Free Onekka - The Tragedy of Jaqui Fennet by Michael E Bell Page B

but it wasn't willing - the apprehension was still
too strong inside her. All her mental defences were flapping in the winds of
his assault. She felt uncertain as she wondered what he was seeing - had he already
figured her out? No peaceful thoughts were going to help now. If he'd stayed
angry, perhaps he wouldn't have noticed, but he looked as calm as a landlocked
lake on a still summer night.

"Tell me about your father," he said in a voice close to a whisper.

Jaq was so shocked, she found herself answering without thinking about it.
"He died, several years ago."

"How?"

"Why do you need to know about my father?"

"How did he die? Please just answer the question." The man seemed
utterly calm, his breathing constant and even. Jaq found herself studying the
stems of his glasses, tracking their progress across his temple and into the
skin above his ears. Anything was better than being hollered at, than that
terrible lack of power as she looked up at his overbearing form, so Jaq went
along with things. She didn't feel like there was any other response.

"He was robbed and stabbed in the alley behind his house. My mother found
him."

"Did you love him very much?"

Her vision swam as tears welled. "You're repulsive! How could anyone
love a half-breed like you?" "Yes, I loved my father. I always
wanted to please him."

A smile crawled across DePennier's face. It was dirty and menacing, she
thought. A shiver worked its way from her groin into her abdomen and a shadow
cast its pall over her thoughts. Her father was behind her, ticking off on his
hands all the ways she'd disappointed him, all her faults and issues.

"But you never did," he whispered.

Jaq sniffed, but managed to speak in a tone so quiet it barely moved the air.
"Fuck you, DePennier."

"You were always going to lose that battle," he said. "Your
father was a vicious bastard who never returned his daughter's love. He got
what he deserved."

Yes! "No." Her stomach wrenched, and it was all she could do
to keep down her last meal. A flush burst from her abdomen, up through her
chest and across her face. Heat was replaced by a sensation of cold. Jaq felt
like she'd been dunked in an ice bath. Right then she'd have given anything to
have him hitting her. Anything was better than this terrible bombardment of
insight.

DePennier shifted slightly. "What was it like, growing up with him? Did he
treat your mother well?"

She was crying silently, but so hard that salty droplets pattered on the table.
From nowhere, DePennier was offering her a tissue. Emotions buzzing in a haze
of confusion, Jaq accepted it and dabbed at her face. "I don't think I
want to talk about this any more."

"Your mother was tenth generation Bangladeshi," he said. The quiet
baritone of his voice soaked into her, vibrating her lungs with its cadence.
"Your father, a Yorkshireman, born and bred. They should never have been
together."

How does he know all this? He can't have access to all this information ...
Who the hell does he work for? "Why are you torturing me?" she
sobbed.

"Ms Fennet, I'm not trying to torment you. I'm trying to help you remember
the truth." He held his hands open in a gesture of empathy.

"What truth?"

"How did your mother die?"

Jaq's heart turned to a cannonball in her chest. "No. I don't want to
think about this!"

"Your father couldn't stand the sight of her by the end. The goading of
his colleagues and the alienation from the rest of his family wore him down. He
felt dirty and traitorous, abandoning his roots and putting his lot with the
foreigners that invaded his homeland, stealing the jobs from his friends."

"You don't know!" she whimpered. But he does, he does! "You don't know... what it was like."

He continued in that low voice, never a ghost of excitement infiltrating his
tone. "Sure, he loved her at first. She was a pretty face, an exotic catch
with those prominent cheek bones and big, dark eyes. All his friends were
jealous, and he showed her off at every