The Truth About Unspeakable Things, Emily Myers [bookstand for reading TXT] 📗

keys of the piano. It’s painful and filled with longing. They are beautiful as they dance to it. And for the first time, I am jealous of my sister and her fiancé. And that makes me truly happy.

My mom moves next to me and places her arms over my shoulders. I give her a pained smile and just as I go to look away, she pulls me back to her and wraps her arms around me.

“One day, Emma,” she whispers to me. “One day.”

Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t allow them to fall.

“One day,” I whisper.

My mother rubs my back and pulls away. “I’ll be in the kitchen preparing for tomorrow, if you need me.”

“Okay, Mom,” I say with a nod.

“Hey Bill! Why don’t you join me and a few of the guys in the pool house for a night cap?” my dad asks.

“Yeah, sure thing, Mr. C,” Bill calls back. “Let me just say goodnight to Eva first.”

“See you out there,” my dad says with a nod.

I slide into the foyer before my dad notices me and wait for him to make his way through the dining room and out the back through the family room. This is it—my moment.

Chapter 26

I sit on my bed in the dark and plug the jump drive I stole from my dad’s office into my laptop. It took a while to find, but I knew it would be here. Someone as arrogant as my father would never dream of someone slipping in and stealing it, especially when they don’t know what they’re looking for. But the second I saw the letter G, I snatched it and ran. It’s just after midnight and he’ll be in from his nightcap soon. I download all the files to my computer without looking at them, just in case I run out of time. Once the downloads finish, I take a deep breath and click on a few to make sure the files transferred properly.

What I find is not only disturbing, it’s disgusting. There’s a registry of members spanning multiple U.S. states and it holds thousands of names. One in particular stands out—Mason Cole: Member ID, 576891, Status, Active, Location, New Orleans, LA. I pray that’s only true because of the night he followed me there.

I scroll through the list and find members in all the major U.S. cities. This list, along with the video I have from the other night, is grounds enough for the police to investigate them. But wait, what’s this?

I click on a folder labeled BM 1, and it is filled with video after video of men confessing their darkest, most perverted secrets. It’s the elite’s form of hazing—blackmail. They keep the girls in line with videos of them stripping naked. They keep the members in line with video evidence of the worst things they’ve ever done.

A pit forms in my stomach as I realize my father is on one of these tapes. Until now, I thought the most horrible thing he’d done was accept membership to this sadistic club. And if that isn’t horrible enough, I imagine they only accept members who they can ensure will stay quiet about goings-on. That assurance only comes with leverage.

“He was a monster even before he joined,” I whisper. “They all were.”

Despite everything in me telling me not to, I search for my father’s video. If I’m going to do this, I need to know the full story.

The videos are dated and appear in descending order. I have to scroll back thirty years before I find him. The video is dated 9/10/1990. He’s a junior in college and is barely recognizable from the man I know today.

“State your full name and age,” a voice says from behind the camera.

My dad sits on a stool located underneath a spotlight. He wears khaki shorts and a sweatshirt with a fraternity logo. I write the logo down.

“Carrington Lee Marshall, age twenty-one,” he says.

“And what do you have to confess on this day of 10 September 1990?” the voice asks.

My dad bites the inside of his jaw, like I’ve done so many times before.

“I’m here to confess to a murder,” he says.

What?

My dad goes on to tell the story of how he participated in a hit-and-run a few years back. He was eighteen at the time and was worried his college acceptance and scholarships would be jeopardized if he came forward.

And that’s when it started. It all went downhill from there. I consider watching Mason’s video but decide against it. If Julian can find it in him to forgive his brother, then I don’t want to jeopardize that any more than I already have. Instead, I find Beaux’s and hold my breath. Of all the horrible things he’s done, what was his original crime? His moment of no return?

“State your full name and age,” the voice says.

“Beauregard Ashton Thomas, age nineteen,” Beaux says.

“And what do you have to confess on this day of 9 August 2010?” the voice asks.

“I killed my mother,” he says. He is unwavering as he speaks. He doesn’t flinch or show signs of remorse. He doesn’t shy away from the truth.

“And why did you kill her?” the voice asks.

Beaux looks away from the camera. There it is. He isn’t ashamed of what he’s done. He’s ashamed of what happened to him.

“Because she didn’t stop it,” Beaux finally says. He begins to shake back and forth in his chair.

“Didn’t stop what?” the voice asks.

Beaux’s face turns red. He’s getting angry.

“My father,” Beaux chokes.

“And what did your father do to you?” the voice asks.

A single tear rolls down my cheek, and I fast forward through Beaux’s recount of his abuse. I can’t stand to hear it.

“Last question,” the voice asks. Beaux is red-faced, in tears. He said he works every day to hide the real him. Is this the real him? A scared little boy one hair-trigger away from completely losing it.

“How did you kill your mother?” the voice asks.

I lean forward to listen carefully. Beaux’s demeanor shifts