The Angel
Page 91
“One of these prefects apparently made the mistake of taking an interest in my brother when he was only about ten. He was asleep in his dormitory bed when the older boy came for him. But my brother was expecting him. Light sleeper. The older boy spent six weeks in the hospital before dying of an infection brought on by his injuries.”
Suzanne gasped and nearly dropped the seedling in her hands.
“Father Stearns killed a boy?”
“Boy? I suppose. The older boy was fifteen. And had a reputation for being the worst of the offenders at the school. The school knew that. No one pressed charges against my brother. They covered it all up and sent him back home to us.”
Suzanne walked away from the table, from the dark earth and the tender seedlings. Father Stearns as a boy of only ten had beaten and subsequently killed a fifteen-year-old boy at his school....
“I remember overhearing our father telling my mother the story. That monster was proud of my brother. Ten years old and my brother beats into a coma a boy five years older and fifty pounds heavier. Proud. My father the ra**st, proud of his son for killing a pedophile. Oh, the irony. I’ll tell you more if you promise you can handle it, if you promise it’s off the record. I have two sons. I don’t want this nightmare to touch another generation.”
Suzanne turned back around although she instantly regretted it.
“There’s more?”
Elizabeth raised her chin in a kind of defiance, nearly daring Suzanne to tell her to stop or to walk away. And she would have…should have. But she couldn’t.
“Tell me,” Suzanne said.
Elizabeth picked up the watering can, refilled it and started making a circuit of the greenhouse.
“I was hiding outside my father’s office when I heard him tell my mother that story, the story of my brother the light sleeper, my brother who’d nearly killed a boy with his bare hands. And then my brother came home. I hadn’t seen him in two years.”
“What was it like? Seeing him again after all that time?”
“Strange. Awkward. He didn’t seem like my brother to me. He was only eleven, a year younger than me, but seemed so much older. He was such a beautiful bastard even then. And so quiet, unapproachable. He scared the hell out of me. I thought he could kill me the way he did that boy. In fact—” Elizabeth paused for a breath “—I hoped he would.”
The August evening heat in the greenhouse was so oppressive Suzanne thought she might faint from it. But when Elizabeth spoke those last four words, she felt cold chills run through her body.
“What did you do?” Suzanne asked. Something told her that was the right question to ask. Not “What happened?” or “What do you mean?” For clearly Elizabeth had done something.
Elizabeth lifted the watering can and sprinkled a large white rose.
“For days after my brother returned from England, I had my father’s words ringing in my ears…his son Marcus…light sleeper…nearly killed the boy who’d touched him…”
Suzanne’s stomach started to plummet.
“I…” Elizabeth’s voice faltered for the first time. “Mother and Father were gone. Away on some business trip of his. I went into my brother’s bedroom at night. He was sleeping. I pulled the covers back....”
Suzanne watched as Elizabeth’s eyes went blank and empty as if her mind had left the present and traveled far back into the past.
“Beautiful bastard,” Elizabeth said again. “I think that was the first time in my life I remember feeling attracted to someone. I couldn’t stop myself from touching his face. Well, you’ve met him. You must know what it’s like to be around him, to be drawn to him....”
“What did you do?” Suzanne repeated the question.
Elizabeth sighed, almost wistfully. When she spoke again it was in a hollow, faraway voice. The sun had started to set and shadows crept into the greenhouse.
“I wonder…” Elizabeth began and paused. “I wonder what it was like for my brother to wake up and find himself inside his own sister.”
“Oh, God.” Suzanne blurted out the words as she shoved both her hands hard into her stomach to steady herself.
“I kept waiting…” Elizabeth continued. “I thought any minute he’d turn on me, beat me, kill me like he had that boy at his school. But that’s not what happened. That wasn’t it at all.”
A wave of nausea passed through Suzanne. She gripped the table and breathed through her nose, praying the sickness would pass. Father Stearns…at age eleven…had been raped by his own older sister.
“I wanted him to kill me as he had that boy in England. That’s why it happened the first night.”
Suzanne stood up straight again.
“The first night? It happened more than once?”
Elizabeth slowly nodded. “I told you, Mother and Father were gone. We had the house to ourselves. No supervision. We’d both been so badly damaged we didn’t even realize what we were doing was wrong.”
Something in Elizabeth’s voice betrayed the awful truth that she hadn’t even come close to the end of the story. Suzanne wanted to turn her head and vomit, wanted to take everything she’d heard, everything she now pictured in her head, and retch until every horrible image—the young boy’s body responding in his sleep, the sister’s desperate gambit to find peace in death, the realization that they’d gone too far to go back—burned itself out of her mind. But Suzanne knew as long as she lived she would have Elizabeth’s words emblazoned into her memory forever.
