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“Who raised you?”
“My aunt.”
“Really?” I realize I know nothing about this man or his past. Not really.
“But none of that is the issue.”
My head tilts. “What is the issue?”
“I want to know what they were like. The men in your past…”
“Why?”
“Because I want to be the best lover you’ve ever had. Which requires a little research on my part. Most things can be explained by digging at the past, right?”
I pull at the towel he has around his waist. Suddenly, I’ve got a second wind. “I think I just fell in love with you.”
“Hot and cold? You wanna play?”
I don’t answer. I’m headed south. It’s possible I might puke all over him. But who cares? I’ve just realized I’ve met my match. Someone who gets me. I feel something. And that something is pleasantly surprised. In this moment, this is all that matters.
Tom pulls my hair, forcing me to look at him. “Well—are you going to make me guess what they were into? Or would you just spell it out? Personally, I prefer the latter.”
Little does he know, that’s not nearly as much fun, which is why I roll my eyes. I get back to business, pushing against his grip. Tom seems like the kind of guy who likes a little resistance. “Can’t you see?” I smile up at him ruefully. “I’m working on it.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tom
I can’t begin to tell you the things I discovered while I was looking for something else. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Most of science works this way. The obvious answers usually come indirectly. After Melanie’s confessions last night, I know enough to know I have to delay killing her. At least for a little while.
I realize it’s cliché to insinuate that a man should make a decision with his appendage. But I am, after all, a man and I am finding there is apparently something to that cliché.
If I’d rather not kill Melanie, on account of the sex—and the fact that I’ve pretty much solved the problem of her being expensive to keep around—and I am forced to make a move on one of Mark’s targets, at least there’s a silver lining in the whole thing. My lovely wife gave me another clue last night when she mentioned Josie Dunn.
A clue that deserves an in-person visit.
After three days, we fly home. Being with Melanie no longer grates on my nerves the way it used to. Well, not most of the time. She makes me think things could be different. I’m concerned I might actually be starting to like her.
This is a problem when determining whether or not she lives or dies. It’s akin to naming a puppy you know you can’t keep.
I know I shouldn’t let a prick like Mark determine the course of my life. But he holds all the keys.
Even if he didn’t kill me— say if I left the church and made a run for it—he’d have leverage. I’m not exactly an innocent bystander in the acts the church has committed. I know what goes on. I know how they manipulate and control, the allegations of abuse. I know about the payouts, the bribes, and the hush money. I’m their accountant, after all. Half of my job is seeing that funds are disguised as other things.
Unfortunately, that’s not all he has on me. Mark has hours and hours of video straight from the deepest recesses of my mind. The cover for Mark, his idea, a valid front for New Hope is that it’s in the business of rehabilitation. He started it when he wanted to rehabilitate Michael from his alcoholism. Well, let me assure you, this makes for good business. Everybody has a vice. Everyone. Some are worse than others. But a crutch is a crutch. And most people are running from something. From the get-go, I wasn’t willing to give up much. But I was wise enough to know I had to give something. If Mark’s goal was to rehabilitate me, the best I could offer him was my past.
Back then, New Hope wasn’t that sophisticated. Back then, Mark liked to do his bidding himself. He hadn’t yet learned who he could trust. So, he saw to my ‘healing sessions’ personally.
They always began and ended the same way. First, we would sit in a room adjacent to one another. He would start by asking me a single question. It got worse from there. His goal: to free me from my painful past. I’m an introvert. Up until that point, most of my life had not been that exciting.
Mark thought by talking through painful memories, it would help.
And you know what? To my amazement, it did. For a while.
Those sessions were the only time, except when June was killed, that I’ve ever cried. I cried for Michael and for Aunt Jeanie and for the father I hardly knew. He himself always said it was better not to feel. Logic runs low when emotion runs high. I didn’t see the truth in that. Not then.
At the time, I’d hit a low point. It felt like I had a friend again.
