Rev by Jeanne St. James
Chapter Thirteen
This hadto be a sick joke. One last twist of the knife in Rev’s back before the motherfucker died. “What the fuck you talkin’ about?”
“He sowed… your rotten seed… Not me.”
Rev stared at him, not comprehending the words that just spilled from the dying man’s mouth.
Reilly barely smothered a gasp next to him. When he shot a quick glance at her, she was staring wide-eyed at the man in the bed, her face paler than normal, proving Rev hadn’t misheard him. He turned his attention back to the bed and the man who was not his father.
That was what he’d heard, wasn’t it?
He couldn’t wrap his head around it. It had to be a lie. His father—No, the man who he had thought was his father—had to be lying, right? A way to torture his son with words since he no longer had the strength to do it physically?
Was it possible that he…
“Wasn’t Sarah’s… either.”
Those three words didn’t quite sink in, because right now, Rev’s brain was on overload.
Yeah, this was all a sick joke.
All of it.
His whole life. A damn sick joke.
He would never stop getting punished for being born. With a hand clamped on his forearm, Reilly’s nails drilled painfully into his skin. “Who’s Say— Sarah’s father?” she asked in a pained whisper.
“Doesn’t matter now… does it? … Since she’s no longer… on this Earth.”
Rev pressed himself against the side of the bed and leaned in until his face was just above the man who no longer was anything to him. Not a fucking thing. They didn’t even share a drop of blood. Not one. “Who’s her fuckin’ father?”
“Had to beat the truth… out of her… Your mother not only lied… to her husband… about coming to me pregnant with you… but she was unfaithful, too.”
“With her own father?” Reilly squeaked.
He couldn’t think straight enough to ask the questions Reilly was asking. Something had broken inside his brain. It felt scrambled and wouldn’t function properly. He couldn’t grasp what the fuck was going on.
None of this made any damn sense.
He needed to slam the brakes on his spinning thoughts.
“Was she unfaithful, or was she forced?” Reilly grilled his father, one hand still gripping Rev’s arm, the other white-knuckling the bed’s metal side rail.
No, not his father. Not any longer.
The man with one foot in the grave, and about to finish falling into it after Rev shoved him there, ignored Reilly. He only had cloudy eyes for Rev, and they held revenge and pure hatred in the dull brown orbs.
“Who’s Sarah’s father?” Rev demanded since he refused to answer Reilly. He clenched his fingers to prevent himself from strangling the man before he could get the answer he needed. He wanted to know the truth about his sister first. Even if it was a truth he never told Saylor.
He couldn’t ask his mother. She was the type of woman who would take a secret like that to her grave simply to remain being seen as holy and pious. While the man she married preferred to cause pain. And a fuckload of it. He generously sprinkled that shit around like salt on a bland meal.
If anyone was going to tell the truth, it would be him. For exactly what Rev saw in his eyes.
Spite.
“Who?” Rev shouted and slammed his hand on the metal side rail causing the whole bed to jolt sideways and the living, breathing skeleton to rock under the blankets.
“The man who sought you out… without my permission… I told him no… he did it anyway.”
The man who sought you out.
Matthew.
Rev couldn’t breathe. His lungs simply stopped functioning. His heart thumped in his throat, trying to break free, while his ears rang at a deafening volume.
It couldn’t be.
Was that why Matthew hunted him down? In an attempt to find Sarah? Maybe he didn’t even give a shit about Rev coming to see the dying man they thought was his father. His uncle was using John Schmidt’s illness to try to ferret out where Sarah was, or he hoped Rev would have brought Matthew’s niece home along with him.
No…
Christ!
Rev’s eyes squeezed shut and a bolt of pain speared through his chest and down his arm because he was gripping the bed rail so tightly.
Saylor wasn’t only his niece…
Jesus fuck. His niece and his daughter.
That couldn’t be it, could it?
That couldn’t be the reason that motherfucker called him? Did Matthew know the truth? Did Matthew know Sarah was his? If so, how long had he fucking known?
But that meant John Schmidt didn’t share any blood with Rev’s sister, either. They weren’t related at all.
“Did you know this before or after you touched her?” Rev asked, his words sounding like they came down a long, narrow hallway. A corridor closing in around him. Like he was on a bad acid trip.
“I don’t answer to you… I only answer to God.”
