The Angel (The Original Sinners) (29 page)

“Father grabbed my brother by his broken arm and dragged him up
into a sitting position. Tied him to a chair. My brother’s arm…it just
dangled…so lifelessly. I remember thinking—it’s stupid—but I actually thought,
‘Oh, no. He’ll never play piano again.’ Madness, the things that come to mind in
moments like that. Never play piano again? Father was going to kill him.”

“Kill him?” Suzanne knew she sounded like an idiot, parroting
questions back at Elizabeth. But the shock and sickness had taken away her
powers of speech, rendering her nearly mute with horror.

“I remember him saying that. ‘You’re dead, Marcus. You’re
dead…’ Once he had my brother tied to the chair, he came after me again. Wanted
my brother to watch while he raped me. But I couldn’t let that happen. The rape,
fine. Of course. Happened before. But I couldn’t let him kill my brother. I
loved him. In a sick, damaged, broken way…I did love him. We were all we each
other had. So I picked up the fireplace poker, and with everything in me, I
slammed it into my father’s head. And, my God, he went down hard. So hard and so
fast, I laughed. I think it was the laugh that got my mother’s attention. I just
couldn’t stop laughing....”

“Your mother, she found you?”

Elizabeth nodded. “She burst into the library, saw her daughter
nearly naked and bleeding, my brother barely breathing and tied to a chair, and
Father a pile of bloody monster on the floor. She couldn’t deny anymore what had
been going on under her nose. She got me and my brother out of the house. Took
him to the hospital and dropped him off—”

“Dropped him off? She just dropped him off?”

“He wasn’t her son. She’d always hated him a little. She could
have turned a blind eye to an affair, even one that produced a bastard. But to
force her to treat him like a son? She never forgave Father for that. If only
that had been the worst of his sins.”

“If only…”

“So she dropped off my brother at the hospital and fled with
me. She divorced Father after. That was the sixties. She couldn’t bear to let
our dirty laundry out in public. So no charges were pressed and they divided the
assets up equally. And the assets were and are considerable. Even after dividing
everything in half, they both were extremely wealthy people.”

“What happened to your brother?” Suzanne asked, although she
knew part of the answer. “He was sent to school, right?”

Elizabeth nodded. “I suppose once Father came to, he remembered
my brother was his only son and heir. But he refused to have my brother around,
so it was off to school. St. Ignatius Academy, I think it was called. Some
Jesuit boarding school for boys up in Maine. Middle of nowhere. Barely
accessible even in good weather.”

“Sounds like a prison.”

“Something like that. I think Father was afraid of my brother,
afraid of possible retribution. He was wrong to be, of course. My brother is no
murderer. My father feared the wrong child.”

Suzanne heard a smile of satisfaction in Elizabeth’s voice.

She didn’t speak. Although young, Suzanne had been a journalist
long enough to know that she often got the truth only when she stopped asking
questions.

“I’m glad he went to St. Ignatius,” Elizabeth continued. “He
was happy there, apparently. Converted to Catholicism. Learned a dozen or more
languages from all the priests who taught there. Met that Kingsley.”

Suzanne smiled because she knew Elizabeth expected her to.

“And Kingsley’s sister, right?” Suzanne prompted.

“Oh, yes. My brother’s wife. Never met her. I found out about
the marriage only after the girl had died. He did it for the money, of
course.”

“The money?”

“The trust fund. My brother and I had trust funds set up by our
parents. We received a huge sum at age twenty-five or sooner if…”

“If you got married.”

Elizabeth nodded.

“I think my brother just wanted to help Kingsley and his sister
stay together in the States. They were both penniless, really. Didn’t end well,
as you know. Which I suppose is for the best. My brother was destined for the
priesthood.”

“He does seem to have found his calling.”

“It’s a lovely thing, having a priest for a brother. It’s quite
nice to have someone in the family who can absolve all your sins and is bound to
keep your secrets even from the laws of man. My brother…he has had to absolve me
for so much.”

Elizabeth turned her violet eyes on Suzanne. In them Suzanne
saw the truth, heard the truth, finally understood the truth.

Elizabeth Stearns had killed her father. And her brother knew
it.

And to Suzanne, a priest who had absolved his own sister of the
sin of murder and kept her confession secret even from the police…

“That sounds like a conflict of interest to me,” Suzanne said.
“A brother hearing his sister’s confession.”

“I suppose it is. But perhaps you have your answer now.”

“Perhaps I do.” Suzanne rose off the bench on unsteady feet.
She had to get out of there now. She knew what she had to do, who she had to
see, what she had to say. And she needed to do it tonight. “I need to go. Thank
you for your time.”

