The Secrets of a Sin, page 21
“How did you find out it’s him?” He growls with his hair scattered over his forehead and his hand balled into a fist.
I stare at his whitened fist, watching as the veins in his hand become more pronounced. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. I was just afraid of what he would do to someone else.
“He has a tattoo on his arm. The same words that are on Phoebe’s necklace are embedded in his skin.”
“Fuck!” He shouts, slamming his palm onto his steering wheel with ferocity. “Where is this motherfucker?” He throws the car into drive and instantly zooms off, causing my back to smack the seat.
“Arsen!” I shout, scouring for the seat belt. “Where are we going?” I frantically ask as he begins to drive like a complete maniac. He turns the steering wheel so quickly that my face almost smacks the glass.
“Where is he?” He growls as we are now on the two-lane road, and his foot smashes the gas. I cower back into the seat, fearful for what Arsen was planning to do.
Was he planning on killing him?
The idea didn’t seem too far-fetched, especially knowing that Arsen had a questionable dark side to him that I’ve only partly witnessed. As a child, he was able to execute another man's life, so now, there was no doubt in my mind he was capable of doing it again.
“He’s in custody, Arsen.” I have a death grip on the seat belt as he starts passing the slower vehicles ahead of us. “If anything, he’s at the police station being questioned by the cops again.”
He doesn’t respond or even notices that I’m terrified and holding on for dear life beside him. Instead of taking in what I just told him and calming down, he pulls straight into the police station parking lot and parks towards the back. “Stay here.” He barks before exiting the car and slamming the door shut in my face.
What the hell…
I wait and wait for what feels like hours, even though only fifteen minutes have passed. I’m half-tempted to walk into the station to see what's going on, but that would only create more problems if Rolland saw that Arsen and I were together. So rather than incriminating myself, I remain cooped up in his car, staring impatiently out the window for him to come into view.
Was he speaking with Rolland about what he just found out? Was he talking with Mr. Rossi?
There was no way to know what was going on inside that building, but it probably wasn’t good knowing the mood Arsen was in. Time ticks by, and my anxiety heightens, but suddenly the front door opens, and Arsen comes barreling out. I sit straighter while watching his movements and find that his face is still stuck on a scowl. He flings open the door and throws himself inside on a sigh.
“What happened?” I frantically ask, but I try to stay as cautious as I can, given the state he’s in.
“He’s not there.” He grunts as he starts the car, and my brows instantly lower in confusion.
What did he mean he’s not there? Where else could he be?
“Where is he?” I question as my curiosity rises.
“They let him go.” He starts to back out of the parking lot, and I jerk back. “He told them he never touched that girl and he had proof from the other students who were there. So, they let the bastard go.”
“Who did you talk to? Detective Pierce?”
Scoffing, he turns down the road that's the opposite direction of the school. “Fuck no. He wouldn’t have given me any answers-Besides, he wasn’t even there. I was talking to some dip shit cop who gave me all the information I needed to know, including his address.” He pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket and hands it over to me.
Oh my god.
Was he seriously planning on driving to his house and confronting him? I immediately know it's a terrible idea and start to shake my head profusely. “Arsen, we can’t just show up at his house like that.” I try to talk some sense into him, but to do that, he’d have to be listening.
All that's floating inside his head right now is vengeance.
“It’s time for some fucking answers, Charlotte. I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of her death being pushed under the rug.” He snaps. “This man. Your teacher. He has everything I need, and I don’t care if it means disrupting his family as I break down his front door.” My breathing falters as his eyes remain locked onto the road. “He knocked Phoebe up. A forty-year-old man and my eighteen-year-old sister, who’s now dead. I think it’s time for him to atone for his fucking actions.”
19
ARSEN
I pound on the door with everything I have till my fist burns, and Charlotte tries to calm me.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
I let the obnoxious sound vibrate through the home until a distinct voice screams. “I’m coming, dammit!” As soon as I hear footsteps, I prepare for what I’ve been dying to do. I put my arms at my sides, and when the door starts to open, I bring up my fist. I rear back before I can even get a decent view of his fucking face and slam my knuckles directly onto the spot between both of his eyes. My fist immediately flares in pain as our bones mash, but nothing could compare to the fiery frenzy that's devouring me whole right now. I wasn’t focusing clearly as my mind was scattered with a million and one ideas with what I would do once I found out who murdered my sister. It was almost too good to be true that he was standing directly in front of us without so much of an inkling of who I was or why I was there.
“You mother fucker!” I snarl as his hands now conceal his face, and his form slightly capsizes. I want to see his face, see the same eyes that Phoebe stared into before she was brutally executed by the man she thought loved her. My rage only grows as I take in his peppered hair and the photo of a small boy hanging on the wall to the right of him.
This twisted fuck has kids.
I almost forget Charlotte is with me when I feel her small fingers circle around my arm in desperation, but even she can’t calm the deadly storm brewing within me.
“Who the hell are you?” He shouts frantically, placing a palm on the wall to steady himself as the right side of his face becomes visible.
