Devils redemption, p.20
Devil's Redemption, page 20
“Mother?” Jericho asks, giving her a small shake.
She drags her gaze from me and doesn’t say anything. I realize she must be showing him something because Jericho looks down. There’s a moment of heavy silence before she finally speaks as they separate. Jericho turns to me studying whatever it is he has taken from her hands.
“Angelique found them. She wanted to surprise Isabelle with a drawing she’d made. She was hiding the drawings in Isabelle’s room. I didn’t realize or I wouldn’t have allowed her in there, of course. But they were in her violin case. Hidden in a pocket.”
I feel the ground beneath my feet shake or maybe that’s my knees wobbling as a wave of cold makes me shudder and sweat at once.
I know what she found.
And I can guess what they are thinking.
When Jericho drags his gaze from the packets in his hand to me, I feel myself back up a step. My mouth falls open. I want to explain. To tell him I never intended to use them. Tell him I’d forgotten about them. But no sound comes. Just my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“Go.” His voice is low and dark. It’s how he sounds when he’s the angriest.
“I…” I start but nothing else comes.
“I said go.” The command is for Leontine but he’s looking at me.
“Should I have Angelique wait? She’ll want to say goodbye—”
“Make up an excuse. I won’t be letting her near my daughter.”
My hands are clammy as the notebook and pencil drop to the ground. An audible breath comes from me. The sound of dread.
“Jericho,” Leontine starts. “Perhaps—”
“Get out!”
She glances once at me then hurries out. Leaving me alone with him. My husband. My devil.
“I wasn’t… I forgot.” I shake my head, push a trembling hand into my hair. I swallow hard to gain some control over my vocal cords. “Jericho—”
He’s on me in an instant, hand around my throat, pushing me backward, bending me at a painful angle over the altar. I’d scream if I could, but I can’t inhale any air. I grip his forearm but he’s too strong and he’s too angry.
“You fucking liar!” He brings his fist with the pills in front of my face, crushing them, the packaging bending, pills popping out of their pockets. “You fucking liar!”
I slap at his face, scratching it. He eases his grip on my throat enough that I gulp down air. He captures my wrist to stop my attack and leans over me, face so close to mine I feel his breath. Feel the rage in his eyes, the abyss behind them.
“You would have killed my baby?”
“No,” I croak, gasping for breath. “No!” If he’d just let me explain. If he’d let me tell him what happened. I forgot about them. It’s true. I forgot they were even there.
“Have you taken any?”
“I can’t—”
“Have you taken any!” he roars.
I try to shake my head, but I can’t. I can’t speak to answer him either. I think this is it. I think he’s going to kill me. Does he realize it? Does he realize how strong he is? How hard he’s squeezing?
But just as my vision begins to fade, he’s off me, his attention diverted. I drop to my knees and gasp for breath, clutching my throat as I try to breathe. Try to speak. To tell him.
“You’ll kill her!”
I look up to see why he released me. To see who saved my life. Ezekiel. The brothers caught up in a whirl of fists and fury while I watch, helpless, powerless.
“She tried to kill my baby!” Jericho roars.
“No!” I scream. Or try to scream but my throat is too raw and it comes out a whisper. This is my baby too. Our baby. I wouldn’t. I just forgot them. Forgot all about those pills.
In an instant Jericho is standing over me again and I scramble backward on my butt. He crouches down, fists a handful of hair, and tugs my head back.
“Where did you get them?”
“Jericho!” Zeke tries to dislodge him, but Jericho holds tight.
“Where?”
“You’re going to hurt her you fucking idiot!” He yells but Jericho only has eyes for me. Only has rage for me. “The baby, Jericho. The baby. Think.”
That makes him stop. Makes his hand loosen just a little. I’m sobbing. Terrified and sobbing.
“I wouldn’t,” I start but can’t get enough air to get the words out. “I—” A sob has me hiccuping.
“Let her go, Jericho. Let her go and get yourself under control.”
“I didn’t… I wouldn’t hurt…”
He lets me go, straightens to stand. They both look down at me, Ezekiel with concern, Jericho with hate.
“You have to believe me,” I try. “I didn’t take them.”
“Up!” Jericho commands.
“I swear.”
“Up!” he roars, gripping my hair and dragging me to my feet. I scream this time. I find enough breath and voice to scream as he drags me from the chapel, through the woods and into the house. Everything is a blur as I try to keep up, as I try to beg him to stop. To listen to me. To hear me out. But he won’t hear. He can’t.
When he unlocks that steel door, I think he’s going to throw me down the stairs. Instead, he grips my arm and catches me as I stumble once, twice, dragging me down the hall away from the suicide room. To the one where I spent my first night in this house. He pushes me onto the bed with its creaking springs and steps away, rage barely controlled as his hands clench and unclench. I know if I wasn’t pregnant, he’d kill me. I know it. I back into the farthest corner I can and grip the rungs of the headboard, sobbing.
“You’ll stay here. You’ll spend the rest of your wretched days here. You fucking liar. You fucking lying Bishop! And once you give me my baby, you’ll go by way of Nellie Bishop. I’ll bury you after I squeeze the breath out of you, you fucking deceitful bitch!”
