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He exhaled harshly. “Fuck. Well, that’s a bust, then. Did he tell you anything at all about himself that might help us track him down? Did he mention the name of a hostel or where he was going next? Where he was coming from? Anything?”
“No. All I really know is that he’s been to more places than I have and has done some really crazy shit. Oh, and he’s from Ohio. I don’t know if that helps, but—”
“Ohio?” Camille says, her voice as tight as I’ve ever heard it as she glances at Jonathan and Dad. “Isn’t that…?”
“Yeah, it is,” Dad answers without her even having to voice the question.
Jonathan curses, and Mom chokes back a sob.
“What the hell is going on now?” Vincent asks sharply. “Mom? Dad? Anyone?”
They’ve all started speaking over each other as they argue, everyone trying to make their points at the same time.
“How is this happening again?”
“It’s not. It’s not him. It can’t be him.”
“It feels a hell of a lot like him.”
“Well, it’s not. It’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
“We thought it was impossible once before, and it wasn’t. He’d gotten out without our knowledge.”
“This isn’t that.” Dad suddenly looks at Vincent again. “You said his name was Justin?”
“Yeah?”
“Oh my God.” Dad glances at Jonathan, his features fixed in a grave mask. “The boy… He was around the same age as Vincent, wasn’t he?”
Jonathan suddenly seems… hollow. Like there’s just nothing but terror left inside him. “Yes, he was. Three months older, if memory serves. Justinian.”
“Justinian, as in the ancient Latin jurist?” Emma asks, and I’m glad someone’s making heads or tails of all this because, to me, it’s all gibberish.
The onlyheI can think of that they could be referring to is Joe, but it can’t be him. Unless…The boy. Justinian.
My jaw drops as the pieces of the puzzle snap into place. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Joe had a son, didn’t he? A son who’s three months older than Vincent.”
They all stop talking to look at us, and one by one, they nod.
It’s my mother who drops the next bombshell, though. When she gasps, her eyes going all glassy, I already know it’s going to be bad. “Justinian will get justice for my family,” she whispers.
Dad frowns, and no one else seems to know what she’s talking about either. “What did you just say?”
“When you were in the hospital after Joe shot you…” She breathes, her gaze glued to his. “I had… I had your phone. You got a text with those exact words on it. I thought… I thought it was a mistake or something. We didn’t find out he had a child until so much later, and even then, I didn’t know his name until just now, but… It wasn’t a mistake, was it?”
“Well, at least this means he isn’t threatening our children from beyond the grave,” Jonathan mutters, pacing up and down like he’s patrolling the conference room to keep us all safe from harm. “Someone sent that message, though. If Karen got the text on your phone after you got shot, that means Joe was already dead, and the kid couldn’t have sent it, so who did? What do we know about the mother?”
My dad purses his lips. “If memory serves, not much. Some washout. Junkie, I think. Prisoner groupie type. I’ll have someone bring in everything we’ve got on her and get them to dig into the son, but at this point, I think it’s safe to assume it’s him.”
“Dear Lord,” Camille murmurs. “I thought we’d put all of this behind us.”
Maxim gets up and goes to sit next to his mother. A beat later, Vincent does the same. I can see his mouth moving as he whispers to her while holding her, but all I can make out is, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
As scared as I am right now, my heart breaks for him. None of us had any way of knowing that Joe had a son. They never told us, but they also didn’t have any reason to believe that it was relevant at all. A quick mental calculation tells me I wasn’t even born yet, and this Justinian—Justin—would’ve been just a baby. No one could have known that he’d take up his late father’s vendetta, especially when there’s no possible way he even remembers the man.
Vincent should know all this, but I doubt he’s thinking straight right now, and I don’t blame him.I’ll talk to him about it later, I promise myself. Otherwise, the guilt is going to eat him up inside when all he did was strike up a conversation with a stranger. He hasn’t done anything wrong other than going out, but now that I know why he did, I can’t hold it against him that he broke the rules just that once.
