Benedict Martin
Paris,Four Years Ago
The metro is late again, so I’m running behind. It’s not like I’m looking forward to being broken up with, and I don’t exactly see a future with Lily, but I do strive to be on time whenever I can. It doesn’t help that it’s raining. I smile as I saunter up to her, umbrella in hand, and she stubs her cigarette out on the ground before throwing it away.
“Hey, you.” I give her a quick peck on the cheek and lead her into the restaurant.
“Hi,” she says, as we sit at a table near the back. She lights up another cigarette.
I look around awkwardly. We’re only delaying the inevitable. She was nice, and I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t pretty, but there’s no connection. Nothing that makes mewantto continue this relationship, if we can even call it that.
“So, what’s new?”
“Um, nothing much. You?” She looks at me, and I can see something hidden on her face. Her fingers drum across the linoleum table, and her foot taps the table leg. I quirk an eyebrow. “What?”
“You’re acting funny. Are you okay?”
She reaches for my hand.Here it comes.“Benedict...”
“I know,” I interrupt. Might as well save her the speech.
“You know what?” She quirks her head to the side.
“That you’re breaking up with me. It’s okay. This isn’t my first rodeo.” She swallows and takes in a shaky breath. “Lily, it’s really okay. I promise.” I smile and pull my hand away. “Keep in touch, though. Okay?” I wink and stand.
“Benedict, I need to talk to you about your father.” I pause, my back to Lily. “Do you want the abridged version, or do you want to know everything?”
I turn to face her slowly. “My father?” Of all the reasons I thought she wanted to meet, this was at the very bottom of the barrel. I run through our interactions—from when we met at the market, to the last few days. I don’t recall ever telling her anything about my father, and if I did, it was said in passing.
She nods, looking nervous. Her right foot is still bouncing, and she keeps running her hands through her long, dark hair.
“Auguste Martin. He’s a priest at Notre Dame de Paris. And two and a half years ago, my best friend and I were lured away from our friends and kidnapped. By him.”
The room sways, and I grip the edge of the chair I just vacated. I feel sick, so I sit down and stare at her, waiting for her to begin. And what tumbles out of her mouth absolutely blindsides me.
* * *
Even though I had no reason to believe Lily,and perhaps, no reason not to either,it took me a while before we worked out a plan. It took a while until I got over the horrific truth. But the man whose similarities I bore, in look only, had never been a good man. He’d been a brutal, unwavering man who’d used his size and power over my mama and me for years.I despised him.
So, here I stand in front of the house, looking at my phone for the millionth time, staring at the picture of a woman I don’t know—a woman I promised Lily I would save.
Evelyn Snow.
A friend of a friend did me a favor. I gave him as little information as possible—just that I needed to find all of the properties my father owned, and that I needed a diversion for one of them while my father was out of town. I needed a distraction for the two men standing outside the door—the men I know are armed. I move to the other side of the street, next to where I parked my car, pretending to talk on the phone as I unlock my doors. I grab the blanket I keep in the back seat, watching the house across the street every few seconds. As I shut the door, the alarm sounds, and the guards run inside.
Perfect.
I stay where I am, pacing eagerly, waiting for the redhead to come out. I glance at the picture again, but there’s really no need. The image has been burned into my mind.
Vivid, red hair. Dark, blue eyes. Pale skin. Full lips.
I’ll never be able to forget her face.
Women stream out of the house. All of them—every single one of them—looks like they haven’t seen the sun in days. They probably haven’t. Anger fills me. My father. They are here because of him. I suddenly feel responsible for them all. And there’s no way in fucking hell I will see them crawl back into that loathsome house. I pull my phone out and dial the emergency number. This was not a part of the plan, but I can’t risk my father moving them somewhere else. They need to be saved. When someone picks up, I tell the dispatcher that there are women here, some of whom look drugged, have bruises. I mention that a couple of them are naked. I explain that they are begging for help, even if that may be an elaboration. And then I relay the address and hang up, hoping the police are able to save the rest of them if I can’t.
Hoping I can atone for my father’s sins.
As I hang up, my eyes find her, and I pause. I’m unable to move, unable to go to her, though I know this is my opportunity to grab her. But I’m frozen, like someone has electrocuted me. Suddenly everything is so much clearer. The sun is stronger, the ringing is louder, the colors are brighter. And her hair, her long, copper hair…
