S.T. gasped as he continued landing punches and being knocked back by Petrovsky’s counterattack.
He wondered how long before the manager of the motel would be there with the police; then he remembered the kind of motel he'd checked into and decided there'd be no police.
"I did what I could," Petrovsky snarled.
S.T. groggily realized that the two of them were too evenly matched to end this fight soon or before they were both bloodied beyond recognition.
"I never even knew where my sister was," he grated out, landing another solid blow along with the words. "I was sixteen when I left home. I only saw her a couple of times... after that."
"Liar."
"Why would I lie?"
Petrovsky cursed as S.T. landed a punishing blow. Heaving for breath, Petrovsky stepped back, his arms hanging limply at his sides at least for the moment. "How come?"
"Life. It has a way of doing that." S.T. shrugged. He wasn't about to give Petrovsky the life history he’d mistakenly told Christine.
Petrovsky backed away, then gingerly lowered himself to the bed, his hands finally resting limply on his knees, the violent gleam gone from his eyes, replaced by uncertainty.
S.T. examined his jaw to assure himself he hadn’t broken it. "Believe or not, it's your call; but I'm telling you the truth when I say I found out she was in Roseburg when my mother called me--Monday." He sat in the chair. By tomorrow he'd have too many bruises, abrasions and sore muscles to count. He narrowed his eyes, watching the cause of his misery as the big man appeared to mull over what he'd been told.
"Maybe I was wrong," Petrovsky growled, meeting S.T.'s gaze, his left eye swollen and beginning to discolor.
"Not about everything." S.T. felt a strange impulse of generosity. Petrovsky had obviously been concerned about Shonna, cared for her which was more than anybody else in this town appeared to have done. "I should have looked for her sooner," S.T. admitted, examining his teeth with his tongue and deciding they were probably all going to remain in his mouth. His dentist would be glad for that or maybe not.
"She was a stubborn woman," Petrovsky said. "She wouldn't let me help... Probably wouldn't have let you, even if you had found her. I was wrong to come gunning for you like this, just I felt so mad at what happened."
"And what was that?"
"How much you know about Shonna?"
S.T. considered a moment. "Not a lot. I did talk to the police."
Petrovsky nodded. "Then I guess you know."
"Not what happened six months ago," S.T. said. "Something changed in her life, but nobody I talked to knew her well enough to know what or why."
Petrovsky grunted, twisting his neck and wincing. "You got quite a left hook," he grumbled.
"You know what it was, don't you?"
"Maybe. Maybe not... Maybe it was him."
"Who?"
"The devil himself as far as I'm concerned."
S.T. got up carefully from the chair and walked into the bathroom, pouring a glass of water to rinse the blood from his mouth, then drink down without stopping for a breath. It had been a lot of years since he’d had a fistfight and he hoped many more before he had another.
He poured another glass for Petrovsky, handing it to him as he asked, "Who's the devil?"
"Got a place outside of town, runs some kind of church." Petrovsky's face twisted into a grimace. "He came around, talking to her, convincing her she needed to repent." He gulped the water.
"I'm not a religious man," S.T. said, sitting again, "but I can see where that might have been true. My sister's lifestyle looked like it was heading for disaster."
"Maybe so, but he didn't care about her. Just wanted control of her. He sucks people dry then spits them out. He wants control over everybody. He's no man of God, no matter what he says."
"What's his name? Maybe I can talk to him, ask him some questions."
Petrovsky looked away. "I said more than I should." He nearly stumbled over the words. "I don't want trouble."
"From who? A man of God? You're a large man. I'd
He wondered how long before the manager of the motel would be there with the police; then he remembered the kind of motel he'd checked into and decided there'd be no police.
"I did what I could," Petrovsky snarled.
S.T. groggily realized that the two of them were too evenly matched to end this fight soon or before they were both bloodied beyond recognition.
"I never even knew where my sister was," he grated out, landing another solid blow along with the words. "I was sixteen when I left home. I only saw her a couple of times... after that."
"Liar."
"Why would I lie?"
Petrovsky cursed as S.T. landed a punishing blow. Heaving for breath, Petrovsky stepped back, his arms hanging limply at his sides at least for the moment. "How come?"
"Life. It has a way of doing that." S.T. shrugged. He wasn't about to give Petrovsky the life history he’d mistakenly told Christine.
Petrovsky backed away, then gingerly lowered himself to the bed, his hands finally resting limply on his knees, the violent gleam gone from his eyes, replaced by uncertainty.
S.T. examined his jaw to assure himself he hadn’t broken it. "Believe or not, it's your call; but I'm telling you the truth when I say I found out she was in Roseburg when my mother called me--Monday." He sat in the chair. By tomorrow he'd have too many bruises, abrasions and sore muscles to count. He narrowed his eyes, watching the cause of his misery as the big man appeared to mull over what he'd been told.
"Maybe I was wrong," Petrovsky growled, meeting S.T.'s gaze, his left eye swollen and beginning to discolor.
"Not about everything." S.T. felt a strange impulse of generosity. Petrovsky had obviously been concerned about Shonna, cared for her which was more than anybody else in this town appeared to have done. "I should have looked for her sooner," S.T. admitted, examining his teeth with his tongue and deciding they were probably all going to remain in his mouth. His dentist would be glad for that or maybe not.
"She was a stubborn woman," Petrovsky said. "She wouldn't let me help... Probably wouldn't have let you, even if you had found her. I was wrong to come gunning for you like this, just I felt so mad at what happened."
"And what was that?"
"How much you know about Shonna?"
S.T. considered a moment. "Not a lot. I did talk to the police."
Petrovsky nodded. "Then I guess you know."
"Not what happened six months ago," S.T. said. "Something changed in her life, but nobody I talked to knew her well enough to know what or why."
Petrovsky grunted, twisting his neck and wincing. "You got quite a left hook," he grumbled.
"You know what it was, don't you?"
"Maybe. Maybe not... Maybe it was him."
"Who?"
"The devil himself as far as I'm concerned."
S.T. got up carefully from the chair and walked into the bathroom, pouring a glass of water to rinse the blood from his mouth, then drink down without stopping for a breath. It had been a lot of years since he’d had a fistfight and he hoped many more before he had another.
He poured another glass for Petrovsky, handing it to him as he asked, "Who's the devil?"
"Got a place outside of town, runs some kind of church." Petrovsky's face twisted into a grimace. "He came around, talking to her, convincing her she needed to repent." He gulped the water.
"I'm not a religious man," S.T. said, sitting again, "but I can see where that might have been true. My sister's lifestyle looked like it was heading for disaster."
"Maybe so, but he didn't care about her. Just wanted control of her. He sucks people dry then spits them out. He wants control over everybody. He's no man of God, no matter what he says."
"What's his name? Maybe I can talk to him, ask him some questions."
Petrovsky looked away. "I said more than I should." He nearly stumbled over the words. "I don't want trouble."
"From who? A man of God? You're a large man. I'd
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