The man in the bed came into view slowly, the small bedside lamp illuminating him just enough to make out his features as we got closer. I sucked in a rancid breath of air, nausea hitting me in the stomach almost immediately. He was bloated, his skin bruised and mottled, peeling in areas, with an underlying yellow tinge. He was clearly extremely ill. In fact, I had a brief flash of the dead bodies I'd seen before escaping the flooded cellar at Acadia. But the part that made me gasp in horror was that underneath the distortion of the sickness, I could see Calder. Underneath the disease and the ugliness, there was beauty. It made my gut churn and I latched onto his arm and forced my gaze away from the man up into Calder's strong, healthy face. I closed my eyes briefly, feeling a measure of calm and looked back at the man. He was dying. He couldn't help the way he looked.

"Well come closer so I can get a look at you, Kieran," the man, Morris, said.

"Kieran?" Calder asked, his head flinching back slightly. We both took another step forward until we were standing near the end of the bed.

"Name I gave you. Kieran Reed."

"Kieran Reed," Calder repeated, a note of wonder in his voice.

Morris suddenly laughed and like his voice, the sound was deep and melodious, in complete and utter contrast to the look of him. I unconsciously took another step closer at the sound of it, but Calder pulled me back. The man's swollen looking lips turned up into what I assumed was supposed to be a smile.

"He wanted to name you something different. Fine by me, I said. He's yours now." He stared at us and a shiver went down my spine as I attempted not to look away in disgust.

"He?" Calder whispered. "Hector?"

Morris looked surprised for a second. "No, Thomas."

"Thomas, yes," Calder said, his voice even, but laced with confusion. "You knew he took me? I don't . . . You let him take me?"

"Take you?" Morris leered, "I sold you to him."

No one said a word for several horror-filled moments as we digested that information. The steady beep of some kind of machine to the right of Morris was the only sound filling the thick, stale air. Morris picked up an oxygen mask next to him and took several long inhales.

"Sold me?" Calder finally breathed out.

Morris leaned back on his pillow, contemplating Calder, his eyes bright with. . . something. "Said he needed you to balance out his whackadoo community." He let out another musical laugh. "Not that I cared . . . much. You were a little thorn in my side anyway—always following me around everywhere, wanting something."

"How  old was I?" Calder croaked.

My body had begun shaking and I couldn't seem to get it to stop. Oh, Calder. I could practically feel the grief emanating off of him. My heart squeezed tightly.

"Three."

"Gods above," Calder choked out, letting go of my hand and grabbing the hair at his temples.

"How'd you know Thomas?" I asked, trying not to tear up.

Morris's eyes swung toward me. "Look at you, pretty thing." He sat forward. "Used to have little girls like you between my legs all the time," he said, his eyes drooping slightly.

"Don't look at her!" Calder yelled, breaking the quiet of the room and startling me. He grabbed me and moved me halfway behind his own body. "Keep your eyes on me, you sick, disgusting old man."

As I peeked out from behind Calder, Morris's eyes filled with amusement. He was enjoying this. Who was this person? The whole situation felt unreal—a grotesque nightmare—something you tried to describe to someone else later and couldn't find the words because there were none.

"Well now, this is good timing," Morris said, ignoring Calder's insult. "I'm glad I get to tell this story before I meet my maker." His face moved into that same leering semblance of a grin and I imagined exactly who this man's maker was. "It's a good one." His eyes narrowed on Calder and then moved between us for several tense moments as if he was making sure we were as interested as he wanted us to be. He nodded.

"Yeah, I knew Thomas from the university. I had to bring you along with me a couple times to get my paycheck when you wouldn't keep your trap shut. He saw you. Took an interest. Came out to see me one day and made me an offer I could hardly refuse." My scalp prickled and the hair on my arms stood up in alarm. I held tightly to Calder when I felt him sway slightly.

Morris sighed. "I always did like the drink and the gambling," he said and shrugged. "You like the drink, Kieran? If you do, you get that from me." He winked, showing us his full swollen eyelid, and then laughed heartily as if he'd made some sort of joke.

