I don’t know if I want the answer. It’s not like someone in the Van Doren family can’t track that answer down if I really want to know. Like so many questions regarding my childhood, this is right up there with ones I’m not sure I want the answer to.
“Do I know you?” Jonathan asks. Perhaps he’s tired of the silence.
“He’s a good man. One of my most loyal followers,”Ryan’s voice says in my head. I’ve heard that response many times. That’s why I stopped complaining about him.
“Yes,” I answer. “I’m not one of your victims, though I think that’s not for your lack of trying.”
The one time he got into an altercation with Ryan was because he put his hand on my shoulder. Ryan was furious. I belonged to him, andno onecould touch me but him. Not even his most loyal cronies.
Jonathan frowns. He’s thinking now, which is why there’s a beat before he answers, “I’ve never hurt anyone, so I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you’re not that delusional. None of the disciples is. You took joy in hurting your victims, simply because you were allowed to rape people and call it doing God’s work.”
His eyes flash. He looks around. Does he hear Ryan, too? No, that’s not it. He’s looking to see if someone else is overhearing this.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hisses.
“Yes, you do. That’s why you’re squirming. Honestly, I think you should be raped. An eye for an eye. Over and over and over again. How many times would it take to punish you like for like, though? Years, probably. A decade?”
Anger flashes in his eyes. He presses his lips together and doesn’t answer. Maybe he thinks keeping silent is going to keep him off the hook.
“In this room, your Fifth Amendment isn’t going to help you. You’re going to die whether you talk to me or not.”
He scoffs. “You think you can kill me?”
I hold up the knife in my hand, and his eyes are trained on it. “You’re tied up and I have a knife,” I point out. “Doyou thinkyou’re going to live?”
His chest heaves now. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple. “You’ll have to live the rest of your life knowing you killed an innocent man,” he warns.
“You’re right. Killing an innocent person would bother me. Interestingly, killing bad men hasn’t bothered me yet. We both know you’re not innocent. Killing you assures that you can’t hurt anyone else again, and that does feel good. But trust me when I tell you that the things that haunt me aren’t because I’ve killed a person. It’s because I’m a victim just like all the kids you hurt. Emily specifically.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Is it fear? Understanding? Resigning to his fate?
“Who are you?” he asks.
“The one you were never allowed to touch, and it really pissed you off.”
There it is. I see comprehension.
“William?”
“You were there when Ryan acquired me. Weren’t you?”
“You’re mine! You were always mine.”
Jonathan frowns. “He’s dead. That’s what all the reports say. Is he here? Is he mad at me? Is that what this is about? I didn’t know what I was supposed to do when he died!”
He’s a little frantic now. Fighting his restraints, though I don’t think that’s conscious. More like reflex. He’s nervous.
Something I’ve never considered is how Ryan kept his disciples under his thumb. There’s obvious fear in Jonathan’s expression now.
“He’s dead. He died right in front of me. Several bullets to the chest and head,” I say, shivering at the memory. “He took his last breath with my hands on him and my tears mixing with his blood as I screamed.”
Jonathan’s lips press together, and I think I see sympathy. Is a man like Jonathan even capable of sympathy?
“Now tell me—who am I?”
“William,” he answers.
