House of Steel (32 page)

She had last seen the picture over ten years
ago, the last time she had been at the cabin with Elizabeth. They
had begun to settle in for the night while Holston and Joe were
outside, drinking beside the lake. Curled up against the brown
leather couch, Elizabeth’s long blonde curls had bounced on her
shoulders as the breeze filtered in from the windows off of the
lake. Evie had pushed the chair against the bookshelf, climbing
along the shelves as they searched the books for something to read.
Elizabeth had pointed to the navy blue one with intricate gold
lettering.

“Looks fancy,” she had said as Evie reached
higher, pulling the book from its spot.

“It’s empty,” Evie had said as she flipped
through the book before handing it to Elizabeth on the couch
below.

“Let me see,” she had responded before
flipping to the back cover where a picture of a woman was neatly
taped. “Except for her.” They had leaned over the book, sitting
side by side on the couch, staring at the woman before her father
had walked into the kitchen.

“Staying out of trouble, I hope,” Holston
said as he strolled into the kitchen, reaching into the
refrigerator for two more beers.

“Of course, we are, Dad” Evie had answered
as Elizabeth shut the book and tucked it into the side of the couch
cushion.

“Good.” His voice had deepened as his eyes
settled on them before he turned to walk outside. Evie had reached
over Elizabeth’s lap, pulling out the book from the cushion before
Elizabeth’s hand had stopped her.

“You better not,” she had whispered in
Evie’s ear. “I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“We’re fine,” Evie had said, reaching back
for the book.

“For my dad’s sake. He works for your dad
now and he’s finally making some money with his shop. I don’t want
to cause trouble,” Elizabeth had whispered, gripping the book
tighter in her hands. “I’ll put it back.”

That had been the only time Evie had seen
the picture. The picture that they both agreed had to be Evie’s
mother. She had never seen pictures of her mother during childhood
because her father had always told her that her mother wasn’t
worthy of posing before the camera. When she asked again as a
teenager after the night they saw the picture, he had warned her
about her mother’s drug addiction that caused the car accident. He
had cautioned Evie to be mindful of the “addictive personality” she
may have inherited, but Evie had never believed that she was gone.
She could feel that she was still alive. Her mother had to have
answers to her own past. Answers to her father’s true identity.

The woman in the picture was dressed in a
waitress uniform, her dark hair pulled away from her face in a low
bun at the back of her head. The uniform was tight against her
body, buttoned to the top to cover her full breasts. She squinted
at the nametag placed above her right breast and could just barely
make out the name of the restaurant - House of Steel. Her lips were
a bright red, the color of a cardinal against the white snow. Evie
peeled back the tape, loosening the picture from its spot before
she turned it over. In blue ink, a date on the right corner filled
the otherwise blank space. 1986.

“You know she’s dead,” Holston Parker’s
voice cut through the silence. The hairs on Evie’s neck spiked as
she turned to see her father sitting on the couch behind her. He
was lounged deep into the seat, his legs folded as if he had been
there all along. His fedora sat lightly on his head. His black
leather jacket and shoes were still on. She scanned the back door,
looking for any signs of Ethan.

“Did I surprise you?” he asked, “My head of
security doesn’t even know anyone is in the house that she breaks
into. Isn’t that something?”

“I see we’re past the formalities of asking
how I’m doing after I’ve been shot by one of your employees,” she
spat back, still on the ground.

“I see you’re doing fine, so there’s no need
to ask.” The low, steady calmness of his voice she had once admired
enraged her as she watched the stillness of his body.

“Did you kill her?” she said, positioning
her body into a crouched position, like a cat ready to pounce. She
raised the picture in the air. She wondered how long he had been in
the house.

“I would have never killed your mother.”

“What about Henry? Or Elizabeth?”

“Elizabeth. Poor Elizabeth was a casualty of
the situation. It was Henry who raped and strangled her then left
her lifeless body in the field. Gunnar found her, and I knew Joe
couldn’t live with it. Elizabeth needed to be avenged so I had
Gunnar make it look like an accident. I took care of the funeral
arrangements and Henry, of course, he needed to be disposed of,”
Holston replied.

