“How did it stop?”

“Our father stopped it for us.”

Eleanor pulled back and raised her hand.

“I need a minute.”

“I warned you.”

“I know you did. But I didn’t know.”

She leaned forward and rested both arms in his lap. He ran his hand over her back as if to comfort her when all she wanted was to comfort him.

“If God was in the world that day, He wasn’t in that room when my father came home. He saw us together and he threw me against the wall. I remember the blood on the golden wallpaper—red on yellow. And he started to rape Elizabeth, to re-mark his territory. I found the fireplace poker and struck him with it. He moved. I missed his head. But it got him off Elizabeth. He came after me instead. He hit me, breaking my arm. I don’t remember much from that day, but I do remember him tying me to a chair and telling me he would kill me. ‘You’re dead,’ he said, and I knew he meant it. Then he was down, unconscious. Elizabeth had struck him over the head with the poker to save my life. I passed out to the sound of her laughter. I woke up in the hospital.”

Eleanor tasted copper in her mouth. If she wasn’t careful she would vomit from her horror at what Søren had suffered so young.

“What happened to Elizabeth?”

“Her mother heard her laughing and came to investigate. When she saw the scene before her, she could no longer deny the truth of who and what her husband was. She took me to the hospital and took Elizabeth away. She and my father divorced quietly and split all assets equally. Better to pay him off and keep things quiet than go through a messy public court battle.

“Question six was why does everyone think my name is Marcus Stearns and I told you my name is Søren? Søren is what my mother named me. Magnussen is her last name. I’ve tried for years to reject my father, his money and his world as much as I can. So I reject his name—at least in private. I wanted you to know the real me. To know the story of my name is to know me. There are few people who I want to know me.”

“I want to know you.”

“Now you do.”

“Is what happened between you and your sister why you became Catholic?”

“Yes. My father came to his senses a few days after the incident. He remembered I was his only son, but he didn’t want me in the house. I think he feared my retribution. I wanted to kill him, so I can’t blame him for sending me away to a Jesuit boarding school in rural Maine. I felt polluted by what had happened between my sister and me. When Father Henry taught us about confession and reconciliation, about forgiveness … I knew I needed that. I converted to Catholicism and started studying to join the Jesuits.”

“That’s where you met Kingsley, right?”

“Kingsley … He was a gift from God. I kept away from everyone but the priests at Saint Ignatius. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I did … but I didn’t. I wanted to but I didn’t want to want to. When I lose control, it’s not a pleasant sight.”

“I trust you.”

“You’re in love with me. Of course you trust me. I hope I never betray that trust. I cannot promise you I never will. And now after all that, I can answer your remaining questions quickly. Question five—you asked whose feet should you sit at. I hope the answer is mine. Question four, you asked me why does a priest have his own handcuff key. Eleanor, I’m a sadist and for the sake of my own sanity I must inflict pain on someone every now and then. It’s a powerful need and it grows maddening if I deny myself too long. You saw at Kingsley’s house the sort of parties he has, the company he keeps. I haven’t had sexual intercourse since I was eighteen. I do beat someone at least once a month, sometimes once a week.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened in shock.

“That night at Kingsley’s …?”

Søren nodded.

“That woman you saw me with is a friend of Kingsley’s. She’s a trained masochist who enjoys receiving pain as much as I enjoy inflicting it. Bondage is part of the sessions. A person tied up is defenseless. I’m less likely to overstep my bounds with a defenseless person. Question three—you asked why my friend would help you. That is a question only Kingsley can answer, and that is all I will say. The answer to your second question—what’s the third reason being with you is problematic—is what I told you. I am a sadist and I can’t get aroused unless I hurt you in some way first. I wish it could be otherwise, of course.”

“Of course,” she repeated, not even hearing herself. “So you … you can’t—”

“Eleanor, you joked about us breaking the table during sex. I don’t break furniture during sex. I break people.”

“I see.”

“As for question number one—what’s the other reason I helped you the night you were arrested? The answer to question one is the same as the answer to question twelve. Because I’m in love with you and always will be. So there you have it. The whole sordid truth of me.”

Søren fell silent and Eleanor let his words settle into the room. She knew he waited for her to speak, to pass some judgment, to make some declaration. He’d bared his very soul to her, laid out the humiliations and horrors of his past and confessed how they tormented him even to this day. She had no idea what to say to comfort him, or if she even could. But first she had one question.

“Is that all?”