Chapter 20
Twenty
Aubrey
“I know, I know. I tried to tell her,” I say into the phone, frustration climbing in my tone. I wait a long moment for a reply
that never comes. “Okay—well, I have shit to do. I should go.”
“Don’t forget Saturday,” comes the order through the speaker.
“I’ll be there,” I retort, then hang up. I drop my bag on the table by the door and then kick the heels off my feet. I think
of the shock on Ellie’s face tonight when she realized that The Society has set her up to take down her father. What a tough
pill to swallow—poor girl.
It took us less than twenty minutes to finish our drinks before we left Apotheke and hit up the dive bar a few blocks away, unnoticed by her father.
We split a bottle of cheap champagne between us as she considered her next move.
Ignore the directive from Kat and The Society?
Pretend it never happened and move on with her life?
Confront her father? All seem impossible—once you know something like that you can’t go back.
I feel for the girl, but not so much that it distracts me from my own purpose.
I can’t let useless emotions like empathy get in the way of the greater good, and even if Ellie doesn’t see it now, my way is the best way.
She’ll get there—I have faith in that. I’m so close to driving the final wedge between her life before and the one that will come after.
I just need a little more time to set things in motion, a little more time to make her see the truth. An idea occurs to
me then, and I send a quick email to an old friend who works on the police force. The reply comes minutes later with a pdf
file attached—it’s all the information I need.
I’m still awake reading through the file an hour later when Ellie’s text message comes.
I can’t sleep. Up for a nightcap?
Sure, I reply instantly. It’s after one in the morning but I haven’t gotten much sleep since I moved into this building, so I
don’t mind. I’m tapping on her door a few minutes later in pajamas, a bottle of red wine in hand.
“Long time, no see, stranger.” I wink when Ellie opens the door.
A faint smile crosses her face before it’s gone again. “Hi. I can’t sleep. I had a nightmare.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” I say as I walk in. “What about?”
Ellie remains silent as I follow her into the kitchen and she takes down two wine glasses. “My mom.”
“Oh.” I can’t hide the shock in my voice.
“I woke up in a cold sweat with what I think is her voice in my head screaming, find me, find me. It’s awful.”
“Do you dream about her a lot?” I ask, as we settle on the couch that overlooks the windows and Columbus Circle.
“Too much, especially considering I have no memories of her. She’s been dead for so long. I feel like my brain is torturing me,” she admits, then sips her wine.
“Brains suck like that,” I offer. “I’m glad you called me; I’m always up for a nightcap. I can empathize with the mom stuff—even
before my mom passed we weren’t really on the best terms. I lived a long time without her in my life, by choice. I wished
her all the best but she was dead to me long before she actually died, you know? I think I mourned the mother I never had
when she passed away, not her actual passing, if that makes sense. Family is so complicated sometimes.”
“Yeah, add to that a sprinkle of mental illness and the train really goes off the tracks.” Ellie’s laugh is wry.
“No doubt,” I say. “I don’t know if this is the right time . . . actually, I don’t think there’s ever a right time for this.
But I reached out to a friend on the police force—we used to date; he’s my ex-boyfriend and he owes me a solid after he did
me dirty when we broke up. So I had him run some searches on your dad, and El—he found some records that were supposed to
be sealed. It’s not good.” I unfold the few dozen sheets of paper I printed out before coming over—the most damning reports—and
toss them on the coffee table in front of us. “We might need another bottle of wine for this.”
Ellie sucks in a heavy breath before picking up the freshly printed paperwork.
“I hope you’re not mad—” I say.
“No, of course not. I appreciate it,” she replies, but I can hear the dread in her voice. It is what it is, I think. She needs
to know what she’s dealing with—that everything she thought she knew has been a falsely constructed narrative meant to hide
the truth from her. She glances down at the first sheet of paper. “Oh God,” Ellie says. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
Bullseye, I think. But what I say is, “I’m sorry. It’s so awful I didn’t know if I should share it with you.”
“No, no, I need this.” She flips to the second sheet and scans it before flipping the papers over and setting them back on
the coffee table. “He raped someone.”
I can almost see her heart hammering in her throat.
“There’s more,” I continue, determined to give her the full picture even if it kills her. “There’s a cancelled order for child
support.”
“W-what? What does that mean?”
“It means he had a baby with the woman he raped—one of them at least. The charges for lapsed support were dropped, though,
so I bet he settled with her out of court,” I explain.
“Oh.” I can see goosebumps rise on Ellie’s arms.
“I searched the woman’s name—there isn’t anything on the internet about the case itself, but I did find her social media profiles.
She has a pretty unique name, so I’m pretty confident it’s her.”
“Oh.” Ellie’s voice is barely above a whisper.
“She lives on Long Island now.” I push. “She owns a hair salon.”
Ellie only nods, finally at a loss for words.
“El—” I say with a sigh, pretending this is harder for me than it actually is, “she has a daughter.”
Ellie blinks, then nods.
“And she’s the right age to be . . .” I pause for dramatic effect, “your half-sister.”
“Fuck . . .” Tears well in Ellie’s eyes then. “You were right,” she says, wiping at her tears. “There isn’t enough wine on
the island of Manhattan to get me through this.”
I frown, feigning as much sympathy as I can before I pull her in for a tight hug. “Do you know her name? My half-sister, I mean.”
I nod. “I made a note of it in the margins of the last page.” I rub Ellie’s back with as much care as I can muster. “I’m sorry
your father isn’t who he says he is, and I hate that I was the bearer of bad news.”
“It’s okay—it honestly makes more sense now. I was thinking I would just ignore any more emails from The Society but . . .
I don’t think I can now. It seems like they hold the key to a piece of my past that I didn’t know existed.”
“Yeah . . .” I say, nodding. “And I hate to say it, but there’s more in his record, Ellie. I bet he paid a lot of people off
to keep this part of his past quiet. And this is just reports from the women who went to the police—I’m sure there’s more
who were too afraid to report him . . .”
“Yeah . . .” Ellie presses her lips together, eyes lingering on the stack of papers. “I think I need some time alone. I think
I’m going to take a sleeping pill and just knock myself out ’til next week. I’m sorry I called you so late.” Ellie stands,
walking in the direction of the door. I’m guessing that’s my cue to leave. “Thanks for being such a good friend.”
“Yeah, of course. I’m always here for you, anytime.” I wrap her in a final hug and then excuse myself and walk back down the
hall to my apartment, my grin growing a little wider with every step. Ready. Aim. Fire.