Suzanne gasped and nearly dropped the seedling in her hands.
“Father Stearns killed a boy?”
“Boy? I suppose. The older boy was fifteen. And had a reputation for being the worst of the offenders at the school. The school knew that. No one pressed charges against my brother. They covered it all up and sent him back home to us.”
Suzanne walked away from the table, from the dark earth and the tender seedlings. Father Stearns as a boy of only ten had beaten and subsequently killed a fifteen-year-old boy at his school....
“I remember overhearing our father telling my mother the story. That monster was proud of my brother. Ten years old and my brother beats into a coma a boy five years older and fifty pounds heavier. Proud. My father the ra**st, proud of his son for killing a pedophile. Oh, the irony. I’ll tell you more if you promise you can handle it, if you promise it’s off the record. I have two sons. I don’t want this nightmare to touch another generation.”
Suzanne turned back around although she instantly regretted it.
“There’s more?”
Elizabeth raised her chin in a kind of defiance, nearly daring Suzanne to tell her to stop or to walk away. And she would have…should have. But she couldn’t.
“Tell me,” Suzanne said.
Elizabeth picked up the watering can, refilled it and started making a circuit of the greenhouse.
“I was hiding outside my father’s office when I heard him tell my mother that story, the story of my brother the light sleeper, my brother who’d nearly killed a boy with his bare hands. And then my brother came home. I hadn’t seen him in two years.”
“What was it like? Seeing him again after all that time?”
“Strange. Awkward. He didn’t seem like my brother to me. He was only eleven, a year younger than me, but seemed so much older. He was such a beautiful bastard even then. And so quiet, unapproachable. He scared the hell out of me. I thought he could kill me the way he did that boy. In fact—” Elizabeth paused for a breath “—I hoped he would.”
The August evening heat in the greenhouse was so oppressive Suzanne thought she might faint from it. But when Elizabeth spoke those last four words, she felt cold chills run through her body.
“What did you do?” Suzanne asked. Something told her that was the right question to ask. Not “What happened?” or “What do you mean?” For clearly Elizabeth had done something.
Elizabeth lifted the watering can and sprinkled a large white rose.
“For days after my brother returned from England, I had my father’s words ringing in my ears…his son Marcus…light sleeper…nearly killed the boy who’d touched him…”
Suzanne’s stomach started to plummet.
“I…” Elizabeth’s voice faltered for the first time. “Mother and Father were gone. Away on some business trip of his. I went into my brother’s bedroom at night. He was sleeping. I pulled the covers back....”
Suzanne watched as Elizabeth’s eyes went blank and empty as if her mind had left the present and traveled far back into the past.
“Beautiful bastard,” Elizabeth said again. “I think that was the first time in my life I remember feeling attracted to someone. I couldn’t stop myself from touching his face. Well, you’ve met him. You must know what it’s like to be around him, to be drawn to him....”
“What did you do?” Suzanne repeated the question.
Elizabeth sighed, almost wistfully. When she spoke again it was in a hollow, faraway voice. The sun had started to set and shadows crept into the greenhouse.
“I wonder…” Elizabeth began and paused. “I wonder what it was like for my brother to wake up and find himself inside his own sister.”
“Oh, God.” Suzanne blurted out the words as she shoved both her hands hard into her stomach to steady herself.
“I kept waiting…” Elizabeth continued. “I thought any minute he’d turn on me, beat me, kill me like he had that boy at his school. But that’s not what happened. That wasn’t it at all.”
A wave of nausea passed through Suzanne. She gripped the table and breathed through her nose, praying the sickness would pass. Father Stearns…at age eleven…had been raped by his own older sister.
“I wanted him to kill me as he had that boy in England. That’s why it happened the first night.”
Suzanne stood up straight again.
“The first night? It happened more than once?”
Elizabeth slowly nodded. “I told you, Mother and Father were gone. We had the house to ourselves. No supervision. We’d both been so badly damaged we didn’t even realize what we were doing was wrong.”
Something in Elizabeth’s voice betrayed the awful truth that she hadn’t even come close to the end of the story. Suzanne wanted to turn her head and vomit, wanted to take everything she’d heard, everything she now pictured in her head, and retch until every horrible image—the young boy’s body responding in his sleep, the sister’s desperate gambit to find peace in death, the realization that they’d gone too far to go back—burned itself out of her mind. But Suzanne knew as long as she lived she would have Elizabeth’s words emblazoned into her memory forever.
