Page 84 of The Chain House
“Nothing in this world is a certainty, Sam Harper.”
Sam’s cell phone started moving across the table with an incoming call. He turned it over, saw DAD on the screen, and then placed it facedown on the table again.
“You’re not going to answer that?” Batise smirked. “I’m sure the two of you have much to discuss.”
“And we will,” Sam said.
“The Kentucky Cannibal …”
Sam ignored that, couldn’t fathom it, and stayed focused on his most pressing concern. “Am I yours?” Deep down, he prayed he wasn’t.
Batise answered, “I always pull out, Sam Harper.”
Batise had said as much countless times during interviews. This wouldn’t be the first incident where a woman came forth claiming she’d had Sal Batise’s child; but not one, over the years, had ever matched to Sal’s DNA, which had led authorities to believe, however basic his form of birth control was, that he was telling the truth.
“Then why was this Jules Whitaker so sure I was yours?”
“Because, perhaps, this one time I forgot,” he said. “And maybe my … system isn’t as reliable as I might have thought.”
“And you cast her aside?”
“I moved on.”
“And she what, heard about the Freedom Ranch and decided to have a family reunion?”
“Or she noticed my growing popularity and wanted a free place to stay.”
“You got her pregnant,” Sam said angrily. “You owed her that much.”
“It takes two to tango, Sam Harper. What if I said she’d seduced me?”
“I find it difficult to believe you have ever been seduced by anyone.”
“Justice Minks sure seems to be doing a job of it. Or Luther Wright, as he was called.”
“Because that’s his real name,” Sam said.
“And Steven is yours.”
“What happened to her?” Sam asked. “Jules Whitaker?”
“She passed away, unfortunately.”
“How?”
“Soon after she arrived at the Freedom Ranch.”
“I didn’t ask when,” Sam said. Batise smiled as they watched one another. Sam said, “What’s funny?”
“Just that you definitely have some of her spunk. Some her grit. And I bet my brother would agree.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tommy knew her as well,” he said. “Or … I’m sorry, Trevor Harper. Professor Trevor Harper, rather. I hear he has a PhD now, with tenure. Yet he’ll always be Tiny Tommy Batise to me.”
“What was she to him?”
“Answer the phone next time he calls and ask him.”
