Page 27 of Judas

“Safe to say you have a file on me and know everything from the day I was conceived to this morning when you were watching me sleep?”

“I was not! I—“ he stalls.

Get to the answer, fuck face.

He pauses, then sighs. “Yes, I do. What do you need from it?”

“My mother. Did she have any other children?” Dropping my hands with the letter clenched in them, I finally make eye contact with Ra. Watching his attention slide from me to the other screens that were mounted before him. You mean to tell me, he doesn’t have it printed out with tiny hearts drawn in the corner? Typical.

“I would have caught that in my initial investigation, Nadia. You mind telling me what’s on that paper in your hand? Why it would prompt your critique of my work?”

“He called himself her uncle,” I answer in an instant.

“Why the hell would he say some weird shit like that?” Not once did he look away from the screen. You can see the concentration on his face, soft lines from permanently scowling creasing the corners of his eyes. My stomach drops when I notice the slight widening of his eyes, his dark green irises flicking hastily from one screen to the other when new information reveals itself. It… it can’t be... I’ve got to ask though, I need the truth.

“Other than being delusional, she could have had more family. My father could have knocked someone up too. They split when I was only a few months old and I never saw her again. Then, outside of structural differences, we have the same complexion, eyes, hair. Ra— what if… What if Lucien is my brother?”

Our call came to a drastic end shortly after that, then I was in and out of the gas station, back on the road in the matter of seven minutes and seventeen seconds. The coordinates Ra programmed into the car have me traveling to the panhandle of Idaho. Which is the last known sighting location of Sadie—a week ago.

While driving, my thoughts ran rampant. I can figure out how in the hell he knew her whereabouts, and when I was getting released, later when I had a second to breathe. Right now, I just want to get a better idea of the timeline. Especially since the red mist over my eyes has finally evaporated and leaves me sitting in the driver seat of this over-the-top car—feeling hollow.

The film clips Ra sent me showed Lucien dragging Sadie out of the trunk of the car he stole by her hair—his gangly hands fisted in the strands with a death grip. Long, beautiful platinum blonde hair that looked like it hadn’t been brushed or washed in weeks. The luster it should have muted by filth. I could faintly make out debris when she crawled across the ground on her hands and knees in broad daylight. The motor oil coated pavement in front of the fuel pump where he led her around like a butcherwould lead a cow to slaughter—the darkness of caked fossil fuels contrasting the lighter shade of her skin.

Her shirt was ripped; the collar torn in such a manner that it was hanging off one of her narrow shoulders, feeding the world a glimpse of her body that should be hidden until she’s ready to unveil it. The jeans she wore, tattered at the knees and filthy. I was already angry when I started watching but the moment she looked up and the damage to her face came to view, I lost it. My fist flew into the screen of the car and cracked it, not enough to get Ra to go away, though. Just enough to roughen my knuckles and a spiderweb-like glitch to stretch across the monitor and discolor the image.

Lucien left her face bruised and bloody—putting it lightly. He fucked her up. Something definitely has to be broken from how the bruising lingers on the inside of one of her eyes, and not the outside where the full protection of her occipital bone exists. Outside of the riot, and what I know about his history prior to being incarcerated, I never thought this maniac would be capable of abusing someone to this degree. What could she have done to warrant such treatment from him? Nothing. She’s just a kid, drug into a toxic existence between her mother and… her uncle.

Fucker usually toys and murders, but he’s keeping her on a proverbial leash. Dragging her wherever he wants and needs, as if he is trying to break Sadie—manhandling and punishing her for the messy lives of her criminal parents. His crazed religious ideologies rearing their ugly head once more, making Sadie pay for the sins of me and her father. The whole purpose of me adopting her out was to save her from us in the first place. I could… I don’t know, could have sent her to be with Kace’s mom and sister if I knew having anything to do with her would set Lucien even further off the rails. His mom has money, which means protection, fuck… maybe I did it all wrong. Maybe—maybe I should have chosen a family further away, states… countries away, to keep her safe from him.

