“—have faith,” she finished for him, air hitching in her throat.
“Yes,” he said. “Exactly. You have to trust me. Trust in me with your whole heart and I’ll give you things beyond your wildest dreams.”
She breathed out, her sobs stammering to a slow stop. She wanted him to tell her that he loved her, that he was as happy as everyone else about her big announcement, that he was excited to be a father. She wanted to hear that he had been so drawn to little Eloise because he wanted his own child, not with Maggie but with her. She pictured their baby—a dark-haired boy like him, or a blond little girl like her. Or perhaps she’d be a mix of both. A blonde with a mysterious soul.
“I’ve been searching for you for what feels like my entire life,” he told her. “And tonight, I’ve been assured you’re the one. You see, I’m on this earth to usher a select few to a perfect world—a world of kindness, happiness . . . of unconditional love. And you’re here to help me achieve that.” He placed his hand on her stomach with a thoughtful glance. “This baby will save us all from a world of ugliness and pain, Avis. And you are its mother. You have to be strong. For us. For me. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Good. Good girl. Hush, now. Be calm.”
It was only then that she noticed Deacon, Noah, and Kenzie looming just outside the bedroom door. They had been listening, waiting. Avis blinked at them through tear-swollen eyes, but Jeff blocked her view a moment later.
His fingers caught the hem of her shirt. He tugged it up and over her head, then pushed her down onto the mattress as she stammered, the question of why poised on her lips. Her inquiry was silenced by the shake of Jeff’s head. Shhh.
She squeezed her eyes shut as he tugged her jeans down over her hips. She could hear the boys shuffle into the room, could make out the sound of snaps and zippers hitting the floor. Not wanting any part of what was about to happen, she felt sick and exhausted and held back her tears.
Four pairs of hands groped at her flesh. Teeth dragged across her skin. Their fingernails scratched amid hushed, chant-like whispers she couldn’t make out because she was crying again. She sobbed as they pulled at her bra and underwear, tearing at them like aggressors, like animals, like nobody she’d have ever called her family at all.
43
* * *
DESPITE HIS OWN trepidation about continuing to press Jeff for an interview, Lucas couldn’t let it go. He spent the next few days in a haze of research. The house alarm he couldn’t afford got installed. He called Lambert Correctional and bothered Lumpy Annie a good four or five times more to no avail. He tried to get back in Jeanie’s good graces, but most of the time, she wanted nothing to do with him. The only time she did talk to him was when she wanted pizza or takeout. Despite being tight on cash, he always obliged. At that point, meeting her culinary demands seemed like the least he could do. He offered to take her into Pier Pointe, to drop her off at the movies. She wasn’t interested. Echo stopped by to check up on them, but her visit degraded into Jeanie asking if Echo wanted to go up to her room to look at stuff on the Internet. Lucas didn’t like that, but he also didn’t like the idea of his daughter growing feral, either, so he allowed it. It seemed to him that, despite Jeanie’s previous insistence that he take her places, she was now resolved to staying locked up in her room. And so he remained in his study.
He couldn’t find much on the suicide Marty had mentioned during their lunch. In a short-and-sweet Lambert Gazette article, Lambert prison guard Stewart Hillstone was said to have been a “kind, gentle, churchgoing man” who, presumably, suffered a psychotic break after being laid off from his job. And while there was speculation that Hillstone was axed because of the Schwartz incident, Lambert Correctional Facility claimed that the layoff was due to budget cuts. LCF stated that they didn’t hold Hillstone responsible for Schwartz’s demise. And while Lucas had no idea whether they pink-slipped Hillstone because Schwartz had been found choking on his own blood, he was sure anyone who knew enough about Halcomb would have come to the same conclusion: Halcomb had something to do with the deaths of both Schwartz and Hillstone. And yet, not a single investigator glanced Halcomb’s way. He was, after all, locked up and harmless. Locked up and speechless, actually, despite their goddamn deal.
Donna Hillstone’s obituary appeared in the Gazette a few days after her death. Stewart Hillstone didn’t receive a write-up at all; in the obit, Donna’s sister, Sandra Barnard, was noted as Donna’s only next of kin. The White Pages website listed her as living in Lambert. Lucas promptly entered the phone number into the contacts list on his phone. If he could get Sandra to talk to him, he could find out if Stewart had said anything suspicious in the weeks leading up to his and Donna’s deaths.
Lucas refused to believe there hadn’t been signs. Maybe Stewart had mentioned something about Halcomb’s philosophy or his own new beliefs. But the number was disconnected. Typical. The article had referred to Sandra as Miss, not Mrs. It failed to mention any nieces and nephews left to mourn their murdered aunt Donna. It was more than likely that Sandra had packed up her stuff and gotten the hell out of Lambert as soon as she took care of the unpleasant business of burying her only sibling.