Truth We Bear Page 10

  “Do you know where this pastor is now?” Montemurro asked.

  I shook my head. “For all I know, he’s dead.” I offered a silent prayer to God that that was the truth. It seemed God might be watching my back after all, so I hoped he heard this final prayer. After everything the pastor had done, he deserved to be rotting six feet under.

  I spent the next several hours in that interrogation room, answering question after question, intentionally giving only enough information to satisfy their hunger without actually telling them the whole story. With each question asked, a small piece of my soul died. I was reliving the hell I’d been running from for so many years. I was one more question away from confessing just to make it end.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Then

  Mother told me this would be our last sermon. I’d cried myself to sleep the night before, praying to God this wasn’t the truth. I didn’t want to leave, and when I told Mother that, she simply smiled.

  “I’m glad you loved living here, James.”

  She looked to my father, and something passed between them. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it was a look I’d seen many times lately.

  “I’m glad we made the right choice all those years ago. You were able to grow up happy, healthy.”

  “Why can’t we stay?” I asked. If they loved it here so much, why were we leaving?

  “It’s not safe here anymore, James.”

  I groaned. I didn’t understand this. For weeks, they’d whispered to each other about the safety of the community, but I hadn’t noticed that anything had changed. Living Light was still the same happy place it had always been. Save for the pastor leading sermons, nothing had changed. I wasn’t even marrying Abi anymore.

  “Is this because I’m not doing God’s work?” I asked. “I can marry Abi, Mother. I know I can do it.”

  She smiled softly, reached her hand out to me, and caressed my cheek. Her eyes were bright with her tears. They pooled there, slowly streaking down her cheeks. I reached for one, stopping its escape with the tip of my finger.

  “Why are you so sad, Mommy?” I asked.

  She shook her head, quickly wiping away her tears. “I just love you so much, baby,” she said.

  “Do you know how proud we are of you, James?” Father asked.

  I shook my head. “I thought you were upset with me.” I swallowed hard. “I have a confession.” I glanced away, unable to look them in their eyes. “I’ve broken a rule. I’ve disobeyed you.”

  “How so?” Father asked.

  “When you tell me to go to my room at night, I only pretend to go. I sit at the top of the stairs and listen to you talk about Abi and me.” I spoke so softly I could barely hear myself. I stared at the ground, ashamed of my sin. No wonder my parents didn’t trust me to carry out God’s plan; I couldn’t even follow a simple rule to obey my elders.

  “It’s okay, James,” Mother said.

  I glanced up, feeling courageous. “Do you not trust me to marry Abi?”

  She exhaled slowly. “James, God doesn’t want you to marry Abi.”

  I gasped. “But he does!” The pastor said so. I knew this to be true.

  Father walked over to me and rested a hand atop my shoulder. “One day, son, you’ll understand what happened here. You’ll see your mother and I only wanted the best for you. That’s why we’re leaving.”

  “It’s my fault…” I whispered.

  “It’s not your fault, James. You did nothing wrong. Do you understand me?” Mother asked. She sounded angry, but I knew she wasn’t.

  I nodded, but it was a lie. I’d sinned again. Could I not stop? No wonder God didn’t want me to marry Abi anymore. I wasn’t worthy.

  “Come. We’ll be late for sermon,” Mother said.

  The door to our house slammed shut behind me. I’d slammed that door shut almost every time I left the house, but this time, it sounded louder. The crash echoed in my mind, making my head ache. We’d already packed what few belongings we had in sacks for our trip early in the morning. My sack was full of toys Bobby’s mom had made for all the kids at Living Light. She loved to sew. She could make dolls and balls, and she made cars from wood. I didn’t want to leave any behind, so I’d filled my sack with them, leaving my clothes in my drawers for Bobby to keep.

  Slowly, I trudged toward the field where we held sermons when the weather was nice. Everyone was required to attend today. The pastor said he had a special ceremony to honor and say goodbye to those who were leaving with us. I thought it was nice, but I was really sad to leave Abi behind. I knew I’d never see her again. I wondered if she’d miss me, too.