I failed… again.

Ra did everything he could do to talk me down—after bitching about the car’s computer screen, mind you. While he rambled and complained, I drove on autopilot. Right hand aching under the split skin of my knuckles, which will be fine, a scar at worst. I’ve experienced worse fights at Bluitt; a bloodied knuckle is nothing to fret over. My specter thinks otherwise. For someone who acts like he’s about to rip my spine out, after slapping a few ribs against it like a xylophone, jerk is more pressed over the injury than I am. Part of me thinks he’s actually concerned, and not pushing me forward on this manhunt, because he believes it’s futile. That Lucien has likely already used Sadie for the ominous plans he’s yet to drop breadcrumbs for, and killed her.

Not a damn bit of me believes he’s done. Lucien is methodical; there are multiple sides to his strategies, anticipating various outcomes to account for variables sane people would gloss over. The psycho knows I’m coming for her—I know he knows. It’s a trap, one I’m going to run headfirst into. As if I’m watching a car wreck and just can’t look away. The longer I mull over the letter he sent her, the evidence is clear. He wants to draw me out, and that explains his slow movement across the states. He has had plenty of time to completely disappear, yet he hasn’t. Pulling Sadie out of the trunk the way he did, in public eye, was for show. A maddening display put on just for me with vile-precision. Feeding the pieces of me that are quickly violating every bit of restraint I clung to while imprisoned.

Mile after mile passes in a blur of fading green, and black highway-tar. My subconscious is focused on the act of driving—slowing, increasing speed, changing lanes, etc. It’s my wits that are scattered, holding desperately on to any detail that resurfaces from my memory. Always brings my thoughts back tomy release and just how quickly things went from peaceful—at least for Sadie—to life threatening.

First, my parole hearing was held three months before I was actually let out of Bluitt. During that time, I didn’t know of my official date until six weeks later. Between then and my actual release, I received the notice that Sadie’s family was found dead and she was missing. Which means Lucien found out I was springing, and was also able to be discharged, in only a month.

Someone is playing with our lives, if that’s the case.

It was only three days ago when I was dropping into the Uber's back seat with Sadie’s missing persons article in my grip. If the footage Ra sent me, the videos of a battered Sadie, were dated correctly, they have been slow moving across the country. Yeah, they’re from a week ago but that just means he may not have gotten to where he plans to take her.Literally the only hope I can latch onto. If he has, they haven’t been there very long. There’s only so much of the country remaining to drive across unless he travels up through Canada to Alaska. With it already being fall, there’s probably snow on the ground, and that will make driving hazardous.

Either way, there’s not a fucking thing on this planet that’s going to stop me from getting to her. While people say blood is thicker than the water of the womb, she’s mine. That’s MY child, MY heart, MY soul, and Kace’s legacy.

Chapter ten

Babalon

Briefly after Nadia’s arrival to Bluitt

Seventeen Years Ago

“Well, well, well… What do we have here? Looks like a bus full of fish just rolled into town.”

Inmates. Original. Not so bright. Cringe worthy.

Ignoring the fresh meat cat-calls, I march past the women who are the exact-parallel to the men I used to guard. Leering at us, the new batch, searching for weaknesses and the slightest bit of cowardice. Sadly there are a few of us new inmates who have never been inside of a prison before, and who are having a hard time acclimating to a life of incarceration. They will likely commit suicide within the first few days and if they livelonger than that I will be surprised. This life isn’t for everyone, shouldn’t be but shit happens. We are all here for breaking the law and we will face our punishments. Some will never leave this place. Public opinion is that inmates commit suicide because they are cowards, but that is far from the truth. Most suicidal prisoners have no true desire to die, their mind has manipulated them into believing that everyone else’s lives would be better if they no longer existed. If it wasn’t for my daughter, the orderlies could put me in a padded cell because I’m not doing good.

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