Page 83 of Honeyed

“Except, no one knew about his mother’s death for months. Somehow, Mason’s father was able to keep it covered up? The mother had no family, no one checking up on her, and I guess he told the school that she’d been unable to work due to a mental illness. It gave his father time to indoctrinate Mason, to fill his head with these scary ideals and thoughts. It’s all recorded on his school paperwork and the subsequent foster file my PI found. After his father was sentenced and went to prison, Mason bounced around in the system until he turned eighteen. Bad homes, fights, a couple arrests. There are old posts from an online blog he had that my PI included and they’re … dark.”

It’s almost too much for my body to process, for my mind to hold. I try to grasp it all, but this news is shocking me to my core.

“Mason seemed to get it together in time for college, where he was exemplary and graduated with honors. Little did anyone know, he’d visited his father in prison since the time he went away. Spent almost every weekend traveling to see him, to sit with him, and I can only guess how those conversations continued the ideas he’d given his son in the wake of his mother’s death.” Cass presses a hand to her throat. “Excuse me, I … this is just so disturbing.”

“I know,” I whisper. “But we have to know it all.”

“Five years ago, his father ended up dying in prison because of some unrelated illness that went undetected, something with his heart. I guess Mason was in search of a new role model. My PI isn’t sure how he found Warren’s father or latched on, but the visits started about three years ago.”

“The reason he wants to make this documentary isn’t to tell the story, to honor Mason’s mother, it’s because he worships the ground his father walks on. He … he wants to vindicate him?” It all clicks into place.

Cass nods her head gravely. “That’s what my PI suspects. That he turned his pain from the loss of his father into this obsession with Warren’s.”

This will gut Warren. First of all, even if he’s going about it all wrong, Mason’s the victim of something exactly like what happened to Warren. On a human level, you can’t help but feel empathy, and for my husband, relate completely.

That’s where the comparisons stop, though, because it clearly twisted Mason in a way that’s poisonous and harmful. Warren will have to deal with the fallout of his father corrupting another’s mind, aiming them at him, and putting his family in danger. I hate that I’ll have to break this news or be present when the man I love discovers exactly what’s been going on. That it’s so much worse than either of us thought.

We’re going to have to put a stop to this and interact and engage even more with two people who are clearly not right in the head.

“I just need to …” Looking around the empty pre-lunch restaurant, my head swims a little. “I need to take a breather. I’m just going to go get some air, I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

Cass bites her lip like I might have a meltdown right here but nods her head.

Staggering to my feet, I try to collect myself as I go out to the alley between Hope Pizza and the next block of buildings on Newton Street.

I’ve kissed boys in this alley, smoked my first cigarette with a former busboy, done homework on overturned crates, and video-chatted with college friends I missed during the summers back home. Right now, though, all I can do is brace myself against the wall and try not to cry.

Thinking about telling Warren this information makes me want to vomit and sob. Not only are we in more danger than we ever thought, but now we’ll have to do something about it. There will be legal filings because of this, of that I’m sure, and I have no idea if Warren will have to get involved with something about his father. Whatever this is will be an uphill battle, and then to have to possibly see some half-cocked documentary release after it if we can’t shut Mason down?

I’m so angry and upset that I don’t see the shadow looming over me until it’s too late.

“I’ve been trying to get you alone since you kicked me out of this place.”

A sinister voice, quiet but cringe-inducing in its approach, makes my whole body freeze.

“You can’t be here.” My voice miraculously works, even if I’m quaking at the sight of Mason Klein in front of me.

“Those stupid small-town cops have nothing to charge me with.” He rolls his eyes and lifts his hand like he might touch me.

Backing away, my eyes dart around to see if anyone, anyone is walking by or coming around from the back. But there is no one.

“I know who you are and why you keep coming after Warren. Soon they’ll know too, and we’ll stop you.” It’s probably not smart of me to make threats, but I can’t help it.

I’m never one to back down, and I won’t let this asshole intimidate me.

He smiles a creepy grin. “Good, then you know why it’s important for Warren to sit down for this documentary. The children of murderers need to tell their stories. Or, well, Warren needs to listen to his father’s side. No one understands them quite like their children can. After sitting with Kyle, I understand the turmoil he went through. Warren will get it once they have a conversation.”

It strikes me just how much he’s been hiding his true intentions and delusions. I need to get away from him, but if I show any weakness, I have no clue what he’s capable of.

“Warren will never see his father, and he’ll never talk about this on camera. Out of anyone, you should know how devastating a loss his was. To see his mother go through such pain at the hands of his other parent. You know, Mason, you did, too.”

I’m trying to connect on some level that might speak to him, that might break these grand illusions he’s dreamed up. Or well, they’re more like nightmares than dreams, Except this seems to have the opposite effect because Mason corners me, my back meeting the wall. I shift uncomfortably because he’s too close, and look for someone, anyone, to get me out of this once again.

“Except I don’t! Because I didn’t get plucked out of the dirt like your pretty boy husband did. I wasn’t whisked away to some mansion and handed a second chance at life. I lived in houses where they ignored me, abused me, or starved me. There was never enough to go around, no one gave a fuck about me. But your goddamn husband got the lap of luxury, a tight little piece to fuck, and his happily ever fucking after.”

His eyes, his voice, his mannerisms … they’re all becoming unhinged. And now I see the truth, the real reason he keeps coming after Warren; he believes, truly believes, that Warren getting a beautiful life after tragedy is the reason he didn’t get the same. In that twisted brain of his, he’s convinced himself those two things are mutually exclusive.

“Think of the money your husband could make talking about his father, doing this documentary. Think of the fame it will bring. Pretty little thing like you, you’ll be perfect on camera.” The way he says it has my insides crawling.

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