Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THEA
Another week goes by without Slade, and the monotony of the days, along with the pressing guilt surrounding them, weigh me down.
I pull myself out of bed, the sun already crested in the sky and drag myself to the bathroom.
After splashing some water on my face, I dress in a pink polka dot bikini and toss some black shorts over it.
Another day on the dock. Maybe I’ll cut up the watermelon Stefan brought home yesterday.
I sigh, fingering through my tangled hair and piling it on top of my head.
My reflection in the mirror isn’t what I’d thought it would be.
Yes, I’ve got more color. My nose is sun-kissed, and my face has filled out, but under my eyes—the skin underneath is darker than usual, bruised and purple.
My eyes constantly feel scratchy and heavy, and mirroring that, there’s no light there anymore, just exhaustion.
Each day that passes, the more I hate myself.
Every time I close my eyes I see their faces, hear their screams, or the sound of their sobs from their nights away.
I’m not doing anything to help when I should be.
What if I’m their only hope? Am I really so cowardly I’ll sit here falling in love with a man who rides the line?
I snort and push my makeup aside.
Exiting my room, I make my way to the kitchen. Stefan mutters in the pantry, and I smile watching him take inventory, which is just fancy talk for flipping out over everything being disorganized.
The TV is on, and the meteorologist calls for another scorcher today. Sounds like a perfect day for the lake and freshly cut watermelon. I hunt down the wooden cutting board and a long knife, mind wandering to Slade.
Talking to him on the phone was … refreshing. A sense of normalcy in all this, like I would talk to a boyfriend or my mom if she were still alive. Though the sad reality is that this isn’t normal, and he’s not my boyfriend. Gosh, that’s such a college-student way to look at it, isn’t it?
The knife sinks into the watermelon with a satisfying crack that splits the thick green rind.
Juice wells up, and I fumble for the towel to sop it up before Stefan sees my mess.
It pools on the cutting board, and when the knife finally cuts through, half of it thuds on the wooden board, and with a loud splat, a rogue splash of red goes straight onto my shorts.
I sigh and lean against the counter to keep going, moving on autopilot at this point. After falling into a quartering, cubing, and dropping chunks into a big plastic bowl snooze-fest, I nearly miss the interview on the TV.
“—have Piper Reeves from the Chicago Chronicle to join us. Thank you, Piper, for being here.”
I drop my knife, splashing more juice over my bare stomach and onto my swimsuit, and glance up at the TV.
The female news anchor with high cheekbones and sharp red lipstick looks like she may explode with irritation, and she smooths her short hair, even though it’s probably sprayed stuck.
Next to her is a younger woman with golden hair pulled loosely into a high bun with bright brown eyes sparkling.
Her dewy complexion looks like she’s nervous.
“Thank you for having me.”
“So, as I understand it, you’ve been researching the disappearances of women in Chicago?”
“I have.” She looks directly at the camera. “All of which have been blatantly ignored by local law enforcement.”
The news anchor looks annoyed. “If there’s been no evidence of these disappearances what makes you so sure?”
Piper shakes her head. “They’ve been covered up. There’s more going on here. I believe, and have been working to uncover, a large underground society made up of politicians, law enforcement, businessmen, perhaps even organized crime organizations.”
“And you have proof of this?” The haughty tone in the newswoman’s voice makes me roll my eyes, but I stagger around the island, drawn to the screen.
Piper swallows, and the stoic, almost forced professional expression on her face falters.
“I, uh, don’t exactly. But I’m working on it.
There are too many politicians with money, too many businessmen doing shady transactions, and too many girls ‘wandering off’ to call it coincidental.
I’m urging anyone with information to contact me at my Chronicle email. ”
A banner with the email preeves@ flashes across the screen along the bottom. I crack my knuckles while staring at the rolling information.
“Well, that’s certainly an interesting conspiracy theory …”
I spin, drawn to the oily, calculated voice hissing behind sharp teeth. Henry DuPont stands in the kitchen threshold, arms crossed, and a smirk emphasizing the wrinkles around his mouth.
I step back, eyes wide, and wish I had the knife sitting by the watermelon. My gaze flicks toward it, and he slithers out a laugh.
“No need to panic seven-fifty-five.”
Edmond flies around the corner behind Henry, huffing out his words. “Sir, I’m so sorry. I didn’t hear the front bell.”
“I didn’t ring it.”
His voice makes my skin crawl. It’s slick and self-assured, like he just walked into Slade’s house to bestow the gift of it on us all.
Stefan stumbles out of the pantry, not aware he’s there. “Listen, Thea. Next time you and Slade raid this pantry for your late-night snacks, can you at least make time to put—”
He stops talking as soon as his attention lands on Henry, whose mouth has turned from a smirk to chilling disgust. Henry DuPont steps farther into the room.
“It looks like you’ve made yourself right at home seven-fifty-five.”
I hate the way my stomach twists.
Edmond chimes in, strolling to my side. “I’m sorry, Congressman DuPont isn’t back yet, but I’ll be sure to let him know you stopped by.”
Henry snorts. “I am not here to see my grandson. I came to check on society property.”
There’s a sudden tight ache behind my eyes, and I work to blink away the prickling tears. Don’t cry, Thea. Be brave, er something …
I clamp down on my jaw, hearing the cracks and snaps in my ears.
“You think you’ve escaped, that my grandson has shown you favor, but really you’re just a longtime toy.”
