The One Who Got Away

by L. A. Detwiler

  ‘Addy, we need to be at the train station. We need to be on that first train or everything will fall apart.’

  ‘I know. I know that. But I want to make one stop,’ I implore, pausing at the church.

  ‘There’s no way the pastor is leaving it open with everything going on,’ Charles argues.

  ‘The back door to the basement is open. It’s always open,’ I reply, knowing from experience that the pastor doesn’t take the time to lock it.

  ‘If we get caught here, it’s going to ruin everything,’ Charles replies.

  ‘We won’t. Trust me. I need to do this,’ I assure.

  ‘Okay. You know I can’t say no to you.’ He kisses my forehead, following me around the church. Once we’re to the back, at the basement door, I look back at him.

  ‘I need to do this alone.’ He raises an eyebrow, and I register the hurt and confusion on his face. I pat his arm. ‘It’s just something I need to do. Trust me.’

  ‘I’ll be right here. If you’re not back in five minutes, I’m coming in,’ he replies, but he makes no move to follow me. I love that he trusts me, but then the guilt bubbles up. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. I don’t deserve him.

  I enter the basement door, tiptoeing inside. I wander up the familiar stairs, finding my way to the front of the altar. Candles flicker in their spot, the hopes and prayers of so many lighting the dim church. Tears form in my eyes as I reach for the matchstick and light an empty candle in the front of the pack. I stare at the glowing light for a long moment, thinking about the baby, thinking about the life I snuffed out.

  ‘God, forgive me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I hope someday to make up for my actions, if you’ll let me.’ I say a prayer for the baby and for the life I’m leaving behind. Then, I pivot on my foot, head back down the stairs and out the door.

  I won’t think of it again, I tell myself. I’m starting over. I need to give myself that chance. And so, with the last candle lit to commemorate the choice I made and the life lost, I march onward with Charles, towards the train station that will take me away for good.

  But as we’re walking, I feel a shiver down my spine, goose bumps across my arms. I pause, turning to look over my shoulder. There is nothing, just an empty street behind us, and bone-chilling silence. I shake my head. Clearly my nerves are shot. It’s just me and Charles, after all, heading to a new life.

  ***

  ‘All aboard,’ a voice cries out, and Charles and I step forward quickly, rushing onto the train to claim our seat. My heart beats wildly as we prepare to head to our new life. What awaits us? What will we do?

  Charles has an idea to head towards a distant cousin’s home in Hemel Hempstead for a while until we can get situated. He assures me that the cousin will be welcoming, but with no notice, I can’t be certain. There are no guarantees we won’t end up on the street.

  ‘We’re off,’ Charles murmurs into my hair as I claim the window seat. ‘Are you ready to start this life?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, looking into those eyes that make me feel like anything is possible.

  ‘I left a note for my mum and dad,’ Charles whispers. ‘Hopefully they’ll understand.’

  I lean into him, silent now, trying not to think about all the logistics of what we’re doing. I try not to think about Phyllis and my parents, about everyone I’ve ever known who will remain behind to talk about us, to wonder what drove us to the decision. I try not to think about what Oliver will say or do once I’m gone.

  The train begins to move towards our new life and I shove the thought aside, focusing on the future that lies ahead instead of the dark past I’m leaving behind.

  Rage bubbles in my chest as I pace about my flat, flying through the stages of grief. Mostly, I’ve been stuck on the anger bit, fists clenched and jaw working.

  How could I be so fucking stupid? How could I have let this happen? I shouldn’t have waited. Dammit, why did I wait? I lingered in the pleasure of the game for too long, and now my plan’s fucked. Bloody fucked.

  I was a fool. More than a fool. And now my chance is completely gone.

  Rubbish boy. Dumb boy. Dirty boy. I-hate-you boy.

  I’d read that bastard’s note. The imbecile of a bloke, that Oliver Parsons. Who did he think he was, assuming he owned Addy? Thinking he was so sneaky, so malicious. He was nothing. That weak little boy was nothing, pampered and protected by daddy’s money.

