“Where?”
“Holed up in the woods and scared to death.”
“How is he?”
“Confused. Fragile. The usual. I’m still not sure he understands exactly what’s happened. He wants to see you, though. He thought maybe he’d dreamed it, seeing you. He’s like a kid with anticipation.”
Michael spun the glass, watching Jessup. The man was clearly afraid of the conversation that was coming, and Michael had theories on that. Julian, he decided, might be a soft approach to the place they needed to go. “He saw Abigail kill Ronnie Saints, didn’t he?”
Jessup drained his beer, poured another. “Oh, man…”
“In the boathouse. That’s why he broke down,” Michael said. “That’s why he ran away. He saw her kill Ronnie Saints and couldn’t process it.”
“She had the best intentions.” Jessup’s head moved, eyes on the cold glass. “She just wanted them to apologize to Julian. She tracked them down, paid them-”
“And then killed them.”
His eyes snapped up, then. “It wasn’t like that. Abigail doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. She’s tough and honest and fair, but she’s sweet as the day is long. She would never hurt anybody. Even the thought that she might hurt somebody-”
“It’s just that she’s schizophrenic.”
Jessup licked his lips, eyes nailed to the table.
Michael leaned in on his elbows. “She told me how it works, you see. On our drive to the mountains, she told me how it runs in families.”
“This is a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.”
But he didn’t move, and Michael knew why. Secrets are hard; they weigh a man down. “See, Andrew Flint said something interesting when I was at Iron House. He was quite taken with Abigail on the day she came to adopt us. She was beautiful, rich. But that’s not what stuck with him. She told him a story about why she cared about us, about Julian and me. She told Mr. Flint that she’d grown up in an orphanage herself, that she’d had a sister, that she had certain sympathies for older siblings left to linger in a place like Iron House. She told it with some conviction, apparently. That’s what Flint said. She told it with feeling. Did you know she told him that?”
“I knew.”
“And yet I met her mother in a dump house at the base of Slaughter Mountain. Arabella Jax. A charming lady. You met her, too.”
“Oh, man.”
He shook his head; Michael ignored his worry and sudden distress. “She says Abigail ran away from home when she was fourteen years old, which leaves me with the question, why did she lie to Andrew Flint? Most importantly, why did she care about us at all?”
Jessup leaned back in his chair. Pushed the glass away. “Why don’t you tell me, smart guy?”
Michael swallowed in a throat that was suddenly dry. He thought of the love Abigail so clearly felt for Julian, and how she’d been willing to go to the farm and face down Jimmy on the chance of saving Michael’s life. Ten million dollars. Thirty. She didn’t care about the money or her own safety. And yet she’d been so very afraid. Then things went south in the barn, and her fear vanished. He saw the way she’d come off the floor to take Jimmy’s hand at the wrist. She’d been a different woman, then, cold and smooth and violent. Michael had rarely seen such perfect timing and physical control; but she didn’t even remember this thing she’d done.
Schizophrenia runs in families, she’d said.
Siblings.
Parents.
Michael’s fingers felt uncertain on the glass, but he made his face a stone. “Is Abigail my mother?”
“You ask because she and Julian share the same affliction?”
“Because she cares more than she should. Because she had no reason to come for us in the first place.”
Jessup poured another beer, and took his time doing it. He drank deeply, looked up and left, as if for God to give him a sign. “You asked once about Salina Slaughter.” His eyes came back, red and heavy. “Let me tell you first about Arabella Jax. You saw the way she is?”
“I did.”
“She was worse when Abigail was young, vile and selfish and rotten to the core. I swear…” Emotion rose in his eyes. “I’ve never worked so hard to keep from killing a woman.”
“You went there to ask about Salina Slaughter?”
“Years ago. She didn’t want to talk about it. Not about Abigail. Not about Salina.” He nodded, lips tight. “We got there in the end.”
“You hurt her.”
“I’m not proud of it.”
“She’s still scared of you. She tried to blow my head off the second I mentioned Salina Slaughter. She thought you’d sent me.”
“She’s a ferocious bitch of a liar. I did what I did to get the truth.”
“Because you love Abigail.”
“Because I needed to know. Because I had to understand…” He rubbed both hands across his face. “Ah, shit.”
“Just tell me.”
It took a minute, then he said, “Arabella Jax had looks, once. I saw old photos in her house. She had looks and she had men. She worked for Serena Slaughter up on the mountain.”
“I saw the ruins.”
“A mansion,” Jessup said. “Huge wealth, big parties, some that lasted days. People would come in from out of state. Politicians. Celebrities. Rich folks in limousines. Arabella Jax washed dishes, did laundry, cleaned up. It was not much of a life. She had no money, hated her boss but had nowhere else to go. When she was young, she had affairs with guests of the Slaughters.
“She would pretend to be a girl named Salina Slaughter.”
Jessup shook his head, voice cracking. “It wasn’t pretend.”
“She really was Serena’s daughter?”
“No, that’s not it. She had…” Jessup wiped at his eyes, then suddenly stood. “Give me a second.” He moved to the window, turned his back and dipped his head. Michael looked away because it was hard to watch a grown man cry.
Jessup looked uncomfortable when he finally sat. “I’m sorry.” He sniffed, wiped his nose on a napkin. “It’s hard to love a wounded soul.”
“Take your time,” Michael said, and meant it. In spite of his violent nature, he had a deep respect for powerful emotions.
“Abigail had a brother,” Jessup finally said. “A baby boy just a few months old. She was only ten, but she loved him like he was her own. She fed him, took care of him. Arabella Jax didn’t much care for boys. She thought boys would grow up and run off like all men do; they would treat her badly, use her up. But daughters, she believed, would stay home. They would stay home and keep her as she got old.”
“She wanted her own servants.”
