The next page describes the first game he played with her. The chase, he called it. He would blindfold her, and in the middle of the night, take her to a random place on the property, forcing her to return to the well, in what he himself writes, is an unachievable space of time. He’d punished her when she arrived too late. How cruel he was in his punishments.
We played that game, too. A similar one at least. If I hadn’t fallen and hit my head, if I hadn’t passed out, would Jericho have punished me like Draca did Nellie? I still remember his words that night. How he meant to draw the first drops of blood from me.
I consider closing the book, wanting to go back to the house. Back into his bed. To the warmth and comfort of it. I want to forget what I’ve read. But Julia’s words haunt me.
You should read their history. Your future is written in it.
I’m on borrowed time. I touch my stomach. I have nine months. Less.
I make myself read another passage. Another bullet point. A detailed account of how he brought her into this chapel. How he chained her to the altar. Whipped her until she bled so her blood would seep into the stone floor. I look up at the altar. Are the chains still there? Back in the shadows?
I turn the page. Jericho has said he won’t hurt me but, as I skip the next page and a half dozen bullet points, I wonder again if I didn’t ask the right question. If I should have asked if he would kill me once I gave him a child.
Draca St. James had Nellie dig her own grave the night before her execution. Her death was meant to be an execution. But the next morning, they’d found her body in the well. I’m sick to my stomach when I read Draca St. James’s words. His utter disappointment that he could not murder the innocent girl himself. How he could not hang her from a tree where her father would watch her corpse rot before he finally buried it when the stink got too bad and the flies became unbearable.
I feel physically ill at his words.
I close the book wanting to be away from it. Wanting to scrub any part of myself that touched it. Wanting to be away from this place. I stand, forgetting the flashlight that drops with a loud noise to the stone floor. It reverberates off the walls. I bend and have to stretch my arm under the pew to reach it.
That’s when I hear the chapel door open. I swear my heart stops then. I swear it just drops right to my stomach as footsteps draw closer. I’m crouched down hidden by the pew, the light of my flashlight giving me away.
When I look up, I remember something Jericho asked. If I’d be able to tell him and his brother apart if they were masked. They’re built the same, the way they walk and stand is the same. But before seeing his face, I only know it’s Ezekiel from his cologne. A subtle but distinct difference from Jericho’s signature scent. As I drag my gaze up to face the man standing before me, I think I should feel relief it’s not Jericho. I should. But I don’t.
18
Jericho
I meet Dex down the street from the run-down house in the Seventh Ward. Our cars stand out among the dilapidated vehicles.
He called me to meet him here soon after I got Isabelle back to the house. When he explained why I knew I had to come see for myself.
Dex climbs out of the Rolls Royce as I park. I see him tuck a pistol into the back of his pants.
“Which one is it?” I ask.
“End of the street. The garage door sticks.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Positive. They pulled into the driveway. She must have left the kid in the car because they didn’t make any stops. She and two men walked right in the front door. And you’ll find this interesting,” he says as we make our way down the street toward the house. “Did a little research while I waited for you to get here. Guess who owns the house.”
I turn to him, curious. “Don’t tell me the Bishops.”
“No, even better. The deed is in the name Marjorie Gibson.”
“Gibson?” I remember it but it’s a common enough name.
“Mother of Danny and Gerald Gibson, the former is currently serving a life sentence for the murder of Christian York.”
I stop. Try to make sense of what Dex is telling me.
“Marjorie’s dead if you wanted to know. Had a heart attack about six years ago. Her deadbeat sons lived in the house separately and together off and on. That’s mostly public record by the way.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Julia Bishop hired Danny Gibson’s brother to run Isabelle down?”
He shrugs a shoulder as we get to the house. A TV is on. I can see the flashes of color through the curtains and hear the jingle of a commercial through the closed window.
“He hasn’t moved since they left,” Dex says.
I look to the garage with its partially open door. It looks jammed at an angle. I lean down, and can see the white van with its dirty license plate. I walk up the driveway as a group of three men noisily cross the street. They pause to look at us. Dex takes two steps toward them and they scurry off. They’re young and Dex is intimidating. It’s one of the reasons I hired him.
I can hear the TV in the house when I reach the garage. Dex stands outside when I duck my head to enter. I take out my phone to use the flashlight and I’m sure this was the van. I recognize the first few digits of the license plate.
The driver’s side window is down. When I peer inside, I have to hold my breath against the stink. I can see empty containers from fast food joints. A half-full pack of cigarettes. Lighters. More Trash. And hanging from a small noose on the rear-view mirror is a teddy bear.
Sick fuck.
I switch off the flashlight and walk back outside. We stand on the dark driveway.
“Do we go in?” Dex asks.
I want to. Fuck do I want to. But I shake my head. “Get a couple guys out here to watch him.”
Dex nods. “Involve IVI?”
“No. Get our own guys. I don’t want anyone to catch on that we know anything just yet.”
“Got it.” He already has his phone out of his pocket texting a message.
I glance back to the house as I open my car door. If there was any doubt as to Julia Bishop’s involvement in Carlton’s scheme, it’s gone. This revelation complicates things because Isabelle trusts Julia. She has a relationship with her that’s very different than the one with her brother. There’s also the matter of Julia’s kid to consider.
I get in the car and start the engine.
If there was a moment I hoped things would be different where Julia was concerned, for Isabelle’s sake, it’s gone. Things just went sideways in a very bad way.
19
Isabelle
“What are you doing here, Isabelle?” Ezekiel asks me. He extends a hand to help me up.
I grab the flashlight and take his hand. He helps me stand and I dust off my jeans to buy some time.
“I was… I couldn’t sleep.”
He releases me and bends to pick up the book. “What happened to making a cup of warm milk if you can’t sleep?” he asks casually, his focus on straightening the bent page. Reading it. It’s the one about Nellie. “There’s a library in the house if you want something to read.” He closes it, placing it back on the altar.