Page 99 of Ashes of Saints

Who was the woman I called my mother? Surely she couldn’t have done those things. What if she was undercover and is keeping the evidence?

I know I’m grasping at straws. The room was set up to enjoy watching them.

My stomach lurches. I climb to my knees and scramble across the bathroom to the toilet, lifting the lid and throwing up.

There’s nothing in my stomach and it burns.

I don’t care.

Dropping back onto my heels, I flush and just stare at the tiles. It takes me a while, as I sit there and let my mind fill in all the blanks.

The little boy.

His blue eyes.

Oh, my fucking god.

Parker!

My world crumbles further beneath my feet and I collapse to the floor and cry. Full-blown sobs.

That poor little boy.

It has to be him. My mother was responsible for such horror...the last of the dots connect.

Parker was in my life for one reason. That reason was not me. He never wanted me. He was looking for those tapes.

Pain like I’ve never known crashes through me and I just stare at the wall like I’m dead inside.

Maybe I am.

Even if he did truly like me, I could never look him in the eye. The responsibility might lay with the adults of that time, but I am Mary-Anne’s daughter and will forever be a reminder of the pain he lived through.

“Mom, you fucking bitch.” I cry.

Not knowing who my father was and all the questions I had about my mother were difficult to process. This? This is a whole other level of hell.

She was a pedophile.

Or at the very least part of a ring that was. Not just once. But many times, by the number of tapes in that room.

Those poor children.

I had no idea that room existed. Hidden like some spy chamber in her closet.

I felt Parker leave the bed and waited for him to return. When he didn’t, I became more and more alert. I’ve always been a light sleeper.

Now I wish I’d stayed in bed.

But oh no, I got up and padded down toward the light I saw from Mom’s room.

Then I found Parker crouched before the screen. His face was almost green when he turned to me. Horror lining his eyes.

Grabbing a towel, I wipe my mouth and climb to my feet. Rinsing my mouth, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

“I hate you,” I say, and my words echo around the tiled room. “I fucking hate you, you evil fucking cunt. How could you have done those things?”

My entire life is a lie. Even my relationship with Parker is a lie. I have no idea who my mother or father truly is. Except that she was the worst kind of human.

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