“Of course. Anything for my brother. I hope you understand him
a bit better now. If you’re looking for a sex-offender priest, you won’t find
him at Sacred Heart. My brother knows better than that. He’d have to answer to
me.”

Suzanne gave Elizabeth a tight smile.

“No, I’m sure you’re right. After what happened to my brother,
I can certainly sympathize with what you feel and with what—” Suzanne choose her
words carefully “—with what you did. I’m glad your brother absolved you. If it
makes you feel any better, I would have absolved you too. If I believed in
that.”

Elizabeth picked up her trowel again and started digging once
more in the dirt, this time with a much gentler touch.

“I’ll show myself out. I promise all of this was off the
record.”

“Thank you, Ms. Kanter. Please have a safe trip home.”

Suzanne started for the door but paused before she touched the
knob.

“You don’t call him Marcus?” Suzanne asked. “Your brother I
mean. That’s what you call him—my brother. Why is that?”

“He hates the name Marcus. It’s our father’s name.”

“Thank you. I was just curious. Good night.”

Suzanne reached once more for the doorknob and stopped.

“I think I understand something you don’t,” Suzanne said as she
remembered something Elizabeth had said earlier. “About your brother not waking
up the way you thought he would.”

Elizabeth only stared at her and said nothing.

“You wanted him to wake up that night and kill you as he did
that boy who attacked him in his sleep at school. But he didn’t. Because he was
sleeping heavily. And he was sleeping heavily because he was home. And he
thought he was safe.”

Even in the low light Suzanne could see Elizabeth’s eyes harden
like two glinting amethysts.

“He should have known better than that. No one is ever
safe.”

22

Michael had never felt so safe in his life. A strange
sensation considering the agony he’d been in the last two hours as Spike, the
purple-haired tattoo artist, pierced black ink deep into his damaged skin. But
the pain centered him, calmed him the way pain always did. But even more than
the pain, Griffin’s strong hands on him, holding him steady, brought Michael
into a haven inside himself he’d never gone to before. Nora sat on the couch
working on her edits. Spike dug into his wrists with her buzzing needle. But no
one in the world existed but him and Griffin.

Every few minutes Spike would pause and reink her needle.
Griffin would loosen his grip on Michael’s forearms and offer him a drink of
water or ask if he needed a break. The pain hit its peak and sweat would drip
down Michael’s forehead. Griffin would call for a break, wipe Michael’s face and
let him breathe for a few minutes before Spike started up again. At no point did
Griffin ask him if he needed or wanted to stop. And for some reason Griffin’s
faith in his ability to take the pain meant more to him than anything.

“That’s it, mate,” Spike said, leaning back in her chair and
stretching her back. “Done as much as we can do tonight. Let it heal. Six weeks,
we’ll do touch-ups.”

Michael turned his eyes from Griffin’s to his own wrists.
During the entire ordeal he’d kept his gaze on Griffin’s face and not on Spike’s
needle. He hated seeing his own scars, hated the memory of that moment of
despair and idiocy that had led to them. And he’d yet to find anything or anyone
in the world he’d rather look at than Griffin. But now he looked at his wrists
and inhaled at the sight of them—and not with disgust as he had every day for
the past three years, but with awe.

“Wow…” he breathed. “Spike, it’s—”

“Motherfucking beautiful,” Griffin said, gently touching the
skin around the edges of the raw and still-bleeding tattoos.

They were beautiful, his black wings that covered the insides
of both wrists. Somehow Spike had managed to create the illusion of delicate
feathered edges out of flesh and ink. And the scars…they were gone. The body of
each tattoo completely covered the angry, raised remnants of Michael’s suicide
attempt.

Griffin took both of Michael’s hands in his and pushed his
freshly tattooed wrists together side by side, creating a wingspan.

“Gorgeous, Mick. They’re gorgeous.” Griffin squeezed Michael’s
fingers. “Just like you.”

The pain from the two-hour tattoo session had already pulled
Michael to the very edge of arousal. And Griffin’s hands on him, the hungry tone
of his voice made Michael painfully aware of the one part of his body that ached
more than his bleeding wrists.

“I’ll be right back,” Michael said and yanked his hands away
from Griffin. He nearly ran from the room and into the bathroom down the hall.
Standing at the sink he bent over, turned the taps on and splashed water on his
fevered face.

He couldn’t do this anymore. For two months now, his lust for
Griffin had been like the scars on his wrists—something he hid, something that
shamed him, something he was afraid to look at. But tonight on that table, it
wasn’t only the scars on his wrists that had been transformed.

Michael loved Griffin. He knew that now. And he had no fucking
idea what to do about it.

“Angel?” The door to the bathroom opened and Nora stood staring
at him with concerned eyes.

“Nora…” Michael stood up and raised his hands in a kind of
surrender. “Nora…I…”

“I know, Angel,” she said. “I know.”

