Twisted (48 page)

He’d intimated that he’d created a room for “Artemis” upstairs, one she had to earn the right to move into. She’d be willing to bet that Lillian’s room was on the same floor. So if she could convince him to move her, she’d be one step closer to the wheelchair and the phone.

She’d have to do this as subtly as their limited time would permit. Maybe she could request a peek at the room, and a brief visit with Lillian—just so she could cheer “Gaia” up. That would definitely earn her brownie points.

Even if she pulled it off, Luke would never leave her alone with Lillian. He’d be supervising her every move. But she
had to get to that phone, find a way to
snatch it as well as a private place to use it—and then pray that wherever the hell this place was, she would have enough cell reception.

Then there was the problem of rehiding the phone. While she’d never seen a chiton, she had a funny feeling it wouldn’t be rife with pockets. So she’d have to stash the phone somewhere where Luke wouldn’t spot it,
and
without him noticing she was doing it.

The hurdles seemed impossible.

But impossible trumped death anytime.

When Luke returned, he was carrying a tray and a small gym bag. He put the tray down beside Sloane on the mattress. There was a bowl of tomato soup, a mixed green salad, and two grilled cheese sandwiches.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he said. “You must be starved. It’s five-fifteen and you haven’t eaten in twelve hours, since you wolfed down that power bar before your run. I truly apologize.”

The details he knew about her were getting eerier and eerier.

“No apology necessary. I assumed that whatever kept you was important.” Sloane gave him a worried look. “Is it Gaia?”

He sank down on the chair, steepled his fingers. “One minute she’s practically incoherent, and the next minute she’s begging me for a bath. She can’t hold down food, her lucid moments are fewer and fewer…” He interlaced his fingers and tightened the grip. “I’m not equipped—”

Abruptly, he broke off, realizing he was revealing far more than he wanted to. “Anyway, I hope that meal is suitable. I remember that you like cheese. Especially Cheddar. So I bought a block of imported white Cheddar. That’s what I made your sandwiches with.”

“That was very thoughtful of you. Thank you.” Sloane leaned forward, instinctively attempting to reach for the tray. This time she couldn’t stifle a whimper. There was no blood circulating in her wrists and ankles, and her palm was beginning to throb badly. “Delphi, please, can we unlock my shackles first? I’m losing feeling in my limbs, and my hand is in excruciating pain.”

One look at her white face confirmed she wasn’t lying.

“Of course.” Luke knelt down beside her and unzipped the gym bag. “It’s just as well that we’re dealing with the shackles. You can’t eat or change clothes with your hands chained together.”

The first thing he took out was a pistol, which he tucked loosely into his belt. “I don’t want to use this. But I’m an excellent shot. So, please, for both our sakes, don’t make me prove it.”

“As I told you before, I have no intentions of it.”

Nodding, he pulled out a key, unlocked and removed her arm and leg shackles. “There. Better?” he asked.

“Much.” She rubbed feeling back into her limbs, flexed her fingers, and did a few quick hand exercises Connie had taught her. “Thank you. I was starting to get frightened. After all I’ve been through with my hand, I’m very protective of it.”

“I understand. But there’s no need to be frightened or protective.” He smiled faintly, that faraway look that gave Sloane the creeps reappearing in his eyes. “Your injury will be healed when we get to Mount Olympus. There’s no pain there. Only joy.”

With that, he pulled a shapeless, white linen, tuniclike garment out of the gym bag. “Your chiton,” he announced. “Please put it on before you eat.”

“All right.” Sloane took the garment and rose, unzipping the hooded jacket of her jogging suit.

Instantly, Luke rose and turned his back, rigidly facing the opposite wall. “Let me know when you’re finished.”

“I will.” Interesting. Luke’s regard for the goddesses extended to honoring their modesty and virtue as well.

That could work very well in her favor.

If he couldn’t watch the goddesses change, then how could he ever bring himself to bathe his mother? He couldn’t. Which explained why Lillian had been begging for a bath.

The idea began to take shape. By the time Sloane was belting the chiton with the white rope Luke had provided, it was a full-fledged plan.

She set aside her running clothes, placing them at the very bottom of her mattress. “I’m dressed,” she announced.

