Page 35 of Six
“If you’re asking if we ever dated, the answer is no,” she responded, opening a private browser. It wasn’t any of Gavin’s business, but for some reason she didn’t feel the need to point that out.
“I wondered,” he admitted. “But more to the point, instead of hacking into the system of his provider, can Heather give you access to his account? If so, you’d probably be able to see a record of all his calls. And the cloud storage associated with his account might have backups of everything else.”
Her eyes shot to him. He continued to plug away at whatever he was working on and didn’t look in her direction. She studied him, looking for any sign that he was gloating at her obvious oversight. Because he was right. She should be able to get all of Jeremy’s login information from Heather—or guess it herself—which would bemucheasier than hacking.
She sighed and turned back to her computer, this time bringing up the home page of the maker of his phone. As part of the service that came with the purchase of the phone, they provided backup of the data. It was as good a place as any to start.
“Thank you,” she said. It might have come out a little begrudgingly, but she hoped he heard the sincerity, too. She’d been so caught up in being clandestine that she’d forgotten that maybe she didn’t need to be.
When he didn’t respond, she picked up her phone and pinged Heather again. A few minutes later, she had Jeremy’s login information to both accounts. Heather had also provided his email logins in case either site needed to send an email to authenticate the user.
“Holy fuck,” Six said fifteen minutes later. She’d gone to the cloud backup of the phone data first and was glad she had. It was a fucking gold mine. A gold mine of complete shit, but a gold mine, nonetheless.
“What?” Gavin said, rising and coming to stand behind her.
Without a word, she hit Play on one of the four videos she’d found tucked away among Jeremy’s other 6,436 photos and videos. The video was similar to the pictures they already had, but this time, Julian Newcross was flying solo, and it wasn’t Candra, but another woman. Or possibly a girl. She looked young, very young.
“Fuck,” Gavin said before turning away. He took a couple of deep breaths, and though Six kept her eyes on the screen, she was well aware of the tension radiating from his body. The four-and-half-minute video ended, and she waited for Gavin to either let her know he’d seen enough or ask to see the others. None of this was easy for her, but as he remained silent, her mind filtered through his reactions over the past twenty-four hours. He’d spun away from her at the cabin when she’d first told him of the abuse and violence. Then there’d been his stony response at Cyn’s. And now this. She recognized the signs, and she’d wagerthiswas the ghost from his past.
She minimized the screen and turned her chair around. Looking at her watch, she calculated she had about twenty minutes before her friends arrived. She didn’t know what his story was, but looking at his rigid back and his fists jammed on his hips, she knew therewasa story.
“Who was it?” she asked softly.
His back snapped even straighter, then his shoulders rose with a deep breath. She remained quiet, and finally, he turned to face her. “My brother,” he said, not dodging the question.
She tried to keep the surprise off her face, but knew she’d failed when he gave her a sad smile. “I know,” he said. “But violence and abuse doesn’t just happen to women. I know statistically it’s higher with women…”
“But statistics aren’t people nor are people statistics,” she finished.
Again, he gave her a small smile. “He was older than me by ten years. I idolized him.” Gavin walked to the window and let his gaze focus on the ocean as he continued. “I was eight when he was taken in by a man who was supposed to love him. They were together for eighteen months, and while I was too young to really know what was going on, I knew my parents weren’t happy with the guy Isaac was dating. I remember a lot of fights. I remember Isaac accusing my parents of being ashamed of their gay son, and I remember my parents trying to defend themselves.”
He paused and shoved his hands into his pockets, his mind seemingly lost in those days, weeks, and months from years ago. “It turned out that my parents didn’t care about him being gay. They just wanted him to be happy, but they knew he wouldn’t be happy with the man he insisted he was in love with. They saw through Wesley Penwright in a way my brother hadn’t.”
Again, he paused. Reaching up, he placed a palm on the window. Six fought the urge to go to him. She wanted to. She wanted to offer human comfort, but she sensed that right now, as he was back in that time, he needed, and wanted, to be there alone. She remained in her seat, waiting. Her heart beating for what she knew was about to come.
