The Virginian Love Massacre of 1871

Chapter Eight

My parents sent a note sometime during the day, telling me they would not be home until late. I hardly read it before shoving it back into Willa's hand and closing my door.

It has been hours of complete silence. My thoughts have seemed to halt. My body has frozen itself from the inside, ice cracking every time I take to large of a breath.

I've moved down to the family room. Staring at pictures of my brother and father, feeling uderly disgusted with myself for the comfort that it brings me.

We are a good family. I think to myself.

And it is true. Our home is filled with happiness, with immeasurable love.

How is that possible?

I stare for so long I start to see my own reflection in my mothers picture. I really have no right to be so upset, to wallow in self-pity when it is me and my family that has taken so much from this world.

"Alice, we must talk about it eventually." Willa's voice from behind the couch startles me momentarily.

Her eyes shine with unease when I turn to her, I hate the sight of it.

I do not ever wish for Willa to worry about me. Even before this day, I have never felt as though I deserve it.

I do not deserve her comfort, she would be best to run away from me now while she has the chance.

And yet, because I am selfish, I seek her reassurance. "Do you think I am a bad person?"

She makes a face at the question. "What? Of course not. You are the best person I know." Willa says it easily, like it is the truth.

It isn't, though. "I am bred from a family of murderers." I remind her, my voice hardening at the words.

Willa takes a deep breath, not moving from her standing position behind me. I sometimes wonder what this could all be like for her.

She grew up here, same as I did. Though we never talk about it, she is plenty aware of what my family does. When she was a child, her mother had her train with my brother and I. Isabel wanted to ensure than Willa would be able to protect herself.

But Willa has never gone on missions, never sat at the table while we discuss these matters. I do not think she has ever wanted to.

I wonder if it is hard for her, knowing that the only family she has is a group of rotten killers. I am angry at God for sticking her here with us, she deserves so much more.

If she shares my sentiments, she does not let it show on her face. "You are not a murderer." She tells me strongly, surely.

"No, I am a bystander."

Willa shakes her head with a confused look."Where is this coming from?"

"Wesley Blair." I answer without eye contact. It sounds ridiculous as I say it. I have never once cared about anything Wesley Blair has said to me.

I am more hurt by my own behavior today. Never in my life had I thought I would throw Wesley's worst secret in his face.

Wesley has called me an actress many times. Today is the first day I have felt that he was right.

"He called you a bystander?"

I nod. "Basically."

"Well that is hardly fair, he is no better."

That is what I said.

"But he does not pretend to be."

Willa only scoffs. "That does not give him any right to reprimand you for your family and their personal matters."