Pulling myself out of Charlotte’s grip, I step further into the house with a frenetic beat to my heart. His one eye studies me almost too thoroughly that it starts to make my stomach churn violently with the need to eliminate his ability to see. After everything he did, blinding him wouldn’t come close to what the man deserves. “Who the hell am I?” I chuckle in a dark growl. “Who the fuck were you to my goddamn sister?”
Then, he suddenly notices that Charlotte is behind me as he peers over my shoulder with bewilderment across his face. Instantly, everything inside me blackens to the point I’m charging towards him again with wild eyes and deadly intent. His eyes widen, and he brings both palms up to cover his face in surrender.
“Keep your eyes on me, asshole.” I shout, knowing I’d lose all my sanity if he looked at Charlotte again.
“Look, I don’t know who you are or what the hell you’re talking about.”
With his hands now out in front of him, I can finally get a good look at his face. With a large bruise now forming directly above the bridge of his nose, he’s otherwise a normal-looking older man. Longish peppered hair, dark eyes, tanned skin, and a distinct mole above his eyebrow. I could understand why the students would fawn over him, but why the fuck would Phoebe choose him? He was married with kids, and I couldn’t for the life of me understand what the hell she had been thinking.
“You were her teacher, you sick fuck. Not to mention a teacher at a school for young, unstable girls who don’t need forty-year-old married men preying on them and filling their head with ideas.”
The color drains from his face, turning a ghostly shade of white that appears almost translucent. “Arsen?” He questions in a shaky voice.
Stepping forward again, I tilt my head and meet his troubled stare. “Yah, I’m Arsen, Phoebe’s brother, and if you don’t tell me exactly what you did to her, I’m going to smash your skull into the fucking wall so hard no one will be able to recognize who you are once I’m done.”
The air shifts almost immediately, and I blatantly notice the goosebumps that cover his body. He shakes his head repeatedly, and what looks to be tears start to fill his eyes.
“I didn’t kill Phoebe.” He continues to shake. “You don’t understand. I was in love with her.” He pleads while raking a hand through the top of his scalp.
“How could you be in love with her when you’re married with kids and twice her age?” I snarl, letting whatever rage take over and consume me. Soon, I’d be at the point of no return. Once it fully gains all control of my actions and emotions, prepare for destruction.
“I never meant for it to happen.” He says as if it’ll make his actions forgivable. “And when it did, we were both too consumed to let each other go.”
Closing the distance between us, I reach for the collar of his shirt and yank hard. “Well, it did happen, and now Phoebe’s fucking dead.” I glare into his cowardly eyes that only spur me further. “And I know you had something to do with it.”
“Arsen, let him go.” Charlotte begs, but I disregard her.
“We found the little fucking love letters you two sent back and forth to each other. And I know she was trying to break things off with you, but you didn’t seem too keen on the idea.”
“She was everything to me, my whole fucking world, even though I knew we were doomed from the very beginning.” His eyes drop as if in pain, but he peers back up. “Yes, she broke my heart, but I would never, ever lay a finger on Phoebe like that.”
I didn’t want to believe him, and I wasn’t going to. The letter said it all and more. He couldn’t stand the idea of her not being with him, so he took what he couldn’t have any longer from us. “You’d just slit her throat, right?”
His eyes bulged as more tears streamed down his cheeks. “I was in the process of divorcing my wife. Even if Phoebe wasn’t going to be with me, my wife’s and I’s marriage was over. I tried telling Phoebe that I’d leave the school and start a life with her, but I could tell something was off with her.” His eyes drift off into space. “Almost like she was forcing herself to get rid of me.”
“Or she realized just how messed up it was to be in a relationship with her teacher.” I shake his collar, tightening my grip on the fabric until my nail beds begin to ache.
“I saw her upset and crying in the hallway the day before she died.” Charlotte interrupts from behind me, causing both of our heads to swivel and focus on her. I immediately scowl, hoping she comprehends that I don’t want her speaking to this sick fuck, but instead, she continues. “She was holding the necklace I’m assuming you gave her.” She takes a hesitant step forward which has me tensing.
“That was the day I told her I was leaving my wife.” He meets Charlotte’s eyes, and I hold back from pounding the fucker’s face in.
“Why would she be crying then? And holding onto the necklace you gave her if she truly didn’t want to be with you anymore?” She questions.
Why the fuck was she questioning Phoebe’s actions?
He was the killer. The murderer. End of discussion.
“That’s because she wanted to be with me.” He admits. “But something was holding her back. Something was forcing her to avoid me.”
“Or someone.” Charlotte mumbles on a low breath that has me dropping his shirt and spinning in her direction.
“Are you seriously siding with him?” I growl as my hands begin to scorch with the need to subdue her, to cover her mouth from speaking any further before I really lose it.
“Arsen…” She pleads with those spellbinding eyes. “I’m on your side, always.” She offers reassurance, but it does nothing to soothe the betrayal. “But I don’t think he killed her. When I saw her that night, she was so damn upset. She was clinging to that necklace because she knew it was her only way to him. The only thing she had left of him.”
