Page 82 of The Unforgiven
“Not really.”
“He either did or he didn’t.”
“Look, Quinn, young men his age often harbor a lot of anger and self-loathing. Jude is an artist. He’s very emotional and overly sensitive. Gabe was well within his rights in everything hesaid, but Jude is too angry to see reason. He’ll come round in his own good time.”
“Or he’ll go off the deep end,” Quinn replied. She didn’t know Jude well at all, but he was her brother and she worried about him.
“You can’t keep that from happening. He has to take responsibility for his own life. No one will be able to talk sense into him until he’s ready to listen.”
Quinn sighed. Rhys was right, of course, but it was easier said than done. Now that Quinn had Emma and another child on the way, she could understand Sylvia’s angst. Jude was a grown man, but to Sylvia he was still her son who needed saving, in this case, from himself.
“Now, what did you want to tell me?” Rhys asked, no longer interested in Jude’s problems.
Suddenly, Quinn wasn’t sure she wanted to share her news with Rhys, but he’d find out soon enough anyway. Rhys was all about the program, and he wanted the series finale to be unforgettable. What Quinn learned would make it memorable, but it would also expose her family’s history to the world, and although she wanted to tell Madeline’s story, it all felt awfully personal.
“Rhys, I know where my ability comes from,” Quinn said, nervous and reluctant to speak the words out loud. Once she told Rhys, there’d be no going back. He might use her story to get ratings.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice soft but commanding. “Tell me, Quinn.”
And she did.
“Oh, Quinn, what a story. I couldn’t have asked for more compelling drama,” Rhys exclaimed. “No matter what ultimately happened to Madeline, this makes for excellent television.” Quinncould almost hear him gloating at future ratings. “But how doyoufeel about it?” he asked, transforming from producer to human being and friend.
“I feel too many conflicting emotions to actually put them into words,” Quinn replied truthfully. “I suppose it’s nice to finally know the truth, but it’s also painful and confusing, and utterly shocking. I worry about my baby. It’ll be years before I know if the child can see things, and even then, I won’t be able to do anything to stop the visions.”
“No, you won’t, but you’ll be able to understand what the kid is going through and explain what’s happening. Your parents had no idea you were seeing things and you had to deal with it all on your own. At least your child will have someone to talk to and ask questions.”
“Yes, that’s true. But I just really wish I could keep this gift from being passed on. I don’t want to burden my baby.”
“It can be wonderful,” Rhys argued. “I wouldn’t say no to possessing your gift.”
“You say that now, but you’d feel differently if you had to actually ‘live’ these people’s lives. It’s never pretty, Rhys. I’ve never come across anyone who’s had a normal, peaceful life. Some stories are dramatic, but some bring me to my knees.”
“Like Elise and James’s?” Rhys asked softly.
“Yes, and Petra and Edwin’s. I still have nightmares about that child being stoned to death.”
“I know, Quinn, and I’m sorry to have to put you through this. We don’t have to use Madeline’s story if you don’t want to. As your boss, I would give my right arm to bring this to the screen, but as your friend, I will respect whatever you decide. We can find another skeleton, another murder, and another cover-up. God knows there’s no shortage of drama buried beneath our feet, just waiting to be dug up. If this is too traumatic, I will understand and forget everything you shared with me.”
Quinn found herself shaking her head, even though Rhys couldn’t see her. “Thank you, but no. I want this story told. It’s very personal, and I know that once the truth about my ability comes out, people will never view me through the same lens, but I need to give Madeline her voice back. I need to tell her story, and the story of Corinne and Clara. These women were discarded by history, but they live on in me, and in the gift they’ve passed on through their blood.”
“Good girl,” Rhys replied gleefully. “I’ll assign someone to research Trinidad and the slave trade in the eighteenth century. And of course, voodoo. That ought to shake things up.”
“All right,” Quinn replied, with more resolve than she actually felt. “You have my permission.”
“Quinn, finish up and come back. Gabe looks like a lost puppy without you, and Sylvia needs her daughter to talk to. I have a feeling things are not about to calm down withJude the Obscure.”
“Don’t call him that,” Quinn protested. She’d read the book in school and never forgot the dread and hopelessness the story had induced in her.
“That boy will get a lot worse before he gets better,” Rhys replied. “Sylvia will need your support.”
“And yours.”
“I’ll be there this time. I promise,” Rhys vowed.
“Good night, Rhys. And thanks.”
“For what?”
