Save Her Child by CJ Lyons (best historical biographies txt) 📗

“Of course I do. I spoke with the head of the college myself. And John, of course.”

“You know those boys were John’s friends.”

“Yes, and he told them to look after you. A freshman at your first college party. You were lucky they were there to protect you before things went further—”

Further? She recoiled, ice filling her gut as she relived how far things had gone that night that had changed her life forever.

“That a daughter of mine would act so shamelessly—” Another shake of his head. “Your mother was inconsolable for months. And the fact that you refused to come home, that you left school and chose a whole other life, after we had such plans, such dreams… It broke her. You broke her.”

“What exactly did John tell you I did?” she asked, every word a shard of glass to be swallowed. She knew what the boys had said, knew how the campus police had taken their word and written their report accordingly, even knew what the school officials accused her of when they suspended her: “crass and willful violations” of the Christian principles that the college had been founded on and engaging in acts that were “immoral, improper, and indecent.” But what had her brother actually told their father?

He frowned. “We don’t need to get into that here.”

She glanced around the barren room. Where better? When better? Because in here, right now, she was the one with the power—unlike that night eleven years ago when she’d been the one trapped in another small room with no power and no means of escape. “Yes, Father. We do. What did they tell you?”

“They said you were drunk. They said you were acting like a wanton hussy, taking off your clothes and dancing, trying to seduce the boys—”

“Men, Father. They were twenty and twenty-one. I was the child, I was seventeen.”

“Still old enough to know better. You should have never allowed yourself to get drunk—”

“I didn’t.” She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back and waited.

“Of course you were drunk. The boys said—the campus police report said—”

“The report said whatever those three legacy students—all rich, white men with pulpits waiting for them to inherit—told the campus cop to write. I never took a drink of alcohol. To this day I still don’t drink. You know that—I don’t even drink wine at family dinner.”

“I always thought that was because of your job. Or…” He hesitated, his gaze fixed on his folded hands. “Or that you refused to drink with us.”

“Why the hell—”

“Language,” he snapped. As if two adults couldn’t handle a small, almost benign cuss word—or worse, that his almighty God wasn’t strong enough to handle it. She’d never understood how a God prone to smiting and cursing entire populations, to the point of genocide even, could flinch at mere words.

Silence fell between them as Harper fought down the memories of that night so long ago, trying to sterilize them into something she could share with her father, something he might actually believe. Something that would heal this gaping abyss that had grown between them.

She had to get him to open up about the present. If revisiting the most painful night of her life helped, then it was worth it. “I was there, I know what happened. You need to accept my truth—or at least acknowledge that you might not know the entire truth.”

The Reverend removed his glasses, rubbing them clean with his handkerchief, peering into her eyes, judging her worth. He replaced his glasses, carefully adjusting them, in no rush.

“The hospital really did call,” she persisted, hoping to drive a wedge in the tiny crevice in his facade that she had created. “Beth’s baby really does have an infection. He might die if he doesn’t get medical help. Soon.”

“You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? Your Sergeant Jericho would say anything to force me to break my silence. Even use you as Satan’s tool.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “I thought I raised you better than that. Despite your sinful past, I had hoped—”

“All I care about,” she interrupted him. “All I’m praying for is finding that baby before it’s too late. Surely God would forgive you for breaking confession if it meant—”

“Stop it, Naomi. Give it up. If that’s all you have to say for yourself, send your sergeant back in. At least he could mount a somewhat entertaining, if misguided, debate of the issues.” He leaned back, closing his eyes, denying her presence as much as he’d denied the fact that Beth’s baby was in danger.

Anger flashed over her, but she gritted her teeth and swallowed it raw. Outbursts of emotion never worked with the Reverend, would only serve to harden his resolve. After all, God had chosen him, spoke through him; who was she to challenge His authority?

She thought she’d broken through for a moment, but this was the same battle she’d fought and lost her entire life. Only now a child might pay the ultimate price for her failure.

Thirty-Six

Luka was watching and listening to Harper’s interview with her father via the video feed on his computer while also fielding calls about Beth and her baby. His team was no longer lead on the search, but he still needed to coordinate with the other agencies involved. He had sent Ray and Krichek back to relieve the uniformed officers surveilling Tassi and Hansen. Right now, patrol officers were more valuable out on the street searching for Beth than pulling overtime on a stakeout.

He was disappointed that Harper couldn’t get her father talking—he’d really thought she had a chance when she challenged Matthew with the facts behind her assault when she was in college. Luka and her other supervisors on the force knew about the incident—she’d been required to report that she had been a victim of a crime when applying to the academy and it had come up during the psychological assessment, so it was well documented in her personnel record. He could