John Hart - Iron House

“Because you love Abigail.”

“Because I needed to know. Because I had to understand…” He rubbed both hands across his face. “Ah, shit.”

“Just tell me.”

It took a minute, then he said, “Arabella Jax had looks, once. I saw old photos in her house. She had looks and she had men. She worked for Serena Slaughter up on the mountain.”

“I saw the ruins.”

“A mansion,” Jessup said. “Huge wealth, big parties, some that lasted days. People would come in from out of state. Politicians. Celebrities. Rich folks in limousines. Arabella Jax washed dishes, did laundry, cleaned up. It was not much of a life. She had no money, hated her boss but had nowhere else to go. When she was young, she had affairs with guests of the Slaughters. Nasty, fancy men with pretty words and shiny watches. That’s how she described it to me. There were a number of them, apparently, wealthy men who liked to bang the help.” Jessup met Michael’s gaze, shrugged. “It fell off as she aged and her looks went. She wasn’t sleeping with the pretty-boys anymore, but with gardeners and the stable hands and the local drunks. The only thing unusual about the story is the sheer magnitude of that woman’s anger. Far as I can tell, resentment just ate her alive, and Abigail was there to see it happen. She’d go to the house some, too; play while her mother polished and scrubbed and whored around. Can you imagine how it must have been for Abigail at that tender age? Living as she did, and then seeing that mansion up close, the crystal and silver, servants and fancy parties. Watching envy break her mother down, then going home to all the dirt and nothing in that cracker-box house.”

“She would pretend to be a girl named Salina Slaughter.”

Jessup shook his head, voice cracking. “It wasn’t pretend.”

“She really was Serena’s daughter?”

“No, that’s not it. She had…” Jessup wiped at his eyes, then suddenly stood. “Give me a second.” He moved to the window, turned his back and dipped his head. Michael looked away because it was hard to watch a grown man cry.

Jessup looked uncomfortable when he finally sat. “I’m sorry.” He sniffed, wiped his nose on a napkin. “It’s hard to love a wounded soul.”

“Take your time,” Michael said, and meant it. In spite of his violent nature, he had a deep respect for powerful emotions.

“Abigail had a brother,” Jessup finally said. “A baby boy just a few months old. She was only ten, but she loved him like he was her own. She fed him, took care of him. Arabella Jax didn’t much care for boys. She thought boys would grow up and run off like all men do; they would treat her badly, use her up. But daughters, she believed, would stay home. They would stay home and keep her as she got old.”

“She wanted her own servants.”

“Servants. Slaves. Somebody to hurt.” Jessup drank beer and his hands shook.

“She had a brother,” Michael prompted.

“The brother. Ah, God.” Jessup scrubbed large, worn hands across his face, pulled the skin tight, then let the hands drop. “She made Abigail drown him in the creek.” Michael rocked back; Jessup nodded bleakly. “She beat Abigail half to death, and then made her kill the one thing she loved. I think that’s when her mind broke.”

“And Salina Slaughter was born.”

“She has no idea, Michael. Don’t you see? Abigail…” He choked up. “That sweet, perfect soul. She doesn’t even know Salina exists. She has blackouts, memory losses.”

“But she suspects.”

“She fears some version of the truth, yes. She invited George Nichols and Ronnie Saints here; then they turned up dead after she blacked out. Chase Johnson, too.”

“That’s the third body in the lake?”

Jessup nodded. “Then the senator was killed. Abigail’s been terrified that she might have had something to do with it. But you fixed all that. The police think gangsters killed the senator; they think the boys from Iron House were somehow wrapped up in that. Maybe they were dropped in the lake to pressure the senator. Or maybe they were wrapped up with Stevan Kaitlin in some other way. The cops believe it’s all connected, and Abigail is trying to do the same. She’s like a new person.”

“And yet you haven’t answered my question.”

Jessup sighed, unhappy. “Truth can be a tricky business.”

“Is Abigail my mother?”

“All right, Michael. All right.” Jessup sighed deeply, gathered himself. “Abigail didn’t run away until she was fourteen. That’s four more years she spent with Arabella Jax. Four years of abuse and deprivation. Four years for Salina Slaughter to take hold. Four years of hell…”

“Go on.”

“Arabella Jax wanted daughters, but God had his own ideas, I guess, and gave her two boys, one strong and the other sickly. They were born in the back bedroom of the house you saw. They’d have probably died without Abigail. They slept in her bed. She kept them warm, kept them fed. Protected them.” Jessup shook his head, then pushed on. “Arabella held off for a while, but the day came when she told Abigail to drown them, too. She wouldn’t do it, though, no matter how much Arabella beat her. It went on for two weeks, the beatings and bleeding and denial.”

Michael felt a sharp pain in his heart. “What are you saying?”

Jessup nodded at the hurt that was coming. “I’m saying she ran off rather than kill you boys.”

Michael had to walk away from that. Jessup gave him twenty minutes, then paid the check and found him in the parking lot, hands in his pockets as traffic blew past.

“Abigail is my sister.”

“Yes.”

“Does she know you’re telling me this?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Michael turned, and in his features Jessup saw a road map of grief. “She’s not that poor, broken little girl anymore. She won’t be. She can’t be. This is where she’s strong. This life.”

“And yet she left us there to die.”

“A child can only take so much, Michael. You, of all people, know that’s true.”

“I never abandoned Julian.”

“Didn’t you?”

“That’s not how it was.”

“And yet Julian was left alone until Abigail gathered him up.”

Michael looked away.

“For what it’s worth,” Jessup said, “she has nightmares about it, crucifies herself with guilt. And don’t forget that she came after you as soon as she possibly could. She found you at Iron House. She tried to give you a life.”

“This is difficult.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“I’m supposed to keep it to myself?”

Jessup understood. Telling Michael in the first place had not been an easy decision, but he’d sold his soul on the day he made Arabella Jax scream and beg and spill her guts. It would be nice for something good to come of it.

“I guess that’s up to you,” Jessup said. “I’m not sure how Julian would take it. He’s half-convinced that what he saw in the boathouse was delusion, but only half-convinced. As a man, he needs structure. He needs to know the people around him are strong enough to watch his back and make a difference. I don’t know that he could handle having a woman like Arabella Jax as his mother. It would be a brutal truth after all the love he’s known.”

Michael thought about that and decided Jessup was right. Not all cruelties were physical, and his brother would not easily endure such a revelation. “So, Julian doesn’t know the truth, and Abigail doesn’t know that I know?”

“Yes.”

“You’re asking an awful lot, Jessup. She’s my sister. We’re family. Do you understand how important that is to me? To Julian?”

“She can’t know that you know. Facing that past would kill her. Knowing you’re aware of what she did, knowing Julian is aware… She barely lives with herself now.”