"What'd you figure he wanted me for?" Calder asked, ignoring his question, his voice sounding dead.

The man let out another smooth laugh and shrugged. "Figured he liked pretty kids. What he did with you was his business." He leaned forward very slightly. "I made him pay though. Every year, he paid me. Came in person to deliver me cash."

"Came in person?" Calder repeated. It sounded like he was in shock. I considered pulling him out of there, bolting out of this house of horror and disgust. But my legs wouldn't move. It felt like I was glued to the spot as my mind tried to grasp the evil of the story this man, Calder's father, was telling us. And for what? To relieve his own conscious? No, for his amusement. It was clear he was enjoying this.

"I cried for you," Calder said. "Holy gods, I cried for you." And now I could hear the emotion in his voice and everything in me screamed out to protect him. I pulled at him, but he resisted, staying rooted to the spot. "So much it damaged my throat," he choked out.

Morris's expression took on a glittering interest. "Oh yeah? Yeah," he said as if realizing how much sense that made. "You liked me. 'Da' this and 'Da' that, even cleaned up after me when I was too drunk to move. That's why I made sure I got paid." He nodded as if he had just made a very valid point.

The room around me seemed to sway. This was too horrific to be real. I shook my head slightly in case this was all a terrifying nightmare I could snap out of.

Calder sucked in a breath and turned to leave. His expression was calm, but there was a clear glaze of panic in his eyes.  He reached out to wipe a tear from my cheek and it was only then that I realized I was crying silently.

"Who was my mother?" Calder asked.

Morris seemed confused by the question. "Oh, her? Some little girl claimed I took advantage of her." He shrugged slowly, and then huffed out a breath, as if the small raise of his shoulders was an effort. "I didn't even remember who she was when she showed up here dropping you off on my doorstep practically. I could see you were mine though. You had my good looks." He laughed, deep melody ringing throughout the room and my muscles tensed. "She was an Indian. You know, the feather kind." He brought one bloated hand slowly up to his lips and rapped it against his open mouth, making an ow wow wow wow sound. I flinched as he laughed again, deep and hearty. We turned away again.

"Don't you want to hear the real secret though?" Morris raised his voice.

We both froze, turning back to him. His face was filled with excitement.

As we stared at him, Morris wheezed in a couple sharp breaths and turned to grab the oxygen mask again and bring it to his face, sucking in several gasping breaths before finally bringing it away from his mouth.

"Thomas came here several years back when you'd turned eighteen to make me the final payment." He put the mask to his face and sucked in a breath and then brought it away again. How was his voice so deep and clear if he could barely breathe? I gripped Calder more tightly and he tensed.

"I had just gotten my diagnosis. Was already in this hospital bed. The docs told me I only had six months at the most and yet here I am." He laughed and I stared. "Figured there wasn't any reason not to tell him the truth. You know, time to clear my conscience and all that." He laughed again and vomit rose up my throat. "I killed his family. Broke into the rich professor's house. They weren't even supposed to be home." He looked off behind us for a second and then shrugged. "I thought he was going to drop dead right here before I got a chance to." He sighed as if that had not been the reaction he'd been looking for.

"You killed his family?" Calder said, his voice dead. "You stabbed them. It was you. All those years, he paid you for me, the man who had murdered his family." His voice sounded cold and matter-of-fact and it sent dread through my body. That's why, oh God, that's why Hector came back from that pilgrimage disheveled and…crazed. All those years ago. The truth slammed into me. It was the final piece that had broken him.

Morris eyed us with something that looked like disappointment on his sickly, bloated face. "Yup. That was the way of it. He just walked out of here. Didn't even try to kill me."

We were all silent for several, long moments. Finally Calder spoke. "That's because you're already dead." He grabbed my hand and started walking out of the room and I followed on numb legs, glancing behind me once. He was in shadow again and a strong chill went through my body.

