"I raged and wailed on Jude like my father used to wail on me. I wanted to make him feel all the pain I had inside. He didn't even try to fight back. He just took it like he was some kind of martyr, and that made the wolf fume. I wanted to strip him of everything he had.''
Daniel took in a long breath. "When I told Jude I was taking the money and his new coat, you know what he did? He got to his feet in front of those stained-glass pictures of Christ, took off his coat, and offered it to me. 'Take it,' he said. 'It's cold outside, and you need it more than I do.' He put the coat in my hands, and he was so calm and peaceful and I didn't understand. I didn't know this place he was coming from. I didn't know how he could just offer it to me like it was nothing--like I'd done nothing. That's when I thought it--I wanted to kill him. And then something seared through my veins, and I started to shake and scream ... and I lunged at him.
"All I remember after that is waking up outside on the parish grounds. My clothes were missing and shards of colored glass were scattered all around. There was blood all over me. But none of it was mine. I had no idea what happened---what I'd become. Gabriel says it's like that the first few times; you're not conscious of your actions at all. I was frantic. I didn't know where your brother had gone. But then I saw him, lying, twisted, in the bushes a few feet away. And I knew I was responsible."
I held my hand over my heart. It was racing so fast it felt like it was going to burst through my ribs. "Was it you or the wolf?"
Daniel was silent for a moment. "The wolf took him through that window. But I was the one who left him there. I saw the blood on his face. I knew he needed help. But I ran away. I took the cash box and I left him there."
The chair creaked as he stood up. I heard him moving closer to me. I could see his dark reflection in the cat clock's shifting eyes.
"You want to know what the real kicker is?" he asked, only a few inches from me now.
I didn't answer, but he told me anyway.
"That money only lasted me three weeks," he said. "Five thousand dollars of blood money, and I pissed it away on shit-hole motel rooms and girls who said they loved me until the drugs ran out. And at the end of three weeks, when I'd sobered up enough to remember what I'd done, I started running. But no matter how far or fast I ran, I couldn't get away from the wolf. So I kept running and drinking and using--anything to numb the memories away--and I ran so far, that's probably how I ended up back here."
He moved closer to me--as close as he was when I kissed him in the moonlight. "Do you know me now? Do you still think I'm worth saving?" His breath burned the side of my face. "Can you look me in the eyes and say you love me now?"
I shifted my gaze from the clock to my feet. I picked my way through the broken glass and grabbed my backpack, leaving the bottles of linseed oil and varnish on the table, and went straight to the door. My hand was on the doorknob when I stopped.
"Jude didn't break his promise," I choked out. "I was the one who told on your father. I'm the one who turned you into the wolf."
I wrenched the door open and ran up the stairs to the minivan. I drove aimlessly for at least an hour and somehow ended up at home in my bed.
I had no thoughts in my head. No feeling in my skin. There was nothing in me at all.
Chapter Eighteen
Book of secrets
MONDAY
I woke the next morning, tangled in the bed sheets. My shirt clung to my chest, sticky with cold sweat. My head throbbed. It felt like someone was drilling a hole in the base of my skull, the pain radiating up behind my eyes. I squinted at the alarm clock. It was much later than I thought. I pushed myself out of hed and into the shower.
I stood in the stream of hot water and let the heat prick at the numbness under my skin, washing away the shock. That's when the tears came.
I never cried. Not since I was a baby, according to my mother. I didn't get the point. Crying never fixed anything. But as the tears started to roll down my face, mingling with the rain from the showerhead, I couldn't hold it in anymore. I sobbed into the steam, hoping no one could hear me over the somber buzz of the bathroom fan. It was like I finally let out every tear I'd ever held back. I cried for the time Don Mooney held his silver knife to my father's throat. I cried for the times I overheard Daniel's father ripping into him. For the time his mother took him away from us. For when Charity and T were sent to our grandparents for three weeks without any explanation. I cried for Maryanne's death, for James going missing, for Jude.
But mostly I sobbed for what I now knew about myself.
I felt like such a fraud. My father told me my name meant mercy, help, and guidance. But he was wrong. All Grace Divine meant was blundering, meddling, disappointment. Everything I touched--everything I tried to help--fell apart and slipped through my fingers.
Why did I have to press the issue, refuse to stay ignorant? Why couldn't I go back and stop myself from creating this mess?
If I had just stayed out of things, if I had just minded my own business for all these years, would everything be the way it used to? Would Daniel still be the blond-haired boy next door if I had kept my mouth shut about his father? Would Daniel and Jude still be the best of friends? Would my brother be undamaged? Would Daniel be human?
But how could I have not done anything? Daniel would still be living a life of abuse and torture--he might not even be living at all. And how could I have not helped him when he came back?
He still meant so much to me, even now after I knew the truth.
But I couldn't believe I put my need for Daniel over my own brother. I saw the pain in Jude's face the first time I mentioned Daniel's name at dinner. I looked Jude right in the eyes and promised I would leave it alone, that I would keep out of his secrets, but instead I went and dragged the only person who ever hurt him back into our lives.
My feelings for Daniel caused the pain, the fear, and the anger that were slowly taking over my brother.
"I hate you," I said into the water, I pounded my wet fist on the shower wall. "I hate you, hate you, hate you," I said as if speaking to Daniel, But the problem was--I didn't. I didn't hate Daniel at all, and I knew I should.
I had betrayed my brother once again.
I stood in the shower until it turned cold. And then I stood longer, letting the icy water cut paths across my skin, just to feel something other than my guilt. I stumbled out of the shower, shivering and clutching my stomach. I made it to the toilet and heaved out what little liquid was left in my body. I felt withered, drained, and I crawled back into bed, still wrapped in my wet robe.
The house was quiet. Everyone else must have left for the day. The silence pressed in on me, making my head pound even more. I closed my burning eyes and let the silence envelop ray body. I slept off and on, trying to make up for too many sleepless nights. But each time my eyes drifted closed and then open, I felt more drained than before.
I stayed in bed for two days.
WEDNESDAY
My family left me alone. I was shocked--but grateful-- that Mom didn't try to make me go to school. Every once in a while she sent Charity up with food. Charity would leave it just inside my door, staring at me like I had the plague as she retrieved the untouched plates she'd left hours before. I wondered if my family really thought I was sick, but I feared that they knew what I had done--that they were just as ashamed of me as I was of myself. How could I face my brother again, knowing the pain I'd caused him? How could I show my face to anyone?