The Red Roots (8 page)

Erik pulled a gun out from inside his jacket and laid it in the center of the table, within Isla’s grasp.

“Ronan, you don’t deserve to live.” Ellis said. “You deserve to rot in hell with your wife.”

“God will forgive me.”

Ellis pounded his fist on the table. Silverware clanked, glasses shook. “The devil will claim you.”

“My soul is clean.”

“Your soul is far from clean.”

“Isla,” Ronan said, “you are damned, just as your mother and father were. All your children will be the devil’s servants. Abigail knew of her sins, and she knew of the consequences.”

“Don’t ever speak my mother’s name. You know nothing about them.”

“I know she and your father were an embarrassment to Martha and to the entire family. We did what was called upon us to do.”

Truth struck her chest, cutting into the core of Isla. “You killed them. That’s why the driver was never found. You hired someone to kill my parents.” Isla slammed her palms down onto the table. “Who? Tell me who fucking killed them.”

“But if the wicked turn away from all the sins that they have committed, keep all my regulations, and act justly and responsibly, they will surely live and not die,” Ronan quoted from scripture.

Isla was fed up with his biblical recitals. It was sick how he hid behind religion.

The blurred rims of her vision moved and darkened, she reached for the gun, holding her stare on Ronan. The space where the gun had laid was empty. A bullet exploded next to her and tore through Ronan’s forehead. Isla jerked back and covered her ears but she didn’t look away. His head whiplashed, blood spurted out the back. The sky drained of light, and her depravities washed away in the gore of the scene.

Reed lowered the gun.

Ellis motioned to Erik.

Ronan slanted.

Isla grinned.

RONAN WAS DEAD.

68% of sexual assaults are not reported to the police.

98% of rapists will never spend a day in jail or prison.

*statistics from RAINN Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network*

SHE COULDN’T TAKE her eyes off of Ronan. Conversation between Erik and Ellis faded into the background. A flick and flutter stirred beneath Isla’s skin.

Happiness. Satisfaction.

Reed grazed her cheek with his lips and moved close to her ear. “Are you with me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For what happened to you.”

“You didn’t violate me over and over again. You didn’t beat me with a belt. You didn’t force me to go into hiding, live in a shelter, or give birth to his child.”

Her response was cold but at the moment she didn’t have a better one.

“Tell me about this child.”

Isla wiped under her eyes. “She’s my everything, and I kept her from the world—from you. I had to.”

Reed’s response was interrupted by Ellis’s gesture to Isla. “Come, take a walk with me. The men can clean up the mess. Reed will see to it.”

Wet touched her toes. She stepped back.

Blood.

She dragged the tip of her big toe along the ground, leaving behind a streak of red. As Isla walked around Reed and through the quiet chaos, she glanced over her shoulder at Ronan again.

Still dead.

Good.

Give my regards to grandmother.

ISLA’S ARM WAS looped through Ellis’. She ignored the twinges shooting from her shoulder. A pattern of stone and grass guided them to a large deck looking over the water. Violets and blues dimmed the sky as the moon glowed with a hazed aura.

“Are you happy?”

“I’m happy Ronan’s dead. Even though I wanted to pull the trigger, I’m grateful for Reed.”

“My noble son.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I want your daughter to be safe.”

“Why are you really doing this?”

They reached the balcony. “I was not a good father. All my children are grown. Reed and Carys are the only ones who stomach me. I have no relationship with my grandchildren.” He paused. “When I took my father’s place, it was to please him. Everything I have done on this earth was for him, but I fear my time is running short so I want to meet your daughter. I want to meet my granddaughter.”

“What is going on?”

“I sacrificed for my family. I don’t regret that decision. And when I’m gone, Reed will take over my affairs. You two will do great things with Amaranthine.”

“Jesus, Ellis. What did you do?”

“Ronan was an ally for Detroit, cancer or no cancer, Zargotta looked up to the old man.”

“What about my parents? Why were they cast out?”

