be angry. And she’s obviously hiding something.” He was too hung up on the marks on John’s face. “There was clearly a struggle,” Donny said, “and she’s not talking. Swears she was the only one here.”
Donny didn’t get it. He didn’t know Brooklyn. Wilson had looked up at the sugar maple then, all those crows still squawking in its limbs, oblivious to trouble on the ground. “He was my closest friend, Donny. If there was someone to blame for his death, I’d be first in line. I promise. But Brooklyn’s his baby. She didn’t do this. Look at her.”
Both men turned their attention to Brooklyn, sitting on those porch steps, staring vacantly at the gravel on the driveway.
“Hard to say,” Donny said. “But you told me she’s an amazing actress. Takin’ New York by storm. Isn’t that what you said?”
Wilson wanted to scream. Donny didn’t know these people. “He coulda just fallen,” Wilson said. “Heck, he fell a week ago and knocked himself a concussion. He would not want her to go down for this, no matter what happened.”
“And maybe she won’t. But you and I know the law, and there were marks on his face. If you strike someone and he dies, well, that’s at least involuntary manslaughter. I mean, it could even be murder. We got a gun and a bat. That looks like intent to harm. I can’t just let this go without an investigation.”
“She didn’t take a swing at her dad. Look at her! She’d just brought him home from the hospital. She’s here because she cares, because despite everything, she loved him.”
“Let�
��s just let the evidence shake out. If the coroner backs up the accident theory, great. But she’s not a resident, and there’s too much incentive to run. And I’m sorry that these are your friends, but I’m not gonna be influenced by personal connections. That may be how you liked to run things, but those days are over. No offense.”
Wilson had to step away before he took a swing of his own. Donny was too determined to follow the letter of the law. That wasn’t justice. He thought about sharing what Brooklyn had said—that John shot Darius—but it might just bolster a case against her, and he didn’t even know if it was true.
Wilson watched as the team processed the scene, powerless to stop them. The only thing he could do was find Ginny.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
GINNY WAS STARING AT HER house, her spine rod straight, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. When she finally released her fingers, her hands shook. She couldn’t make them stop. She might lose everything after all.
Gary had finally released her from his hold at the ledge, and she’d stumbled back on the rocks. She was no match for him. He’d proven that he could do anything. He could try to rape her as a girl, he could shoot Darius, he could toss her over the edge of a cliff like a rag doll. He could probably set her up for attempted murder, and he would get away with all of it. “Why did you even tell me that you did it?” she had shouted.
He stood before her, arms down, suddenly calm, and said, “Because, Ginny, the truth sets us free.” He took a step back. And then another. He was staggering, but he wasn’t off balance. He knew what he was doing. She screamed as he disappeared into the darkness while branches cracked against his falling body. She heard a faint thud as he hit the ground.
It felt like everything had stopped. She heard nothing. She could barely even see past the ledge anymore. The world had turned to darkness. But then a swell of crickets resumed singing. The wilderness below had swallowed him. He was gone.
Her whole body convulsed. First shock, then fear engulfed her. There was nothing to do. Nothing to see. Would she be believed? Would Sheriff Goodwin hear of this and assume something even worse? Would he think she pushed him?
When she got back to the parking lot, Gary’s car was parked next to hers. The rest of the lot was empty. No one had seen what happened. She could drive away and hope that by the time anyone reported him missing, by the time his car was found and his body discovered, the assumption would simply be that he’d killed himself or fallen accidentally. She drove slowly through those woods, her high beams lighting the way, wondering if Gary had planned to die after confessing the truth, if he’d hoped to convince her to keep their secrets, or if he’d planned to kill her and suddenly changed course.
Now, she stared at her hands, willing them to stop trembling. She looked up at her children’s darkened bedroom windows. She couldn’t live with another secret for the rest of her life, and she needed to tell everyone what Gary had said. Her father had not shot Darius.
She pulled out her phone. The signal was back. The forest was considered part of the neighboring county, but Sheriff Goodwin would know what to do and whom to call. There was probably very little that could be done before sunrise, anyway. It was too treacherous.
After she calmly shared the sequence of events, Sheriff Goodwin asked her where she was now, and she told him. She couldn’t run anymore.
When she walked in the front door, Simon was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call.” He stood, ready for battle.
“Sorry. No signal. I was in the forest. I haven’t been drinking. I promise. You better sit.” He did as she asked, and she sat in the chair across from him, exhausted. “The kids asleep?” she asked.
“Of course.”
She squeezed her hands together, willing herself to blurt it out before she lost her nerve. “Pastor Gary killed himself tonight. Right in front of me.”
“What?”
She had no response.
“Why?” Anger seeped from the question, his tone a silent accusation. She knew what he was thinking. No one would do something like that in front of someone else . . . not unless they had some sort of intimate connection.
