I tense beside her, barely managing to hold back my snarl.
“He didn’t, though. Now I can think about it without freaking out, he looked wrecked. He picked me up and carried me to his truck after calling you,” she says to Wade. I don’t miss the sound of gratitude in her voice. Something tells me Wade is the only reason she let Stephenson anywhere near her.
“And, well, you know the rest.”
“What I don’t fucking get is why Denny did this?” Kellen states. “Yeah, he fucked up. But he was following orders, which was the reason he got to keep his job when Stephenson lost his, albeit with a lot of conditions attached.”
Yeah, getting made to do anger management classes and spend a year being mentored was not my idea of punishment. I thought he should have been fired, but the higher-ups decided he needed more training. Man, how I hate that I was right. If I get my hand on this son of a bitch, training will be the last fucking thing he needs to worry about.
“I think I can shine some light on that,” Wade says with a sigh.
His eyes move to mine and I brace myself. Whatever he says is gonna piss me off.
“The mausoleum Sorrow was locked inside of was the Peterson mausoleum. That name ring a bell for any of you?”
I shake my head and look at Sorrow, who shrugs.
Kellen sighs. “Can’t say I’m familiar with it either.”
We all look at Blake, who taps his chin in thought. “They were one of the founding families, right? Only if I remember correctly, a scandal kind of had the town rewriting history a little.”
“They didn’t rewrite it so much as edit it until people mostly forgot about them,” Wade continues, taking a seat in one of the empty chairs. “There were a few generations of Peterson that left their mark for all the right reasons, and then Mark Peterson was born. According to rumors, there was something amiss about that boy. Back then though, there wasn’t enough known about mental health, so a lot of shit was pushed under the rug. When Mark was six, his sister was born. Greta Peterson. Not much was known about her until she started high school. She was a studious girl, quiet, kept to herself. Imagine everyone’s surprise when the then high school science teacher, Doherty, was arrested for having sex with a minor. That minor being Greta.”
“Fuck. How old was she?” Kellen spits out.
“Fourteen.”
I shake my head, feeling sick. People in a position of power who abuse it like that are the scum of the earth.
“It gets worse. Greta ended up pregnant. Her father wanted Doherty’s head, and the whole town was in uproar.”
“Can’t say I blame him.”
“Yeah, well, here’s the kicker. Doherty wasn’t the baby daddy. He never touched Greta.”
“What the hell?” Sorrow gasps.
“And before any of you jump to conclusions, Greta tried to tell people it wasn’t true, that Doherty never touched her. But nobody would listen because a year earlier, someone else had made a false allegation against him because he failed her. And people started thinking there was no smoke without fire. It didn’t matter that it was a lie. The damage was done. Doherty hung himself from his kids’ treehouse after his wife took the kids and left him.”
Blake runs his hands through his hair. “I swear to fuck, as much as I love living in a small town, there are times when I just want to scream at people to stop being fucking sheep.”
“Tell me about it.” Sorrow sighs.
“Shit, sorry, Sorrow. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You didn’t say anything that isn’t true.”
“Still. I don’t like dredging up shit that might upset you,” he grunts, making my lips twitch.
“So who said it was the teacher in the first place?” Kellen steers the conversation back on track.
“Mark, the brother. Said he caught them together.”
“What the fuck could he possibly gain from doing that? Did he have something against Doherty? Or did he just want to drag his sister through the mud? Because we both know, even when people thought she was the victim, there would have been those who blamed her for it.”
“She shouldn’t have stayed after class, shouldn’t have worn a skirt or smiled at him…” Sorrow whispers, trailing off when she sees us watching her.
“It’s not a unique story. Ask a crowd of women how old they were when they were first sexualized, and it will blow your mind. Better yet, find a rape survivor and ask her how often she was made to feel like she was the guilty party.”