I swallow the sting of his words.
Edmond stammers, flustered. “Sir. Can I show you to the dining room? Perhaps get you a drink?”
“No.” Henry glances at the TV where Piper has been replaced by another journalist, and he grins.
It’s a toothy grin I’m sure would be yellow and disgusting if his teeth weren’t bought and paid for.
He moves toward the kitchen table. “Seven-fifty-five can get me a drink. It’s a nice August day, why don’t you get us some iced tea?
Unsweet of course, because it’s clear you haven’t been worried about what you consume these past weeks. ”
I bristle but take the opportunity to duck away and open the refrigerator. I have zero clue whether there’s iced tea in here or not, but Stefan brushes past me and gestures with his head to the pitcher in the door.
Snatching it, I hip-check it shut and move around the island to where Stefan is filling two glasses with ice. I’m all too aware of the eyes following my every movement, or the tilt of his study as his attention dips between my breasts. I shudder, and he quirks the corner of his mouth.
When both glasses are full, I muster any shred of confidence I have left and usher the tea to the dinette where he waits.
His suit creases and pulls as he rests one leg up and over his other knee and leans back harboring an appreciative stare.
How an old man like himself still has the …
virility you’d find on a college campus is beyond me.
Then again, it’s all about the power, not necessarily the act itself.
And power—that he has a carnal desire for.
“Sit,” he commands, and I do. Edmond looks at Stefan and then to me.
With a flick of his wrist, Henry dismisses them both. No words are exchanged, but the worry on Edmond’s face squeezes my heart a bit. I smile at him, giving him an all too forced I’ll be fine look.
Stefan snaps off the TV, and they both exit the kitchen.
“I’ve been curious about you, seven-fifty-five … How have you managed to turn the head of my grandson who’s been so eager to please me up until your little stunt the night of the Culling?”
I blink. Clearly, Slade’s grandfather is unaware of his peddling GHB to the girls in efforts to woo them to use in the Severing. Or that he doesn’t use the girls he bids on at the Market. Nonetheless, I sit up straighter. “My name is Thea.”
“Oh, yes, yes. Every girl needs to push back. ‘My name is Thea,’” he mimics. “You’re a number. Earned it the day your father sold you.”
I swallow, working through the emotions the mention of Phil brings up.
It shouldn’t, but I think most little girls desire their father’s attention and love.
To have that shredded, in the way he treated my saint of a mother, or any hope of reconciliation demolished when he chose booze money over his own daughter—it earns acknowledgement.
Knowledge of Slade’s mother being the one Severed stops on the tip of my tongue.
I want to lash out with it, use it to watch him squirm.
Perhaps ask about her fate, more so for my curiosity.
Slade said the women aren’t killed as part of the ceremony.
It’s the guilt afterward the initiate can’t live with that compels them to act. But what if someone volunteered?
I take a sip of my tea, and he shadows me, doing the same.
“You’re very beautiful. I can see why my grandson is taken with you, and why the other men demand your return.
” He must have noticed the slight widening of my eyes because he twists his lips.
“I’m sure they’ll be happy to learn I’ve made it my personal mission to see to it Graves rectifies the situation.
” He takes another sip of his tea, while mine sours in my stomach.
“Should’ve never happened in the first place.
He’s avoiding his meetings, skipping out from work early, his staff oversteps, and his backyard is abysmal.
Is he not having the grass cut back here?
Your presence is a blight on him and his productivity. ”
My brow furrows, glancing at the backyard that extends toward the lake.
Is that why the lawn is long in the back?
Is he not having it cut? I’ve been relishing the dandelions, picking them and leaving them in tiny jars around the house, especially since Slade has been gone.
Why isn’t the lawn-care personnel cutting it?
“It’s a miracle he’s actually in D.C. securing EV’s interests.”
I startle away from the window and dissect that. “EV’s interests?”
“And mine, of course.” Henry leers at me, but I don’t back down this time.
“I think Slade has some good ideas he’d like to work toward, if he was able to do what he was elected to do.”
He nearly spits out his tea with a boisterous laugh. “You have no clue how politics work. Your naivety is endearing.”
A dribble of liquid seeps from the corner of his mouth, and I stare at it.
Maybe. Clearly. Aren’t we all then? Most of us average people don’t walk around with knowledge of secret societies and clubs run by the very men society typically respects.
Growing up you’re taught about stranger danger, to avoid the creepy man using his bunnies to lure you in, but you’re not taught that the politicians you elect harbor grotesque secrets, or that the billionaires that should use their money for good, use it to purchase humans like cattle.
I’m not naive anymore, but even in this dark world, Slade wants reform.
He has a drive to see better for young kids, who, like him, love to read, and he should use his platform to be the exception to the very sad rule that every politician is out for himself.
I lean back, choosing to ignore him and remain silent. Suddenly, Slade’s need to do the same becomes clearer. He deemed his voice not loud enough; perhaps he remained silent to help conceal his true motives behind closed lips. Either way, it makes sense. I focus out the window at the lake instead.
“I see my grandson has rubbed off on you, too.” He chuckles, downing the rest of his tea.
Leave, I want to say. Get out.
I say nothing.
Coward.
He stands. “It won’t be long now.”
Then, he walks out of the kitchen, and I’m left wilting at the table not only to chew on his words but to hate myself for the ones I left unspoken.