Hopeless(110)
I stand up and take a step back, still looking into his eyes. “I know you aren’t all bad. I know that. But if you love me like you say you do…if you loved my mother at all…then you’ll do whatever you can to help me heal. You owe me that much. All I want is for you to be honest so I can leave here with some semblance of peace. That’s all I’m here for, okay? I just want peace.”
He’s sobbing now, nodding his head into his hands. I walk back to the couch and Holder wraps his arm tightly around me, still kneeling down next to me. Tremors are still wracking my body, so I wrap my arms around myself. Holder can feel what this is doing to me, so he slides his fingers down my arm until he finds my pinky, then wraps his around it. It’s an extremely small gesture, but he couldn’t have done anything more perfect to fill me with the sense of security that I need from him right now.
My father sighs heavily, then drops his hands. “When I first started drinking…it was only once. I did something to my little sister…but it was only one time.” He looks back up at me and his eyes are still full of shame. “It was years before I met your mother.”
My heart breaks at his brutal honesty, but it breaks even more that he somehow thinks it’s okay that it only happened once. I swallow the lump in my throat and continue my questions. “What about after me? Have you done it to anyone else since I was taken?”
His eyes dart back to the floor and the guilt in his demeanor is like a punch straight to my gut. I gasp, holding back the tears. “Who? How many?”
He shakes his head slightly. “There was just one more. I stopped drinking a few years ago and haven’t touched anyone since.” He looks back up at me, his eyes desperate and hopeful. “I swear. There were only three and they were at the lowest points of my life. When I’m sober, I’m able to control my urges. That’s why I don’t drink anymore.”
“Who was she?” I ask, wanting him to have to face the truth for just a few more minutes before I walk out of his life forever.
He nudges his head to the right. “She lived in the house next door. They moved when she was around ten, so I don’t know what happened to her. It was years ago, Hope. I haven’t done it in years and that’s the truth. I swear.”
My heart suddenly weighs a thousand pounds. The grip around my arm is gone and I look up to see Holder falling apart right before my eyes.
His face contorts into an unbearable amount of agony and he turns away from me, pulling his hands through his hair. “Les,” he whispers painfully. “Oh God, no.” He presses his head into the doorframe, tightly gripping the back of his neck with both hands. I immediately stand and walk to him, placing my hands on his shoulders, fearing that he’s about to explode. He begins to shake and he’s crying, not even making a sound. I don’t know what to say or what to do. He just keeps saying “no” over and over, shaking his head. My heart is breaking for him, but I have no clue how to help him right now. I understand what he means by thinking everything he says to me is the wrong thing, because there’s absolutely nothing I could say to him right now that could help. Instead, I press my head against him and he turns slightly, cradling me in his arm.
The way his chest is heaving, I can feel him trying to keep his anger at bay. His breaths begin to come in sharp spurts as he attempts to calm himself. I grip him tighter, hoping to be able to keep him from unleashing his anger. As much as I want him to…as much as I want him to physically retaliate against my father for what he did to Les and me, I fear that in this moment, Holder is full of too much hate to find it in himself to stop.
He releases his hold and brings his hands up to my shoulders, pushing me away from him. The look in his eyes is so dark; it immediately sends me into defense mode. I step between him and my father, not knowing what else I can do to keep him from attacking, but it’s as though I’m not even here. When Holder looks at me, he looks straight through me. I can hear my father stand up behind me and I watch as Holder’s eyes follow him. I spin around, prepared to tell my father to get the hell out of the living room, when Holder grips my arms and shoves me out of the way.
I trip and fall to the floor, watching in slow motion as my father reaches behind the couch and spins around, holding a gun in his hand, pointing it directly at Holder. I can’t speak. I can’t scream. I can’t move. I can’t even close my eyes. I’m forced to watch.
My father pulls his radio to his mouth, holding the gun firmly in his hand with a lifeless expression. He presses the button and never takes his eyes off of Holder while he speaks into it. “Officer down at thirty-five twenty-two Oak Street.”