Page 193 of Taming Seraphine
It takes a few moments for my brain to process the lumps of flesh floating in the red water are his testicles and what remained of his half-rotted penis. Gruesome wouldn’t fully encompass the scene. It looks like one of Seraphine’s pictures.
His rasping breaths fill the room, punctuated by the occasional moan. I’m impressed at how she’s managed to keep him alive.
She has outdone herself.
The sound of a hairdryer breaks me out of my thoughts, and I tear my gaze away from Samson’s disembodied genitals to find Seraphine standing over him holding a hairdryer attached to the mains.
My eyes widen. “What are you?—”
She drops the appliance into the tub. Samson’s body thrashes, splashing red-tinged water over her pretty robe, and then falls still.
She turns to me, her smile bright. “I told you!”
“Told me what?” I ask.
“You said my story about the man I electrocuted in the bathtub was bullshit,” she says. “Now that you’ve seen the proof, it’s time for you to apologize.”
My gaze darts from the smartphone balancing on the sink, the metal scalpel embedded in his eye, and the empty bags of salt strewn on the floor. She must have searched to find a way to make the water more conductive just to prove her point.
My heart swells with pride at the thought of her researching ways to hone her craft.
“Come here,” I say.
She walks over with her chin raised, looking triumphant.
I pull her into my chest. “You’re perfect just the way you are. Don’t ever change.”
“And?”
“And I’m sorry.”
Seraphine rocks forward on her tiptoes and places a kiss on my lips. “I love you, too.”
SEVENTY-SIX
ONE WEEK LATER
SERAPHINE
I spend the next few days taking care of Leroi, making sure he takes his meds and sits still while I change the dressings on his wounds. He pretends to be exasperated at all my fussing, but the twinkle in his eyes says he enjoys seeing me so caring.
In between meals and baths, we sleep. Right now, I’m snuggled against his side with an arm slung over his chest. The afternoon sun shines through the cottage’s patio doors, bathing its whitewashed walls in warm light.
I trace the contours of his chest with my fingertips and enjoy the feel of the rise and fall of his breath. His skin is warm under my touch, and I marvel at the slow beat of his heart. The veins running under his skin are still beautiful, but all those fantasies I had about shedding Leroi’s blood are gone. I can’t imagine anything so horrific.
Leroi was right. Family isn’t always built on blood. It’s built on loyalty, love, sacrifice, and trust. He murdered his two closest friends to keep me safe, and that has erased all my doubts.
There aren’t enough words to express my remorse for stabbing him in the stomach, and I plan to spend the rest of my life making sure he feels loved.
Leroi has forgiven me and says I was still reeling from the shock of several discoveries: Samson being alive, Mom’s death being a lie as was the constant video feed I saw of an emaciated Gabriel.
Before Samson died, he confessed that the man I saw in the darkened room wasn’t even my brother, but an addict who bore a resemblance. Samson now rests in several pieces thanks to Don and his clean-up crew, but I have another dilemma.
Mom and Gabriel.
Leroi stirs beneath me, his eyes fluttering open. His fingers thread through my hair, sending tingles across my scalp. I bury my head in the crook of his neck and pretend to be asleep.
“You need to stop shutting down every time I try to bring up your family,” he says.