Mirror of My Soul by Joey Hill (book club recommendations .TXT) 📕

right about the way she’s chosen to express herself sexually. That’s how I met her, through a mutual club membership. But with me…she submits. And it scares the shit…it scares her, very much.”

“And you’ve pushed it.” Her attention moved to his cheek. “Pushed it until she lashed out somewhat literally?”

Tyler rose from the chair, moved to the other side of the coffee table. At her assessing look, he gave a short, irritated laugh. “That was a defensive movement, wasn’t it?”

“Entirely. You’re not comfortable with how you’ve pushed her.” She put down the lemon drop. “And that also makes me feel better about you, Mr. Winterman. You have a conscience that won’t let you rationalize your actions, at least not indefinitely.

Treasure that. It’s a great gift and one that can save your soul in the long term.”

He shook his head. “I don’t need a lesson in spiritual development.”

“You must have God’s ear, then.” Her eyes glinted. “A pity. Because I’m

approaching this my way.”

Tyler sat back down across from her, ran a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean it that way. I know where my limits are, the lines I can’t cross and I’ve learned them the hard way. But now…” He spread out his hands. “Mrs. Gupta, I don’t claim to know

everything of the mysteries of the world and certainly not the mysteries of a woman’s heart. But I know sometimes the hardest lessons you learn in life will help you to succeed later, in moments where success doesn’t seem possible.

“I sensed…I sensed there was something wrong from the first. I know this part is right, that she wants to surrender herself to me during sex and I hope to God as I’m saying this you don’t have any moral judgments about it, because you probably will boot my ass out on the street. But I respect and love her, believe in her strength. But when I sense that wrongness… I know I’m in a very dangerous area. What happened earlier this week—” he touched his cheek, “—just underscored it. I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t,” he added fiercely. “And that’s why I’m here. I need help. I need to know how to move around in a jungle where I’ve got no light at all. But I’m not backing out of that jungle. That’s not an option. I’m in there now. I know she wants me there. I just have to find her so she won’t be frightened by the sound of snapping twigs, thinking it’s her nightmares rather than me.”

Komal cocked her head, her eyes thoughtful. “Be quiet, Mr. Winterman. I’d like a moment to collect my thoughts.” She leaned forward, took the lid off her candy dish again. “Take one this time.”

43

Joey W. Hill

He did after a moment, put it in his mouth automatically, sat back on the edge of the small chair and wished the ache in his chest wasn’t adding to the throbbing pain in all other areas of his body.

“Isn’t it funny how candy can ease a child’s pain for at least a moment through distraction but it’s so difficult to find anything to do the same for adults?” Komal spoke at last, when he’d about sucked the candy down to half its size. “As far as I can tell, Marguerite’s father was a normal, decent man up until she was eight years old.”

Tyler straightened, his attention on her. “There are photographs,” she continued.

“Photos that were removed from the house that I got to see. There’s one of him carrying her on his shoulder, the lights of a carnival behind them. Everything was fine then. It’s in their faces, their eyes. But trauma can change people in unexpected ways, uncover weaknesses in character and exploit them to a terrifying degree.

“When Marguerite was seven years old, her paternal grandmother shot and killed her husband, Marguerite’s grandfather. No one knows exactly why. There was no hint of infidelity or other disturbance in their relationship. We will never know, because she placed the gun in her mouth and blew out the back of her skull. Our best guess is that perhaps she had early dementia and there was some interaction in the drugs she was taking. The problem was Marguerite’s father found them. Or more specifically, his mother called him to come over. She said she was worried about some things she wished to discuss with him. When he got there she was sitting in her favorite chair, knitting. She set her knitting aside when he saw his father lying on the floor in blood.

Then she pointed a finger at her son and said, ‘You never should have been born. I’m sorry.’ She picked up the gun on the side table and killed herself in front of him.”

“Good Christ.”

“We got this from him in prison. We assume it’s true. As you are likely aware, it is difficult to predict, even with all our empirical data and theories, what extreme stress will do to a person; it can act on them in some unexpected ways. Marguerite’s father had a complete breakdown of his moral foundation when the tragedy occurred. From eight to fourteen, Marguerite was forced to join him on his psychotic journey, a world where everything to him was violence and pain, punishment. For you see, Marguerite looked very much like her grandmother.”

She lifted a binder. It looked as if it had been removed from storage, traces of dust still on the edges of the pages. The spine had been labeled “Peninski”. Several folders were inserted in the front pocket but she went to the album pages first.

“Here she is, posing with her grandmother.”

Tyler blinked, looked closer. “She’s… Her hair and eyes. They’re brown.” He also noticed the resemblance between Marguerite and her grandmother was striking, even to the stance of their bodies. There was a dark-haired boy in the photo. From the sizes of the two children, Tyler made a swift deduction.

“They were twins?”

“Yes.”

44

Mirror of My Soul

“What happened