“You don’t love him. Do you understand me?”
She opened her mouth to speak but said nothing as she looked at both of us. Her gaze darted back and forth as she tried to understand what was happening. In that moment, I wondered how many other families and communities the pastor had tried to rob. How many other times had he used his impressionable daughter as a pawn in his game? How could he be so shocked that her psyche had broken under the weight he bestowed upon it?
“I don’t love him?” she asked.
“No,” the pastor said.
In a fit of rage, she pulled a small handgun from the waist of her jeans. It had been hidden by the sweater she wore that covered the small of her back. I gasped at the sight of her pulling the gun and pointing it at her father, who looked equally as shocked.
“You lie!” she yelled.
He raised his hands in the air, likely by instinct, and spoke calmly. “I’m sorry, Abigail. I didn’t mean to scare you. It was a test, of course. A test from God.”
“A test?” she asked quietly. “From God?”
He nodded. “God needed to know you were devoted to his cause.” The pastor took a step toward her. “And you are. I can see that now. I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
She smiled, her hand wavering.
“You and James can be together. Forever. But…”
“But what?” she asked.
“You’ll have to wait. God wants James to be with him now.”
I balled my fists at my sides as I listened to his words. Was he seriously going to try to manipulate her into shooting me?
“It’s time James joined the community, in heaven, with God.”
Abigail smiled, nodding her understanding.
“Don’t listen to him, Abi,” I said as I stepped forward. “He’s lying to you. He’s always lied to you.”
“The Devil shows himself in many ways,” the pastor said, looking at me. “He forces you to question your faith in God, in God’s plan.” He took another step forward, and I matched his move. We were only a few feet apart now.
“I will not be swayed by the Devil! I will do as God asks of me. James and I will both be together forever,” Abigail screamed.
The reality of her words shook me to my very core.
“No!” I said, lunging toward her. I reached her just as a gunshot echoed through the apartment. In a loud clunk, the weapon fell to the ground beside her. I dove forward, catching her before she hit the ground. She sank into my arms, the light in her eyes waning as she gasped for breath.
“Abigail!” the pastor yelled.
I glanced at the gun, but with Abigail in my arms, I wasn’t sure I could reach it before the pastor got to it first.
“You!” His voice was dark, deep, a hateful accusation coating the word.
He lunged for the gun, and I dropped Abigail, praying I could reach it first.
In the silence of the apartment, a second gunshot pierced the room, cutting thickly, deeply, until nothing could be heard, save for the abating beats of a stilling heart.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Now
He was curled into a ball on the floor, crying while nursing his leg, and I was shaking, fighting every urge not to pull the trigger again. In our scuffle for the gun, I’d shot him in his leg. Sadly, I’d missed his femoral artery. I couldn’t keep my arm straight as I kept the gun pointed at him. It would be so easy, so easy, to end his trail of destruction right now. After all, he didn’t deserve to live.
I pressed the trigger ever so slightly, feeling it give way beneath my finger. An ounce more of pressure would release the bullet that was itching to leave the chamber. I’d always been taught that if I pointed a gun at something, I’d better be ready to destroy everything in its path. And I was. I was more than ready to avenge the death of every single person this pathetic excuse of a pastor had murdered.
My gaze flickered to Abigail. She was lifeless on the ground. Her eyes were open, facing the ceiling, though I knew she no longer saw it. After years of living with a sociopath, she’d suffered the mental consequences. The regret and despair I felt for her clung to me, and I feared I’d never shake it.
“You didn’t deserve her,” I said as I looked at him.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, a jolting sensation that brought me back to this moment. I pulled it free, keeping the gun pointed at the man I was sure was the Devil himself. Jezebel’s face lit up my screen.
“Jezebel,” I whispered.
“James? James! Oh my God. Where are you? Are you okay?” She sounded frantic, but I couldn’t worry about that right now. Still, I was thankful she had been freed. When I left her, I assumed Abigail’s restraints weren’t enough to truly hold Jezebel captive. She’d nearly escaped Miller, who’d put greater effort into containing her.
“I can’t stop myself,” I whispered.
“James? Tell me where you are. Please.”
“With him.” My voice was sinister, and it surprised me. I’d never heard such hate escape my lips.
“Where? Where is he?”
“I can’t… I have to do this. You understand that I have to do this?” I was desperate for her approval because I wasn’t sure I could stop even if she withheld it.
She sobbed into the phone. “Please, James. Please come home to me.”
“He killed her. He killed them all.”
“Who? Abigail? He killed her?”
I nodded.
“James? Are you there?”
I inhaled sharply. “He killed her. His own daughter. He kills everyone he meets. I have to stop him.”
I needed to do this. For Abi, the girl who spent her life loving him, believing in him, worshiping him. For the many faceless victims I didn’t know but was sure existed.
I needed to do this for my parents.
My arm ached. Every fiber of my being told me to lower the weapon, to call the police, to turn him in, and to go home to Jezebel. But even though the rational part of my brain screamed at me, I didn’t want to listen to it.