  That twit wasn’t a man. He wasn’t brilliant. He wasn’t capable of the great things I am. But the letter Oliver wrote to Addy had made me more excited to finish the work, to claim Adeline Walker as my own. I felt a need to show that annoying bloke how to claim a woman. I’d show him who Adeline really belonged to.

  But I’d been distracted. The letter had thrown off my focus. I should’ve kept Oliver’s menacing letter instead of the one I did. Why hadn’t I kept it? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  But I didn’t. I had been an imbecile. And now it is too late.

  I’d heard the rumours. The town was abuzz with word. I’d been too stunned to believe it. I’d gone to work, hands shaking, praying it wasn’t true. Not when I was so close to finishing. Not when it was almost done. I’d made my way to her street. I’d forced on the smile, whistling my favourite tune, trying to calm myself.

  Tear-stained cheeks and hair a mess, Nora Walker had answered the door in a state that told the tale.

  ‘Sorry to bother you, Mrs Walker. I just, well, I wanted to see if you’re okay. I heard a terrible rumour about Adeline. Such a sweet girl. I was hoping it wasn’t true.’

  She sniffled. ‘I don’t know why she would do this.’ Her words quaked with grief, and it was all I could do to stay standing after the confirmation of my greatest fear.

  I’d wrapped up, painting on the condolences I felt only for myself but pretended to have for the Walkers. Taking off my hat and rubbing the scar that burned on my head, I’d walked away in a daze, abandoning my work for the first time since I started the job. I returned to my flat in a stupor.

  I plop into my single chair now, staring out into the day.

  She’s gone. I missed my chance. That Langley Green bloke has stolen her. I’d been so focused on Oliver’s games, I’d overlooked the other one, Charles. In the end, I was a twenty-two-year-old-man who lost to a fucking boy.

  My heart burns, singed by disappointment. My fingers, my lips tingle with a craving I can no longer satisfy.

  She is gone. Three words that sear my life’s greatest sorrow into my heart.

  I try to salvage something, my mind alight. My eyes dance around the room, unfocused, as my thoughts travel down a new path. I am brilliant. I’m no quitter. Yes, I could track her down. It might take time, but I could do it. I’m patient. I stand up again, pacing. My fingers trace the jagged scar as if seeking to touch inspiration itself.

  Could it work? Could I really find her? Could I still win at my own game?

  I walk to and fro, thinking, pondering, scratching, thinking some more.

  But as the minutes pass by and my thoughts tire, my pacing slows. The energy drains from me bit by bit. Five steps become four, then three, then none.

  Frozen, I accept the truth.

  It won’t count. It isn’t how it’s supposed to be. It needs to be here. It just won’t count any other way. I am a rule follower. I’m no beast, after all. I win fair and square. I don’t cheat.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  ‘Fuck!’ I shout, slamming my fist on the table as I sink to the floor now.

  She is no longer going to be my final signature. There won’t be one. She will forever be just the one who got away. I will forever be nothing but a failure, the man in a flat in West Green whose legacy was never quite completed.

  Bloody boy. Bloody fucked boy.

  Bloody useless man.

  Chapter 36

  Smith Creek Manor Nursing Home

  2019

  I’ve gathered my strength, and I don’t care what the nurses say. I’m not staying
in this room, in this bed or in this wheelchair any longer. I don’t have the time to waste sitting around. I can’t afford to be weak.

  I get myself out of bed, my eyes heavy with exhaustion. I didn’t sleep a wink, my eyes trained on the window and on my doorway, wondering if last night would be the night. Wondering what I could do about it.

  I thought about calling the police – but would that do any good? Would they believe some woman from Smith Creek Manor? Certainly not, especially with my medical history. Certainly not. It all feels so useless. I am trapped here, body and mind, and he knows it.

  Dorothy is gone. Claire is not going to be able to help me. There’s only one person left – and in my time of desperation, I realise that it’s a long shot. After all we’ve been through, after all I’ve done to him, and after all that’s happened between us, will he even believe me? Will he even want to help me? And can I trust him after all he’s done? It’s doubtful, I realise. My mind might falter sometimes, but it’s strong enough to know this isn’t going to work. Still, I must try. I don’t have a choice now. I’m out of options, and I’m frantic – frantic enough to consider turning to the beastly man who tortured me all those years ago.

