The Sometime Sister Katherine Nichols (reading in the dark txt) 📖

“I felt the same about your sister, only much stronger. It was as if she filled some part of me I never knew was empty. I won’t lie to you, Grace. I have wanted many women. Once I possessed them, my desire faded. But Stella was different. She was an irresistible combination of passion and sorrow. Just when I thought I had seen all of her, I found another level to her soul. The more I made love to her, the more I had to have her. Each time we were together, I traveled deeper into undiscovered territory, both in her body and her spirit. I know she wronged you, and I understand your anger.”

Adelmo slid closer and reached for my hands again. I let them rest in his.

“Stella also understood. She told me she had vowed to change, to become a better person, one deserving of your forgiveness. Unlike others who make such promises, I watched as she kept hers. And I fell deeper in love with the woman she became.”

His voice thickened as he brought my hands to his lips, the same way he’d done in the museum garden. He seemed confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure who I was, and for the first time since I’d entered the little trailer, a sense of dread overcame me.

“Your sister was a woman with many secrets. Some we shared and some I only sensed. Just as I promised I would find the truth about what happened to her, I made promises to her as well.” He let go of my hands and sighed. “But we will save that for another day. Today, I keep my promise to you.” He motioned for me to join him as he stepped toward the back of the trailer.

Had I made a mistake putting my faith in a man of such drastic extremes? His love for my sister bordered on obsession. And while he never exhibited violent behavior in my presence, both his intensity and reputation hinted he was capable of bursting into uncontrolled rages. But were these actual contradictions? Weren’t they more like points of continuum on the line of human emotions? The problem was I couldn’t be sure where his feelings for me might fall on this scale.

We walked into what had once served as a bedroom. The acrid scent of urine assaulted me. I gagged before covering my nose and mouth. Here, it was even darker. Although he was only a few feet from me, I could only make out his outline. Faint light trickled in from windows, covered with heavy fabric. No trace of wet air conditioning made it to this room where the heat was almost tangible. I could hear him walking farther from me. Once again, I had to give my eyes time to adjust. When they did, I couldn’t comprehend what I saw.

In the middle of the room a man in a solitary chair slumped forward, head down, body tied in place with bloody ropes.

Adelmo charged, drew back his thick-booted foot, and kicked hard enough to flip him over backward. Pathetic whimpers drifted up from the twisted lump. Adlemo righted the chair but not before administering another violent attack, this time to the man’s stomach. Moans became screams of agony as he struggled to lift his head. Blood, both fresh and dried, lined his forehead like savage war paint. One eye was swollen shut; the other, marked by a wide gash just above the cheekbone.

“What did I tell you about making all that noise?” Adelmo hissed and backhanded his prisoner, who jerked in response to the blow and fell back into his original position: head down, face obscured. But not before I recognized the bloody, beaten ruin that was now Ben Wilcott.

Chapter 32

I stared at the horror that had once been the man I loved, then turned to Adelmo and gasped, “What have you done?”

“I have uncovered the truth, my sweet Grace.” The naked bulb cast shadows across his face. “And here it is.”

He yanked Ben’s head back and poured water over him. Ben sputtered and fell forward again. Adelmo jerked him upright by the hair.

“I have brought someone to see you,” he said with what could have been mistaken for a benign smile. “You will tell her the story you told me, and then, maybe, if you get everything right, you might make it out of this alive.”

I wondered if it was as clear to Ben as it was to me that he had no chance of going home in one piece. But he turned to his captor and murmured something. Adelmo shrugged and whispered in his mangled ear. Whatever he said gave Ben the motivation to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Grace,” he began, but Adelmo dug his fingers into Ben’s shoulder, causing him to shriek.

“Just explain what happened. Tell her how you killed Stella.”

He started his story with a description of the couple’s fights: how they had begun as shouting and shoving matches and had escalated into open-handed slaps before culminating with him pushing her down the stairs. At that point Adelmo thumped Ben on the side of his head and grasped him by the neck.

“Please, Adelmo. Let him finish.” I wish I could say I’d spoken to spare my ex more pain, but I only wanted him to tell the story without interruption, to get it over with so I could escape the festering air of that miserable trailer.

He continued his account of how he suspected Stella was having an affair and had confronted her. Things had gotten violent, and she locked herself in the bathroom. He admitted to being so drunk he passed out. The next morning, she disappeared, and he didn’t see her for over four months. He hired people to look for her, but they found nothing.

After a month, she sent word she wanted a divorce and planned to return to the States. By then, he had given up on