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Harlan’s words stab at my heart. I always knew in my heart it was true. The evidence has always been mounting againstHarlan’s dad. But his role in the community and his ties to law enforcement protected him. It helped him get away with murder.

“You can’t deny it Dad, there’s years worth of your extermination ploy rotting in that fucking house. I don’t know how you didn’t think I’d see it! Considering that you haven’t let me fucking leave you in years!”

An empty, hollow grin becomes smeared on his father’s face. Tears rim the pastor’s eyes like he’s hearing everything Harlan is saying, but he won't admit to himself it’s true.

That he’s the monster he’s been preaching against.

The one I always knew he was… yet even I am in shock.

“It’s all bullshit.” His dad brushes off the accusations, barely even giving Harlan the time of fucking day. As usual, all his rage, misplaced as ever, is on me.

Why should I be surprised?

Why would now be any fucking different?

“Is it though?” I break my silence, interjecting myself in their conversation. “Is it all bullshit? Everything your own son is saying makes perfect sense. You took my mother’s life, then claimed her death and ran with it. Making the people of our town think that the Devil himself was after us. That you were the first line of defense and protection we all needed to be able to escape the fate that found my mother… and Harlan’s… and fuck knows how many more. You fabricated the truth to protect your own filthy lies.”

A boisterous roar sounds from the crowd before a dull hum—a chanting hum—replaces it.

“You’re fucking crazy. No one will believe you. Not after what you’ve done.”

He keeps saying that. What exactly does he think I’ve done that could be worse than what he’s done?

He looks at me with a new wave of confusion and shock, almost as though he is reading my mind and mirroring my own confusion. “You can’t be serious, Araceli. You can’t still be denying what you are and what you keep fucking doing. Now getwith it and untie me… now!” He roars, and I’m in utter disbelief that this man is so thickheaded. He is so lost in the delusions he preaches about that even now, with his son dressed as the leader of a fucking cult for fuck’s sake, he’s blaming me for this—like he’s always done.

“Araceli Rainey,” he begins, saying my name in a reprimanding tone that I will not tolerate. Not from him. Not again, and certainly not now.

“Don’t call me that,” I mutter, charging him. The edge of the knife now within inches of his neck. Oh, how I want nothing more than to plow it through his neck. I could. Fuck, I should. But what’s stopping me? Would turning to violence—the type of violence he has always mocked me for writing about—mean he’s right somehow?

Harlan senses my inner turmoil and he walks back over to me, stationing himself at my ear, but doesn’t say anything.

His father continues his taunting. “Rainey. Rainey. Rainey.” He mocks me. “That's who you are now. A disgrace to my name, but a Rainey, nonetheless. At least when you die, your horror will overrule mine.”

“Don’t listen to him, sister.” Harlan lifts his hands over his head to clap and the chanting intensifies.

“Shut up!” His dad yells but it only makes the chanting volume increase, yet every word Harlan is saying to me is clear as day.

“Tell him who you are,” Harlan demands.

I freeze. Who am I anymore?

I know who I was before I encountered Pastor Rainey.

Happy.

I know what I’ve become.

Numb.

Tormented.

Anything but happy.

But who am I? At my core. I don’t know anymore.

I don’t know who or what I am, other than angry.

“Tell him,” Harlan repeats, this time whispering something in my ear that makes my blood run cold. “Tell him that you're the daughter of Lucien Suárez.”