“I loved your sister, Arsen. As wrong and immoral as my actions were, I would have done anything for Phoebe. In life and death.” He confesses as I continue to watch Charlotte.
“Just the fuck up for a second!” I shout, feeling overwhelmed with emotions and confusion. Nothing is making sense anymore.
Was he being truthful? Was there really more to her death than I originally thought?
Who else would have a motive to kill Phoebe?
“Then how do you explain the girl who just accused you of touching her?” I twirl and glare into the circles of his eyes, waiting for him to refute. “How the fuck do you explain that?”
“I didn’t touch that girl.” He spits as if my accusation disgusts him. “She somehow knew about Phoebe and me. She told me that if I didn’t admit to supposedly coming onto her, that she’d tell everyone about Phoebe and I’s relationship.”
“Priscilla knew?” Charlotte asks on a gasp. “How?”
“I don’t know.” He shakes his head back and forth. “But she threatened me with my career, my children, my whole goddamn life. Then when I didn’t agree to her terms, she attacked me.”
Who the fuck is Priscilla? And why am I just now hearing her name now?
“Regardless, if I would have admitted it or not, I was going to be fired.” He runs his palm down his face.
“Why would she do that?” Charlotte questions herself more than him, which has me tensing.
“Because she’s fucking crazy.” He growls. “Along with those two other friends of hers.”
Charlotte instantly freezes. Full-on stiffens, and I find myself hurrying towards her and placing my palm onto her cheek.
“Why would you say that?” She questions not in a defensive way but in a curious one.
“You of all people should know the kinds of characters that walk through the halls of St. Catherine’s. They might not all be unstable, but those three are another breed of wicked.” He warns. “They appear innocent and friendly, but trust me, nothing good comes from those girls.”
What the hell is he talking about? And why does Charlotte look like she’s about to pass out?
“Stop fucking talking.” I warn him while gently running the pad of my thumb across her cheekbone. Her eyes look distant like she’s not even present in this moment. “Angel.” I whisper, hoping to draw her attention. “Look at me.” I order softly and notice a slight flutter in her eyes.
“I’m okay.” She whispers as her throat contracts from swallowing. Even though she says she’s okay, I don’t believe her. It comes naturally to me to notice when she is lying or telling the truth, so as I continue to rub her skin, I peer back over at Mr. Rossi.
“What the hell do those girls have to do with anything?” I snap.
“I don’t know yet.” He wipes at his lip. “But they aren’t innocent. And If I knew any better, they know a lot fucking more about Phoebe’s death than I do.”
Who were these fucking girls?
As we sit on his couch, both Charlotte and I conclude he isn’t Phoebe’s murderer. No matter how badly I wanted to believe he was. In my head, he was the only possible person that could have done it, but now, I’m not so sure.
“Start from the very beginning.” I lean forward on my knee while running a finger across my eyebrow.
On a deep sigh, Mr. Rossi rests a bag of peas over his upper nose and begins to confess. “My first hour, I had Phoebe in my class. She was quiet, kept to herself and I can honestly say that she didn’t show an ounce of interest in me in the beginning.” Even if he wasn’t her killer, I was still beyond livid that he would even think of having a relationship with a student. My fucking sister, to be exact. Though I wanted to strike him in the face again, I reluctantly let him go on. “But there was something about her I couldn’t ignore. I had this unexplainable pull towards her that no matter how hard I tried to avoid, I couldn’t. It made me feel sick and angry, but there was nothing I could do to turn it off.” He briefly closes his eyes as if trying to hold it together in front of us. “We started writing letters. It started innocent, then as time progressed, so did our love for one another. She was my sun, and I was her moon. Although it was forbidden, we knew we were destined to be together.”
I couldn’t meet his stare. I couldn’t look him in the face without seeing Phoebe in the reflection of his eyes. I didn’t fucking understand, but perhaps I was never meant to. In the short amount of time Phoebe was alive, he seemed to have made her happy. And falling in love was forever marked off her checklist because of him.
“So, you don’t know of anyone who would have ill-intent towards her?” Charlotte asks beside me.
“No, as I said, she was private. Kept to herself, but somewhere along the line, she began to change.”
Change?
“How so?”
“Just small things that I noticed. The way she talked. She was more irritable and hesitant with our relationship.”
Fuck.
He didn’t know.
Of course, he didn’t know.
Charlotte and I glance at each other, and he immediately notices the sadness that passes between us.
“What?” He questions, slightly irritated.
“Phoebe was pregnant.” I admit in a whisper.
Silence and grief fill the air around us. You can almost hear the pain in his every breath as he begins to process what I just confessed. Then, suddenly, the bag of ice on his forehead is thrown against the wall, and it shatters on impact.
“How did you find out?” He asks a little too calmly as his eyes brim with heavy tears that are about ready to fall.
“The coroner's office called me and told me she was eight weeks pregnant when she died.” My head drops as the anger from the call resurfaces, but like she knows I need soothing, Charlotte reaches for my hand.
