Page 94 of Mistaken Identity
“Oh, whoops,” Dima said as he helped sit Goodwin upright again. “Let me set your target back up for you, good sir.”
Week smiled. “Thank you.”
He went for another hit, though this time it was to the solar plexus.
The breath wheezed out of Goodwin.
Creole came out from behind my back, and she had her picture frame tucked close to her chest.
She took a deep breath, then walked up to where Goodwin was openly bleeding from a cut above his lip.
Goodwin’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m sure that you don’t have any clue,” she said softly. “How badly you hurt me.”
Goodwin wisely chose to say nothing.
“But more than hurting me, you ended up hurting my baby.”
I waited, wanting to reach for her, but forcing myself to stay still.
“You ignored the call,” she whispered. “I called. I begged your parents. They said that since his blood type was so special, he’d need a close relative, most likely his father, to donate to him. And you know what you told me? What your father told me?”
My stomach sank.
I hadn’t heard this.
What was she talking about?
“Everyone was tested,” she breathed. “My mom. My dad. My cousins. My aunt. And even our close friends. I even had my best friend get her best friend tested, though he had no clue what it was for. No one was a match. So I swallowed my bile and called you. Begged you to get tested. Do you remember what was said?”
Still he didn’t answer.
Anger tightened my fists as I stared at him in horror.
How could he…
“You laughed,” she whispered. “You laughed and said ‘what would you want to do with a kid from a whore like me.’” She leaned in, but didn’t get any closer, almost as if her stomach hurt and she couldn’t stand straight anymore. “You said, ‘let him die. He’s probably an abomination that shouldn’t have been here anyway.’”
She started to cry then. “You were right. He shouldn’t have been here. Because you shouldn’t have raped me.”
Creole’s dad made a noise in his throat like a wounded bear.
“The worst feeling in the world is knowing that you can’t take care of your child,” she whispered. “But I think, maybe, we should let you live. But take away your ability to father children.”
With that, she threw the picture frame down on the floor, and the glass shattered.
She looked at the table of instruments that were in front of her, and she picked up gloves that she quickly fit onto her hands.
They were three sizes too big, but that didn’t seem to bother her as she grabbed the largest piece of glass out of the shattered picture frame and said, “Can someone help rid him of his pants?”
Dima happily did that, cutting the expensive-looking pants off of him at the seams with a K-Bar knife he pulled off the table.
Then, with very little preamble, she yanked the glass across Goodwin’s dick.
It came away bleeding.
Everyone stood and watched in horror as she rid him of the weapon he’d used to hurt her all those years ago.