“I don’t believe you,” Evie accused.

“That’s why I didn’t tell you at the time.
You wouldn’t have believed me, but Henry was vile,” he
retorted.

“Then why did you hire him?” She tore into
Holston.

“He had the ability to be rehabilitated. He
had a chance at redemption, or so I thought. Henry proved me wrong.
Whether you believe me or not, that’s up to you,” he replied
evenly. His gray eyes penetrated her skin, making it crawl beneath
her clothes. “This is what you came for. The picture.” He nodded
toward the picture still gripped in her hand.

Silence.

“I wish she wasn’t dead. I truly do.” The
words slid out of his mouth, a rehearsed phrase that meant nothing
to him.

“I wish she wasn’t, either,” she replied,
staring straight into his lying eyes. The man sitting before her
was a complete stranger to her. Her father had long left her, if he
had ever really been there at all. “She could have helped me.”

“I don’t believe she could have. It seems as
though no one can help you now. I tried, Evie. I tried to help you,
but you wouldn’t let me. You didn’t follow my lead. There was so
much promise for you,” he said, leaning forward to rest his arms on
his legs.

“Promise? To run the family business of
buying and selling broken women?” she accused.

“Selling broken women,” he repeated the
words as if he had never heard them before, his face still
unflinching.

“I saw you. Buying those women back at that
barn, you sick bastard,” she spat as the rage exploded inside
her.

“The women in the barn,” he paused to
formulate his next words, “were unharmed only
after
I bought
them.”

“You bought them.”

“Yes.”

“To do what with them?” she demanded.

“Evie, I’m not about to divulge my personal
affairs to you. You wouldn’t believe me anyway. Not after you have
caused such a mess. That poor boy along with murder and arson.
Although,” he contemplated, “last night showed me that you could
have potential, but I don’t like cleaning up messes. I had to call
in quite a few favors.” His eyes pierced into her beaten body.

“I will never be like you,” she breathed
back.

“It’s a shame that it had to turn out this
way. If you would only go along with what I say, just like your
sister, our situation would be much better,” he said.

“Sister?” Evie choked out the word.

“Delaney is coming along quite nicely now,”
he replied as he looked out of the vast windows. “The lake is
beautiful this time of year, isn’t it? Ethan would find it so
peaceful out there. Where is he by the way?”

Sister. Evie couldn’t digest the word. She
slid her hand into her pocket and retrieved the knife, hiding it
along her leg as his eyes moved back to her.

“Did you think I came alone?” He let out a
small, low chuckle. Her stomach sank as she envisioned Ethan still
sitting in the car alone, unsuspecting and exhausted.

“No. More of your thugs, the convicted
felons on your secret payroll,” she retorted as she stuffed the
picture into her pocket. “Did you clean up the mess yet? Gunnar and
your beloved barn?”

“See. You’re not so unlike me after all,” he
said as he moved to stand up. Evie sprung from her position on the
ground and thrashed her arm through the air, making a single long
stroke against his knuckles. The flesh seared open as the blood
gushed from his hands. He shot up, reaching inside his jacket
before she jabbed another shot into his leg. She felt the metal
pierce his skin as she pulled the knife back out and sprinted to
the kitchen.

His voice growled behind her as she clamored
through the kitchen, knocking the chair over on her way to the
door. A popping noise rang in her ear as she ducked down, avoiding
the bullet as it ricocheted against the corner of the wall. Plaster
shattered to the floor beneath her, crunching underneath her
boots.

“EVIE!” he yelled as another shot fired
against the wall behind her. She looked forward; the glass door was
just a few steps ahead. Ethan’s face appeared in the glass, his
eyes flashing panic before the glass shattered in front of her, the
shot ringing in her ear from behind her. She covered her head as
the shards sprinkled down onto her arms and legs as the door swung
open. Her eyes shot up, searching for Ethan’s face, but it was
gone.

