Page 127 of Fracture

Valerie shakes her head, eyes wide as she stares at me. There’s a muffled protest, and Dylan presses the tip of the knife harder into her skin, drawing a tiny drop of blood. Valerie squeaks and goes still. I withdraw the gun, holding it loosely in my hand, and Valerie’s eyes almost pop out of her skull as they land on it.

“The ledger, Valerie,” I say softly. “The one where you planned out the schedule to have Stella raped. We’d like to know where it is.”

Valerie shakes her head again, tears beginning to fall from her eyes.

Dylan traces the knife over her stomach. “I will gut you like a fucking fish, do you understand me? Now, tell me where that fucking ledger is.”

Valerie lifts a hand and frantically jerks it in the direction of the study. Dylan shoves her forward with his body, keeping his hand firmly over her mouth. I follow them as he pushes her into the door, and she scrambles at the handle, opening it and stumbling on her heels as Dylan forces her to move. I close the door behind us, putting the gun back in my waistband.

“Now, you sick bitch,” Dylan growls, “where is it?”

Valerie mumbles something against his hand, and Dylan sniggers darkly.

“Want to talk, do we?”

Valerie nods, her nostrils flaring as she breathes.

“If you scream or try to run, I will slice your throat, do you understand?” Dylan’s voice is menacing and sends goosebumps down my arms. He moves his hand slowly, keeping a firm grip across Valerie’s shoulders, the knife pressed to her skin.

Valerie gasps for air, her chest jerking in and out, sweat beading on her forehead. “Th-the safe,” she stutters, pointing at a painting behind the desk. “It’s a r-red diary, it’s in there.”

Dylan’s dark eyes land on me and he gives me a nod. “You know the combination?”

Valerie shakes her head. “I-I don’t, she never told me.”

“Liar,” Dylan snarls, and Valerie whimpers.

“I swear, I don’t, please, please don’t kill me.”

Dylan claps his hand back over Valerie’s mouth and grits his teeth as he looks at me.

“Any ideas?” he asks me.

I’m about to say that I don’t know, because my mother sure as fuck never told me that sort of information, and if she didn’t even tell Valerie, I can’t even begin to imagine what that safe holds. And then my eyes land on her desk, on the picture of my father, his wide smile and blue eyes, just like mine.

“Yeah, I know it.” It’s my father’s birthday. The one tiny remnant of my mother’s humanity, the love she had for the only good person who ever graced the halls of this fucking house.

I pull the painting from the wall, some useless old ancestor who’s long dead and doesn’t matter anymore. I throw it to the ground, revealing the steel door of the safe in the wall. I punch in the combination, and the light on the door switches from red to green. There’s a mechanic clunk as the steel bars roll back, and the door heaves open an inch.

I feel a pang for just a split second, thinking of how much my father loved my mother. Then I imagine his horror at what she turned into. A woman who scheduled a teenager to be raped likeshe scheduled her fucking salon appointments. My dad would be horrified.

At least he’ll never have to see her again. Because tonight she’ll be headed into the deepest pits of hell.

The red ledger is at the very bottom of the pile of papers and wads of cash. Its cover is faded, the leather corners worn.

I pull it out, spilling the contents of the safe all over the floor, and throw it on the desk. I open it up, to find my mother’s handwriting, neatly laying out names and dates, times and hotel rooms. One senator after another, even the names and numbers of their fucking PAs. All laid out neatly.

I feel sick, rage gnawing at my ribcage.

Page after page of names and dates. Plans and requests.

The senator requests a full wax, prefers smooth. Requests S be dressed in a sundress with hair in pig tails.

I lift my gaze to Valerie, who’s still crying softly with Dylan’s hand over her mouth.

“You knew about this?” I jab my finger against the open page. “There’s two people writing in this. I know my mother’s handwriting. The other person is you, right?”

Valarie’s face crumples, and Dylan jostles her roughly.

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