Page 21 of The Preachers' Promise
Her father stares at us for a beat then speaks. “First, I’m not sure it has anything to do with you. I know you two were friends when she was younger, but now, you’re nothing to her, or us. Secondly, no, she’s not safer with you. The college grounds are far too large to be patrolled properly.”
Cain ignores the jabs at him and answers calmly and respectfully. I admire him in this moment, because I’m not sure I could be trusted to be so composed.
“Sir, we have security,” Cain lies smoothly. “The three of us are also very effective with a weapon. We have a place where we live that’s easy to guard and protect. It’s not part of the main college building, so not a dorm where others are always comingand going. And it’s safe. We have men, guarding it outside. Dogs,” he adds.
We do? When he speaks next, I bite back a laugh.
“Drones, too.”
He’ll be telling them we have fighter jets next. Or nukes.
But it doesn’t win her father over. “I don’t care if you have a fucking army. She’s my daughter, and I am the one who should be keeping her safe. It has fuck-all to do with you. I don’t know why you’re here.” A cruel smile twists his mouth on one side. “And I’m not sure how well you’d protect her, given that you used to come here and hide from your own father.”
I hold my breath. I’d lose it at this point. Cain’s spine straightens, his shoulders stiffening, but he blows out a slow breath and nods.
“Yes, sir, I did, and I thank you for offering me a place then, when I was scared as a child. As you can see, I’m not that skinny kid anymore, and no one messes with me now. Not even my father.”
The words seem to have little effect, as her father only scowls. “I’m still at a loss at the three of you showing up on my doorstep this way. Why do you care so much, Cain?”
“Because I love her, sir.”
The words hang in the room, and no one speaks. I hold my breath. I feel Mal tense next to me, and Cain waits for a response to his declaration.
“You love her?” Her father’s face darkens, and he steps menacingly toward Cain. “Have you touched my daughter?”
Cain steps back, increasing the distance between them again, and shakes his head. He could easily beat her father in a fight, but he’s showing restraint and trying to give the man respect. “It’s not like that. We were best friends, and now we’ve found one another again, and we realized we love each other. At some point in the future, I’d like to make her my wife. I know that’sa long way ahead, and we’d have a lot to discuss, given our families’ histories.” He stands taller, warming to his theme. “But my family is powerful now, very much so. It would be a good alliance. I’d give her status, and she’d be cared for, cherished.”
“Son, I don’t know if my daughter will ever be able to marry. There’s something very wrong with her. Has been ever since she got taken.”
“I know,” Cain says quickly. “She told me about it. About the voice. We made it go away.”
“We?” He narrows his eyes at me and Mal. “How?”
“We told her it would go, and it did,” I interject.
Cain shoots me a livid glare, but I push on.
“See, Mr. Sinclair, a lot of what we believe as human beings comes from our own mental maps.” His expression is angry but he’s not telling me to shut up, so I press on. “If we’re given different maps—different scaffolding, if you will—for our thoughts, then we can change them. We made her believe we held his voice at bay. It was a trick of sorts, but it gave hertime.Time to do that for herself, and time to realize shecoulddo that for herself. It’s pretty basic psychology.”
“You helped her?” Her mother speaks for the first time. She looks over at the three of us, and the naked animosity of the father is missing from her face. “You helped our daughter?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. “I believe we did. Cain is in love with her, and we are his best friends, and so she’s become a friend of ours, too.”
“How … unusual.” Her father is looking at the three of us as if he’s not buying any of it.
His next words make that clear. “Tell me why I shouldn’t slit you all from mouth to ass. Let you bleed out on my hardwood floor. You come here, into my home, and start talking as if you know my daughter better than I do. Then you say you’ve used some voodoo fucking psych trick to make her believe she’sbetter?” His voice rises as he continues. “Well, it didn’t fucking work. She’s the worst I’ve ever seen. In fact, I’d say whatever the hell you pieces of shit did to her made it all worse.”
“She was happy,” Mal says. I turn to him, wanting to yell at him to be quiet, but then I see her mother, eager, leaning forward, listening. “She was going to classes and meeting friends. Her world was opening, and she hadn’t heardhimfor weeks. That is a miracle, sir.” He says the word with respect, not sarcasm. “Roman is correct. She just needed some more time to come to realize she could control the voice herself.”
The ‘weeks’ part is an exaggeration, but none of us corrects him.
“She got taken away too soon,” I add. “I do believe it had a chance to work permanently, if we’d had more time.”
“Oh, so that’s my fault, is it?” Her father’s upper lip curls in a sneer. “And I suppose you college kids did what her therapist couldn’t? You magically cured her?”
“Wait,” her mother interrupts. “Are you the Preachers?”
“Yes, we are,” Cain says. “It’s a name we use for ourselves.”
