“He didn’t.” My heart is full of horror. How could my father have stood there and watched a boy be beaten? How could any of them? If they were the same men who used to come pouring into my house, they were church elders, Godly men.
“No one saved me. Not that night or any of the others.” Ever touches his chest. “One of the worst nights, Augustus held me down in the middle of the circle and burned his cigar into my chest. He said he was casting out devils. The scar was a lesson about what awaited me if I remained unsaved. That’s how it always was with them—a mix of elements I recognized from my mom’s notebook and other ramblings I didn’t understand.”
“Your scar,” I whisper. The perfectly round burn I saw at the inlet when I’d pressured him into taking off his shirt. That’s why he never undressed. He was ashamed of it.
“It went on for years. I didn’t have anyone to tell, because everyone important was in that room. It only stopped when I got too big to go down easy. When I learned how to make them sorry to touch me.” He takes a deep breath, looks at the carpet. “I was afraid to tell you.”
I press a hand to his cheek, hot and flushed under his stubble. “Your father was a monster for letting it happen. They all were.”
“You don’t understand.” Thunder rattles the house. Ever raises his eyes, and a chill goes down my spine. “I knew if I told you, you’d see they were right. It’s inside me.”
“What is?”
“Darkness. Whatever makes people a monster, whatever disease my father had. There were times growing up I thought I’d go crazy trying to keep it inside.”
“Ever, you’re starting to scare me. Keepwhatin?”
“The need to hurt people,” he says quietly, his eyes fixed on me. “The urge to see them suffer.”
I try to step back but he catches my hand, places it over his heart. “Listen to me. When we killed Renard, it unleashed something inside me. I liked killing him so much. I thought about it for weeks after, wishing I could do it again. I couldn’t stop picturing the look on his face when he realized he wasn’t going to win. Isavoredthe blood.”
I can barely breathe. The wind slams the door shut, locking us in.
His dark eyes trail over my face. “Growing up, I thought it was just me those men hurt, that I deserved it because I had these compulsions. It was enough to keep me in control. But when I saw Renard hurting you—you, of all people—and later, when you told me what Fred did to his wife and Beth, how afraid they were, when your dad didn’t want you around Herman, but he let Lila go, it made me realize it wasn’t just me. If I was sick, they were too.”
“Ever, this sickness you’re talking about—these violent urges. It’s only natural to want to defend yourself.”
He shakes his head. “You’re notlistening, Ruth.”
The regret in his voice… “What did you do?” I whisper.
Our hands are still twined together on his chest. He squeezes mine tighter. “When I realized you killed my dad, and why, it was like some higher power showing me the answer. I thought:Here’s my solution. I could feed the voice in my head, release the pressure valve, and at the same time punish people who deserved it, who’d never be stopped otherwise. So I gave myself permission. I went a little mad, Ruth.”
“You killed them.” I pull my hand from his chest, my words lancing the air. “Fred and Herman.”
He doesn’t need to answer. The look in his eyes is enough.
We stand there staring at each other. He and I have always beenmirrors, reflecting our best parts back. We had to be, to have a shot at loving ourselves when no one else would. It was survival. Now I see my worst sins, the most gruesome parts of me, reflected. Two cold-blooded killers. Two damned souls.
So where is my remorse? Why don’t I feel that old familiar guilt? My heart pounds and it’s hard to breathe, but it’s not from fear.
“This is who I am,” he whispers. “And now you’re the one who’s horrified. You’re the one who hates me.”
“Tell me how it happened.”
He blinks. “Okay,” he says softly, watching me like he expects me to bolt any second. “Fred was the first. One night I was filling up at a gas station in Forsythe. He and Beth pulled up at one of the pumps, but they didn’t see me. I watched him bully her like my dad used to bully me. He kept complaining she’d taken too long picking out a drink. He hit her so hard she fell against his truck. They were out in public, Ruth. It was like he had no fear. Like he knew he was untouchable.”
A flash of lightning illuminates the window, making Ever’s face glow. “My control snapped. I’d spent years fantasizing about it, and the compulsion just took over. I walked up and sucker punched him. He never saw it coming. He fought back, but not for long. When he realized I wasn’t a boy anymore, that I was as strong as him, he forced Beth in his truck and drove away. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough. He hadn’t really paid. He wouldn’t change. So that weekend when you were at the library, I followed him. When he went into the swamp to fish, I went too.”
He takes a deep breath. “I beat him without mercy, the way he beat us. It was incredible.” Ever’s expression turns reverent as he remembers; his eyes are two dark pools, sucking me in. “The way his bones twisted, Ruth. His blood was all over me, sticky and salty. I was the one in charge.” He closes his eyes, savoring. “I had to wash his blood off in the water. And when I was done, I threw him in for the gators like we didto Renard. I knew I needed to cover my tracks. So I snuck to his boat, drove it into the gulf, and swam back, hoping they’d think he got lost at sea. It was the best I could think of at the time. Sloppy, I know, but it worked for a while.”
A coldness has stolen over me. “Fred went missing three years ago, when we were twenty. You did it when you came back to visit me that summer.”
He hesitates, then nods. “The next summer I got smarter. With Herman, I made it look like an accident. It was easier to be detached with him, since he wasn’t one of the men from those nights at church. But he was still a predator who needed to be stopped. What you told me confirmed it. So I disabled the garage door to lock him in. Made it look like a gas leak. It worked flawlessly until a boy spotted me when I was leaving.”
“That’s why you didn’t come back last summer,” I whisper. “You were afraid of getting caught.” The sheriff was right. I’d cried myself to sleep for ages, thinking it had to do with me. I take a step back.
“I thought it would be better if I laid low.” He doesn’t stop me. “In truth, I shouldn’t have come back.”