Bullshit! A muscle ticked in Rev’s jaw and he snapped free from the mental quicksand he’d been bogged down in. “Before or after you touched her?” he roared into the dying man’s face.
It didn’t matter. It made no difference. John Schmidt was still a pedophile, just not an incestuous one.
“Go away, boy… you don’t belong here.”
“The moral hypocrisy in this family makes me fuckin’ sick.” He slammed the bed rails with both palms, wanting to choke the dying breath out of him.
Reilly grabbed his shirt sleeve and tugged at it. “Rev,” she whispered.
He glanced down at her. Her eyes were focused toward the room’s archway and she lifted her chin slightly in a silent message.
He turned, expecting to see his mother…
Instead, he saw Matthew standing in the opening.
That motherfucker.
His head began to pound when he realized his uncle was also his first cousin. His grandfather also his father. His mother his half-sister.
Was that right? Was any of that right?
Holy fuck, him and Saylor were both born from incest. If he hadn’t come back, he would’ve never known. That secret would have died with his parents.
He never should’ve come back. He would’ve remained in the dark. Clueless that they were inbred like the Shirleys. Born from incest. Born from lies.
Born from deep, dark secrets.
He was called a sinner. Over and over.
He was not the sinner. He was the product of a grave sin.
He and Saylor… They weren’t even full brother and sister.
They were… half-brother and -sister and… cousins? Was he Saylor’s uncle-cousin-brother? He didn’t even know. He was struggling to wrap his head around all of his jumbled thoughts. Trying to straighten out their twisted and fucked-up family tree.
He couldn’t deal with that shit right now. He needed to deal with the man standing there with a worried look on his face.
He should be fucking worried.
His asshole should be puckering tight right about now. Especially if he overheard any of the conversation.
Cursed be anyone who lies with his sister, whether the daughter of his father or the daughter of his mother.
How about the daughter of both?
Rev rushed toward Matthew and shouted, “Did you know?”
Rev could see the tremble in his uncle’s hand as he held it out in front of him like a stop sign. A useless, ineffective shield. “Let’s step outside, Brother Michael.”
Brotherwas right. Matthew was his actual half-brother.
His pulse pounded painfully at his temple from all the mental gymnastics. “Yeah, let’s, brother-uncle.” Grabbing a fistful of Matthew’s button-down shirt, Rev dragged him the few strides to the front door and flung it open.
“Rev!” Reilly called out, rushing after them and sounding more than a bit panicked.
“Stay in the house,” he ordered over his shoulder.
He continued to yank the older man along with him, making him stumble down the porch steps and into the yard, where Rev flung him to the grass.
“I’m not staying in this house alone! It creeps me out.”
“Reilly,” he growled, not in the mood for her to be a pain in his ass right now. “You don’t step off that porch.”
He had no idea if she argued or not because he blocked her out. Instead, he concentrated on the man before him in a heap on the ground, cowering in fear. The blood had drained from Matthew’s face, making his blue eyes more noticeable. The same blue eyes as his. As Saylor’s. He wasn’t dark blond like Rev’s mother, or Rev himself. Or even his grandfather… No… father.
What the fuck! He didn’t even know how to label his grandfather anymore. He was so damned confused.
No, Matthew’s hair wasn’t blond at all, it was the same color as Saylor’s.
Brown.
Like his grandmother’s. Wait. Was his grandmother still his grandmother? Christ!
His brain hurt. All he wanted to do was jam the heels of his palms into his eyes and collapse to the ground until everything stopped spinning around him. Until things made sense.
Or he woke up from this nightmare.
He didn’t. Instead, he reached down, grabbed the man’s wrinkled shirt again and hauled him to his feet.
“God help me. Don’t hurt me,” Matthew pleaded.
Rev sneered at him. “Did you fuckin’ know my sister was your daughter?”
“It’s… It’s a woman’s duty to bear children. A wife who can’t bear her husband any children is seen as a failure. We didn’t… We… She couldn’t go to anyone else. We had to keep it a secret. We had to keep it in the family.”
Apparently. They took “keeping it in the family” to a whole other level. A sick and twisted one.
“But women will be preserved through the bearing of children—”
“Don’t spout that shit at me. Don’t wanna fuckin’ hear it. You’re all fuckin’ hypocrites. Wanna know why you fucked—”
Matthew winced and cut him off quickly. “It’s also a man’s duty to create a family. Children are a heritage from the Lord—”
“Said I don’t wanna hear that bullshit. Want the truth.”