  When we arrived, we sat on the ground at the back of the group. Normally, we sat in the front row, but I didn’t complain. From back here, I could watch others without anyone noticing.

  “Welcome, and thank you for joining me today. It is my greatest privilege to honor the Blakely family, as well as those who’ve helped to bring together this community of truly remarkable individuals and families.”

  The pastor smiled brightly. I watched as he moved. He seemed…different. He was oddly happy, but Abi, beside him, cowered in her seat. She didn’t meet my eyes—or anyone else’s for that matter. I waved at her, trying to get her attention, but she never looked my way.

  “We are an eclectic group, our love of God bringing us together. I know not all Christian traditions practice the ceremony of communion, but I thought this would be a wonderful way to honor those we’re losing tomorrow morning.”

  Mother glanced at Father, who kept his eyes on the pastor. I wasn’t sure what “communion” was, but if it was a way to honor God and the people at Living Light, I would do it. I would do anything to prove to God that He could trust me again and use me as his tool. I knew He didn’t want me to marry Abi anymore, because Mother said so, but it saddened me that He’d lost faith in me. I would prove I was devoted to anything He wanted me to do.

  “Please, stand and join me.”

  One by one, members of the community stood in line, taking a small piece of bread from the pastor and drinking a small sip of wine from a chalice Abi held. When done, each returned to their seat on the grass.

  The sun was hot on my skin, and I shielded it from my eyes when I looked out at the open field in the distance. I was sad to leave here but excited to start somewhere anew. My parents had built a beautiful community here, so I was sure they could do it again. I tried to stay positive, hoping that would make me miss those who stayed behind less.

  When it was our turn, the pastor handed me a small piece of bread. I glanced at Mother and smiled, but she was too busy looking at the others to notice me.

  In a moment too quick for my young eyes, Mother smacked the piece of bread from my hands as I brought it to my lips. I noticed it smelled funny just before it flew through the air and fell to the ground several feet away from me. My skin stung where her hand had struck mine.

  I looked up in time to see the pastor strike Mother. She cried out, falling to the ground. I screamed, dropping to my knees beside her. I wanted to pull her close to me, shield her from this demon and beg it to hurt me instead. I crouched in front of her, covering her with my arms. Her eyes watered where the pastor’s fist had landed. Her skin turned red as she covered it with her hand.

  “Run, James. Hide. And do not eat or drink anything from anyone!” Mother said, her breath hot on my skin.

  She tried to yell, but her voice shook. I couldn’t understand her words. Why did she want me to run and hide? I would protect her.

  I scanned the area for Father, finding him several feet away, rolling around on the ground with the pastor. They fought, each slamming their fists against the other.

  “Stop!” I yelled. “Don’t hurt him!”

  I ran to him, trying to pull the pastor away. He’d had Father pinned to the ground, his hands smacking Father’s face over and over again. I dug my nails into the flesh of his cheeks, yanking my hands back until I reached his hair. I pulled it as hard
as I could, and he cried out.

  “No!” Mother yelled when the pastor’s elbow struck me.

  I fell backward, my chest heaving at the contact. In a quick, sharp jab, the pastor sent all the air from my lungs. I gasped for breath and dug my fingers into my skin as if I could rip open my chest for the air to reach my lungs more easily.

  “Run, James!” Mother yelled as she stood.

  I climbed to my feet, running until I tripped. I rose again, dusting the dirt from my hands. All around me, people were slumped over. No one spoke. No one moved. No one looked at me. I didn’t understand what had happened. Why was no one helping us?

  I ran to Bobby, grabbing on to his arm and telling him to run with me. I yanked on him, and he fell forward. He slouched against his mom’s lap. His eyes were open but lifeless. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move.

  “Bobby!” I screamed, trying to wake him.

