The Comfort of Black (33 page)

“I took you away from a horrible life.”

A tear appeared beneath Justine's right eye as she looked back up at Hannah. It would make it halfway down her cheek before running dry. “Our life there worked for everyone except you,” Justine said. “Maybe it didn't make sense to you, but it worked for Momma, worked for Daddy. Worked for me.”

“He
beat
her,” Justine said. “It wasn't
working
for her. Justine, what are you talking about?”

Head still softly shaking. “You made him go away.”

“He was going to kill her, Justine. Eventually.”

The silence that followed was electric, and though it lasted only a few seconds, Hannah could feel the tension buried within it.

Then Justine whispered, “You never understood, Hannah. You and me, we're not…”

“Not the same?” Hannah interjected.

“No.” Seconds passed. Then, “We're not sisters.”

What the hell is she talking about?

“You're right,” Hannah said. “I don't understand.”

“You never knew. But I did. Mom told me before she died, but she didn't want you to know.”

Hannah took a step toward her sister, resisting an urge to slap Justine across the face in an attempt to bring her back from the void into which her mind had apparently fallen.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “Why are you telling me lies?”

“It's the truth,” Justine said. Her voice was flat, emotionless. “Mom had an affair when they had only been married a few years. You were the result of that affair. Dad suspected it but never knew for sure. She told me that's when he started drinking. Hitting her. And it all continued from there. You were the reason for all of it, Hannah.”

Hannah started to retort but closed her mouth. Could it be true? Or was this just another manipulation by Justine?

Justine shared physical traits of both her parents, but Hannah had inherited only her mother's features. Hannah had always been verbally abused by Billy, while Justine was always spared. Could it be that Billy always hated Hannah because he suspected she wasn't actually his daughter?

You never fit in, Hannie
.

“I don't believe you,” Hannah said.

“You don't need to,” replied Justine. “Maybe it's not even true, but it's what Mom told me. I believe it. You were never one of us, Hannah.”

In that moment, Hannah felt a wave of sudden relief, like someone pumped her body full of morphine. Her instinct was to deny Justine's words, but the thought of actually not being Billy's daughter was an incredible gift. All the rage she felt growing up would have come from her environment and not her blood. Her anger was learned and not genetic. There would be no more excuses—Hannah could finally be her own person.

“Who is my father?” she asked.

“I don't know,” Justine said. Something flashed over her face.
Sadness, perhaps. “But someone better than Daddy, I imagine. But he's still my daddy, and I did all of this for him. For us. Daddy needed money, and it was my idea to take it from you. From Dallin. I wanted Daddy to be happy, and I wanted you to be unhappy. But…”

“But you fell in love with my husband,” Hannah said. It was obvious. Justine's failed relationships over the years always seemed to have a commonality—her absolute need of the other person. The suffocating, all-encompassing need, one that eventually drove the other person permanently away.

“Yes,” Justine said. “I had to kill Daddy because of that. I knew if he killed you, Dallin would be next. And then I would have no one.”

There were so many things Hannah wanted to scream at her sister, things about Justine's delusions, her lies about wanting to save Hannah, her complete disregard of her children in the shadow of what she thought was love. A part of her wanted to inflict pain on her sister, to make Justine feel even a portion of the agony Hannah herself had been put through. An even smaller part of Hannah—though larger than she would care to admit—wanted to walk up to her sister and shoot her point blank in her face.

But Hannah knew none of that would accomplish anything but create a black wound in her own soul, something that would fester for the rest of Hannah's life.

Hannah put down the gun and walked up to Justine. She brought her hands up to Justine's face, cradling her head just as she had done as a child, on those nights when the yelling had been so bad nothing could drown out the sound of a family being torn to pieces. On those nights Hannah would hold her, trying to protect her, bring her comfort, and now, as Hannah stood before her, it occurred to her that Justine had never really cried in those moments. Never had been as scared as Hannah assumed she must have been. It was herself she was truly trying to comfort. Justine was not only used to the screams, but she must have been so immersed in Billy's world that the anger and the rage were
probably as common to her as banal, dinner-table conversation for other families. Justine had been destroyed before she was even a teenager, and Hannah never realized that until now.

“We are sisters,” Hannah said. “No matter what, we are sisters.”

Justine looked at her and began to sob, finally grabbing Hannah and squeezing her tightly, holding onto her as if she would otherwise collapse.

Hannah squeezed Justine's back as she spoke. “Dallin is in the Jackson Motel in Issaquah,” she said. “Room 24. You better get there fast because he's taped to a chair and probably needs water by now.” She stroked Justine's hair. “Maybe you'll have a good life together, but I doubt it. Whatever happens, you have to take care of your boys, Justine. They are all that matter here. Nothing else, understand?”

Hannah pulled back and looked at her sister. Justine squeezed her eyes shut as she nodded. The tears kept coming. Her face flushed a scarlet red, bright and splotchy against the blond hair falling alongside it.

“I'd like to tell you that I forgive you,” Hannah said. “But I can't. Maybe someday I will. But the only thing I know for sure is I'm never going to see you again.”

Hannah knew these would be the last words she would ever say to Justine. She leaned forward and kissed Justine on her forehead, and when she released Justine's head and stepped back, Justine sank to her knees, buried her face in her hands, and continued to cry.

Hannah walked over to Black's body and knelt next to him. She knew he was dead. There was an absence of energy that she couldn't define, but knew it was because there was no longer any life in the man on the floor. Nothing could be done, though she felt some guilt for not trying. For not rolling him over, frantically checking for a pulse, staining herself with his blood as she performed chest compressions on him, then shoving ripped pieces of her blouse into the bullet wound to stop the bleeding. For not weeping over his corpse.