“Wesley Penwright was a user, a dealer, and a pimp. A well-heeled one, but one all the same. He turned my brother into an addict and then started pimping him out, telling him he needed to earn his next fix. I suspect it wasn’t just the drugs that Isaac wanted. Even after everything he’d done, I suspect Isaac wanted toearnWesley’s attention—and love—too.”
His palm left the window, but he traced a line with his finger down the pane. “He’d stopped calling and coming around. Then one day he called home. I was nine by then and I still didn’t understand anything other than that he wasn’t around anymore and I missed him. My parents had popped out to the shop, and I answered the phone. Isaac was crying, it was…it was like nothing I’d ever experienced. I wasnine, I didn’t know what to do with his emotions. But he kept crying, saying he was sorry and that he wanted to come home. I asked him where he was and told him I’d get help. He gave me an address and when I hung up, I ran. I ran as fast as I could to where he told me he’d be.”
Suddenly, he spun away from the window and started pacing. “I remember running up the three flights of stairs of the apartment complex. It was one of those estate complexes,” he said, referring to the government-assisted housing. “Without any thought, I burst into the apartment, all full of nine-year-old fear and righteousness. It never occurred to me to wonder why the door wasn’t locked. To this day, I still don’t know why, other than maybe it was some sort of sick joke Penwright played with my brother—leaving an easy escape so each time Isaacdidn’ttake it, Penwright had a little more power over him.
“Isaac was there, on the bed, bloodied and beaten. It was a studio apartment, and I could see him right away. His hair had been shaved, and I almost didn’t recognize him. But then he looked at me and I knew—he wasn’t who I remembered, but I still remembered him.”
Gavin returned to the window and took a few moments before he continued. “I panicked. I didn’t know what to do.”
Six thought about pointing out that he was nine and there was no way he’d been equipped to handle that situation, but decided not to interrupt. Gavin didn’t need to hear her platitudes.
“I ended up banging on the neighbor’s door. They’d had issues with what had been going on in the apartment next door, but they weren’t so jaded as to turn away a kid. It was all a blur after that. The police came, then we were at the hospital. My parents were summoned. In the end, my brother refused to press charges, but he also refused to go back. He wanted to wash Penwright out of his life forever, which included not pressing charges because he didn’t want to have to testify.”
Six had seen that reaction from several crime victims. But while she didn’t understand it, she understood enough to know that her ignorance was a privilege. She’d never been in the position the victims had. She didn’t reallyknowwhat she’d do in their place. And she had no right to judge. She also wasn’t about to ask what happened next. She hadn’t heard the end of his and Isaac’s story yet.
Finally, Gavin spoke again. “He came home and when he was healed, my parents got him into rehab for the addiction and into therapy for the months of abuse he’d suffered. It took a while and every now and then, I’d get a glimpse of my brother, of the brother I’d had before Penwright came into our lives.” He paused and cleared his throat. “But it wasn’t enough. Eight months after getting out of that hellhole, Isaac couldn’t take the pain—and shame—anymore, and he stepped in front of a train.”
A tear tracked its way down Six’s cheek and fell on her chest. Quickly, she reached up to wipe away the evidence only to find she’d shed more than one for Gavin’s loss.
Again, his finger came up and he traced an invisible pattern on the windowpane. “I was there,” he said quietly. “I tried to stop him, but he was convinced that dying was the only way to stop the pain. He smiled and told me it would be for the best and that I should take care of Mum and Dad and make sure they didn’t mourn him too much because he wasn’t worth it. And then he waved and stepped in front of the train.”
And with that, Six understood so much more than what he’d told her. He’d been tasked by a brother he loved with taking care of his parents. In his nine-year-old mind that probably meant trying to keep them from being sad. There was no way he could do that, but if the boy he’d been was anything like the man he was, then he would have tried. Which explained his near-perpetual cheer. It may be a part of who he was now as a man, but it had started as a promise and a coping mechanism in the boy he’d once been.