She shut the door behind her and reached for him, pulling him
close. He nearly groaned at the human contact, the touch of her hand on his
face, her lips on his cheek. She reached between them and unzipped his jeans as
Michael raised her skirt.

He pulled her panties down and pushed inside her. Never before
had he been this aggressive with Nora. But this wasn’t about sex or scening or
S&M. This was survival. He thrust roughly as she gently ran her hands
through his hair and down his back.

Michael came quick and hard, shuddering against Nora with his
face buried in the crook of her neck.

“I don’t know what to do, Nora,” he whispered as he pulled out
of her. “I don’t know what to say. He’ll kill me. My father will kill me. And my
mom, she’ll never look at me again. I don’t know…”

“You have to tell Griffin,” Nora said. “You have to talk,
Michael. You have to speak.”

“I can’t, I can’t.” Michael’s whole body seized up in the agony
of his need and his love. His knees buckled and together he and Nora sunk to the
floor of the bathroom.

“You can, Angel. You’ve been so brave this summer. You’ve faced
so many demons. And I’m so proud of who you are and who you’re becoming… Just
say it. Tell me what you want to tell Griffin. Just get it out. No one will hear
but me. But you’ve got to say it to somebody. Just talk, Angel. Speak. What do
you want? Tell me.”

“I…” Michael began and stopped. Even to Nora it seemed a
Herculean task to say what he felt, what he wanted.

“Michael, this is an order from your mistress. Tell me what you
want. Now.”

“I want Griffin.” The words came out immediately. She had
trained him too well. “I want Griffin so much it hurts. I love him, Nora. I have
never felt anything like this before. And it’s absolutely stupid because he’s
rich and he’s perfect and amazing and I’m a nobody. I’m a nobody, and I’m in
love with someone I can’t be with. He’s so beautiful. I can’t stop looking at
him, I can’t stop thinking about him. I dream about him at night. And he’s the
first thing I think about when I wake up. And I want to touch him so much. I
want to touch his face and that fucking perfect hair of his. And his lips and
his chest and his arms—and I think about those arms around me, and it’s
humiliating how much I want that. And, God, I want to live in his bed. I want to
spend the rest of my life underneath him. I want to feel him on top of me and
inside me. And I want submit to him. I want to go down on my knees in front of
him. I want to call him sir and wear his collar and kiss his fucking feet if he
told me to. And I want to walk down the busiest street in New York with him
holding hands so the entire world can see us together and know that I belong to
him. I love Griffin, Nora. I’m in love with him. And I can’t be with him. But
that’s…that’s it.” Michael turned his head and buried it a little deeper into
the cleft of Nora’s neck and shoulder. He wanted to stay there so he wouldn’t
have to look her or anyone in the eyes ever again. “You won’t tell him, will
you?”

“She doesn’t have to.”

Griffin’s voice came from the doorway to the bathroom. Michael
gasped and looked up. Nora pulled away enough to turn her head.

“Shit,” Michael breathed, his heart freezing, his stomach
dropping, his whole body turning to ice.

“You meant all of that, didn’t you?” Griffin asked, looking
down at where Michael sat in a pile of misery on the floor.

“Griffin, I’m sorry.” Michael pulled his knees tight to his
chest. “I’m so sorry. Forget I said all that. I’m just—”

“Stand up,” Griffin said with the unmistakable tone of an
order.

Michael came immediately to his feet.

“I’m so—” Michael began but Griffin didn’t let him finish the
apology.

Griffin reached out and cupped Michael’s neck and pulled him
hard against himself. Before Michael even knew what was happening, Griffin’s
mouth was on his.

The kiss was everything Michael had dreamed about—powerful,
possessive, unyielding. Griffin held Michael’s face in his hands, allowing
Michael no chance for escape. But as Griffin’s tongue sought his, as their lips
found each other, Michael knew he never wanted to escape.

Slowly Griffin pulled back.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the second I saw you,” Griffin
breathed, pressing his forehead to Michael’s. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way
I want you, Mick.”

Michael couldn’t believe the words.

“No…no way. I’ve been here two months. If you wanted me—”

“Your fucking priest told me if I laid a hand on you, he’d
never let me see Nora again.”

Michael whirled around to face Nora, who watched them both with
the tiniest hint of amusement on her lips.

“Nora? Father S said—”

“He has his reasons,” Nora said. “And yes, he told Griffin he’d
revoke his 8th Circle privileges and kick him out of the community if he tried
anything with you. And he wouldn’t let us see each other again. But I told you
before, Griffin. Søren’s not a monster. You can talk to him. Call him.
Explain—”

“Fuck calling him. And fuck the explanations. He thinks he’s
God making all our decisions for us. What happens with me and Mick is none of
his business. And I’m going to go tell him that. Right now.”