But she did none of those things, because she
knew
. There was a stillness in him, like a fallen tree in the woods. Perhaps the tears would come later, but right now she didn't want to feel anything. She just wanted to leave.

There were two things in Black's coat pocket she needed. One was the key to Black's car, which she would drive to the airport. The bags in the trunk of the car were packed, though Black's bag would remain behind. Her luggage contained new clothes, enough for a couple of weeks until she was able to find an apartment and go out shopping on her own. In her purse was her new passport, so perfectly constructed—so Black had told her—that she would have no trouble for at least five years until she needed to have it renewed. Even her resident visa papers were perfectly forged. A Canadian abroad, a single woman by the name of Sylvia Genout—the “t” silent like
merlot
, she would tell people.

The other item in his pocket was one Black had told
her about. It was a phone, a smartphone, not the archaic flip phone variety he had used in a disposable manner. This phone was not connected to any provider, but on it was stored all the information she needed to access the bank in the Cayman Islands that contained the money they had transferred from Dallin's account. The phone was locked using retinal-recognition software, but Black had set it up to recognize each of them.
Just in case
, he had said last night. Hannah was thankful for this, because she didn't want to roll Black over and start waving the phone in front of his lifeless eyes, hoping the software would work on a dead person.

Her fingers throbbed as she patted the outside of his right jacket pocket. Broken, she thought. At least the index finger. Maybe the middle.

Hannah felt what she was looking for, and purposefully looked away from Black as her hand burrowed into the pocket, retrieving the key and the phone.

Hannah powered on the phone and looked into the screen. Seconds later it unlocked. Instead of defaulting to a home screen scattered with icons, a yellow digital notepad filled the screen. There was a note typed on it. A note from Black. Her eyes wanted to quickly scan for critical words, important things only, things that might help her in the immediate moment, but Hannah read every word, slowly, as if reading a love letter.

If all went well, I was planning to delete this note after we left the meeting with Billy. But if you're reading this, well, I suppose that's not good news for me
.

Everything you need is on this phone, encrypted in the app I told you about. Not just the account information, but all my notes from years of making people disappear. Use them, Hannah. Follow every instruction to the word. Don't be lazy, don't let down your guard, even for a second. Billy will keep looking for you, as will people much smarter and more capable than him. It's an exhausting way to live, but maybe you can find peace
.

Remember, Hannah. You can't ever go home. Ever
.

Now, you are Sylvia Genout. Erase the name Hannah Parks from your mind, from your heart, and forever from your lips. Funny, I spent so many years under the name Black that's now who I am. If you're curious, the address book on this phone has one entry, and that's my real name. Only if you're curious. I haven't used that name since the day I escaped from prison, but I suppose there's no harm in anyone knowing it now
.

Time for you to leave, Hannah. Delete this note, secure this phone, and sail away. I hear the sunsets are pretty damn good where you're going
.

Black

Hannah avoided looking at Justine as she picked up the gun and headed to the front door. She was almost outside before she remembered the video being recorded. She turned and headed to the kitchen where she found the camera, unplugged the cables, and took the device with her. She was tempted to say something to Justine, something like
If you decide to come after me, I'll release this to the media
. But she said nothing. Justine wouldn't have heard her anyway. Her sister was in a distant world.

Hannah walked out the front door.

The body of her father lay in the amber dirt only a few feet from the front door; Hannah realized he was in almost the same position Black's body was, and she felt disgust at Billy having anything in common with Black, even in death.

She briefly wondered about the crime scene she was leaving behind. Two bodies. Fingerprints everywhere. Who knew how long it would even be before Black and Billy were discovered? Would Justine say anything to the police? Would she at least shut the front door so the animals of the woods didn't feast on Black's remains?

Hannah shuddered as her stomach turned at the thought. Maybe she should burn the place down. Destroy the evidence best she could, just as Billy had intended to do while Hannah was handcuffed to the radiator.

Doesn't matter
, she told herself.
Just go
.

A small movement ahead of her, on the ground. Hannah thought maybe she didn't see it at all, then there it was again. Billy's
left arm, pushing up about an inch along the dirt. He didn't make a sound, but sure enough, he was moving, like some toy animatronic nearly run out of battery life.

Hannah stopped and watched him. Over the course of about a minute each of his arms moved a couple inches forward, his fingers twitching like a spider cautiously feeling for a change in surface. The rest of his body remained still.

Hannah could still hear her sister—and she still considered Justine her sister—softly weeping inside the house. Did Justine shoot Billy just to try to save Dallin? Or did Justine have a fleeting moment of clarity, a flash of all the abuse hitting her at once, opening her soul, making her understand that their father was a monster and nothing else?

How
did
it feel to shoot Billy?

Hannah walked forward, slowly, until both of her feet were next to Billy's head. It didn't escape her that this was the same position in which she stood when she was about to kill Grizzly, about to put the final bullet into the man she had already shot once. In that instance, Grizzly was very much alive, so much so he summoned his energy to overpower Hannah, almost killing her before Black was able to put him down.

Hannah stood, almost wanting her father to come alive, to attack her, in the same inexplicable way a person stands on the edge of a tall building and feels tempted to jump.

But Billy moved no more. Even if he was still barely alive, Hannah knew he was not a threat.

Then he said something. Maybe he opened his eyes and saw Hannah's feet. Maybe he sensed her nearby. Or maybe he was talking to God, telling Him it was a shame they would never meet.

Whatever he said, Hannah didn't understand him. And she didn't care.

“You aren't my father,” she told him. Hannah then raised the gun and pointed it at the back of Billy's head. When she fired, the sound made her jump, but only a little. The gun kicked in her hand, but not
enough to make her miss. The back of Billy's head came apart, but from Hannah's viewpoint, he still looked like the man he'd always been.