Page 22 of Captivated (Salvation #3)

Chapter Twenty

Ontario, Oregon

He stared at the dimly lit porch, his chest tight, his mouth dry.

You don’t have to do this. Turn around. It’s not your place. There’s still time to change your mind.

Nate had stopped listening to the voice of reason in his head at some point between Bozeman and Idaho Falls. Instead, he’d found a radio station that played songs with a heavy, thrumming bass, and he’d kept it there for the whole trip.

Perfect for his mood. He’d wanted his rage on simmer all the way to Oregon.

Except now he was there, Mark’s parents’ home a few feet away, and he had no clue what he was going to say to them.

They killed him.

He was a beautiful human being and they killed him.

In his mind he saw Mark as he’d been back when he was sixteen and Nate was fifteen. A broken, yet brave Mark who’d whispered under the covers.

I just want to go home, even if it means lying.

That was enough to get him out of the car and into the night, striding toward the front door.

It didn’t matter what time it was. He was there, and he wasn’t leaving until he made them face up to what they’d done.

Each footfall up to the porch was a heartbeat that hammered.

His hand trembled as he reached for the brass knocker, then he curled it into a fist. He pounded on the door.

Once. Twice. Again. And again.

Nate didn’t stop until a light snapped on inside and curtains stirred. Above him, the porch light burst into life. The door creaked open a sliver, and the woman behind it squinted through the chain.

“What do you want? Do you know what time it is?”

“I need to talk to you.” Nate’s voice cracked. “About Mark.”

There was a pause, then the chain clinked and the door opened wide. Her face was white in the porch light. “Who are you?”

“Someone who knew him.” His heart pounding, Nate stepped inside before she could move to stop him.

“You can’t just walk in here,” she protested as she tried to impede his progress. But Nate was inside and he wasn’t about to leave. She turned her head and called out, “Jim! There’s someone here about?—”

“Get out of my house,” a man’s voice boomed, rough with sleep and disbelief.

He appeared behind her, a robe clutched around him, his feet bare, his graying hair tousled.

He glared at Nate. “What in the name of God do you think you’re doing?

Do you know what time it is? Who are you?

” He pointed to the street. “Get out, I said.”

Nate squared his shoulders, doing his best to suppress the tremors spiking through him. “I’m not leaving. Not until you hear what you did. Not until you understand what you killed.”

Jim Omerod widened his eyes. “What in the name of… You don’t barge into someone’s home in the middle of the night, spewing nonsense. Who the hell are you?”

“I was with him.” Nate spat out the words. “At the camp. I know what you sent him into.”

Mrs. Omerod froze, and her husband’s expression shifted from anger to confusion, and then fear.

“You don’t understand,” she whispered. “We were trying to help him. He was lost. He was confused. We thought?—”

“You thought what?” Nate’s voice broke. “That if you electroshocked the gay out of him, he’d come back happy?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Jim said, his voice rising. “We didn’t know what else to do. He was a child. He needed guidance.”

“He needed love !” Nate shouted. “And what did you do? You buried him in shame and called it salvation.” The room swam in his vision.

He was shaking violently, his breathing ragged, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Every day at that camp, we were punished for just being . You know what that does to a kid? You know what it did to Mark? He smiled and took it. Said it was worth it if it meant you’d let him come home. ”

“That’s not fair.” Mrs. Omerod’s voice trembled. “He came home. He was getting better.”

Nate threw his hands in the air. “He was pretending! Couldn’t you see that? Or did you only see what you wanted to see? He was dying inside, and you clapped him on the back and called it progress.” His stomach roiled.

Jim narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know what we’ve been through. You don’t know how hard it was to make that decision. We did what we thought was best for our son.”

Nate shook with rage. “You thought wrong.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Why are we even listening to all this?” Jim pulled out his phone. “You’re not well. I’m calling the police.”

“Good,” Nate said with vehemence as Jim spoke into the phone. “Let the world know what you did.”

“No one’s going to know anything,” Jim snapped. “You think we want people finding out about that place? About what Mark?—?”

“Say it,” Nate demanded, his rage a fire that consumed him. “Say it. You don’t want anyone to know your son was gay.”

Their silence was answer enough.

Jim Omerod’s gaze grew cold. “I guess now I know what you were doing there, don’t I?

” His face tightened. “I was right. You’re just as sick as Mark was.

And I’m not going to stand hear and listen to another word.

” He gave Nate a shove, propelling him out onto the porch where he staggered, losing his footing.

The door slammed shut.

The flashing lights in the street were no surprise.

Two officers approached, but Nate was spent, his voice gone, his adrenaline run dry.