  I trudge down the corridor, taking a pause every few steps to lean on the wall. My legs scream in my pain. I limp onward, stopping at 313. I peek in, but he’s not there. Where could he be?

  I investigate in the television area, where Philip Lady sits in her spot. A few women crochet, and a man sleeps in his chair. But Oliver isn’t there. I keep a wary lookout, watching for the man from 300, praying he’s not on the loose. I march forward, checking the reading room, the dining room, the corridors. At each stop, I come up empty, and panic starts to set in. What if it’s too late? What if Oliver’s gone too?

  After what feels like forever, I stop in the empty community room. He sits in the front of the area, staring at a painting hanging on the wall. He’s alone, no one in the room. I lean on the chairs in each row, making my way to the front.

  ‘Oliver?’ I ask gently. He turns to look at me.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asks gruffly. He looks at me with a hatred that has been boiling for decades, and I realise this is probably a mistake. But it’s too late to turn back, and I really don’t have any other options. He’s the only one who could possibly understand, who might believe me. I don’t sit down, standing beside him even though I’m so tired.

  ‘I need your help.’ The murmured plea feels even more solemn once the words escape my lips.

  He scowls, shaking his head. ‘You’ve got to be joking? After all you’ve done? You want my help now?’

  My lip quivers, but I try to hold it together. ‘I’m desperate. Please.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ he replies, standing shakily from the chair now. He turns to me. ‘You always were desperate for something, weren’t you, Addy?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I choke out the words.

  ‘You mean sorry for how you murdered our child? How you killed our baby without even asking me? You didn’t give me a choice, Addy. You didn’t give me a choice.’ He steps forward now, anger seething. I tremble, taking a step back.

  ‘You didn’t give me a choice, Oliver. You weren’t the man I thought you were. You were dangerous.’

  ‘And you weren’t the woman I thought you were,’ he roars. His hands shake, balled into fists. ‘It was my child. You didn’t have that right. You didn’t have the right to murder my only child. You went on to have other children. I didn’t get that chance. I never got a chance to have another, not after everything. My father’s business was the only thing I had to keep me company after you left. Do you know what that’s like, to live your life alone? You stripped me of that chance.’

  Visions of Claire come to mind, the miracle baby I thought would never happen. I saw her birth as a sign that I was forgiven. But apparently, Oliver didn’t have such luck.

  ‘You’re unbelievable, you know? You’re a monster,’ he chokes out, tears falling down his cheeks now. ‘You killed our baby, and then moved on with some other bastard like it was nothing. I was left cleaning up the pieces. Did you know I’d told my family I was going to marry you? A couple of weeks before you broke up with me and then killed our baby, I’d told them. My mum had already given me her ring for you. I was a bloody fool. A bloody fucking fool. And then to find out that on top of it, my child, my heir was murdered by you? It was too much. It’s all still too much.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I murmur, and I am. In many ways I am. ‘But I didn’t have a choice.’

  ‘It’s just like you, to claim you didn’t have a choice. Is that what you told yourself when you left Crawley? When you up and left, no explanation? Is that what you told yourself when you found out about your parents? Did you even think about what that was like for me? Do you know how many years I struggled to get rid of that blemish from my name? I never got rid of that stain, even when I was cleared. I never had a chance, Addy.’

  Tears flow now as he brings up the event I’d been trying so hard to block out. I shove aside images of my parents, choking on smoke, of the house in flames. Of how it was my fault. It’s my fault they were there. It’s my fault they didn’t leave West Green in time. It’s all my fault.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ The words keep coming out of my lips like a record on repeat, but this time, the words aren’t just to Oliver. They’re for the baby I killed, for the parents I left behind, and for the chain of life-altering events I set off that night I let Phyllis talk me into that choice.

