Page 38 of By Sin To Atone

“I thought they were snakes.”

“The gun. Who does it belong to?”

I bite my lip, stare at the pistol, a 10mm with two cartridges containing fifteen rounds each.

“Is it your father’s?”

I nod, although it’s not true. I don’t actually know the name of the man it belongs to and nodding is just easier.

“What happened to Wren? To your face?”

My hand instinctively moves to cover my scar. I take a deep breath, trying to keep it together.

“Tell me about that and you can text your sister.”

It doesn’t matter if he knows, does it? It just really doesn’t matter, and I don’t have the energy to fight him, not on this.

“I came home late after school one day. Found Wren unconscious. He was holding her head underwater in the tub. I tried to get him off her and he hit me so hard I smashed the mirror over the sink with my face.” I point to the scar. “He hit me again and I passed out. When I woke up, Wren was still in the tub, still unconscious. The water was freezing cold but at least she was breathing. He hadn’t killed her.”

“Your father?”

I nod. “He was angry about something. Scared maybe. I’d never seen him like that.”

“Where was he when you woke up?”

“Don’t know. Probably at the bar.”

“You took her to the hospital?”

“Not then. I didn’t realize what had happened to her. Two days later I took her. When she wasn’t the same and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. And then, when I did, I got us out of there.”

I’d been goofing off. I didn’t want to go home, that’s why I was late. I don’t say that part out loud. My part in what happened to my beautiful, smart sister. My mistake that cost her so much.

He holds out the phone.

I take it, play my sister’s message again. She sounds so young. I tell her the last of the joke. “Beets me,” I say and hit send, then hand the phone back to him because the fight has gone out of me.

He takes it, tucks it into his pocket and stands. He grabs the laptop, and the Ziploc then opens the bedroom door. “Come, Blue.”

“Where?”

“Downstairs. You need to eat.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t have one of your dizzy spells at the top of the stairs.”

“Don’t want to clean up a mess?” I ask half-heartedly.

He gives me a weary smile.

“What happens after?”

He raises his eyebrows.

“What are you going to do to me?” I ask bluntly.

“You and I are going to come to an arrangement. For now. Up. You need to eat.”

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