No Saint (Wild Men 6)

"Whoa. What?" I stop what I’m doing—basically rearranging everything behind the bar just for an excuse to listen to Dena’s stories—and spin around to face her. “Wait. Are you serious? Not joking about. I only heard that his dad tried to kill him. There’s more?”

“Oh yeah, didn’t you hear? His dad took a knife to him. Rumors say Jasper grabbed a knife and went for his son’s heart but missed because he was so drunk. Holy shit, right? Seems Ross went to confront him about his mom’s murder. For a long time, he thought his mom had walked out on them, but as it turns out, she hadn’t gone not even a mile. Police found her skeleton by the river.”

I press my back to the bar, feeling kind of faint as it sinks in. “God. How did Ross find out?”

“Well, it’s a long story.” One Dena is obviously dying to tell, and for once I’m not complaining. “Did you know that his dad had more kids? Remember the Watsons? Octavia, Gigi, Merc? They left town before you did. They’re Ross’s half-brothers and sisters.”

“For real? I remember them.” They do look alike, now I think about it.

“Yeah. And what’s more, it turns out that Merc, the youngest, witnessed the murder when he was a child. Has been having nightmares about it all his life, and when he finally decided to get serious about it and looked into it, all sorts of terrible details came to light, leading to the discovery of the skeletons.”

“Skeletons? Plural?”

“Oh, yeah. Jasper Jones has the honor of being Destiny’s first serial killer. I mean, assuming two killings that we know of are enough to put him into that category.”

Holy shit. I shake my head, frowning at her. “Who cares about the category? Jesus. I didn’t know Ross’s mom was dead. When did that happen?”

“Long time ago. Ross didn’t know. Nobody did around here. We all thought she skipped town. Jasper beat her, so it made sense, or so we thought.”

A headache has started behind my eyes. My lungs feel tight. Shock, I think. The serial killer thing, the skeletons by the river, the killer being a man I’ve known all my life growing up. Who doesn’t know Jasper’s Garage and the sleazy man behind it? I just never thought... It doesn’t seem possible that...

That all this was happening and I had no clue. That a killer lived among us. That he lived with Ross, beating him up, twisting him.

That Ross was a victim all his life, and I had no clue.

Stop. Stop it, Luna. Don’t go giving Ross excuses for everything he’s done. And even if that is the reason, it doesn’t matter. He is who he is. He’s done what he’s done. To others. To you.

I know. I know! Jesus, I’m just... I feel sick.

Wiping my hands on my apron, I pour myself some coffee and move away from the bar. “Hey, I’m going to take a break. Cover for me?”

“Sure.”

I don’t smoke, but I could use a few moments of quiet out back, t

o think. Or not think. To block these confusing thoughts, try to erase the mental images of a young Ross with his violent father, of his father killing people. Killing Ross’s mom.

Ross finding out and confronting him.

His dad pointing a knife at Ross’s heart and barely missing.

Ross letting those guys in the street beat him up.

Ross protecting me.

How does all this add up? What connects the dots? What’s the link?

Pushing the back door of the diner open, I step onto the street. There are some old houses behind, gardens overgrown with weeds, porches dilapidated and falling to pieces. Leaning against the diner wall, I sip at my hot coffee and close my eyes, willing the images and questions to fade. I try to replace them with my family’s faces, with peace and quiet, willing my racing heart to slow.

God, I’m so lucky. So blessed. So grateful for my dad and for Josh, for my aunt and my cousins. That’s not something I think about every day. Have I ever even told them that? How much I love them, how much I appreciate their affection, their patience and care as I was growing up.

Deep breaths.

And all this still doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t. It doesn’t erase years of Ross’s meanness, of leading this group of sadistic boys around, of sitting back and watching while schoolkids were made to cry day in and day out, made to think their lives were worthless.

If I believed in heaven and hell, then I’d say there’s no salvation for the soul of Ross Jones. The line may seem fuzzy at times, like now, after hearing the horrid account of his life, but it’s there.

Then again, I’m not sure I do. Believe in heaven and hell, that is. That would mean condemning more people, like my mom who abandoned us. Or most of the boys in Destiny, because they followed Ross and did his bidding. Or maybe invented tortures of their own, like the guys who cornered me the other night.