She propped her elbows on the table, resting her head in her hands, and closed her eyes. Tears began streaming down her cheeks. “There’s a lot you don’t know,” she said without looking up.
“So tell me,” he said gruffly. “And look at me.”
She sat back and met his eyes. “We were both called into the Boline County Sheriff’s station today about Darius Woods’s shooting. I’m sure you heard about that. He’s a famous actor now and wrote a movie about his life in Eden.”
“I heard. But what does that have to do with you?”
“He was shot last Sunday in Eden, the same night I took my dad to the hospital.”
Simon opened his mouth but said nothing. He probably had no idea what to say.
“Darius knew things about Pastor Gary. And me, back in high school. He wrote a screenplay. Gary and I knew it would expose some secrets that we’ve both tried hard to keep. Pastor Gary was a terrible person, Simon. And he shot Darius.”
“That’s insane.” He crossed his arms. “What are you not telling me? That man has been a friend to you since you were a girl. You’ve sought his counsel for more than a decade.”
“It wasn’t like that,” she said, still choosing her words carefully. “Darius and I were . . . we were close in high school. He knew about what Pastor Gary did to me back then. Darius helped get me away from him.”
“What are you saying? Wait. I don’t think I want to hear this. I . . .” He pushed back in his chair, got up from the table, and paced the room.
“The sheriff told me that I wasn’t the only one. There were probably dozens of girls over the years. He asked if I’d testify.”
“But if all that is true—”
“Don’t,” she pleaded. She knew what was coming next—the same disbelief she’d seen at the sheriff’s station on that young officer’s face. It was the same judgment she’d feel from everyone: If he was such a predator, why turn to him years later? No one would understand or believe her, or care.
Simon stopped pacing and leaned against the counter, his arms crossed, waiting.
“After I left the station today, I went to the Garden. I needed to think about everything that’s happened—to my family, to us.” She stopped for a moment to gauge his reaction. “Gary followed me. When he got there, he was drunk and upset.”
“Why?” He spit the word out, like he already had the answer in his mind.
“He wanted me to keep my mouth shut about what happened back in high school.” And then she finally said the hardest part. “And what happened between us since he joined our church thirteen years ago. He knew that if I finally told you the truth, if I told the sheriff, he could lose everything.”
Simon’s arms fell open, as if she’d just taken all his strength. He closed his eyes and tilted his head toward the ceiling, taking deep breaths—seeking strength from God, she guessed.
“But I wouldn’t agree to keep quiet. And suddenly, he admitted shooting Darius last Sunday. Then he stepped off the cliff.”
Finally, his focus returned to her face, and he stepped forward. “What did you do?”
The tears fell faster than she could get the words out. “I’ll never be able to make you understand what’s happened. I know that. It’s hard for me to understand. But please don’t ever think that what I did was based on desire or love or anything more than it was. It was desperation.”
Nothing changed on his face. He didn’t understand.
“I was desperate to give you children,” she whispered.
Shock and confusion passed through his eyes. He moved to the table quickly, like he needed to sit before he fell. “My kids. They’re his?” he whispered, his eyes filling with tears.
She shook her head quickly. “They’re still yours, Simon. You’ve been their dad from the momen
t they entered this world. Please don’t stop loving them. Divorce me, start a new life with someone else, but don’t stop being their father. Don’t punish them for things they had nothing to do with.”
He didn’t speak, so she didn’t either. The silence was deafening.
Finally, he got up from the table and walked away. He stopped in the doorway, though he didn’t turn around. “Go kiss them good night. I promised you would.”
When Ginny came back downstairs, Simon was in the living room without the lights on, staring vacantly at the empty fireplace. She prayed she’d finally done the right thing. It was too soon to tell.
A car’s headlights suddenly flashed through the window. Ginny stepped to the glass, assuming it was Sheriff Goodwin, coming to bring her in and question her more about Gary.
But Sheriff Wilson got out of his car.
“What are you doing here?” Ginny said, standing at the open door as he walked up the path. Simon was at her side.
“I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I was at the sheriff’s office. Then I went to the forest.”
“So you know?” he asked.
“About Pastor Gary?”
“What? No. I’m sorry, Ginny. John is dead. And Brooklyn’s in custody.”
“What?”
Sheriff Wilson explained what he’d seen when he got to the house. He shared his belief that Brooklyn would be cleared, his feeling that she couldn’t have hurt John.
Ginny wasn’t as sure. Not after everything Brooklyn had learned today. But it didn’t matter. No one could convince Ginny that Brooklyn belonged in a jail. Ginny didn’t care what happened. She’d told Brooklyn that John shot Darius, that he’d forbidden Ginny from telling Brooklyn the truth for years. Even if Brooklyn had struck him with a frickin’ bat, Ginny didn’t care.