“Your mother couldn’t get pregnant. She asked me for help…”
Rev’s eyebrows just about launched free of his forehead. “And that’s how you helped her? By knockin’ her up ‘cause her husband couldn’t? What kind of sick motherfucker are you? This whole fuckin’ family’s whacked. Christ!”
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”
His head was about to explode off his neck. “That’s what you’re worried about? Me takin’ the Lord’s name in vain when you fucked your own sister?”
“No one was supposed to know. Not even your father.”
“Who isn’t my fuckin’ father! More fuckin’ family secrets!” he roared. “Does your wife know you had a child with your own fuckin’ sister, just so she wouldn’t be blamed for being a failure? How she appeared to her congregation was more important than getting pregnant by her own brother?” Maybe getting knocked up by her father hadn’t been a choice but fucking her brother sure the fuck was.
“It wasn’t like that!” Matthew exclaimed.
“Oh, okay, it happened by accident, then. You just accidentally busted a nut in your sister.”
Matthew’s face became dark and stormy. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
“It’s that easy, is it? Spout some bible passage, ask for forgiveness and all your sins are cleansed? This family is fucked. This whole thing is fucked. You’re all fucked!” Rev shouted, his pulse pounding at his temples. He jabbed a finger toward the house. “You let that man touch your niece…” Rev shook his head. “No! Your fuckin’ daughter!”
Matthew blanched. “He didn’t do anything differently than what our father did with Sister Rachel. He must manage his own family well and see that his children obey him… He was teaching her to—”
Rev slammed his fist into Matthew’s face shutting him the fuck up. The man’s nose exploded under the force of his knuckles, causing blood to spurt and splatter on Rev’s skin and shirt. Before Matthew could fall, Rev grabbed a fistful of his shirt again and yanked him back to his feet, released him and punched him once more, knocking him backward and off his feet. His brother-uncle landed hard on his ass in the grass.
Matthew tried to scramble away, to pull himself out of reach, but Rev was quicker than him. Standing over and straddling him, Rev leaned over to lift Matthew’s torso again by the shirt with his bloody and bruised right hand. His left fist made contact with his jaw, snapping his head to the side.
Matthew’s eyes rolled back, his eyelids fluttered closed and his bleeding mouth gaped open. A second later, he went limp in Rev’s grasp. Rev released him and let him crumple to the ground.
“Fuckin’ motherfucker. If there was a God, he woulda struck you dead by now.” Rev made sure the man was no longer conscious before straightening. His voice felt strained and raw when he continued. “You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as Sarah. You don’t deserve to have the same blood in your veins. I should steal your breath and drain your blood. You aren’t fuckin’ worthy.”
I should kill him. I should kill him. I should kill him.
It would be too risky. The man wasn’t worth going to prison for. Not worth the possibility of him being locked up and leaving Saylor with no one but the club.
Matthew’s death would most likely be questioned and investigated, when the person’s who already laid on his deathbed wouldn’t.
Even so, Rev could make the man hurt and maybe regret his life choices. Rev punted him in the ribs with his boot, hoping he cracked a few while he was at it. “That’s for not protectin’ what was yours. Whether she was your fuckin’ niece or your damn daughter. You did nothin’. Not a goddamn thing to stop it.”
He was wasting his breath. Matthew couldn’t hear shit. But when he came to, he would remember why he was fucking hurting so damn bad and who made it happen.
Rev decided to leave him one more reminder for when he woke up. He sucked a hocker deep from his nasal passages into his mouth and spat the thick wad onto the unconscious man’s face.
He stared down at his brother-uncle, reminding himself the man wasn’t worth doing a life-long prison bid. He twisted his head to see Reilly still standing on the porch where he told her to stay.
She had listened to him. Imagine that.
She was holding onto one of the wood posts and her mouth was moving.
He had no idea what the fuck she was saying. He focused on her, trying to clear his mind, and managed to catch the tail end of whatever she said.
“—should leave.”
No. He wasn’t done there yet.
Before he left, the man in that house, in that bed, needed to die. He was done waiting for nature to take its course. He was done being at this house, in this town, being related to these whacked fuckers.
He needed to scrape all this shit clean. From his memories, from his future.
