Page 55 of The Knight (Endgame 2)
Stolen and then wrestled back. We’re all the epicenter of our own wars.
“More likely you were angry that she left with anyone,” Uncle Landon says from the doorway. “I admit it wounded me that she never looked at me as anything more than an amusement, one of her admiring coterie. But I would have helped her if she came to me. That’s what pains me the most. That she trusted the wrong person.”
The city will define me in its own image—with all the glory and the humiliation of the virginity auction. They don’t know me, either. Only Gabriel knows the heart of me, those golden eyes unnerving because they actually see.
And that knowledge gives me the strength to stand up. “Trusting the wrong person?” I say to Uncle Landon. “That’s rich coming from you. My mother trusted you enough to make you the administrator of her trust. And you gambled it away, losing her house.”
Tears brighten his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry, Helen.”
A shiver runs through me, because it’s like he sees her standing where I am.
Am I fated to follow her footsteps to the end?
“And you,” I say, turning to Nina. “So determined to make your love affair more than it was. I know how painful it is to love a person who doesn’t return it, but that doesn’t give you any special right to them. She made her choice.”
Nina closes her eyes against my words, shaking her head. A moan of grief escapes her. It turns into a cough that forces her to sit in the nearest chair with her daughter’s help.
Charlotte shoots me a worried look. “I need to get her home.”
I swallow hard, turning to face my father. “And whatever happened the night she died, you had already failed her. She told you she was afraid, and what did you do? Dismiss her. Deny her.”
“She was crazy. What would you have had me do?”
“Believe her. That’s what.” I shake my head, desperate to make him understand. Because there’s only one way someone got those pictures of me—close-ups of my face and body, times when I was naked and unaware. Even sleeping.
I pick up a paperweight made of stone, the shape of a king piece. I gave it to my father for his birthday a few years ago. With a wild swing it slams into the wall. Plaster sprays from the blow, exposing deeper layers of white and the hint of a shadowy space.
Another swing, and more of the plaster falls away. Dust falls around me like rain.
“Christ,” Gabriel says, deftly taking the king from me.
“She heard it talking to her,” I tell him, out of breath. “The house.”
Understanding lights his eyes. Whatever demons chased my mother, they were real. Even fifteen years ago they had plenty of audio devices that could be hidden. And more importantly they had secret cameras. The kind of cameras that could capture me in private moments.
Gabriel glances at the statue as if judging its weight, its strength. And then he smashes it into the wall, making more of a dent than I could. I take a step back, making room, blocking the spray of plaster from hitting Daddy. He failed my mother, but he was still my father.
Damon Scott strolls into the room, expression only mildly curious. “Is this some kind of renovation reality show? Because our ratings will be amazing.”
Gabriel sends him a dark look. “Are you going to make jokes or are you going to help?”
Damon opens his mouth, surely to answer with the former, but then seems to think better of it. He joins Gabriel as they pull away more of the wall with their hands.
A black cord appears, something rubbery in Gabriel’s hands. He pulls on it, and I realize it’s a wire. He yanks hard, dragging a seam through the middle of the wall. The house is coming apart, torn piece by piece by the man I trusted to hold it together. I can’t fault him, though. A puzzle needs to be solved. A game needs to be played.
A house of cards needs to come crashing down.
And then the cord snaps taut, unable to release any more. Damon does the honors, pulling something black and square from the wall. A speaker? A camera? Maybe both.
“Fuck,” Gabriel mutters, digging away more Sheetrock. The darkness goes too deep. No corresponding wall on the other side, at least not for a while, past the triangle of light from this room. Why is there so much space?
I take a step closer, horror weighing me down. There’s a room here. A small room. On the floor I can see more wires. It might be innocuous space, a quirk of old house design, except for the stool sitting inside, old food wrappers piled in a corner. And on the other side of the wall… My mind flinches away from the realization.
