We’ve been together as partners since after your father took off with you, but we were friends for years before that. However, I did not leave you for her.
She was there to support me when he stole you, and make no mistake about it, that’s exactly what he did. This was never about me. It was always about him needing to manipulate everyone to suit his purposes.
I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that included you. He’s an evil man.
Evil?
Don’t think so. Self-centered,
certainly. Narcissistic, probably.
But spawn of Satan? Nah.
“He took good care of me.”
Define “good.”
“Okay, he took decent care
of me. Most of the time.
Sometimes. Whatever.
But ‘evil’ is a strong word.”
Casey, do you know where the names Ariel and Mark Pearson came from?
“Yeah. Dad told me he took
them from a woman we lived
with. They belonged to her dead
husband and daughter.”
Right. Leona Pearson. I did a little research last week.
Turns out Leona died under suspicious circumstances.
Ostensibly, she overdosed.
But her brother claims she was not on the medication the autopsy revealed, and that at the time of her death she was living happily with a man and his little girl, both of whom disappeared on the day she died, along with her deceased husband’s car. It was later discovered abandoned.
“No. He wouldn’t.” But now
bits and pieces of his story surface: . . . tetched in the head.
. . . tried to off herself.
. . . why I decided it was time to leave.
“He needed a way to protect me.”
That part slips out audibly.
I can’t speak to motive, Casey, and maybe he didn’t go that far.
There’s no way to prove it at this point. But it’s a very real possibility. Leona’s brother is convinced that it’s true.
It Can’t Be True
Can it?
I know my dad.
Really?
He’s not a killer.
Is he?
He’s a liar.
Totally.
A gaslighter.
Definitely.
A narcissist.
Exceptionally.
A sociopath?
Probably.
But a murderer?
Please
don’t
let
him
be.
My World
Just tipped, tilted
so hard on its axis
every rule of nature
has just been called
into question.
“I . . . uh . . .” I take a gulp of water.
“He left, you know.”
I suspected he would.
“Said he was afraid
you’d call the cops.
Did you call them?”
I wasn’t going to. My main goal has always been to reconnect with you. If you only knew . . . She fights the lump that has formed in her throat. When I finally found you, revenge wasn’t so important. I might’ve let it go. But when I learned about Leona, I had to alert the police.
“But why? Like you said, after all this time, it would be hard to prove.”
Some things you can close your eyes to. Others demand serious consequences, or the perpetrator is likely to repeat them. I’ve been in the news business for a while and I can tell you that from what I’ve seen, very few killers and rapists act only once.
Besides, on the most intrinsic level, Leona deserves justice.
Justice.
Right.
“Don’t you think
you deserve justice?”
She sighs heavily. Casey, I wanted justice for years.
Wanted to see Jason locked up for what he did to you and me for as long as the law would allow. That hunger for payback has dissipated.
But I really wouldn’t want him to hurt anyone else.
It’s my moral duty to do what I can to see that doesn’t happen.
As Pissed As I Am
At Dad, it’s hard to reconcile this information with how I’ve always pictured him. But I only saw what I wanted to, or what he let me see. And if I came too close, he knew exactly how to manipulate me,
pull the blinders down over my eyes. I hate that I’ve been so naive. I despise what he’s done.
To her, yes.
But mostly to me.
I can’t blame Maya for
notifying the authorities.
“Did Monica tell you what
he did the night he left?”
You mean running you off the road? Yes, and truthfully, it’s also one reason I chose to report him. I was afraid if I didn’t he might come back and hurt you worse than he did.
The implication is clear:
finish me off.
As much as I want to say that’s impossible, I really can’t. Last Saturday night pops into view like a video.
Dad rode my bumper.
Passed. Too close. Swerved in front of me. I can see
his profile clearly. I thought then that he didn’t look at me, but when I jerked my car
sideways, barely missing
him, his head turned toward me and for one instant
before my head hit
the steering wheel,
I caught his expression.
Satisfied.
He smiled satisfaction.
“Do you think they’ll catch him? What happens if they do?”
I don’t know. At the very least he’d face a court-martial.
I don’t believe there’s a statute of limitations on desertion.
But Jason seems to be an expert on lying low. And without you in tow, he’ll be damn hard to catch.
God, I Want to Be Angry
With her.
Not him.
But why?
I think it’s me
who’s crazy.
Obviously my brain needs rewiring.
Or, at the very least, reprogramming.
Are you okay?
Her hand sneaks
across the table, meets mine, and