My lips tremble as tears spill down my cheeks. My head hurts and my heart aches at his words.
He leans in close again and I scream once more.
“Stop it. Stop the fucking tears. You’re a liar. You’re a Bishop. I know the truth. I know you. And I won’t be fooled again. Not as clever as us?” he snorts. “You with your sweet, innocent act. You’re the worst of them!”
He reaches for me but Ezekiel grabs him from behind and drags him away. They’re out of the room and into the corridor and all I hear are the words think and baby. It’s Ezekiel who closes the door with one glance at me. I think it’s Ezekiel who locks it. But at that point, it doesn’t matter. Because it’s over. I’m locked in and the room is so dark, but I can’t even move to turn on the light. I can’t stop myself shivering and can’t make my legs work. As all sound vanishes and the air settles and I wish Zoë’s ghost was here to keep me company. I wish Zoë’s ghost was here so I wouldn’t be so alone. So afraid.
37
Jericho
“You can’t leave her down there.”
I disconnect the call and look up at my brother. “Ever hear of knocking?” He’s got a bruise along his temple. I have a matching one and a cut on the bridge of my nose to rival the one he has on his cheek.
“I’m serious, Jericho.” He takes a seat. “She’s pregnant. You don’t want to endanger the baby.”
“She’ll be fine. She has shelter. I’ll get her a blanket. She’ll have food. What more does she need?”
“Sunlight? Fresh air? Not to feel terrified?”
I set my forearms on the desk and lean toward him. “She would have killed my baby. How do I know she hasn’t tried? Maybe succeeded? Barnes will do a blood test so we’ll know for sure.”
“Did you see her face when you were attacking her?”
I sit back, lift my chin and keep my mouth shut. Because yes, I saw her face. In fact, I can’t get it the fuck out of my head. That or the way my hand wrapped around her throat. The panic in her eyes when I squeezed.
How close I came to killing her.
“She’s safest down there,” I tell my brother, swiveling on the chair to get up and pour myself a whiskey from the sideboard.
“Safe from you?”
I drink it, push my hand into my hair, consider another.
“Haven’t you had enough?” he asks.
I snort, pour another and look at him as I swallow it down.
He shakes his head. “At least get me one.”
“That’s the spirit,” I say, pouring him one then resuming my seat behind the desk.
“At least talk to her. Hear her side then decide what you believe.”
“She betrayed me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do. Pretty sure she got the pills from her cousin. Which is in and of itself a betrayal. I’d guess that happened the night they met at the concert. Hell, what do I know? Maybe it was planned all along.”
“You know Isabelle, don’t you? At least a little?”
I grin, drink a sip of whiskey. “She fooled me. Like any Bishop, she’s a good liar.”
“You don’t believe that. I see it on your face.”
“Then you need to get some glasses.”
Zeke sighs. “Look, either you talk to her or I’m going to go down there and get her out myself.”
“You will not go near my wife.”
“Talk to her. You’ve let her sweat long enough.”
“Will it get you off my back?”
He considers, nods.
“Fine.” She betrayed me. After all that we talked about, all she asked, she betrayed me. Played me for a fucking fool. And the thought of it tightens something inside my gut. Inside my chest. Makes it fucking hard to breathe.
“I spoke with a couple people from The Cat House,” Zeke says.
“And?”
“Carlton Bishop was fine. A little under the weather the few days prior but he’d said he was feeling better. They drank a lot. And when the activity began, he dropped dead.”
“He’d been at lunch with Joseph Sawyer yesterday. Sawyer said he looked gray. Thought he was working through a bad cold.”
“Did you instruct your man doing the autopsy what to look for? Unless he knows the signs, he won’t find anything.”
“Told him what I learned. Told him about the penchant Society folks have with poisons. He’s good. Came highly recommended by the doctor who saved Santiago De La Rosa’s life after he was poisoned.”
Zeke nods.
“Should have preliminary results tomorrow.”
“Angelique was pretty upset she couldn’t say goodbye to Isabelle.”
Shit. I push a hand into my hair again. What a mess this is. What a fucking disaster. “She’ll have to get over it.”
“She loves her, you know. Angelique loves Isabelle. She’s the closest thing to a mother she’s ever had.”
I close my eyes. The thought hurts because some part of me thought Isabelle would be something like that to her. I never wanted her to replace Kimberly, but she was fast becoming someone I could trust with Angelique. Someone who loved her as much as I do. As much as Kimberly would have. Was that a lie too? Was she acting then too?
Zeke finishes his drink and gets to his feet. “Go downstairs. Talk to her. Get her out of the cellar, brother. I’m telling you, you’re wrong about her. And you don’t want to find that out too late.”
I nod, set an elbow on the desk and put my forehead in my hand. What a shit show.
A few minutes after he’s gone, someone knocks on my door.
“Yes?”
“It’s Catherine sir,” Catherine says and opens the door a crack. “The room’s ready.”
I get to my feet.
She hesitates.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Are you sure you want things this way? She’s your wife. She’s going to be the mother of your child.”
I close my eyes.