Griffin grabbed Michael one more time and gave him a kiss that
left Michael panting and aching. But it ended all too quickly as Griffin
wrenched himself away and left the bathroom.

“Griffin!” Nora called out. Both she and Michael nearly had to
run to keep up with Griffin’s long, determined strides. “It’s about to storm.
Can’t you wait until tomorrow? Just use the damn phone.”

“That won’t be good enough for Søren, and you know it, Nora.
When I went to him six years ago and told him I was in love with you, talking
wasn’t good enough. I had to prove myself. I was too pussy to do so then. And I
didn’t love you enough to man up. For Mick, I will. If only to show that
self-righteous, pretentious asshole priest of yours that he’s not the only dom
with balls around.”

Michael looked at Nora in abject terror.

“Griffin’s not going to fight Father S, is he?”

Nora shook her head.

“No. Søren’s a pacifist.”

Michael sagged with relief. As strong and tough and young as
Griffin was, he had a feeling Father S could wipe the floor with anybody on the
planet.

“Thank God.”

“No, Søren doesn’t want to fight Griffin. He wants to break
him.”

“Oh…” Michael watched Griffin disappear down the hall.
“Fuck.”

Nora nodded. “My sentiments exactly.”

Michael waited for Griffin to reappear from wherever he’d gone.
Maybe he could talk some sense into Griffin. He remembered the story Griffin had
told him that morning after his first night with Nora—Griffin had gone to Father
S to ask permission to be with Nora. Father S said not until Griffin was willing
to submit to real pain, real dominance. Griffin couldn’t go through with it back
then, not for Nora. But him…for him…

“I can’t let him do it. It’s stupid. We’ll figure something
out,” Michael said, desperate to keep Griffin safe. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll talk
to Father S. He—”

The sound of a roaring engine interrupted Michael and put an
end to whatever plans he had to stop Griffin from his ridiculous idea of
confronting Father S.

“What the—”

Nora sighed.

“That would be a Ducati monster peeling out of the driveway,”
she said. “And in high gear too. He’s gonna get a shitload of speeding tickets
if he’s not careful.”

“Nora…” Michael looked at her, his stomach a knot of pain and
hope and sadness and joy in one aching, roiling mess.

She exhaled and laughed.

“Can we not have one week without some major drama around here?
Come with me, Angel. I want to show you something.”

* * *

Suzanne drove back to the city but didn’t stop there.
She kept going, kept driving and didn’t stop until she’d arrived in Wakefield,
Connecticut. The entire way there, she thought about Søren, Father Stearns,
Elizabeth’s brother… How could they all be the same person? To Claire he was the
ideal older brother. To Elizabeth he was the symbol of the worst part of her
life. To his congregation he was practically God incarnate. And to Nora
Sutherlin he was “Beloved.” But that she loved him didn’t mean he loved her
back, not in the same way perhaps. Suzanne knew Patrick loved her, was in love
with her. But she didn’t feel the same.

Or did she?

Pulling her phone out of her purse, she dialed Patrick’s
number. She nearly laughed at the relief in his voice when he answered.

“Suz. Goddammit. Where have you been? Is everything okay?’

“It is. I think so. Better anyway. Can you do me a favor? I’m
driving and I need to look something up.”

“Sure. Anything.”

“Can you see if a woman named Elizabeth Stearns from New
Hampshire has any kind of criminal record?”

“Google won’t help much with that. Let me call my NYPD friend.
He can look it up.”

Suzanne hung up and waited. But she didn’t have to wait
long.

“So?” she said when she answered.

“Arrested on suspicion of manslaughter. Father fell to his
death down several flights of stairs. He was notoriously healthy and virile for
an old geezer, so no one believed that he’d just fallen.”

“No conviction?”

“Nope. No witnesses. Spotty evidence. The only really
incriminating thing Elizabeth Stearns did the day after Daddy’s death was head
straight for Wakefield to talk to her priest-brother.”

“The cops thought she confessed the crime to him.”

“They did. Tried to get him to talk. Wouldn’t say a word even
though the sister’s not Catholic. Apparently only baptized Catholics are
supposed to go to confession so they leaned on him pretty heavily to spill it.
Even the diocese wanted him to spill it. He refused on theological grounds.”

“And on the grounds of covering his sister’s ass. Knowing what
her bastard of a father did to her, I don’t blame him at all.”

Patrick exhaled and the phone buzzed in her ear from the force
of his breath. She smiled. Patrick…what would she do without him?

“So you’re done, right? This is done? You’re coming home now,
right? Right?”

Suzanne grinned into the dark.

“Got one more thing to do first.”

“Then you’re coming home, right?”