Evie slid through the door, maneuvering
around Ethan’s body on the ground. She fell to her knees next to
him. Blood spewed from his chest. Her hands rushed to his body,
covering the wound with her hands as she tried to stop the flow of
the blood. Her eyes scanned down to his legs where more blood
poured from his upper thigh.

“It’s too late, Evie.” The words sputtered
as red liquid seeped from his mouth.

“No, Ethan. No.” She could feel her hands
being covered with warmth. “Don’t leave me.”

“You have to go. I got the other two. I’ll
stop him… one shot left.” He shook the gun in his hand.

“You can’t.”

“Evie, just go!” he yelled.

“I promise, Ethan,” she whispered.

“GO!” he tried to yell, but the words stuck
in his mouth as more blood poured out. Evie turned to run along the
side of the house, her boots covering the ground with leaps as the
adrenaline pumped through her veins. She couldn’t let it end this
way. Holston would kill her now, she was sure of it. Her boots
pushed straight ahead, avoiding the stairs and path where two
bodies laid in pools of red. As she neared the edge of the porch,
she heard a shot fire before she slid down the pile of snow leading
to the car. Ethan’s gun. Another shot fired. Ethan was gone. She
inhaled the sharp air, feeling the pain of his death sink into her.
He was gone because of her.

Evie whipped around the car and pulled the
driver side door open, hitting the gas before she turned her head
to see her father standing on the porch. His gray eyes pierced her
as he rested his gun at his side. The blood dripped from his hands,
landing in droplets in the thin, white layer of snow beneath his
feet. The car’s tires spun in reverse as she propelled back, his
face disappearing behind the corner of the house as she swung
around to the front. She shifted to drive, thrusting her foot into
the pedal as she tore down the driveway. His black eyes, filled
with disgust, burned in her mind as she watched the evergreens
vanish behind her.

37

Three Months Later ~ March 13

Delaney stepped onto the porch, feeling the
rays of the afternoon’s spring sun soak into her skin. The sound of
trickling water flowed from the eave troughs to saturate the dingy
grass already soaked in mud. The blades of bright green scattered
throughout her yard showed signs of an early spring.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” she asked, turning
to lock the door behind Mark while resting the last box on her
hip.

“Let me take that.” Mark reached out,
grabbing the box to free her hands. “And yes, I already told you
it’s okay. What am I going to do in the house alone anyway?” he
asked as he walked down the wet steps, damp from the last remnants
of melting snow.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” she provoked,
not wanting to actually know the answer.

“Are you sure you’re ready to sell?”

“The sign’s up. This wasn’t the right house
for me,” she said, pointing at the for sale sign flapping in the
gentle breeze. “Small kitchen. Detached garage. Should I go on?”
How about the microscopic camera hidden in the bookshelf?
Delaney had found the planted camera on her books while she was
boxing up her belongings. She had crushed it with the hammer her
father had given her.

“What prompted you to buy it anyway?” Mark
asked. “You didn’t even ask one of us to come and see it before you
signed the papers.”

“To be honest, it reminded me of home,” she
said, following him down the steps. “But I’m ready for a new
beginning. To start fresh.”

“I’ve known that feeling,” he said as he
turned to her. “But it was a long time ago, when Dad picked up me
and Ben in the hardware store.”

“You remember how it felt?” she asked.

“I do. I remember the day pretty clearly,”
he said. “I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t hesitant. Dad was sure of
taking us home. I felt free.”

“From what?” Delaney asked, longing to feel
free, to start over and erase the past winter.

“From my past. From my parents. From
everything that was tying me down, holding me back from becoming
something better. It was as if Dad knew, the moment he saw me, that
I needed him to lead me out.” His voice softened as they neared the
truck packed with boxes of her belongings. Although Delaney had
heard the story from her dad when she was young, Mark and she had
never talked about that day - not until this moment.

“Did you feel … suffocated?” She stopped
near him, placing her hand on his arm.

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

“But now you can breathe?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, staring back at
her.

“Well, I want to breathe, too,” she
said.

“And getting rid of the house is going to do
that?” He slid into the driver’s seat, setting the last box on the
passenger seat next to him.