Noah wiped his sweaty palms on his jean clad thighs. “But, this boy…he doesn’t fit the pattern. These guys are—what’s it called—preferential offenders, right? So, what would O’Hara want with a teen?”
“Good point,” Calliope said, followed by a series of more tapping. “Gold star for Noah. Josiah likely first met the man at Sacred Heart in 1997. He was the parish priest and Josiah’s parents show tithing records all the way back to the eighties. That could have put him in O’Hara’s cross hairs. Maybe seeing O’Hara’s name once he was in rehab triggered his memories like Noah. Maybe he couldn’t live with not doing anything?”
“Can we go talk to him?” Adam asked.
More typing and then a sound of dismay. “No. He died three years ago. Death record says suicide by hanging.”
Noah’s stomach churned and, for the first time that day, panic started to bubble inside, vomit climbing his throat until he knew he couldn’t hold it back. He lurched for the trash can, barely making it before he lost his breakfast. Adam was beside him in a second, hand on his back. It felt like hours before he stopped but it was probably only a few minutes.
When he finally stopped retching, Adam sat beside him, legs sprawled in a vee. Noah didn’t bother trying to stand, just sat between his splayed thighs, letting him curl his arms around him. Not one of them missed a beat, turning back to the board. “Keep looking. He can’t be the only one,” Thomas said.
“I have an idea,” Noah said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. They all turned to him expectantly. “The age group they target, younger children—they tend to suppress trauma, right? That’s what I read a few weeks ago after I started to remember. Kids with early trauma often act out, have substance abuse problems later, anger issues. Can’t you cross-reference children in the preferential age range against prison and rehab records like you did with Josiah? I mean, they won’t all be victims, but it would probably narrow our search. Maybe they remember more than I do.”
“I can do that, but it will take longer than searching just one name,” Calliope said.
“Do we really believe this kid offed himself?” Atticus asked suddenly.
Thomas turned to frown in his direction. “What do you mean?”
“Holt wasn’t just a child rapist. He was a killer. He killed the kids he hurt. Not all of them, but a good amount. What if it wasn’t just him? What if these men have been eliminating the children who complain? The ones who refuse to keep the secret or, like Josiah, possibly remember later?”
Thomas looked pained. “Calliope, you know what to do. Add children who went missing or who died under suspicious circumstances to the list.”
Archer cleared his throat. “You should probably also cross-reference the sex offender registry with children who came into contact with O’Hara. Some victims go on to become offenders, as we all know.”
Noah’s insides curdled like milk. He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to hurt a child the way somebody had hurt him. But the things these men had done to him had changed Noah. Even when he didn’t remember, it had changed him. He’d had a huge hole in his heart, one that he could never fill, not with drugs or alcohol or casual rough sex. He’d spent his life feeling worthless and…tainted…like he had a permanent stain on his soul that only he could see.
Still, Thomas was right. If a person couldn’t keep their impulses in check, they were a danger to society. Once a person crossed the line from victim to aggressor, the good of the people outweighed any sympathy for the child the monster used to be. It had to. If not, the cycle continued.
“Get back to me as soon as you have anything, please, Calliope,” Thomas said.
“Aye, aye, Capitan,” Calliope said, then the line disconnected.
The others began to make their way to the entrance, but Thomas approached Noah, holding out a hand to help him up off the floor. Noah took it, noting the calluses on his palms. How did a doctor have such rough hands? Adam rose on his own, hovering over Noah’s shoulder.
“Why don’t you go join your brothers,” Thomas said. “I would like to speak to your Noah alone.”
“Why?” Adam asked, tone somewhere between alarmed and suspicious.
Noah felt both those emotions and then some. He found Thomas way more intimidating than Adam and his brothers combined. Who was more terrifying than a man who raised and trained psychopaths? It was like meeting a lion tamer. Noah didn’t know if the man was crazy or confident in his abilities. He wasn’t sure which he found more terrifying.
“Because if Noah is going to be part of this family, he needs to understand what he’s signed on for.”
“I just don’t understand why I can’t come,” Adam said sullenly.
Thomas shook his head. “Don’t pout, Adam.” To Noah, he said, “Why don’t we go chat by the pool? It’s lovely outside.”
Noah’s heart plummeted to his shoes, but he simply nodded.
Once they were alone, Thomas glanced at Noah, a small smile on his face. “Are you afraid of me?”
“Yes,” Noah answered honestly.
Thomas tilted his head. “But not the others?”
“No.”
“Interesting. Why is that?” Thomas asked, gesturing for Noah to sit down at the poolside table.
“Because they don’t do anything without your permission. They would only hurt me on your orders. That makes you the scary one.”
Thomas chuckled. “You’re smart. That’s a good thing.” He gazed out over the blue waters of the infinity pool, so Noah did, too, watching it spill over the edge into oblivion. “You understand my son can never love you.”
It wasn’t a question, but Noah treated it as one, a pit forming in his stomach. “Yes. I know.”