Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Look, yes I knew who Miriam was when I had your grandfather hire her. She was down on her luck and considering the situation, why not help her out. God knows I didn’t have any other allies in this house. But the peanut thing, she may have mentioned your girlfriend’s allergy but I swear I didn’t know it was lethal. I just thought her face would swell up or something. What do I know about these things? If Miriam fed her peanuts, that’s on her, not me. Probably a stupid little game she concocted. Miriam doesn’t like Mercedes either. Seeing a pattern?”
I snort.
“What you’re saying now, though? That it was some sort of attack? That has nothing to do with me, Judge. Why would I care about that woman? I don’t like her, it’s true. But I don’t like any of those high-born spoiled Society women. They look down their noses at me and I’ve never made a secret of my dislike. You know that. But I can tell you I don’t care enough to launch some attack. Christ. Not everyone thinks like your grandfather. If anything, you’re blood, not me. Maybe question your own motives with her. Do you have any intention to marry her? Because if you don’t, I suggest you try to keep yourself to yourself. A woman like that will trap you. You don’t want that.”
“You’re concerned for me?”
“Of course, I am. You’re my son.”
“Or is it that if I marry and have an heir, it won’t bode well for Theron, especially considering what he did to her.”
“Like I said, a sex game.”
I slam my hands on the table so hard she jumps. “If you fucking say that one more time, I swear—”
“What?” she stands. “You’ll take me into that room and finish what your grandfather started? Oh, believe me, I have no doubt you would.”
Jesus.
I walk away, rub the back of my neck. She got a rise out of me. I just gave her exactly what she wanted.
“Does your girlfriend know about that by the way? Or about your temper? Just like his. It’s a matter of time. She should really know what she’s in for, don’t you think? I doubt she’d so easily spread her legs—”
I spin to face her and throw the table over, sending wine all over the kitchen, red splashing on her white robe before the glass shatters into a hundred pieces.
My mother screams.
I stand staring at her, at the splatters of red so much like blood.
She’s backed against the counter and staring back at me. She steels herself. Is she truly terrified of me? “I feel sorry for the woman you’ll marry one day. You are just like him, Judge. Exactly him.”
I flinch as if she’s struck me and stalk out of the cottage, her accusations chasing me. Nothing I haven’t heard before, I remind myself. Nothing I don’t already know. I am like him. I will hurt her. It’s in my nature.
I stalk to the one place I know I should avoid. I walk over muddy earth, my boots sinking into the ground. He’d hate that. Me tracking mud inside. I don’t use my flashlight to light the way as I retrieve the key from my pocket and unlock the padlock, push the door open. Feeling for the switch I flip it and light up the room. I’m instantly confronted by the evidence of my brother’s rage. His hate. The whip on the floor. The broken cane. Mercedes’s shoes discarded, one in a corner, the other upside down a few feet away. Her clothes, torn from her body. If I look close at the whipping bench, I see blood too. Hers?
At the fireplace I stack wood. Using old paper for kindling I light it and it takes immediately. The logs are so dry they’ll go up in no time. Satisfied, I straighten, watch the fire grow, flames bright and hot.
I take the bottle of scotch I drank from the last time I was here and carry it to his chair. No one sat in that damned chair but him. Ever. It’s huge, like a fucking throne, the leather creased and worn. I switch on the CD player, my grandfather never understood streaming, and Matthäeus Passion blares at a volume that at first makes me flinch. I drink straight from the crystal decanter.
This is what he’d listen to after the punishments. While we lay limp trying not to make a sound. Like what he’d done was some sort of holy rite. During the punishments there was silence. Mostly. Because it was a game to him. How long until we’d scream. And woe to he who wept. Tears are weakness. Screams are also weakness but somehow less so. Take it like a man, he’d say. And until you did, he kept going. Never tiring. Taking a sick pleasure from it.