  ‘Sorry? Sorry for leaving that note behind for your parents to find? Sorry that I was bloody accused of arson? And how you did nothing to stop them from pursuing me? Do you even know how long I was under scrutiny? How I almost went to jail? How that ruined my reputation? For God’s sake, Adeline, you destroyed everything … and then bloody destroyed it again. No one believed me. Everyone thought I was a maniac. Some even thought I was the murderer. And what could I say? That you bloody aborted our baby? It only made me look more guilty. So there you were, the innocent victim escaping from the beastly monster. I never fucking recovered. Never.’

  He stands from his seat now, and I see for the first time what a toll it all played on him. I realise the true source of his anger. I’d usurped control from him all those years. I’d unknowingly led him down a path that proved to him he wasn’t in charge, that he wasn’t the powerful Oliver he thought he was.

  For a moment, just a moment, a pang of guilt for Oliver weighs on me. He was a hellish fiend in his younger days – but did he deserve what I left him? Did he deserve the tarnished reputation? He did horrible things, but did he deserve to have the shadow of something he didn’t do hanging over his head?

  Did my parents deserve to die as they did, wondering where their only daughter was? I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything at all.

  ‘Yes,’ I admit softly, my own tears falling. ‘Yes. But Oliver, listen to me. Listen. You’ve got to believe me. I’m in danger here. Someone’s after me. The man in 300 wants to kill me, and I don’t know, I think he looks familiar. I can’t figure out why.’

  He stares at me as if waiting for more before uproarious laughter emerges from his mouth. He shakes his head, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. ‘Are you kidding me right now? You’re madder than I thought. The whole floor’s been talking about how you’re losing your marbles, and I know they’re right. Come on, Addy. Are you hearing yourself? Certainly, you must be mentally sound enough to understand how ridiculous this sounds. The man in 300, the one with a limp, wants to kill you? Is that what you’re telling me?’

  ‘I’m serious. I’m serious,’ I say, watching my last tiny swatch of hope fade to nothing. Tears run down my cheeks, landing on my chest, on my hands. My arm shakes as I struggle to stay standing. My last glimmer of hope is being snuffed out before my eyes, and even though I expected as much, the reality hits hard.

  ‘It’s a funny thing, really,’ he replies, staring straight into my
eyes. His are icy cold. ‘Nothing bad really happened on Floor Three until you showed up. It was calm, peaceful even. Sure, there was a few bad things, but nothing extreme. Nothing like there’s been lately. There weren’t any of the crazy, odd occurrences until you came along. I wonder if that’s a coincidence.’

  ‘It isn’t, Oliver. It isn’t. He was waiting for me. I’m telling you. The man in 300. He was waiting for me. It’s him.’ I stare into Oliver’s eyes, waiting for a hint of recognition, waiting for a sign that someone is on my side. It doesn’t come.

  ‘When you first came to this floor, Addy, I couldn’t believe it. After all this time, here you were, like you never left. It brought back all those memories. You got away from here. You may have let yourself forget what you did, but I didn’t. I stayed behind. I lived my life here, took over the business. I never got to leave. Do you know what that’s been like, staying here? Do you know what it was like coming to Smith Creek, stuck here to reflect on the life I never really got to live? I’ve been here, drowning in that sin of yours, thinking about all you took from me. When I learned you were here, I told Father Patrick about it. I told him everything you did. I thought maybe it would be my chance to make you atone for what you did, for killing our baby.’

  I blink at Oliver. ‘You told Father Patrick?’ All the notes, all the warnings to repent. It all makes sense now.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I did. I wanted him to see you for what you were. I wanted someone to finally understand.’

  ‘Is that why he left all those notes?’

  ‘Yes, Addy. He knows what you are. A fraud. A sinner. A trollop.’

  I shudder at his words. ‘Oliver, listen, I’m telling you. There’s a killer here. There’s been more than just the Bible verses.’

  Oliver shakes his head, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before turning back to me. ‘You know, Addy. I feel sorry for you. I do. You think everything is about you. In that warped head of yours, you think the whole world rotates around you. And everyone thinks it’s your old age and your fading mind. But I know better. You’re nothing but a selfish slag. You’ve always been one. It’s just that now others can see it too. Others know the whole truth.’