The Original Sinner: The Saint Part 20

"He's also dangerous, Little One, and I don't use the word lightly."

She suppressed a smile. When he called her Little One, her fingers trembled and her feet itched and her thighs tightened.

"I like him already. He's your friend?"

"Yes. Now put the card away. Keep it safe. Emergency use only. Understood?"

"Understood."

She slipped the card into her back pocket.

"Okay, now you can have my story."

"Thank you." S0ren stuck the folder under his arm. "Before I take full possession of this fine piece of erotic satire, might I ask you one question?"

"I really wish you wouldn't."

"Why does the king tie Esther to the bed?"

Eleanor c.o.c.ked her head to the side. That wasn't the question she'd expected him to ask.

"I don't know. I've been reading these books by Anne Rice and there's a lot of stuff like that in them."

"I think you do know why he did it, and it isn't because you read about it in a book. Tell me the truth."

She pondered the question a moment.

"I think he tied her to the bed for the same reason a smart man who is not an idiot would put a lock on his Ducati."

"Because he doesn't want it stolen?"

"No," she said, and knew she had the right answer. If this was a test she'd show up to take it with nothing but a pencil.

"Then why?"

"Because he loves it."

14.

Eleanor THANKSGIVING BREAK ARRIVED AND ELEANOR nearly cried with relief. Finally she would have her answers from S0ren. She'd watered that G.o.dd.a.m.n stick in the ground for six straight months without missing a single day. She'd been sick in bed, and she'd gone to water it. It had stormed, and she'd watered it. It had even snowed last week, and she'd trudged through six inches of white powder in her beat-up combat boots and watered it. That day, it had been so unnaturally cold the water had turned to ice the moment it touched the ground. The day after Thanksgiving equaled exactly six months from the day she'd begun. She had twelve questions ready for S0ren. He'd better be ready to answer them.

1. What's the second reason you're helping me?

2. What's the third reason being with me is problematic?

3. Why will your friend help me?

4. Why does a priest have his own handcuff key?

5. Whose feet should I be sitting at?

6. Why does everyone at church think your name is Marcus Stearns and your Bible says your name is S0ren Magnussen?

7. Why do you want me to obey you forever?

8. Are you a virgin?

9. I'm a virgin. Are you okay with that?

10. When will you keep your end of the deal?

11. Who are you?

12. Are you in love with me?

If she had the answers to all these questions, she knew she would know everything she needed to know about S0ren.

She spent Thanksgiving Day alone with her mom. They had turkey and mashed potatoes and a chocolate pie Eleanor had begged her mother to make. Eleanor slept for four straight hours after their dinner. She blamed the turkey for her coma but she knew it was simple exhaustion. Going to school five days a week and then spending seven days a week at church had worn her out. She couldn't complain, though. Better than juvie.

The day after Thanksgiving dawned bright and cold and painfully beautiful. She had to squint to see the sky for all the light s.h.i.+ning down and reflecting off the snow. Her mother had to work that day, so Eleanor had the house to herself. Bliss. Utter bliss. She ate leftovers, wrote, read and tried not to obsess over the answers S0ren would have to her questions. She would go to Sacred Heart this evening on the pretense of working on something. She'd water that f.u.c.king stick for the final time, go to S0ren's office and hand him her list of questions. And then she'd have something truly to be grateful for.

She lay down to take a nap. What if their conversation went late into the night? She needed to be ready for that. But as soon as she lay down on her bed, the phone rang.

With a curse and a groan, she dragged herself to the phone.

"h.e.l.lo?" she said, trying not to sound 100 percent irritated.

"Happy Thanksgiving, baby girl."

"Dad?" Eleanor's heart dropped.

"Of course it's your dad." He laughed, but Eleanor couldn't.

"Why are you calling me?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I love my daughter and miss her? Maybe because I haven't heard her voice in months and I knew her mom would be working today."

"Dad, we're not allowed to talk to each other."

"Who said?"

"Mom. My lawyer. My ... Everybody." Her father definitely didn't need to know about S0ren.

"We're not breaking any laws. A man has a right to see his own child."

"What do you mean, see?"

"I want you to come see me, Elle. Please? I'm going to be sentenced soon," he said, his voice now devoid of all levity. "I'd love to see you one more time before I have to go away."

"Where are you?" she asked.

"I have a little place in Was.h.i.+ngton Heights. You can be here in, what, an hour and a half? We'll have dinner and talk a little. You'll be back long before your mom gets home. How about it?"

"That's not a good idea," she said, even as her heart broke at the thought of her father going to prison. She'd never forgiven him for abandoning her the night she got arrested. But the truth was, she never really expected him to come in like a white knight and save her. That wasn't his style. He was still her father, though, and she knew how brutal a real prison could be.

