“You know why I have to do this, don’t you, angel?” he asked as he took hold of her chin and turned her head so it was facing him. Even though her eyes were still closed she could perfectly picture his face in her head.
There was no point in giving an answer, no matter what she said it would be wrong. That was a lesson she had learned long ago.
“It pains me as much as it pains you,” he murmured before she heard the familiar sound of the whip slicing through the air.
It cut into the flesh on her back with a bite that felt like it was trying to eat her alive.
She managed not to cry out for the first few strikes.
“I know who you are,” she said when she started to feel wetness on her back and knew he had broken the skin enough she was bleeding.
“Of course you do, we have spent many years together.”
“No, I mean I know that I knew you before. You were the man on the line at the rape crisis hotline. I told you what happened to me. You were the first one I confessed to. Why did you do this to me when you knew what I had already been through? Were the others all victims too? Is that why you chose us? Why do you hate rape victims?”
“Hate rape victims?” he echoed.
There was something in his voice that had her opening her eyes to find that he was standing, whip still in hand, staring at her as though she had just grown three extra heads. She had always been interested in psychology, in the way the mind worked, what led people to become the person they were. That fascination was what had led her to decide to follow in Jem’s footsteps and work as a criminal psychologist. There was always a reason why killers did what they did.
Always.
Maybe she had just stumbled upon Emmanuel’s reasons.
“Then tell me why, please,” she asked softly.
Emmanuel dropped the whip and stalked around the room, dragging his fingers through his hair. It was clear he was agitated, but she didn't know if that was going to work for or against her.
Something was different about Emmanuel, a twitchiness that said he wasn’t the same man she remembered. Before Emmanuel had been calm, always in control. He might get angry with her when she didn't do what he wanted her to do, but the rest of the time he was always infuriatingly calm.
Now he was anything but.
“I’m trying to help you,” Emmanuel said, with such sincerity that she believed he believed that. “I didn't want you to hurt yourselves like she did.”
Keeping her tone soothing, Grace asked, “Like who?”
“My sister.” His voice was tortured, and pain was written all over his face.
“She was raped?”
“She was only fourteen. She was my big sister, I was eight, and I idolized her. I tried to help, I tried to make her smile again, but she was so sad. I didn't understand. I didn't know what sex was let alone rape. I tried to help her, but it didn't work, she took her own life. Everything fell apart after that.”
“You started working at the rape crisis line to help victims like me because you couldn’t help your sister.”
“It wasn’t enough. I had to do more. I wanted you to grow strong, so you didn't give in like my sister did to the pain those men put inside you. My sister … I loved her … but she wasn’t strong. She let that pain destroy her and once she was gone my dad just stopped living, gave up, mom got angry, started drinking, hitting …”
“She abused you,” Grace finished for him. It all made sense now, Emmanuel as a small boy, had seen something horrific happen to his sister even if he didn't quite understand it. Tried to help her but failed when she ended her own life. Then the dad fell into a grief fueled depression, and the mom became an abusive drunk. He wanted to save other rape victims because he hadn't saved his sister. In his mind his sister had been weak, he wanted to make other victims strong. She had no idea where the fable thing came into it, but he’d obviously decided it was his job to help rape victims find their strength.
“She was destroyed by the man who raped her daughter,” Emmanuel said. “I didn't want anyone else to be destroyed by that same violence. I made you strong, Grace. Me. I didn't let it destroy you. I wouldn’t. I knew the moment I heard your voice that I had to save you.” He moved closer to the bed, ran his fingers through the blood on her back and held up his hand for her to see. “That’s why I did this, it’s why you had to bleed, to fight, you had to be strong. I couldn’t lose you too. I couldn’t lose you too,” he repeated, tears shimmering in his eyes.
“Emmanuel,” she said gently, knowing she was only going to have one chance at convincing him that he had to let her go. “I understand, I do, but it doesn’t have to be this way. You were strong for me, you didn't let my rape destroy me, you helped me grow strong, now let me do the same for you. Let me save you.”
* * * * *
5:03 P.M.
Matthew grunted as he shifted in his seat.
The wound on his chest was bandaged, and he really was very lucky. It was clear that Emmanuel hadn't been trying to kill either him, or any of the other cops who had been watching the safehouse. The man had started shooting, injured a couple, but there were no fatalities other than Barbara Lack.