He barely heard a word they said or felt the cuffs, and a heartbeat later he sat on the cold bench in the back of the cruiser, Mark’s childhood home growing smaller behind him. Only one thought echoed in his skull.

Mark is gone, and they’re still lying.

Ontario’s police department was located within City Hall. Once Nate had been led inside and his details taken down, the police sergeant told him he could make one call before they took him to a holding cell.

Dad is going to freak.

He dialed the number, his hands shaking. After five or six rings, Dad answered, his voice heavy with sleep. “’Lo? Who is this?”

Nate swallowed. “Dad, it’s Nate. I… I’m at the police department in Ontario, in Oregon.”

Silence fell with a thud. “ Oregon ? What on earth are you doing there? And what did you do?”

“It’s a long story. Dad… I need you.” All the fight had gone out of him, and he was resisting the urge to cry.

A second later, his dad’s firm voice filled Nate’s ear. “I’m on my way.” He hung up.

Nate replaced the receiver. An officer ushered him to the holding cell where he sat under flickering lights alone, staring at the stains on the wall.

I fucked up.

Except part of him knew he’d made the trip to confront them not for himself, but for Mark. Questions bombarded him, for which there were no answers.

When did Mark leave that place?

What was his life like once he got home?

After meeting Mark’s parents, Nate already had an idea about that last one.

He closed his eyes, but despite his exhaustion, sleep eluded him. He had no idea of the time: there was no clock in the cell, and his phone had been taken from him.

What happens now?

Are they going to charge me?

His thoughts raced, a tumult of stark emotions and rising panic.

“Caldwell.”

He jumped. An officer stood in the doorway, beckoning. Nate stood, his legs weak, and followed him to the main desk.

Dad stood there, and his relieved expression tightened Nate’s chest. He walked over to him, and without a word, Dad held his arms wide. Nate stepped into the comforting circle and Dad enfolded him in a hug.

“Are you okay?”

Nate managed a nod. “Tired. That’s all.” A fatigue that had seeped into his bones. His eyes were hot with tears he couldn’t shed.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I got it all from the duty officer.”

“And what did he tell you?”

Dad frowned. “To be honest, it didn’t make a lot of sense. Something about you going to someone’s house, waking them up, and acting in a threatening manner. Which doesn’t sound like you at all.”

Nate huffed. “That’s because you don’t know the whole story.” Not that he was surprised. If they wouldn’t admit Mark was gay to me, they sure as shit wouldn’t say a word about that to the cops.

Dad released him. “Ready to go home?”

Nate blinked. “Huh?”

He pushed the hair back from Nate’s forehead. “Mr. Omerod called here about ten minutes ago. They’re not pressing charges.” Dad’s voice grew quiet. “They just want this to go away.”

Of course they do.

Nate collected his phone in silence, then followed his dad out of City Hall to where he’d left the car. The sky was pink and purple, the color of twilight at the edge of a new day. They got into the car and Nate fastened his seatbelt. Seconds passed, and his dad made no move to start the engine.

At last, Dad broke the silence. “Look, I know you must have gone there for a very good reason. I won’t ask what that was. But what I do want to know is, did you get what you needed?” His voice was gentle.

Nate shook his head. “No. But I said what I had to.” And maybe that was enough to help him move on.

Mark’s chapter was finished, the book closed.

Nate was ready for a new one.

“Where’s your car?”

“Still at the Omerods.” Not that he was in any state to drive it.

“Then let’s get you home and into bed. You need to sleep. We’ll deal with the car tomorrow. It’s only an hour’s drive to here.” Dad cocked his head. “Do the folks at Salvation know where you are?”

Nate shook his head. “I left without telling anyone.” He felt bad about that.

“So should I call Robert and cancel the rest of your stay there?”

His heartbeat raced. “No. Let me grab a few hours’ sleep, and then you can bring me to my car and I’ll head back to Montana.”

Dad frowned. “Don’t think you have to do this on my account. If you?—”

Nate laid his hand on Dad’s arm. “I want to go back. Until yesterday, I was doing better than I’d believed possible. Salvation…” He swallowed. “You were right, Dad. It’s a special place. And I don’t want to cut my visit short.”

Not now.

Confronting Mark’s parents had been painful, but at the same time, it had been a cathartic experience, and Nate wanted to build on that.

“They’re going to have a lot of questions, you know that, right?”

Nate knew Dad was referring to the folks at the ranch.

“I know.” He expelled a breath. “And maybe now I’m ready to answer them.”

He owed them that much.

More than anything, he owed Zeeb an explanation. He needs to know.

What shocked Nate was that he wanted to tell him.