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“Daddy?” Mia mumbles a thousand questions in one word. We don’t have time.
“Not now, honeybee. Later.”
I don’t know what the fuck later even looks like. Because by the time I’m backing the truck onto the icy street, roaring out of her parents’ neighborhood faster than I should, I see the end of everything in the rear view mirror.
I see Red on her knees, hot tears streaming through her hands, covering her eyes. Then her sadistic bastard of a brother stepping forward, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, watching us peel into the distance. He tells her it’ll be okay, and I’m such a horrid, slick evil bastard anyone could’ve made her mistake. Won’t she come inside? He has the proof to set her heart on fire.
He’s poisoned her. Planted lies, terrible doubts and half-truths. That’s hardly the worst part, though.
All he has to do is nurse this, water his black seeds, and make my girl see the reckless killer she’s fallen in love with all along.
11
Gaps (Sadie)
It’s been a whole week.
The slight bruises on my shoulder are better, barely visible since Jackson knocked me into the snow. If only my heart weren’t still on the icy pavement, butchered by the truth that took the world out from under me.
I’m sitting upstairs in my old room, staring at the lonely painting propped against the wall. Dad moved mom’s excess stuff in here, the landscape projects she attacked so vigorously they wouldn’t even fit in their bedroom anymore.
The birch trees in front of the Alaskan wilderness have never looked sadder. It’s another grim reminder the world isn’t even close to what I thought, and her talk about how much Marshal helped her was just more madness speaking. Not reality.
I never asked for proof after I hobbled inside, helped along by Ginger and my brother. Amazing, really, since he’s the one who needed a visit to Urgent Care to rule out a concussion.
But he was hellbent on making me see the light. He took my phone. Said he’d keep it safe, and having it would help him turn over any incriminating threats that Castoff Freak left on my voice mail immediately.
We need to act fast, sis. Before he slithers home and takes off with his daughter. We can’t let him leave town.
My brother’s words echo like a bad movie. The whole night still feels like a dream.
Worse because I didn’t just lose the love of my life, didn’t just have the little girl I was ready to adopt ripped away from me.
Somewhere in the middle of his interrogation, mom stopped crying, and dad stepped into the room. He told us he was taking her to the mental health place in Davenport, now that she’s done putting up a fight.
I lost my mother. Her eyes never looked so dead, so vacant, as he led her to the car, whispering encouragement.
There, there, Steph. Everything’ll be okay. Just a few weeks. That’s all we’re asking.
Everything? No, nothing ever will be again.
I’ve been too upset to make the hour long trip to see her, but I keep telling myself it’ll happen soon. I just need to get this sickness under control.
I just need to let the wound close, slow the steady bleed oozing from my heart.
Only, Jackson hasn’t let that happen. He stayed overnight with Ginger. They were there at the breakfast table, waiting for me, asking if I was well enough to sit down, and listen.
He showed me the papers. The Jenna Flynn case, a troubled young woman with a newborn who ran her car off the road half a decade ago. It was only a couple weeks after she had Mia, and told Marshal she wanted nothing to do with her.
Only, that isn’t what she said. What Marshal told me isn’t the story listed in the police file Jackson tracked down. She said she was leaving town to clear her head, and she’d be back to deal with the little girl, probably after a few months.
Sure, there were drugs in her system, but it doesn’t change the truth.
Marshal lied to me. He lied about her intentions, about my brother’s brakes, and apparently, about what really happened to Mia’s mom.
I knew the town had a problem before he slugged my brother. I’d heard the whispers and seen the disapproving looks, but what did it matter when I was seventeen, focused on college, no thoughts of falling in love with a troubled, manipulative older man whatsoever?
What a fool.
God, what a stupid, blind, gullible, heart broken fool.
I peel myself off my bed long enough to pad downstairs for a bite. Dad is in his easy chair, Earl Grey in his hands, which he sets down the second we make eye contact.
“How is she today?” I ask, wondering if he’s heard from mom.
“Better. They’re saying the new drugs are really helping, but we’ll have to see how the behavioral sessions go. How are you?” Concern shines behind my father’s glasses.
