Page 17 of Holden

Fuck, I’ve been doing that my whole life, desperately trying to escape the shame and despair and hatred from everyone who ever knew my father. Those same feelings vibrate from Holden, anger being the most visible, and it’s kind of terrifying.

I’m literally shaking.

Damn it. I hate that this is bringing up bad memories, but I came for a reason, and no matter how uncomfortable this is, I need to know the truth.

“Did he—?”

Holden’s eyes go stormy. “Tell us everything was going to be okay?” He shakes his head. “No. Did he show remorse for slaughtering our classmates? You know the answer to that too. He was a coward, Miss Faber. Nothing more.”

Again, I flinch. Holding the pen tight, I press down on the table to stop my hands from shaking. “He didn’t offer a…” The words gum up in my mouth. “Reason?”

Holden scoffs. “We were just teenagers,” he says, annoyance creasing his tanned forehead. “What possible rationale could he have given that we would understand?”

He’s right, but I keep pressing, looking for something, a word, a phrase, a sign that my father’s actions had some kind of meaning. Not to excuse him—Lord knows I’ll never forgive what he did—but to help me understand. And maybe to give me assurances that I’ll never turn out like him. A kind caring human one day…

A monster the next.

Holden shifts in his seat. “He asked me if I was afraid.”

My gaze lifts. “Were you?”

Holden looks away. “Of course, but I didn’t want him to know that.” He takes a long pull of water and slams the glass down. “We were damn kids. And he had a gun trained on us. What did he fucking think we’d be?”

With each rising pitch in Holden’s tone, my stomach whirls with indecision. I’m grateful he’s opening up, but I don’t want him to get angry.

“A second later he asks another kid—Jamie Provencal—whether she was afraid. She said no…” Holden’s expression darkens. “He shot her anyway.”

I suck in a gasp.

“Asshole said he could tell Jamie was lying.”

My head goes light. I can’t parse this description of my father, can’t navigate the memories from my early childhood with those after this tragedy. He was both Jekyll and Hyde, two extreme versions of each personality.

I blink back a tear and try to steady myself. I have to keep composed at all costs.

“I’ll never forget the sound of that first shot,” Holden says, his voice cool. “It wasn’t the only one, of course, but it’s the one I remember best because in that moment, things changed. I changed.”

I resist the urge to ask him how the incident reshaped his life, reserving that question for much later in our 10-hour conversation. Instead, I focus on this moment, and the memories Holden seems to be drawing from, as though the incident is fresh and not years and years in the past.

“Did he appear frightened? Nervous?”

Holden snorts with disgust. “He was in control, heartless, and without empathy or emotion, the whole time.” He leans back in the chair, and glances over at the pictures of the other two men that survived that fatal day. “Lucas asked him why he was doing it.” He turns back, and stares at me. My stomach flips. I could swear he can see through me and straight to my big fat lie. That he somehow knows I am the daughter of that monster.

“And do you know what he said in reply?”

Bile rushes up my throat. I shake my head, too scared to open my mouth and vomit all over the Daylight Holdings boardroom table.

“He said, “Today, I will be God, judge and jury.””

I cup my hand to my mouth and stand, knocking the tape recorder onto the floor. My stomach roils like it’s a wasp nest buzzing with larvae.

Holden stands and grabs the pitcher of water. As he refills my glass, I try not to fall over. I’m dizzy, but mostly I’m embarrassed and shocked. Holden holds out the water. “Do you need a drink?”

I shake my head.

“You’re pale,” he says. “Can you sit?”

I can’t. But I’m not sure how long I can stand in one place either. “I think I just need to use the restroom.”