“I’m sorry, sir. Just… Wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t speak out on this. I hate to see something terrible happen. Isabelle’s a good girl.”
“I don’t pay you to speak out, do I?”
“No, sir.” Her cheeks flush red and she hangs her head, walks out of the office.
Fuck.
I get up, go to the door. “Catherine. Wait.”
She wipes her face with her apron before turning but I see how red her eyes are. God. I’m an asshole.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
She nods. Tries to smile. What must my own staff think I am? I know the answer to that. Isabelle has said it often enough. I’m a devil. Satan incarnate.
“Can you bring up some food for her please.”
“Of course. I’ll warm up some soup for her. She likes those dumplings. Keeps asking for them.”
Why didn’t I know this? “Thank you.”
Catherine disappears toward the kitchen, and I walk down the corridor toward the cellar. I push the key into the lock, open the heavy door and begin my descent, unsure what I’m going to do just yet.
38
Jericho
She’s been down here for the whole of the afternoon. I unlock the bedroom door and open it to find her lying on the bed, asleep. I take a moment to watch her. She’s small, curled into herself under the oversized sweater she had on. Her hair is matted to her face. She must have cried herself to sleep.
It takes all I have to steel myself against her. She looks so innocent. So incapable of doing what she’s done.
She makes a sound as I watch. Her forehead wrinkles. I push the hair that’s sticking to her face away. She’s sweating.
I say her name quietly, but she doesn’t wake up. She just makes that sound again. Like she’s fighting something. Someone.
Danny Gibson comes to mind. Danny Gibson on top of her. And I remember what she told me. How her nightmare isn’t Christian being murdered but Gibson’s near rape of her. Remember how she described what she felt in her nightmare years later.
“Isabelle,” I say louder, and she rolls onto her back. She’s moaning now, it’s like an unbroken wailing sound.
“Wake up Isabelle.” I put my hands on her shoulders, squeeze. “Wake up.”
She blinks rapidly but then her hands come to my arms and she’s trying to push me away. Does she think I’m him? Is she seeing his face?
“Isabelle, wake up. You’re having a nightmare. Isabelle!” I give her one hard shake and release her when she bolts upright, sucking in a gasping breath, hands out in front of her as if to ward something or someone off.
I catch her arms, stop the momentum. It takes her a long minute to process where she is. To remember what happened. When she looks at me that same expression from earlier darkens her features. I remember her face when I had my hands around her neck. When I was choking her. But I shove the guilt away. She had those pills. She may have taken some of them. As far as I know, she has already miscarried.
But then her face softens, her forehead furrows and she hugs me.
And it takes me out of the moment completely. Out of my head.
“You came back for me,” she says against my neck, fresh tears wet on my skin.
I don’t know what to do as I feel her body surrender against mine, molding to mine. She hugs me tighter, pulling herself closer, repeating those same words. My arms move of their own accord and wrap around her. Instinct? No. More than that.
Want.
Need.
I hold onto her and try to process what the hell is happening. What I believe. What is true versus what I want to be true.
“I didn’t take any. I never intended to. I should have flushed them down the toilet the night she gave them to me. I just forgot about them. So much has happened and I forgot.”
She draws back and looks at me with those big, sad blue eyes. Like broken glass.
Shards of sharp, cutting glass.
She feels me stiffen. I see it in her eyes. See it in the way her forehead furrows, the way she curls into herself.
“But that’s not why you came back, is it?” She hugs her arms around herself protectively.
“No.”
“What do you want then?” She shivers, looks for the sweater that has slid off her.
I stand up, push my hands into my hair.
“I didn’t take them,” she starts as if we’re still having that conversation. “I wasn’t ever going to. You have to believe me. I wouldn’t hurt our baby. I would never do that.”
It takes all I have to swallow the lump in my throat. To harden my heart. Because when I see the look in her eyes, it fucks with me. It makes me want to take her into my arms and hold her and believe her.
She’s a Bishop. Remember that.
“Stop talking and get up.”
“Please, Jericho, you have to believe me. Please.”
“I said stop talking and get up. I’ll fucking gag you if you don’t shut up.”
“Why are you being like this?”
“I won’t fall for your tears. Up. Last chance.”
She slides across the bed and gets up, pushing her arms into her sweater.
“Walk.”
She walks ahead of me all the way up to her bedroom where once she’s inside, she stops. I close the door behind us and watch her as she looks around. Takes in the state of things. She turns to me.
“Where are my things?”
“You won’t need them. But I thought this room would be more comfortable than the cellar, considering the child.”
The room is stripped bare. Only her bed remains. One pillow. No books. No clothes apart from essentials. Her violin. That is the one thing I will allow for her comfort.
She tests the door between our rooms. It’s locked. She’s no longer welcome in my bed.
On the desk is her violin case. She opens it, exhales in relief. She touches it, then turns to me and I see the tiniest spark of hope in her eyes.
“Did you order this?” she asks, gesturing around the room.
I nod.
“And this too?” she asks about the violin.
“Yes.”
She walks toward me. I stand still as stone unsure what she’s going to do. When she reaches up to touch my cheek, we both flinch at the spark of electricity.
