That had to count for something.
It didn’t mean that I wouldn’t stop trying to survive or even seize a moment to kill his ass and run out of here.
But it did mean that I was grateful—for his subtle moments of kindness and my still being alive with two arms and two legs.
I thought back to the chainsaw in his soul coffin. Bile rose in my throat. There was no doubt in my mind that he had used it on someone and would use it on another person again.
I just hope it won’t be me.
I directed all my attention to him, doing my best to examine and understand.
What do I ask?
There was a sense that at the core of this man was something kind, yet badly broken and bruised.
He’s more fucked up than me. Why?
I leaned back in the chair. “Where are you from?”
“Mesa, Arizona.”
Arizona fucked you up? If so, I’m never going there.
As if hearing my thoughts, he smiled.
I placed my hands in my lap. “If you’re from Arizona, how did you get here?”
“I decided to move my siblings and me out here.”
“Why?”
“To give us a change of scenery. To help us. . .heal.”
I eyed him. “Heal from what?”
“My parents died.”
“I’m so sorry. Both at the same time?”
“Different times.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, your turn.”
“No. Wait. I’m only beginning.”
He pointed at me. “Why did you move and stop playing the violin?”
I sighed. “Move is a nice way of saying I ran away and dropped out of school. Therefore, I couldn’t play the violin. There’s no classical music instruments on the streets, just needles and broken people, pimps and fucked-up kids.”
“You think you’re fucked up?”
“Of course I am.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Why did you run away?”
My fingers shook in my lap. “I didn’t like it at my house.”
He glanced down at my hands. “Because?”
I twisted my finger. “My stepfather made me uncomfortable. Well. . .that’s not fair. Maybe, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what?”
“It was so long ago. Who knows what I truly remember anymore.” I shook my head. “All I know for sure was that I was uncomfortable. If that matters.”
“It does.” All humor left his face. “Did your stepfather sexually assault you?”
“No.” I stirred in my seat. “Nothing like that. I’m not. . .that messed up. Thank God.”
“Then what made you uncomfortable?”
My insides trembled. “Sometimes. . .I would wake up in the middle of the night to him being in my room.”
My stepfather, Russel’s face entered my mind.
In the darkness of my childhood room, I saw him sitting on the edge of my bed and drooling down at me.
“It started. . .when I turned thirteen.” I shook my head. “Russel didn’t hurt me, but I just. . .I don’t know. . .I mean. . .I didn’t like that he was always there. It scared me.”
Cain studied me.
“He used to whisper, ‘Don’t tell her what we did.’” I closed my eyes and shut the image away. “Then, he would stand up. . .and. . .”
I twisted my fingers hard in my lap. “Then. . .umm. . .he would stand up and fix his pants.”
“Fix them.”
“Zip up and buckle.” My stomach twisted so hard I held it, nervous I was about to vomit. “He. . .must’ve. . .I don’t know. He must’ve. . .”
“Did something while you were sleeping?”
“I think so.” I trembled. “It was just always weird how I woke up. Like. . .”
Cain reached out to touch my arm.
I jerked away from him.
He pulled his hand back. “You woke up like what, Phoenix?”
“I would wake up different on those nights like I’d just reentered my body. Like. . .my eyes had been open the whole time.”
Irritated, I stood up. “I’m not talking about this anymore.”
I didn’t even know why I left my chair. I’d been fine there. Suddenly, the seat was uncomfortable and I needed my legs.
“So. . .” I shifted my weight from side to side. “When was the first time you killed someone?”
He looked at my swaying legs. “Five years ago.”
“Who was it?”
“The reverend of this chapel.”
I opened my mouth in shock. “Why?”
“Because he hurt people that I loved, and because. . .”
I stopped shifting my weight. “Because what?”
He spoke through clenched teeth, “He showed me that there was no god.”
“Because of what he did?”
The line of his jaw twitched. “Did you tell your mother about your stepfather coming to your bedroom in the middle of the night?”
“I did.”
“What did your mother say?”
“I told her. Every morning I would tell her.” I slowly paced by the chair. “The first time, she stormed off to him. They talked. I was terrified the whole time.”
“Then what?”
“Then she brought him to me and he apologized for waking me up.”
Cain sneered. “Did he provide an explanation for being in your room?”
“He said that he went to get some water and heard me coughing. He peeked inside to check on me, and thought my breathing wasn’t good.”