Luke turned, smiling in approval. “Excellent. Now sit and eat.”

Sloane did as he asked, taking a sip of her soup. “This is delicious. Will you join me? I’ve always enjoyed our lunches together.”

He smiled. “As have I. But I’ve already eaten.”

“Then tell me about the ascension while I enjoy this lovely meal you’ve prepared for me.”

He sat down again, propped his elbows on his knees, and stared straight ahead. “Gaia is drifting closer to the end of this life and the beginning of eternity. When the time comes, all the goddesses will be summoned to the ritual room, where they will bathe and dress in ceremonial robes. They will be brought upstairs so they are gathered around Gaia’s bed as she ascends. There will be spiritual music and goblets of wine. All of us will drink and bless Gaia as she rises into immortality. Then, one by one, the goddesses will join her, in the order in which they arrived. By the gift of my knife, they will be carved with the requisite exalted symbols, leave this wretched planet, and move on to the wonders of Mount Olympus, where they will serve Gaia and be rewarded with joyous eternal life.”

Sloane forced herself not to flinch, but instead continued eating her soup. “So the lesser goddesses will precede us?”

“Yes.”

Putting down her soup spoon, Sloane’s brow furrowed. “I know of six, excluding myself.”

“There are seven.”

“Followed by me.”

“You, and then me. As the last to ascend, I will perform the sacred and sacrificial rites on myself. I’ll have to forgo some of the ceremonial incisions, since I need to ensure my own passing. But I’m well equipped. I’ve been preparing for this for over a year. Last will come our funeral pyre. In a blaze of glory, any remnants of our earthly existence will be consumed in a towering inferno.”

Inferno?
Sloane began choking down her sandwich. Her stomach was tied up in knots, but she needed some nourishment. “Like a pillar of fire? How will we manage that, if we’ve all ascended?”

“Timer. It will ignite the funeral pyre in perfect synchronization with the culmination of our ceremony.”

He planted an incendiary device. Shit.

“It sounds like an exalted experience worthy of Gaia.” Sloane forced out the words, hoping her food wouldn’t come up at the same time.

Luke actually smiled—no, beamed. “I knew you’d understand. I knew it. The others would be afraid, but not you. You know I’d never do anything that wouldn’t bring you the ultimate joy. This is salvation, not death.”

“I understand.” Sloane put down her sandwich. “Would you describe Mount Olympus to me?”

She barely listened as he launched into an elaborate description of opulent buildings and marble walkways. She was too busy figuring out the details of her plan.

He’d given her a golden opportunity.

She wasn’t going to blow it.

“You’re very quiet,” he observed, watching her closely.

Clearly, he’d finished speaking and she wasn’t responding to his satisfaction.

“Forgive me. It’s just that I’m taking in a great deal at once.” Sloane put down her sandwich and gave him a wistful smile. “It’s hard to imagine a place so beautiful, or accept that I’m worthy of living there.”

His utopian mood returned. “You are. As for taking it all in, I understand. I’ve had years to visualize Mount Olympus. You’re first learning about it.” Abruptly, he fell silent, staring at the floor and chewing his lip as if contemplating whether or not to say something.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Sloane urged softly. “We’ve always had such ease between us.”

A faint smile. “That’s precisely what I was thinking about. How right it feels to share all this with you. How I knew from the first moment I saw you that it would be this way. You were different from the others. You were pure of heart, kind and decent and good. Together, we stopped victims from suffering, brought families together. I remember thinking what a cruel and ugly place this world has become, and how someone like you deserved so much better. You deserved to be worshipped, and to always be surrounded by beauty.”

“I was awed by your selflessness and your sensitivity that day,” Sloane heard herself say. “Especially with the children. I’ve never seen anyone so kind and gentle. You really did seem godlike.” There was irony in her statement, but there was also truth. Luke had been amazing. How he could be such a dual personality was a complete mystery to her.

His next words came as a total surprise. “You’re thinking about all the things I’ve done—not with the goddesses, but with the whores. And you’re wondering at the paradox.”

It was a statement, not a question. So Sloane responded truthfully, qualifying her answer with a nonjudgmental, open-ended question. “Yes. And I’d really like to understand. Can you help me do that?”

