Hunter: A Thriller by Robert James Bidinotto Page B

to you. And how strongly you feel about compassion, and mercy, and rehabilitation, and all that. Very nice, in the abstract. But it all boils down to one ugly reality: You’re talking about letting bad people off the hook. You’re helping bad people get away with their bad behavior.”
    He drained the last of his wine, set the glass on the coffee table. “I just don’t accept your premise, Annie. People can change. Look at me: I was a hell-raiser as a kid. But I changed. Rehabilitation is possible. That’s why I don’t think there is such a thing as a truly ‘bad person.’ To varying degrees, all of us are just victims of bad circumstances. And sometimes, circumstances drive even very good people to do very bad things.”
    “You mean that people aren’t responsible for what they do?”
    “Well, if you put it that way, I suppose I’d have to say—no. Not ultimately.”
    She stared at him in disbelief. “Are you telling me that Adrian Wulfe isn’t responsble for what he did to Susie and Arthur? That he was just driven against his will to rape her?”
    He shook his head. “That’s overly simplistic. But I can’t presume to know what terrible influences in his past could have twisted his thinking and urges so terribly. It must have been awful, though. So I have to feel some compassion for the miserable little kid who grew up to be such an unhappy adult.”
    “ Unhappy ? I’m not hearing this. How about a little compassion for his victims, Dad?”
    “Of course I feel for them, Annie! I feel terrible for them. Because they’re victims, too—victims of whatever happened to him early in his life.”
    “You mean they’re—what? Collateral damage?”
    “That’s a strange way of putting it. But in a sense, it’s causally true.”
    She looked at him, speechless.
    “Forget Adrian Wulfe for the moment,” he went on. “Let’s talk about your friend, Susie. She just can’t continue to wallow in anger. You can’t live that way. You have to learn at some point to forgive and move on.”
    Her eyes returned to a photo on his mantelpiece. “Like you forgave Julia?”
    From the corner of her eye she saw him wince. A moment passed. When he spoke, his voice was softer.
    “Annie, why don’t you call her ‘Mother’?”
    She had to fight down the anger to keep her own tone even. “She’s no mother to me. Just like she was no wife to you. Dad, she betrayed you. She betrayed both of us. How can you keep her photo up there?”
    He shook his head. “I forgave her long ago. I had to turn away from anger, or it would have consumed me.” He hesitated. “Just as you ought to forgive Frank.”
    “You want to forgive, go ahead. I don’t forgive the unforgivable.”
    “You should try to understand her. And him. Victor Hugo said it well. ‘To understand all is to forgive all.’ And you should give the Church a try, too. It turned my life around after your—after Julia left.”
    “You mean, after she betrayed you and abandoned both of us.”
    “I’m sure she had her reasons.”
    “For deception? For betraying her marriage vows? Are you saying she had no choice? That she was like some sleepwalker, driven by forces beyond her control?”
    “I don’t know. I suppose I was to blame. Maybe I didn’t give her enough attention. Perhaps—”
    She picked up her purse from the floor and stood. “Well, you can believe whatever you want to believe about her. But I’ll tell you this: I wasn’t to blame for her leaving us. I didn’t deserve that. And I sure as hell didn’t deserve what Frank did to me, either.” She headed for the door.
    He rose. “Annie, please, wait—”
    She stopped. Faced him.
    “Wait? For what? For more excuses? For you to try to convince me that it’s acceptable for people like Julia and Frank and Wulfe to do monstrous things to other people?” She looked at him, thinking about it. “Or are you just trying to convince yourself, Dad? Does it make you feel better to imagine that she really