Page 123 of He Sees You
I don't clean, don't repair, don't pretend this is anything other than what it is—a mausoleum where we're about to conduct a ceremony of resurrection.
I simply clear a path through the debris, pushing aside chunks of fallen plaster, the bones of dead furniture, memories crystallized in dust and rot.
In one corner, I find a child's shoe.
Juliette's, probably, though it could belong to any of the dozens of children who passed through here.
I leave it where it lies.
Let it bear witness too.
The bloodstains are still visible on the floor near the fireplace.
My blood, from when Richard decided I needed to learn about consequences.
He'd made me kneel on broken glass while reciting his rules, adding more shards each time I stuttered.
Patricia had played Beethoven during the lesson, her fingers never faltering even when I screamed.
Those stains will be my altar.
Footsteps on the stairs—heavy, uneven.
Sterling is early and drunk.
He appears in the doorway, surveying the ruin I've chosen for his daughter's wedding.
His sheriff's uniform is wrinkled, badge crooked, gun prominent on his hip.
He's been drinking whiskey—I can smell it from ten feet away.
"This is where you want to marry her?" His voice slurs slightly. "In this tomb?"
"This is where it all started. Seems fitting it should be where things end."
He laughs, bitter and sharp. "You really think you've won, don't you? Think you've figured it all out?"
"I think your daughter will be here soon, and you'll play your part."
"My part." He stumbles further into the room, nearly tripping over a broken chair. "Father of the bride. Such a fucking joke."
"You are her father."
"I'm a monster who happened to raise an angel. And now that angel is choosing a devil." He focuses on me with difficulty. "You know what the funny thing is? I always knew she'd end up with someone like you. Someone dangerous. It's in her writing, all those dark heroes, those violent men. She was calling for you before she knew you existed."
"Or you shaped her to want darkness by being the thing she should fear most."
Sterling's hand goes to his gun, a reflexive motion. "I could kill you now. Tell her you attacked me. Justified shooting."
"You could try."
"I've been killing since before you were born, boy."
"No, you've been selling children and calling it business. There's a difference between commerce and killing. You're about to learn it."
He draws the gun, points it at my chest.
His hand shakes, but at this distance, that doesn't matter.