But the man who left physical scars on his back, the man who caused Saylor’s mental scars… His time had come. Whether he stopped breathing today by force or tomorrow from his illness, it no longer mattered to Rev.
He. Was. Done.
He rushed up the porch, blowing past Reilly, who stood frozen in place, her mouth gaped open.
She had seen everything that happened so far, but he didn’t want her to watch what was about to come next. She didn’t need to be an accomplice or a witness who could be questioned by the pigs if it ever came down to that. He didn’t want any of his fucked-up family’s shit splattered on her.
“Rev!” Reilly screamed, scrambling after him.
Before she could reach the door, he slammed it shut and flipped the deadbolt, locking her outside.
“Rev!” She pounded on the door and jerked on the door handle. “Don’t do anything stupid! He’s not worth it, either! None of them are!”
He ignored her and spotted his mother standing at the end of the narrow hallway in the entrance to the kitchen with her hands wringing her apron.
The same way he wanted to wring her damn neck.
“Lock that back door and don’t you dare let her inside if you know what’s good for you.” She didn’t move and also didn’t say a damn word. Funny how she had a lot to say to him when he was a child but now that he was an adult? Nothing. “Go lock the fuckin’ door! If you let her in here, I’ll kill you, too.”
His mother’s face paled and she disappeared into the kitchen. A few seconds later he heard pounding on the back door.
“Let me in, damn it. Let me in!”
His mother appeared again in the kitchen doorway, her face a washed-out, haggard mask, her lips pressed into a slash.
He had one last thing to say to her. “Don’t you dare call the fuckin’ cops or I’ll tell them how fucked-up you all are. You,” he jabbed a finger in her direction, “are just as guilty as them.” He pointed toward the sitting room to his right. “You could’ve stopped it. Any of it. All of it. You didn’t… May you burn in hell alongside the man you married, while you both still cling to the secrets you fuckin’ kept.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He knew he wouldn’t get one. She just wanted him to go away. Just like John Schmidt wanted him to disappear, too.
She believed he and Saylor had put dark smudges on their “pure,” devout family when it was her actions that made those smudges. Her complacency. The steps she took to look like a good wife and mother and to have their family appear godly, when she and they were far, far from that.
Judge not, that you be not judged…
That was a favorite pastime of their religious order. To judge. Then judge each other for judging.
He snorted, shook his head and stepped into the front room, where his father— Fuck! The abusive son-of-a-bitch—lied awake, his rheumy eyes set on Rev as he approached.
The man had heard everything.
Good.
His now… stepfather?… sucked in a wheezy breath so he could speak. “I’m ready… to meet my maker… And even better… I will never have to… set eyes on you again.”
“Relieved it will also be the last time I ever set my eyes on you, you sick fuck.” He stepped up to the bed, yanked one of the pillows from behind the man’s head and squeezed it between his fingers.
“Do it… End my suffering.”
Rev closed his eyes for a moment and remembered. Remembered every time he heard Sarah cry through the thin walls between their bedrooms. Remembered every time he had been the one to console his upset sister. Remembered every damn time he’d been called a sinner. Every time he had to pick his own switch off a bush grown for just that purpose.
And every time he’d been tied to the clothesline in the backyard.
At some point in their childhood, John Schmidt had discovered “his children,” Sarah and Michael, were not from his blood. Rev had no idea when and whether that was the reason the man was quick to punish them both. Or if that even mattered.
Maybe he would’ve done the same if he was their true father.
Maybe he was an evil bastard at his very core and not just an angry one for being lied to. By both his father-in-law and by his wife herself. That wasn’t reason enough to treat his “children” as he did. An unbending taskmaster who went far beyond simply teaching his “children” manners.
“I’d prefer you continue to suffer, but I won’t make this quick, either. Just like every strike of the switch on my flesh. Just like every perverted ‘punishment’ you doled out to Sarah. None of it was quick. All of it unnecessary.” He leaned over the bed, the crushed pillow hovering over the dying man’s face. “Want my face to be the last thing you see. Don’t want you to see any fuckin’ bright light or get any fuckin’ peace. Want you to be thinkin’ about what you did to me while you struggle, about what you did to Sarah, right before you head to the place where you earned your spot. And let me tell you, it won’t be up where you think it is. Hell no. Prepare to meet your maker, old man. And it ain’t God.”