  I knew he was dead. I knew they were all dead, but a small, hopeful part of me prayed they were just playing a cruel game.

  Scared, I dropped his arm and ran for the woods. I heard Mother call for me in the distance, but I didn’t turn back. I ran until my legs ached and my chest heaved. I ran until I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t hear the screams of my parents any longer.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Now

  The sunshine on my face was a lie. It was telling me to be happy, to enjoy my time on earth while I still had a life to live. It didn’t know the demons within me were awakening, ready to play. Or maybe it did, but it didn’t care. This was my penance—to be forever at the mercy of my sins.

  My feet slammed against the pavement as I left the police station. They let me go but made it clear I wasn’t to leave town. I wasn’t under arrest, but I was a suspect. Maybe if I’d told them everything, instead of bits of pieces of the truth, they wouldn’t think that. Or maybe they’d look at me the way I feared Jezebel would look at me when she learned the truth, when she learned I’d been lying about so much for so long. Like with the police, I’d only shared bits and pieces of my past with her. Even so, it was more than I’d ever told anyone before.

  I found my way into a corner dive bar and took a seat on an open stool.

  “Whiskey. Straight,” I said to the bartender who was drying a glass he’d just washed. He placed it in front of me and poured a splash of amber liquor into it.

  “Double,” I added, and he poured more.

  I drank it quickly, slamming the glass onto the counter when I was finished.

  “Another,” I said, my voice cracking as the smooth liquid coated my throat. It burned in all the right ways. He poured me another double, and I downed it. Starting to feel at ease, I simply nodded at the man. He poured a final glass before returning the whiskey to the glass shelf behind him.

  “Long day?” he asked before returning to cleaning glasses.

  “I don’t wanna talk about it,” I slurred. I wasn’t drunk—yet—but I was feeling the effects of top-shelf alcohol. Slowly, it was warming my insides, washing away the shitty coffee and morning accusations. The last thing I wanted to do was spill my secrets to a fucking bartender. I sipped my drink, exhaling sharply as it hit the spot. “Good whiskey.”

  The bartender nodded. I threw down a couple fifties to ease his nerves. I grabbed my cup and turned toward the room. There was never an empty bar in Manhattan. It didn’t matter if it was two in the morning, noon, or five at night, someone always needed a pick-me-up at the bar. As I watched a few men play a game of pool, generously swigging beer from their bottles, I thought about what might have brought them here. Surely they hadn’t been taken in by the police and forced to relive their worst memories. Or hell, maybe they had been. After all, Price was a dick.

  I scanned the room. The walls of the bar were littered with neon signs and old album covers. There were a few corner tables, but other than that, the only seating was at the bar; the floor space was filled with rows of pool tables. Apparently, this was a bar for pool leagues.

  A woman’s laugh caught my attention. It was deep and throaty, and it unnerved me. She was at a corner table, sitting on a man’s lap. She looked at least a decade younger than him, but that was likely a bad judgment call. Women seemed to age better than men, so maybe he was the younger of the two.

  She swiveled her hips, rubbing her ass against his crotch. I felt my own cock stir in response. I took another drink, unable to look away. He reached forward and caressed her breast with one hand. The other still rested at her waist, but I was sure it would soon move, only this time, lower.

  Like clockwork, he reached down, cupping her pussy under her skirt. Maybe it was all the time I’d spent at the police station today that was making me such a damn good detective. She gasped as his arm flexed, and I imagined him sliding his finger deep inside her. She bit her lower lip. Her teeth dragged against the skin there. I inhaled sharply, my breath slamming into me like a taxi cab during rush hour. It was brief, painful, and left me feeling like a fucked-up pervert.

  I spun in my chair, setting my empty glass on the countertop.

  “Another?” the bartender asked.

  I didn’t answer. Instead, I thought about Jezebel. I desperately wanted to be near her. I needed to hear her voice, feel her touch. I wanted to kiss her, touch her, be with her.

