Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I flip through article after article, chronicling the investigation all the way up through the trial of the man. One news article has a picture of the courtroom, and I notice with astonishment the woman and kid from the first photo I’d looked at are in the front row.
Quickly pulling the news articles I’d already read back onto my lap, I flip through and look at the pictures of Arco VanBuskirk, and holy shit…it’s the man in that first photograph.
But why would Van have this stuff?
I pull the picture back out, and my eyes narrow on the little boy. It’s hard to tell, but I think—
“What are you doing?” I hear Van’s voice behind me and jump with a little yelp.
“You scared the crap out of me,” I say with my hand held to my heart, still clutching the photo. Van stalks into the room, rounds the bed, and squats. He grabs the photo out of my hand, looking at the news articles in my lap and the half-empty box because I didn’t get a chance to read everything.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, my face actually flaming hot that I’ve been caught snooping.
“Christ,” he mutters with frustration as he stands, scrubbing one hand through his hair. It’s slightly damp from a shower he must have taken at the gym.
“Are you—” I start to say, but then Van is walking out of the bedroom holding that photo. I scramble up and follow him out. When I find him in the living room, just staring at the couch, I ask him again, “Are you the little boy in that photo?”
He spins on me, his face a mask of pure rage, and it’s so frightening I move back. “Why the fuck were you snooping in my room?”
“I wasn’t,” I say as he takes a step toward me and I take one back. “I was vacuuming and I accidently pushed that box out with the vacuum. It knocked the top off, and I saw the letter from the prison—”
“Fucking snooping,” he growls. “Fucking goddamn snooping in my personal shit, and you know, Simone…you know there’s supposed to be this separation. But you just won’t fucking stay the fuck back.”
“Van,” I say soothingly…cautiously. “Talk to me. What is this stuff?”
“Fuck,” he yells louder than I’ve ever heard a human yell before, and it’s full of pain and rage, and it scares the shit out of me. He turns away from me with fists clenched. My first instinct is to run, then just to wrap my arms around him. I don’t know what to do. His eyes cut back to me. “You shouldn’t have seen that stuff, but now that you have…it’s over, Simone.”
“What?” I exclaim with a cry. “No. Van…please, just tell me what this is. Whatever it is, I don’t care.”
“Fuck,” he yells again, his face contorted with fury, but he also looks so damn lost.
“Why would you push me away without giving me an explain—”
“Because my father is a goddamned sociopathic serial killer,” he screams at me, and even though I had slightly suspected that because of the photo, his words cause me to stumble back a bit.
“Yeah, see,” he sneers at me. “Not so attractive anymore, am I, Simone? That look on your face says it all.”
That rattles me and I shake my head, taking a step toward him. “No, Van…you just caught me by surprise.”
He takes two big steps back from me, holding his hands out, the one clutching the photograph so hard it’s crumpled into a ball. “Just stay the fuck away from me.”
My instinct takes over—my true instinct—and instead of running away, I’m flying at him. I slam my body into his, wrapping my arms tight around him. Pressing my face into his chest, I squeeze him as hard as I can.
He just stands there, his breathing harsh and labored, his arms hanging loose and not holding me back.
I turn my head, lay my cheek over his heart. “Van…I don’t give a fuck what your father is. It’s you I care about.”
“You shouldn’t,” he mumbles, and I tip my head back to look at him. He’s staring at me, his eyes flat and dull. “You shouldn’t care about someone like me. I told you I don’t have anything to give.”
“Bullshit,” I snap at him. “You have everything to give. Why would you think that?”
Van pulls away from me, but his hands go to my shoulders. He peers down at me. “Do you know what it’s like for a kid to watch their father arrested, and then tried for horribly gruesome crimes? And for your mom to insist he’s innocent, but deep in your heart…you just know he’s evil. And yet how confusing it is to love that man? By loving him, did that mean I condoned what he did?”
“Absolutely not,” I say adamantly, but he doesn’t hear me.