"That's it?" he called. "Kieran? Kieran? Get back here, boy! Your father's giving you an order. Get back here!"

Calder picked up his pace, practically dragging me through the narrow space as Morris's big, impossibly booming voice called after him. Addy stepped out of the front room next to the doorway and she looked confused as we flew by her. When we got to the door, Calder turned to her and said, "You should get out of here. He's a dangerous man—"

We all froze as we heard something overturn, the oxygen machine, I assumed, and then Morris calling out for help. Demanding it. We all blinked at each other, our eyes wide with fear and surprise. None of us moved. Then the shrill sound of the heart machine that had been declaring the steady beat of his black heart suddenly flatlined. We stared at each other, no one moving. Addy took a deep breath and turned back toward the front room. We watched as she sat back down on a small wooden stool next to an open window and picked up the book she'd been reading and flipped one of the pages.

We opened the door and stumbled outside, sucking in big gulps of the open air. I followed Calder to the car and waited as he pulled clothes out of our suitcases. His movements were quick and jerky and he struggled several times with the easy task. "Calder—" I croaked. He shook his head, not making eye contact with me.

"Please, Eden, take those clothes off," he said, his voice cracking.

I nodded, struggling to hold back tears. We both stripped behind the car and pulled on the clean outfits and Calder kicked the ones we'd removed to the side, not bothering to pick them up. No one would notice a couple more pieces of mess on this lot anyway.

We got in the car, and Calder pulled out onto the road, his hands shaking on the wheel.

"Find a hotel," I whispered.

Calder gave no indication he heard me, but twenty minutes out of town, there was a sign for a hotel before one of the highway exits and he pulled off. We checked into the hotel, not speaking a word to each other. Up in our room, Calder went quickly into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. I heard the shower turn on and sunk down in the chair by the window.

I was still shaking, trying to get a hold of my emotions, trying to calm my racing heart. Naturally, Calder was devastated by what he'd just learned, I was sure even more so than me. I prayed the shower would give him a little time to compose himself and figure out what he was feeling. I was so eager to comfort him, but didn’t really know how. Every minute spent waiting for him hurt, but I knew in my heart he needed to be by himself for now. How much more betrayal could this man take? He was sold by his father. For alcohol and gambling money. My mind still reeled. How could anyone do that to such a beautiful boy? I wanted to fall down on my knees and sob. But I wouldn't. I would hold myself together for Calder. I would be his strong morning glory.

Fifteen minutes later, Calder came out of the bathroom and looked at me. His eyes were rimmed in red and I thought he'd been crying. My heart squeezed in pain and I stood up to go to him.

"You should take a shower," he said, numbly. "Wash him, that smell, off you. I can't stand it."

I blinked at him, but nodded. "Are you—" I started.

"Please, Eden," he said, his expression miserable, his voice extra raspy.

We stared at each other for a few seconds and then I nodded again and he moved out of the way as I passed him. When I glanced down at his hands, I saw that they were still shaking. Oh, Calder. It felt like my heart was breaking, so I could barely imagine what his was doing.

I shut the bathroom door behind me and took a long, hot shower, washing my hair three times and scrubbing my skin with a washcloth until it stung.

When I opened the door to the room, wearing only a towel, I looked around. It was empty. Calder had left.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Eden

I lay awake on the hotel room bed, not moving a muscle, listening to the soft whir of the fan I had left on in the bathroom. Calder had taken the car and gone somewhere. I knew he wouldn't desert me, pregnant and alone here in the middle of a state I'd never been to before. He wouldn't. We'd been through much worse than this, and Calder had always sought to protect me. I refused to believe this had broken him for good. Yes, it was horrifyingly awful, unthinkable, devastating, and sick on so many levels, I hadn't even tried to count. But we'd deal with the emotions of it together—we'd have to. What other choice was there?

I thought about texting Xander, but I couldn't bring myself to give him part of the story and leave him hanging. That wouldn't be fair. And I couldn't bear to talk to him about Morris when I hadn't even talked to Calder about him yet.