I’d never thought about what I’d say—or do—to the man who destroyed my life, because I never thought I’d be granted the opportunity to face him again. But here, now, as he whimpered on the ground like the bitch he was, I was overwhelmed with a sense of power. And he needed to be stopped.
“James! Listen to me.”
I blinked. Once. Twice. My breath hitched. I’d killed many people before. In the military, my team was known for covert operations. We were closers. We were sent to do what needed to be done for the sake of freedom, safety, and security. I’d pulled the trigger on countless terrorists to save my brethren—never giving the decision to end a life a second thought. I’d never lost a night’s rest over my actions either because I truly believed I was doing the right thing. Sometimes, to save a life, you must take one. Sometimes, the balance must be restored.
I could do it again. The man cowering before me was no different than the men I’d killed as a marine. Hell, I was sure I’d killed better men than him.
“He killed them, Jez. I watched him kill my family. He did it with a smile on his face and a song in his heart.” Tears threatened to spill as I remembered that day. He was an animal on a mission to live a luxury life by stealing from others. “He needs to be put down.”
“James, I know how much this hurts.”
She did. Her parents had been killed by a drunk driver who’d fathered a son so deranged he’d kidnapped and tortured Jezebel years later. What kind of man produced such an offspring? Jezebel had confronted her demons the moment she discovered Miller was that man’s son.
“You did it,” I whispered.
“I had no choice. You do. You know you don’t have to do this, James.”
I swallowed hard as I listened to her. She was trying desperately to save my soul, but I was already at the edge, ready to fall into the abyss. And I wanted nothing more than to take this monster with me straight to hell.
“If yo
u do this, you are no better than him. You’ve stopped him, James. Killing him now is no better than what he did to your family, to all those innocent people, all those years ago.”
That was a knife to the gut, a crash back to reality.
“Come home to me, baby.”
I nodded and hung up. She was right. I wasn’t God. Taking God’s work into my own hands would make me no better than the monster before me. I wouldn’t offer him the pleasure of becoming his protégé.
“That was Jezebel,” I said as I dialed a three-digit number. “She’s…incredible. The strongest person I know.” I sniffled and exhaled slowly as I pressed to call the number. “She saved my life just now. In jail, you’re given one phone call. You should call and thank her.” I lowered the gun. “Because she saved yours, too.”
The dispatcher greeted me, and I told her our location. In less than fifteen minutes, the apartment was swarming with police and emergency medical technicians. I offered my statement, this time withholding nothing, as the two detectives who’d been interviewing me listened, scribbling down every word. I watched as Abigail’s body was carted away and the pastor’s leg was wrapped before he was handcuffed and loaded onto a wheeled stretcher. An officer placed the gun I’d used into a clear evidence bag, and I glanced down, staring at my hands.
“Mr. Blakely?”
I glanced up.
“You did the right thing,” Detective Montemurro said.
I exhaled slowly, nodding. “I know. Thanks, Detective.”
“You need to get checked out by an EMT, and then you can head home. We’ll follow up with you tomorrow,” Price said.
I stood, my body stiff, and left the apartment with the detectives. The rain had stopped, and the sun was shining. The concrete, dark gray from the rain, looked clean, new, as if the grime of the New York City streets had been washed away.
I walked over to an available emergency technician and mindlessly followed each of his instructions. In the end, I was cleared to go home.
My phone buzzed, and I quickly yanked it from my pocket, hoping to see Jezebel’s name light up my screen. Instead, I saw an unfamiliar number.
“Hello?” My voice was gruff, strained, and only then did I realize how exhausted I was.
“Mr. Blakely? It’s Mr. Smith.”
I didn’t respond.
“Your PI.”
“Yes, I know who you are.”
“Well, I got some info back that you might be interested in. Seems Ms. Martin has spent quite a few years in a psych ward. Her father, Patrick Martin, funded her stays. They have quite a few overseas accounts with several million dollars in them.”
“Mr. Smith, thanks for your help, but you can stop investigating. It’s over.”
It was finally over.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Now
The door was flung open, and she pulled me into a tight hug. The flowers I’d bought her on my way home were nestled between our bodies, the buds squished and bruised, as her grip on me tightened. For weeks, I’d felt like I was suffocating, but now, the sensation was welcomed. Hours seemed to pass as I held her close to me, enjoying the feeling of her body pressed against mine. I’d missed this. I’d missed her.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispered against my chest.
“I’m so sorry, Jezebel. I had no idea it would escalate the way it did. Did she hurt you?”
I pulled her back to an arm’s length from me so I could assess any damage. She shook her head. I reached for her, running my thumb along her jawline. She leaned into me, closing her eyes.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” I whispered, mimicking her words. “If she had hurt you…”
Angered, I pressed my lips together. My feelings for Abigail had changed. I no longer hated her, but I hated what she’d done. She knew of Jezebel’s past. She may not have hurt Jezebel physically, but emotionally…
“It’s okay, love. I’m fine. Come inside.”
She pulled me through the threshold of our apartment and locked the door. I waited for her to punch in the alarm code before she faced me.
“What happened?” she asked carefully.