He sighed, and his shoulders drooped. “I’ve sought absolution from the gods for my weakness. There was no excuse for my succumbing to the base and sinful needs of mortal men. My only excuse is that the demons wouldn’t relent. They pounded at my brain day and night, until I did as they commanded. I’m ashamed of giving in. But the remainder of my actions? The utter obliteration of those whores’ filth and immorality, that was my mission. It was bestowed upon me by the gods.”

Sloane watched him as he spoke. He was truly ashamed of his sex acts, but he truly believed that he’d been empowered by some supreme beings to desecrate those poor Asian women, slash them into nonexistence.

It was mind-boggling.

“So you were doing as the gods commanded,” she paraphrased.

“Yes. But also as
I
commanded. I did it for me. And for Gaia.”

His whole demeanor had changed again. His face was a mask of pure hatred, and icy bitterness laced his tone.

“How did your killing those women appease you and Gaia?”

“Gaia didn’t need appeasement. She has the kindest and most forgiving heart in the world. But I needed it for her. And for me. I was young—but not
that
young. I understood a lot more than what I was told. He was an unfeeling, immoral son of a bitch. With all his bravado, he was a weakling. He devastated us, and died without suffering a single consequence. My only prayer is that he’s facedown in the River Styx, relegated to the dark realm of Hades.”

Sloane listened, then asked, “Are you talking about your father?”

“Did you know that the River Styx means the River of Hatred?” Luke asked inanely, as if he hadn’t heard Sloane’s question.

“No, I didn’t. How old were you when your father died?”

“Twelve.” A hollow laugh. “And, true, he was half responsible for my creation. But my father? No. So don’t refer to him as such.”

“Fair enough. I can see that you hate him. There’s obviously a reason for that. Did he abuse you?”

“If you mean, did he crawl into bed with me and commit perverted sexual acts, the answer is no. He saved his sexual perversions for Gaia.”

Sloane drew a sharp breath. “He sexually abused your mother?”

“When he was with her. The rest of the time, he humiliated her, reduced her to nothing.” Violent enmity glittered in Luke’s eyes. “Conventional marriage was an inconvenience to my
father
.” He spat out the word. “He had a sick fixation for whores. Particularly Asian whores. He spent half his life with them, catching and spreading their diseases, becoming addicted to their depravity, and then bringing it all home to Gaia.”

A vein was pulsing at his temple. “She’s a loving, pure-hearted woman. And he turned her into a receptacle for his filth. What do you think caused her cancer?
HPV
. A viral infection she was far too embarrassed to have checked. A lady like my mother, confiding in anyone that her cheating husband had contaminated her? Never. By the time she could no longer ignore how ill she was—or hide it from me knowing I would force her to see a doctor—the cancer had spread to the rest of her body. All her pain, her suffering—it was because of him.”

Poor Lillian, Sloane mused silently as the truth struck home. A psychologically disturbed son and a sexually abusive husband, whose deviant behavior resulted in her developing cervical cancer that was now fatal. Luke’s warped actions now had an explanation.

“I’m very, very sorry,” Sloane said sincerely. “You and your mother deserved better.”

“He didn’t even have the painful, drawn-out death he deserved,” Luke added, his hands balling into fists. “The bastard just died of a heart attack. Instantly. He never felt a thing. Worse, he was in bed with one of his Asian whores when it happened. Talk about irony. He should have suffered. The way she’s suffering now.
He should have suffered!
” Luke leaped to his feet, picking up the wooden chair and crashing it against the wall.

It splintered into pieces.

Luke stared down at the slices of wood, his chest heaving with emotion. Slowly, he brought himself under control.

“Forgive me,” he said, turning to Sloane as if he hadn’t just lost it entirely not two minutes ago. “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

“You didn’t,” she lied. “You helped me understand you better.”

Luke gazed steadily at her. “I’ve never told that to another soul.”

“I’m honored.” Sloane gave him a reassuring look. “But then, Apollo and Artemis are siblings. Twins. It’s only natural that we share confidences.”

A tight nod. “As I said, I knew you were different from the start. I truly believed that all women, other than Gaia, were sluts. But you were everything that was good, strong, decent, and beautiful. I knew right from then that our futures were meant to intertwine in some sacred capacity.”