The Reckless Oath We Made

I let go of her and pulled out one of the chairs at the table to sit down. Ben stood behind me, waiting for LaReigne to pay attention to him, but she didn’t.

“What’s the special occasion you’re dressed up for?” she said after she sat down across from me.

“Mom didn’t tell you? I had family court this morning.”

“Well, you look really nice,” she said in this fake-ass voice. “How did it go?”

“Loudon got arrested in Oklahoma on another DUI and driving on a suspended license. So the Gills will keep custody of Marcus. My lawyer says he’s pretty sure the court will grant me some kind of visitation. But you’re probably not interested in all the details.”

“Of course I’m interested! How can you even say that? Ben is working on me being able to call Marcus for his birthday.”

“The Gills’ lawyer has made it clear we’ll need a court order,” Ben said. “That’s our next step, unless your sister gets visitation, and then—”

“She’d have to get a landline first,” LaReigne snapped.

“I want to talk to you alone,” I said to her.

“I can’t do that,” said Ben, sitting down in the chair next to mine, across from LaReigne. “This is as private as it gets, because this is a confidential meeting between client and attorney. Regular visitation is monitored.”

“You can say whatever you want in front of Ben. It’s okay,” LaReigne said.

“No, it’s not. He’s your lawyer. Not mine. Maybe anything I say he’ll use to try to help you.”

“I assumed you wanted to help her,” Ben said.

“Not if it’s going to get me in trouble.” I’d sat down at the wrong angle, and I couldn’t get comfortable. When I stood up, LaReigne’s eyes got wide.

“Please, don’t go,” she said.

“I’m not going. My hip’s just bothering me.” Once I was on my feet, though, I wanted to leave.

“I was hoping we could discuss the trial,” Ben said.

“Don’t. I’m not testifying. You could subpoena me, but you’d be sorry if you did.” I hadn’t come there to talk to him, so I said to LaReigne, “I’m doing what I can. I’m taking care of Mom. I’m trying to make sure Marcus will be able to see you. And I put more money in your commissary account.”

“I don’t want your money,” LaReigne said in a tiny hurt voice.

“I don’t know where you think the money comes from, but Mom doesn’t have any. I’m the one who pays her phone bill, and I’m the one who puts money in your account.”

“Zee, please, don’t be mad.”

I started to say, I’m not mad, because it was so much more than that. I felt like a firestarter, like I could burn everything down just by thinking about it. Hothead, that was what Mom always called me.

“Did you even Google it?” I said.

“Google what?” She gave me a confused look like she couldn’t understand why I was angry. Like my anger was random.

“What Tague Barnwell did. Did you even Google it before you decided to fall in love with him?”

“That’s not how love works!” she said. “I know you don’t understand anything about it, but normal people don’t decide to fall in love. That’s why it’s called—”

“Okay, fine, I don’t know how it works. So you accidentally fell in love with him. Not your fault. But did you know what he’d done when you decided to run away with him? Because it took me like sixty seconds on the Internet to find out that he murdered five people. He would have murdered more if he was better at building bombs. One of the people he killed was a little boy. His mother was trying to protect him, and a bullet went through her shoulder and into his head. He was only four.”

There was so much heat in me that it dried up any tears I had for that little boy.

“That wasn’t Tague,” LaReigne said, sniffling. “That was Conrad.”

“Even if that’s true, did you fail to fucking notice the part where while you were running away and making plans with Tague that Conrad was escaping from prison, too? Was that just an afterthought?”

“I’m sorry,” LaReigne said. Whatever that meant. Not, I guessed, that she was sorry she’d done something so fucking stupid. “You don’t need to testify. You don’t even need to come to the trial. I appreciate everything you’re doing, but will you do me one favor?”

I didn’t say yes or no, but I didn’t leave. She opened the file folder on the table in front of her and handed me an envelope. There was one word written on it: Tague.

“What is this?” I said.

“Please, you can hate me all you want, but please, will you deliver that to him? If I mail it, they won’t give it to him, but you can go to his trial.” I was so shocked, I didn’t know what to say and, since I didn’t say no, LaReigne kept talking. “I know I’ll never see him again or talk to him again. I accept that. But please, will you do me this one favor?”

CHAPTER 53

Rhys



   Somebody must have given my name to the police, because a U.S. marshal came to interview me. I kept waiting for the guilt to kick in and make me confess what I knew, but my drive for self-preservation was too strong. After an hour of saying, “I don’t know,” repeatedly, I said, “There are white supremacists in the SCA, and some of the HMB groups. Not a lot, but some. People who think the Middle Ages were full of white people.”

“Do you believe Gentry Frank is involved with them?” the marshal said.

“No, that’s not what I meant at all. Gentry would never get involved with people like that. I’m just saying maybe that’s how he got the information about where those guys were.”

After that, it seemed like every news site did a think piece or an exposé about the SCA, historical medieval battles, and white supremacists. Some of them played Gentry and Edrard up like heroes. These two plucky kids armed with only a sword and a bow who went to rescue a hostage. Other pieces made them out to be the punch line to a joke. These two idiots who went to fight white supremacists armed with only a sword and a bow.

Somebody must have given the news outlets pictures of Gentry and Edrard from a tournament, because they started running a photo of them in armor. Edrard looked like a jolly elf, laughing and wearing ribbons in his beard. Gentry looked every inch the brooding killer, all in black with a bloody nose, staring past the camera.

Once, I saw an interview with Gentry’s biological brother, Brand. He looked nervous but eager to get his fifteen minutes.