I exhaled sharply. She needed to know. She deserved to know. But all I wanted to do was forget about it, move on, leave our demons in the past. Because it was finally over. I no longer needed to fear my past or the demons that lurked there. The pastor was gone. Abigail was gone. And the world had discovered my greatest secret, the existence of Living Light and the turmoil that surrounded a once peaceful place.
Instead, I said, “We should sit.”
She nodded, and I walked to the couch, collapsing the moment I reached it. I glanced around. Jezebel had been cleaning the apartment—probably an attempt to keep herself busy while I dealt with the police. A moment later, she joined me on the couch and handed me a beer. She sipped on wine. I took a long chug before setting the bottle on the broken coffee table.
For a long time, while I gathered the words, we said nothing. She waited, patient with my attempt to unveil the horrors I’d been hiding.
“I’m ready now,” I said softly.
She looked confused, so I elaborated.
“I’m ready to bare my truth,” I said. “To you.”
She swallowed and nodded. She never spoke. Instead, she waited for me to confess my sins.
“Abigail and I were engaged to be married.”
Her eyes widened. “She wasn’t lying? You two were engaged?”
I nodded. “It was a ploy, I’m sure, to win over the community. You see, my family controlled Living Light. My parents started it. From there, others joined. They became the unofficial leaders. When the pastor showed up, he wanted everything. He took control as leader, but many, including my parents, were against the idea of taking direction from a stranger. He thought joining Abigail and me would be like joining our two families. The idea did convince a lot of people to give him a chance at leadership.”
“But you were young,” she said.
I nodded. “I was. We both were. He didn’t care. He used his daughter as a pawn. We didn’t understand what it meant to be married, but we knew we didn’t want that. We wanted to be kids.”
“Understandable,” she said, her tone short.
“It never would have been a real marriage. I’m still not convinced he was a real pastor. I think he just studied the Bible and used God’s word when it was convenient for his goal.”
She said nothing, so I continued.
“The day it… The day my parents and everyone else were murdered, I ran, like my mother told me to do. Hours later, I returned to find them all dead.” I exhaled slowly, unable to look at Jezebel. “I just left them there. I ran into the surrounding woods and didn’t stop until my legs gave out. Hikers found me. I wasn’t too far from another town, so they brought me there, leaving me with the police. I never told anyone where I’d come from. They put me in foster care, and I left as soon as I could join the military.”
She grabbed my hand, intertwining our fingers together. She traced hearts on my palm with her thumb. It was both erotic and empowering as I confessed my sins to her.
“I left them there to rot. My own parents. My friends. My community. I just left them behind, and I never looked back. I never told anyone. I never gave them a proper burial or a second thought. I just pretended it never happened. At some point, the pastor returned, hid the evidence of Living Light, and sold the land. He buried my parents’ bodies. It should have been me.”
I was ashamed, embarrassed. Who does that? Who leaves their loved ones behind like food for the wild?
“For so many years, I felt dead inside—until I met you. You, with your unashamed brazenness, woke me. It was as if Abigail could sense my happiness, because right about that time, she came back into my life.”
I felt Jezebel’s grip tighten when I mentioned her captor’s name.
“You should know I don’t hate Abigail. Not anymore. Today, at the pastor’s house…” I exhaled slowly, wo
ndering how much I should confess. Did she want to know Abigail took her own life? Did she want to know how much of a monster the pastor truly was? I decided that I would not shield her from my past—even if that meant losing her. I needed to come clean, release my demons…forever.
“His name was Patrick Martin. I think, at one point, he loved his daughter. At least, I hope he did. I hope, even if it was brief, that he gave her a good life, because she dedicated hers to him, to his cause, without realizing how toxic he was. Because of him, she spent time in psychiatric hospitals. He sold my parents’ land, their possessions, and stole everyone’s money from Living Light, keeping it in overseas accounts.”
“How… Did they tell you all of this today?”
I shook my head. “I hired a private investigator to track Abigail. Actually, I met him because of Abigail. I went through her coat pockets and found his card. He wouldn’t tell me anything when I questioned him, quoting client-PI privilege, so I hired him.”
She snorted, a wide smile crossing her face. “I’m not surprised. Did you tell the police?”
I nodded. “They know everything. I’m sure all that stolen money will sit in evidence somewhere. It should be donated to charity or go toward properly burying all his victims.”
She smiled. “That would be nice. Maybe we can talk to someone about using the money to do something good.”
I shrugged. I doubted the money would be handed over, but I appreciated the thought. “When we got to his apartment, he convinced her the only way we could be together was in death. So without hesitation, she killed herself. She just… She just believed in him so much that she took her own life.”
“I’m so sorry, James. I’m so sorry you had to witness that,” Jezebel said, leaning against me. She’d finished her wine and had set the empty glass right beside my half-empty beer bottle.
“He had to have known she was unstable. I just… I can’t believe he’d speak to her that way. I can’t believe he’d risk his daughter just to get rid of me. I feel…guilty. I was blinded by my rage. I didn’t even know she was armed.”
Truth We Bear Page 12
