Page 114 of Jig's Last Dance

Where did it all go wrong? Probably from the damn beginning, when Sal pushed my mom into a loveless marriage.

Dick.

Being here alone feels wrong, which is weird considering just a few weeks ago, it was my home. But I can’t get the creepy feeling to go away. With an ache in my heart, I traverse the stairs, suddenly desperate for something of my mom’s I can cling to.

The last thing I thought was hers ended up belonging to someone who’s no doubt dead. A reminder that my dad isn’t innocent in all of this, despite what I keep trying to convince myself.

In my parent’s room, I go back through the drawers, moving everything around. What happened to her wedding set? At the time of their deaths, I never asked, but someone must have given it to Ben.

Unless . . . fuck me, she’s out there somewhere wearing it.

Would she do that to us? Me? Who the fuck knows?

It looks like a tornado blew through when I’m done, but I’m no closer to finding anything of Mom’s worth taking. In the hallway, I stare at the attic before grabbing the pole from the closet and looping it through the rope.

The stairs creak as they unfold. Climbing them, I stop at the top with a tired sigh and turn on the light. Years of life collected and safely stored away line the walls, but to my right, there’s a bed and a small lamp that I don’t remember being up here.

Who set this up? Beside the bed rests a bag, and with a strangled sob, I stare at it before approaching. Running my fingers over the patch adorning the front, I trace the initials printed in fancy cursive and confirm it’s my dad’s.

Mom bought him the bag with the patch for one of his birthdays. He accepted with a smile and kissed her softly on the lips.

Did he love her? More than she loved him?

More importantly, he was here. When? And for how fucking long?

Dropping to the mattress, I search inside the bag, pausing when I brush against something cold. And when I pull it free, I chuckle bitterly, setting aside the fully loaded gun.

Jesus, Dad.

The only other item I find is an envelope addressed to none other than Alan fucking Blackstone, Jig’s father.

Inside, I find more pictures I don’t want to see. I don’t want to witness more horror, but I have no choice because anything that involves Jig’s father is important.

They’re of a young girl. I can’t see her face because her neck is turned at an unnatural angle. Her pale skin glows against the backdrop, a black sheet that she’s lying upon.

She’s naked. Her fingers are curled into her hands. I don’t see any other marks, but it’s clear she’s dead.

What happened to her? I guess it doesn’t matter. There can be only one reason my dad has pictures of a young girl addressed to Alan Blackstone.

Mandy.

Bile rushes up my throat, and I find the nearest bin before puking on papers that I can’t make out beyond a series of numbers that I stare at dumbly. When my stomach finally ceases its mutiny, I set the bin down and cover my face.

Does Jig know it was my dad? If he doesn’t, how do I possibly tell him? And if he does? I guess it would confirm what I’ve always known. The dick was using me.

My heart burns at the knowledge that Jig and his family were never told what actually happened to her. They’ve never been allowed to lay her to rest.

Now I know that everything Jig ever said or did was a lie. But did any of it matter? His blazing stare when he took my virginity? The tortured look in his eyes at the thought of me in John’s clutches?

I don’t know.

Although the prospect that he used me burns at my sternum, I acknowledge that I can hardly blame him. I have the evidence right fucking here. My father killed his sister. And for what? Because she didn’t cooperate in their filthy business?

Chapter Seventeen

After my discovery, I wandered the streets numbly. And hours later, I turn toward Sal’s, resolved. It doesn’t matter anymore. What happened to my dad, my mom, none of it.

Dad can handle whatever he’s searching for. Ben can move on, which seems to be what he needs. And I can stop pursuing things that only push me further into the abyss.

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