9. Roman #2
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’s a 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 her time.
Time to do that for herself, and time to realize she could do 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’s better?
” 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 heard him for 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.”
Her dad scoffs. “Dumb name.”
“Vince, shut up ,” her mother shouts. Her words seemingly shock him into silence. “She said you helped her. Those were her words. She said the Preachers were the only ones who could help, the ones who made that voice go away.”
“Yes, we did.” Cain nods. “And we can keep her safe, too, I give you my word…on my life. If you let her come back with us, and anything happens to her, I’ll offer my life in return.”
I suck in a breath. That’s a huge move. It’s not just empty words. In our world, offering your life this way means death if you fuck up. He’s giving his word, and his honor, that Ophelia is his to protect. Failure to do so means her father has every right to take his life in return.
“Cain,” I start, but he silences me with a look.
“It’s too late.” Her mother presses her fingers to her lips, her eyes wide and glassy with tears. “She’s in a medical facility. She had a complete psychotic break. She’s very unwell.”
“A medical facility?” My stomach churns. “What kind of facility?”
Her father clenches his fists at his sides. “None of your business.”
“Vince, for the love of God, I think we’ve done the wrong thing.” Mrs. Sinclair stands and paces, wringing her hands as she does.
“No, you’re overwrought. She’s in professional hands. Safe. Cared for. You boys need to leave.”
“But, sir—I” Cain says.
“Now.” He barks the order at us.
Fuck. This isn’t going to work. Still, now we know she’s at a facility, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find out where. Surely, they’d want to keep her close?
Mrs. Sinclair pushes by us to leave the room, her hand to her mouth, a sob escaping. I let her pass, feeling sorry for her.
Ophelia’s father puts his shoulders back and jerks his chin at the door. “You need to go now. You’ve upset my wife and given her false hope. Get out of here.”
I nod, as does Cain, and we leave, Malachi bringing up the rear. We step outside and pause on the step, then walk away from the door, which is firmly slammed behind us. I’ve not taken more than two steps when Ophelia’s mother appears from around the side of the house.
She glances from side to side, checking we’re alone.
“Cain, it always haunted me, the way I treated you when you were a boy. I’m so sorry I screamed at you when you were only worried about Ophelia. I know you cared about her, and it looks as though you care about her still.” She slips a note into Cain’s hands. “She’s lucky to have you as a friend.”
Before he’s got the chance to reply, she slips away again, hurrying back around the side of the property.
He pockets the paper, and we walk quickly back to the car.