A dangerous voice in my mind whispers that soon we’ll get that chance, but I won’t let it take hold. There are still too many moving parts in this stupid plan. Too many points of failure and too many places we could fall flat on our faces for me to leave much room for hope, let alone envision our future.
The electronic beeps from my father’s safe pull me from my thoughts, and he hands over a pregnancy test. “I’ll need the results tonight. I know the doctor said a year, but if she’s not pregnant by your wedding, we’re taking you both in for additional testing. The appointments are booked for the week after the festivities. Just in case.”
After the wedding. Not before.
Which means my father likes Clara—at least enough for the wedding to go ahead before we’re tested. Or maybe, it’s like he’s said, that he wants me to have what I want, within the constraints of his need for power and legacy, that is. But knowing we’ll be married in a month regardless, it’s frustratingly real. And knowing that Clara’s achieved an impossible goal, getting my father to like her, hurts. Our goal was to simply shield what the rest of our team was doing offsite, and she’s done that, but at what cost?
A monster,mymonster, the one who stars in every memory that keeps me up at night with relived terror and pain, likes my girl. Maybe even respects her.
What does that say about me? About the apple and the tree?
“Archie, I’ve reviewed a lot of footage this week,” he says, once again pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. “And against my better judgement, if the test is negative, I’m sending Ms. McElroy with you.”
“Sir?”
“To the cabin.”
I blink at him, not understanding, the pregnancy test tight in my fist.
“Prepare her if you feel she needs it. Oh, and if you want to bring the scotch with you to your room, you can. Mary will retrieve the test and tumbler in thirty minutes. Falk will take you, and maybe Ms. McElroy, in an hour.”
He turns his back to me, this time, the dismissal clear.
But as I stand, my palms damp, I can’t help but wonder what my father saw on those tapes. Something led him to the conclusion that the girl who showed up on my front porch a little over a year ago, hair in pigtails, eyes swollen from tears, is cut out for torture.
Walker told her that to sell it, she had to be it, but maybe she oversold her violent tendencies. Or maybe this place just brings out the worst in everyone.
Chapter 38
Walker
Iadd a shade of yellow roughly the color of bile to the mural that’s now taken over two walls of my bedroom, more of my furniture moved to the hallway, the sick shade echoing the agony of not getting to see Clara, talk to her, hold her. Each day gets harder. Each day, I get up and make sure the rest of the team is still functioning, even though in the early hours before sunrise I stare at the ceiling, wishing Clara was tucked up against me, aching like I’m missing a vital part of myself. But then I have no choice but to collect my broken bits and toss them back inside my body, where they cut and tear at my soft insides, leaving pain and scar tissue where the delicate parts of myself used to hide.
Every morning, I harden. I’m becoming something else, someone else, the longer she’s gone.
Not a general. I don’t want that role. But a vital lieutenant, keeping the soldiers in line.
My art reflects that.
Less nebulous, bolder, with clean, thick lines and stark shading. Still tricky, still hiding secrets where only I know to look for them, but different from the work I’ve done for years. The style isn’t inspired by any masters. It’s taken the skills I learned copying the masters and blended it with the torment of a soft artist’s heart under unbearable pressure. In short, I’ve settled on a style, and I don’t know if I like it.
Honesty has never been easy for me. My art used to be no different. But now, honesty’s a vital part of what I create. I don’t want to lie to myself; my art is part of me.
Dunking my brush into a cup at a knock on my door, I wipe my hands on a rag and wrap the brush before dragging the door open. RJ leans against the jamb on the other side, exhaustion obvious in the dark circles under his eyes. I’ve tried to keep him functioning, but it’s been an uphill battle.
“Do you want an update on—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“I know why the powerful pedophiles are coming here over New Year’s Eve, and it’s not good.”
“Is Clara safe?” I ask, my heart stuttering.
He nods. “Yeah. She should be.”
I force out a breath. “Have you talked to Reed?”
He shakes his head.
“Are you going to?”