  But she didn’t deserve this, or me, or my fucked-up past. She was finally getting her life together after her attack, with her writing, film deals, and high-class parties. She was too good for me. Eventually, she’d see that too.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. Jezebel’s name lit up my screen, and in a moment so brief I had to question if it really happened, I thought about ignoring her call, leaving, and never returning. She’d be better off without me. But I was a coward. I’d always been a weak man—strong physically but weak in all that truly mattered.

  “Jez?” I said softly.

  “Hello, Jamesy,” a voice said. It was soft yet powerful, and it shook me to my core. A name I hadn’t heard in years had come back to poison me with the sins of my past.

  “Abigail?” I whispered. I spoke so softly I wasn’t sure I actually said anything at all.

  “I’m glad we could finally get back in touch. I heard you’ve been looking for me.”

  “Where’s Jezebel?” I asked with newfound confidence.

  She laughed, a slow, deep, malevolent sound that surely matched the smile she’d offered me days ago. “She’s with me, of course.”

  I swallowed hard and chose my next words carefully. “Have you hurt her?”

  She breathed sharply into the phone. “Not yet, but I will. Oh, you know I will. Don’t you, Jamesy?”

  “Yes,” I said carefully, because she was right. I knew she would. With her father’s blood coursing through her veins, I knew she was capable of the most heinous acts.

  “We’re going to play a game, Jamesy. I remember how much you used to love games.” I could hear her smile through the phone. It coated her words in wicked cheerfulness. It was a sobering slap in the face.

  “Don’t hurt her,” I said slowly.

  “Then I guess you’d better hurry over. You have ten minutes, Jamesy.”

  “And if I can’t make it in ten minutes?”

  “I think you know what will happen if you’re late.”

  My phone went silent, the screen dark after the call ended. I shoved it into my pocket and ran as though my life depended on it. Because it did. Jezebel was my life, and I would do whatever needed to be done to keep her safe.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Now

  I’d rarely experienced true panic. Even in one of the most dangerous careers, I seldom let my emotions overcome my thinking. But now, as the rain began to fall, I couldn’t deny I was scared shitless. The rain quickened, splattering against my hot skin. My clothes were sopping, my hair clinging to my forehead. Streams of salty sweat stung my eyes as I tried to blink away the rain pouring down. My body ached. I was exhausted, starving, dehydrated, a
little buzzed, and a lot annoyed. Abigail couldn’t have chosen a more perfect time to make her move.

  I was off my game, and a simple mistake could cost Jezebel her life. I hadn’t forgiven myself for the torture she endured at Miller’s hands. I’d lowered my guard, and she’d been taken. I wouldn’t let that happen again. I wasn’t sure what Abigail had planned, but I wasn’t naïve to her malevolent nature.

  I needed to quicken my pace. I put everything I had into running. My legs felt like they would give way to fatigue at any moment, but I prayed they wouldn’t.

  I pushed through a crowd of people. A woman spun on her heels, grabbing on to me and bringing us both to the ground in a thump. She cried out, pushing me off her and smacking me with the handle of her umbrella as if I were attacking her. I breathed an apology before taking off again, leaving her on the ground. I couldn’t worry about her. I had to get to Jezebel.

  When I reached our building, I knew it had to have been more than ten minutes. Two at a time, I took the stairs up the three flights. I crashed through the unlocked door. My chest was heaving. Sweat and rainwater dripped steadily down my skin. My clothes were heavy. Too heavy. I needed to be light, limber, ready to pounce, not weighed down by a soaked suit. My legs ached, and my heart dropped at the sight of our living room.

  The furniture had been tossed around. Jezebel’s artwork was on the floor, large slashes in each frame. Glassware from the kitchen lay in smashed piles around the room, shards of glass stuck in the fabric of the couch. The vases of flowers I’d given Jezebel seemed to have been thrown across the room and into the wall. Thick lines of dripping water streaked the paint. Jezebel’s laptop sat atop a corner table. It was open, the screen shattered.