old man ever raped Mother or if she just used it as an excuse for me to kill him. I wouldn’t put it past her.
His mother flung her wine glass at him. He didn’t flinch or move. Instantly, the glass shattered against the wall, right next to him. Pieces fell down to the library’s floor.
Still, he didn’t move, couldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’d startled him. “Was that necessary, Mother?”
“You’re ignoring me.”
“I have a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?”
“Business stuff.”
“Elaborate.”
For some reason, Asher couldn’t get that fourth husband’s image out of his face. “Remember, Mr. Anderson?”
She parted her lips and for a while remained silent, until finally saying, “My ex-husband?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you bringing him up?”
“Did he ever really rape you?”
“Why the hell would you bring that up right now?” With shaking hands, she reached for her martini glass, realized she’d flung it, and then simply hit the table with her fists. “And why would I lie about something like that?”
“You wanted me to kill him.”
“W-why would I make up a lie for you to kill someone? Asher, you have to stop blaming me for your own guilt. Enough is enough. You have all this guilt inside of you for no reason—”
He gritted his teeth. “We murdered men. That’s why I have all this guilt inside of me.”
“We murdered monsters.”
“Did we?”
“Yes!”
“The only monster I remember was Dad. The rest,” he shook his head, “I’m not so sure they were bad men after all.”
“Hush!” She looked around the room as if someone might have bugged it. “We defended ourselves. That is it. Nothing more. These men hurt me and you saved your mommy. That is it. This conversation is over.”
“They all hurt you?”
“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “We’ve discussed this before.”
“Did they all hurt you!? All five men?”
She jumped up. “Don’t yell at me!”
He inched back and did his best to calm himself down. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
She pointed to him. “You’re not to kill anyone while I’m gone.”
“I didn’t have any plans to.”
“No one dies, Asher. Do you understand me?”
“Goodnight, Mother. Enjoy Paris.” He turned around and headed up the spiral stairs.
“And let the past stay in the past!” she called after him.
Each time his mother had asked him to kill her husband, she had a complex story that involved the man doing something horrible to her—rape, abuse, threats to hurt her son. Stories and blurry evidence filled Asher’s childhood. She’d whisper their transgressions into his ears right before bedtime, tell him how horrible life was and how it would be so much better if that current husband was dead. Due to this, Asher never got too close to his step dads and did his best to stay away from them.
He didn’t like to kill friends, and in the end, he always had to murder them.
Let the past stay in the past? That’s easier for you to say, Mother. You don’t have the guilt eating away at your insides. Did all of those men really hurt you, or did you just have me killing them for their money? Or did you get as hungry for death as I did?
Asher knew that only one of his mother’s husbands had been truly guilty. His father. He’d seen his father beat his mother night after night.At eight years old, all he could do was hide under his bed with his teddy bear.
Each time the angry man slapped her, she’d yell out for Asher. “Son, save me from your father!”
Under the bed, he’d cry like the little boy he was, not really knowing what he could do to save her. By the next morning, he’d wake up to her sleeping under his bed with him. Some nights they slept that way, under his bed and far away from the bad man that was his father.
The last time they slept under his bed, she faced him. Bruises covered her cheeks. Her left eye had been shut tight and coated with grayish-blue flesh.
Their
His mother flung her wine glass at him. He didn’t flinch or move. Instantly, the glass shattered against the wall, right next to him. Pieces fell down to the library’s floor.
Still, he didn’t move, couldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’d startled him. “Was that necessary, Mother?”
“You’re ignoring me.”
“I have a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?”
“Business stuff.”
“Elaborate.”
For some reason, Asher couldn’t get that fourth husband’s image out of his face. “Remember, Mr. Anderson?”
She parted her lips and for a while remained silent, until finally saying, “My ex-husband?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you bringing him up?”
“Did he ever really rape you?”
“Why the hell would you bring that up right now?” With shaking hands, she reached for her martini glass, realized she’d flung it, and then simply hit the table with her fists. “And why would I lie about something like that?”
“You wanted me to kill him.”
“W-why would I make up a lie for you to kill someone? Asher, you have to stop blaming me for your own guilt. Enough is enough. You have all this guilt inside of you for no reason—”
He gritted his teeth. “We murdered men. That’s why I have all this guilt inside of me.”
“We murdered monsters.”
“Did we?”
“Yes!”
“The only monster I remember was Dad. The rest,” he shook his head, “I’m not so sure they were bad men after all.”
“Hush!” She looked around the room as if someone might have bugged it. “We defended ourselves. That is it. Nothing more. These men hurt me and you saved your mommy. That is it. This conversation is over.”
“They all hurt you?”
“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “We’ve discussed this before.”
“Did they all hurt you!? All five men?”
She jumped up. “Don’t yell at me!”
He inched back and did his best to calm himself down. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
She pointed to him. “You’re not to kill anyone while I’m gone.”
“I didn’t have any plans to.”
“No one dies, Asher. Do you understand me?”
“Goodnight, Mother. Enjoy Paris.” He turned around and headed up the spiral stairs.
“And let the past stay in the past!” she called after him.
Each time his mother had asked him to kill her husband, she had a complex story that involved the man doing something horrible to her—rape, abuse, threats to hurt her son. Stories and blurry evidence filled Asher’s childhood. She’d whisper their transgressions into his ears right before bedtime, tell him how horrible life was and how it would be so much better if that current husband was dead. Due to this, Asher never got too close to his step dads and did his best to stay away from them.
He didn’t like to kill friends, and in the end, he always had to murder them.
Let the past stay in the past? That’s easier for you to say, Mother. You don’t have the guilt eating away at your insides. Did all of those men really hurt you, or did you just have me killing them for their money? Or did you get as hungry for death as I did?
Asher knew that only one of his mother’s husbands had been truly guilty. His father. He’d seen his father beat his mother night after night.At eight years old, all he could do was hide under his bed with his teddy bear.
Each time the angry man slapped her, she’d yell out for Asher. “Son, save me from your father!”
Under the bed, he’d cry like the little boy he was, not really knowing what he could do to save her. By the next morning, he’d wake up to her sleeping under his bed with him. Some nights they slept that way, under his bed and far away from the bad man that was his father.
The last time they slept under his bed, she faced him. Bruises covered her cheeks. Her left eye had been shut tight and coated with grayish-blue flesh.
Their
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