"Baby, it might our last chance to see each other for years. You know that, right? Years. Your mom will never let you come visit me once I'm in. She always works Friday nights, right?"

She did. Eleanor was alone. And her father was right-her own lawyer had said her father would probably be imprisoned in another state hours away.

"I don't know...."

"It's okay. I understand." She could tell from his tone how hurt and disappointed he was. "But write down my address anyway? In case you change your mind?"

"Okay, fine. Give it to me." She figured it wouldn't hurt for her to have it. She scribbled the address down on a sc.r.a.p of paper.

"I hope you change your mind. I've missed you so much. You doing okay?"

"Good," she said. "I'm really good."

"That's good, baby," he said softly, with such tenderness in his voice she found her eyes filling with tears and her throat closing up. "I want you to be happy."

"I am. Promise."

"Good. And you know I'm sorry I got you mixed up in my mess."

"I know. I know you're sorry."

"Miss you. I'm home all day if you change your mind."

"All right. Happy Thanksgiving." She didn't know what else to say.

"I love you, Elle. Always have, always will."

Eleanor could barely swallow for the pain in her throat.

"Love you, too," she whispered.

And then he hung up.

It wouldn't hurt, would it? Seeing him for an hour? Except S0ren had told her never to speak to or see her father again. Maybe he'd let her if she asked permission? Maybe he'd understand that she wouldn't see her dad again for years and this might her last chance.

She picked up the phone again and called Sacred Heart. She had the number that rang directly into S0ren's office. But it wasn't S0ren who answered.

"Sacred Heart Catholic Church," a woman's voice answered over the line.

"Hi, Diane, it's Elle," she said to S0ren's secretary. "Is Father S. in? I have a question for him about my hours."

"No, hon. He's out of town with family for the holiday. Father Jim O'Neil from Immaculate is handling the ma.s.ses until he gets back. Can I help you?"

Eleanor couldn't answer at first. S0ren was out of town for the holiday? But they had plans. He'd promised to answer her questions as soon as she finished watering the stick. That would be today. He hadn't even told her he was leaving.

"Elle?"

"No, it's cool. It wasn't important."

A sense of betrayal seared her. How could S0ren have forgotten about her? Forgotten to even tell her he was leaving for four days? He would have been furious at her if she disappeared without telling him where she'd gone. And he'd done it like it was nothing, like her feelings and their plans didn't matter at all.

She looked down at the sc.r.a.p of paper and the address on it.

If S0ren couldn't be bothered to keep up his end of the bargain, why should she?

She took a quick shower and put on her best clothes-a new pair of jeans and a low-cut black sweater with a label from some fancy boutique she'd found at Goodwill, the original tags still on it. Was.h.i.+ngton Heights wasn't the greatest neighborhood, but she wanted to look good for the city. She shoved her feet into her boots and grabbed her coat. She had about a hundred dollars saved in ones and fives rubber banded around the business card for Edge Enterprises tucked in her dresser. That was more than enough to get her to the city and back.

She took a bus to Westport, where she caught the train to Manhattan and then the subway to Was.h.i.+ngton Heights. She'd been running on pure anger for the past three hours but now that she'd arrived at her father's building, a new feeling of dread threatened to take its place. The building looked one step above condemned. People on the street pa.s.sed her, shooting her suspicious looks. But she wouldn't give in to her fears. She buzzed her father's apartment. When he heard her voice he almost sounded smug.

He buzzed her in and she climbed four foul-smelling sets of stairs to his apartment. He opened the door, and before she could say h.e.l.lo, he'd grabbed her and smothered her in a bear hug.

"Good to see you, too, Dad," she said, nearly struggling for air.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n, I can't believe you're here." He pulled back and looked at her. "Who are you? And what have you done to my daughter?"

"I am your daughter."

"Don't look it. You look twenty years old now. When did that happen?"

"It's the clothes and the makeup."

"Supermodel."

"Stop it." She rolled her eyes. "I'm too short."

"And too pretty. You don't get that from me." He let her go at last and she glanced around his apartment. A small studio, it might have been nice if someone cleaned it up, put some decent furniture in it. Her father clearly didn't have the decorating gene.

"I know it's not much to look at," he said, walking into the tiny kitchen. "I knew I wasn't going to be here long. But while you're here, take your coat off. Get comfortable."

She doubted she could ever feel comfortable in this place. Dirty dishes sat in haphazard stacks all over the apartment; clothes littered the floor. The whole place reeked of stale cigarette smoke and rotting food. She took off her coat and laid it over the back of the one chair that had the least amount of garbage on and around it.

"So ... do you know what's going to happen?" she asked.

"I'm going to prison," he said and took a beer out of the refrigerator. "Want one?"