As I begin my walk back to the cabin, I try my best not to think. I gave up trying to understand murderers a long time ago, so I don’t know why I’m trying to understand her.
Because I care.
I squeeze my eyes closed against the thought.
Yes, I care, but she’s far beyond a criminal now. That wasn’t murder for hire; it was just plain murder.
And why am I noticing the difference now?
Back in the cabin, I take a seat on the sofa and stare into the unlit fire. My conscience is biting at my heels, tearing at my insides, and I don’t know how to make it stop.
“Everything cleaned up?” Gable asks from the kitchen doorway. He’s in sweats and a T-shirt and is holding a glass of milk.
I nod, looking back at the fireplace. “Is Monty back?”
“Yeah, I think I heard the shower running.”
I expect him to leave, to deliver the milk to one of the twins, but he stays in place.
Running my hand across my beard, I sigh. “I don’t know how you did this for so long.”
To my surprise, he takes a seat on the armchair. “Killing?” I nod. “The alternative is much worse.”
I stare at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, we’re not exactly what you’d call ‘normal’ if we do this for a living,” he admits. “There’s a reason we can killand walk away. We have demons, and we have to feed them somehow. Why not do it with structure?”
Structural killing. That’s one way to put it.
“What are your demons?” I ask.
He places the glass of milk on the coffee table and leans back. “Only Ella needs to know that.”
“Because she lives with them?”
“Because she’s my reason for keeping them at bay.”
I clasp my hands together, a little unnerved that Gable has shared his darkness with my little girl. But I suppose that’s what a partnership is—sharing the angels and the demons.
“What if it isn’t about having demons?” I ask quietly. “What if it’s about being one?”
“You think that’s what Monty is?”
My exhale feels heavy. “I don’t know.”
“She isn’t,” he says, and I glance at him. “I’ve met darkness in my time, Guy, and so have you. She isn’t that. Twisted? Yes. Terrifying? Abso-fucking-lutely. But she fights her demons harder than I ever did. You can see it in her.” He stands. “Maybe you’ll be her reason for keeping them at bay.”
As he heads for the stairs, I take in his words, and I realize this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had without arguing. He’s my son-in-law, the man my daughter adores, the father to my grandkids, and I’ve never made this time for him.
“I’m sorry for giving you such a hard time,” I say. “And … for Ella. For not telling you Ella was alive.”
I’m still too much of a coward to look at him when I say it, but at least I finally did. Silence stretches, and I wait for the cocky remark, or maybe he’ll say nothing at all. I wouldn’t blame him.
“I forgave you for that a long time ago.”
Turning to look back at him, I examine his face to try to figure out if he’s being sarcastic. But he’s totally serious.
“You did?”
