Twenty-Five
Bishop
I listen to the priest go on about how my sister was taken from us too soon. How the town is in mourning after losing such a great woman from the community. I watch in horror as her mahogany casket is lowered into the dirt as someone from the church sings “Ave Maria.” I’ve attended too many funerals to count over the years, but this is the only one where I want to throw myself in the ground and get buried along with the casket.
This is my fault. I couldn’t keep her safe. I knew she was being watched, but I didn’t do enough about it. I knew someone was out there, torturing and killing all the women in my life, and I didn’t do more to keep her safe. I let my guard down, just like I did once before, and now my sister is dead, just like all the men I oversaw in Afghanistan.
Vivienne is crying beside me, her head on my shoulder, her hot tears hitting my neck. I don’t have it in me to comfort her. We have barely spoken since Annie’s body was found two days ago. After searching all over for her, it was Ace, with the help of one of Smith’s dogs, who found my sister. She was dumped in the same spot that all the others were found. Her body was in the same condition - mutilated in the most inhumane ways. The sick fucker that did it was toying with me. He didn’t put her there immediately. No, he held her somewhere, torturing her and making everyone think there was a chance we’d find her and she’d be okay. He had no intention of any other outcome but the one we got.
Vivienne is digging into my arm and pushing her face into my neck, silently begging for me to tell her something. Anything. I don’t know how to tell her that everything will be okay. Everything will not be okay. I have no words for her, or my brother or mother, who are in just as much pain as I am. At least they’re not at fault for Annie’s death, though. They don’t have to shoulder that guilt. They don’t have to live with the fact that they’re the reason she’s gone.
Long after Annie is laid to rest, after the hole is filled with dirt and all the mourners leave, I approach the spot of her final resting place, whispered a tearful apology, and drive back to the house. Nothing can make this better, but I have a bottle of whisky and a pack of cigarettes that can sure help me try.
Viv knows I need to be alone for a while. I don’t argue with her when she decides to go home for a few hours and talk with Davis. For the first time, I can’t stomach being around her. She’s probably blaming me for this, too. She’s not saying it, but I can see it in the way she looks at me.
This is your fault, my demons hiss. You killed your sister.
The minutes bleed into hours. One bottle of whisky turns into two. I’m on the floor surrounded by pictures that I don’t ever let see the light of day. I shouldn’t even have them, but sometimes I need a reminder of what a horrible person I am. I need to see the men’s faces that I killed so I can remember that I’m no better than the person who planted the bomb that killed them all.
Some call it survivor’s guilt. I had to listen to that bullshit when I was in the hospital, recovering from the explosion. The lone survivor from the roadside bomb. I was told I was lucky to live through such a horrific explosion.
I wanted to be in the ground with my men. I couldn’t deal with the fact that one bad decision on my part ended so many lives.
Just like one bad decision on my part caused my sister to get killed.
“What are you doing?” Viv asks quietly from the doorway.
“Takin’ a stroll down memory lane.” The effects of the liquor and cigarettes can be heard in my voice.
“What are these pictures?”
“These are all the other people I killed. Bet you didn’t know you were in love with a murderer.”
“Stop.”
“Don’t feed me any bullshit about how none of this was my fault. Annie’s death is on me, just like all these men’s deaths are on me, too. Everyone I love dies. Everyone I’m charged with protecting ends up dead and in the ground. It’s only a matter of time before it’s your turn. You need to get out of here.” She jerks her head back like I slapped her. I stand up and take her face in my hands. I’m being rough, but I need to get my point across. “I need you to leave.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t care what you think! You have to go.” She tries to jerk out of my grip, but I’m too strong.
“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. You need to get some sleep. I’ll come back and check on you in the morning.”
“You don’t understand,” I grit out. I clench my teeth tight because vomit threatens to come up with the words. “I need you to go. Not next door. Back to New York. Take Davis and get the fuck out of here.”
This time when she jerks away I let her. I won’t be able to survive if something happens to her.
“I don’t want to leave,” she cries.
“It’s not about what you want. It’s about keeping you safe. It’s about keeping you alive. I can’t put you in the ground like I just had to do with my sister!” I roar.
“I’m safe with you. Please, Ollie. You’re drunk and upset. We can talk about this in the morning.”
Unable to control myself any longer, I swipe everything off the table, watching it all crash to the floor. “I can’t keep you safe!” I drop to my knees and all of the pent-up emotions from the day come out, loud and ugly. She drops down beside me and cradles me, letting me sob into her chest. I’ve reached my breaking point. I thought I reached it before when my men died.
I was wrong.
“Please, baby, you’ve got to go,” I beg her. “If something happens to you, I’m done. I can’t do this without you.”
After several more minutes of tears and whispered, ‘I love yous,’ she finally agrees.
We stay on the living room floor, clinging to each other until the sun comes up and peeks through the windows. I kiss her with a desperate passion, using my tongue, teeth, and lips to let her know how sorry I am, and then make a call to the airport.