Ellis took a deep inhale. “Your mother became pregnant with you before she was married. In 1981 it was still forbidden, especially amongst families of class and wealth. I don’t know anything beyond that. Secrets keep a family together and they tear them apart. That is why I sent for your daughter. She will be a Pierce and will be under our protection. No more running. No more hiding.”

“She’s coming here?”

“Yes.”

“What about Martin, Zargotta or whoever hired Kata?”

“We’ll finish them and anyone else before my last breath.”

Pain burned through her shoulder blades stalling her thoughts.

“You need something.”

“No, I’m good.” Isla said through gritted teeth.

“Come back to the house.”

“I’m not taking any drugs.”

Ellis laughed. “Rosa prepares homeopathic remedies. She gave you her special recipe while bandaging your injuries.”

“That explains a lot.”

He phoned Rosa instructing her to fix something up for Isla’s pain. It was a short walk back to the secluded palace. Erik met them near a lit fountain; Ellis had an important phone call. With a quick squeeze of the arm, he instructed Erik to escort Isla back to the guesthouse. He disappeared through a tower of manicured shrubs and armed guards. Erik and Isla strolled the grounds. It was easy to get lost in false nirvana.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“You can but I may not answer.” Erik said.

“Did you dump Ronan’s body?”

“He will not be found.”

“Martha?”

He didn’t speak further. Through the corridor Rosa stood outside of Isla’s bedroom door holding a glass bottle filled with weeds and sticks.

“Are you giving her your witch brew?”

“It works. You hush your mouth, Erik.”

Isla swallowed hard. “What is it?”

“It will heal you quicker.”

“Or you’ll wake up with a horn in the middle of your forehead.”

Rosa swatted at him. “Go, you are needed elsewhere.”

Erik bid farewell still laughing, leaving Isla alone with Rosa and her strange bottled brew. She gave instructions to drink it while she dug out pajamas from the dresser. Isla breathed in the stench and gagged.
What was mixed in, gasoline? Formaldehyde?
Isla plugged her nose and gulped the liquid down. Her guts grumbled. She coughed and looked at Rosa.

“Whose clothes are these?

“Fresh garments are always kept in the guesthouses.”

“Do you know where my bag ended up?”

“No.”

Isla held up the floral chemise. “Is there more?”

“More?”

“Like bottoms.”

Rosa handed her panties. Not what she meant. She shimmied from the dress and undergarments and slipped into the nightgown, she used the word loosely. Tight in the bust, Isla searched for a robe in the bathroom. No luck. Rosa came from the closet and handed her a long pink robe reading her mind.
More silk. Great.
She wanted flannel pants and tank tops that didn’t suffocate the girls.

Rosa turned down the bed. “You will be sleepy soon.”

Power of suggestion, Isla wrapped her fingers around the engraved ribbons of the bedpost. A wave of drowsiness slammed into her. Rosa guided Isla down into the cool linen sheets. Her vision muddled.

“You will feel better soon. You had a long day.”

As the euphoric concoction played Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 across her nerve endings, Isla giggled. Her eyes rolled and she could no longer keep them focused, nor did she want to. The night pulled her in as Rosa sang her a lullaby.

Sweet girl, play with the starlight

Dance on the moonbeams

Give your soul to the heavens

Let your heart take flight

Isla never sang to Jules. Hummed while she was in her belly but never crooned lullabies. Holding Jules in her arms couldn’t come soon enough. The aroma that her long blonde strands emitted reminded Isla of sunflowers in spring, and her skin was still as soft as a newborn. Though elated, a confessional was to happen between her and Reed. A war raged inside of Isla. She had battled her feelings for far too long.

He killed Ronan. He did it for her—for Jules . . .

About 30% of perpetrators of child sexual abuse are family members.

*The U.S. Department of Justice NSOPW*

SHE DRIFTED THROUGH the hours until whispers pulled her back.

ISLA PEEKED THROUGH matted lashes. Lit pillar candles lined the dresser and fireplace mantle. Slits of moonlight shone through the blinds. Isla rubbed her eyes and noticed smeared makeup on the pillow. Dark tangled strands fell over her shoulders.

“What happened?” She said and moaned.