by Mia Taylor
“We can’t just pretend nothing happened. I’m calling the sisters right now.”
“NO! That’s enough. You’re being irrational.”
His mother’s voice had never sounded so firm nor flat.
“Why are you being so stubborn about this? Don’t you want to know what this means, why he’s like this?”
“He is our son. Nothing we learn will change that fact. Leave it alone, Nelson. Whatever this is, we will get past. You can’t go panicking every time something doesn’t go exactly how you expect it.”
A heavy silence ensued and Vaughan didn’t permit himself a breath, lest his parents caught him outside their bedroom door.
“He’s not our son.”
The words chilled the teenager to his core. He had never heard his father sound so detached, so cold.
“How can you say that?” his mother choked. “We have raised him since he was a toddler, Nelson!”
“No biological son of ours would be a freak, a…” He could not even finish his words and a strangled gasp escaped Vaughan’s lips.
“Vaughan!”
His mother’s face appeared in the doorway, her blue eyes wide with shock.
“How much did you hear?”
He shook his head and backed away, as if to ward off the words which he knew would confirm the stunning news he had just learned.
“I’m adopted?” Vaughan gasped and his mother turned back to glare at his father who had still not materialized in view.
“We were going to tell you on your eighteenth birthday, Vaughan,” she told him, her eyes begging him to understand. “We just didn’t want to overwhelm you—”
“So you don’t know why I’m a freak! For all you know I could have some hereditary disease or—”
“You’re not a freak!” his mother interjected and his father finally showed his face, a look of guilt plastered on his face.
“Vaughan, I shouldn’t have said that but we will figure out why you are the way you are,” Nelson March told him in a way which was meant to be comforting but it only made the teen distrust his father further.
“Why would you do that?” he spat back, his hazel eyes flashing with indignation. “I’m not your son, right?”
He didn’t give Nelson a chance to respond before spinning and running blindly down the hallway, jumping down the stairs at breakneck speed. He didn’t know where he was going but he knew if he stayed in the house a moment longer, he was apt to scream.
“Vaughan! Vaughan, come back!”
He ignored his mom’s heartbreaking cries and burst out of the house, into the brewing storm above his head. A low rumble in the distance told him that the rain was bound to strike before he had time to find a safe place but as he raced down Cherry Avenue and around the corner, he found himself stopping abruptly.
A peculiar sense of déjà vu touched him and he froze, turning his head to look behind him. He half-expected to the see the outline of a woman walking quickly away, dark hair soaked from the rain, but there was no one there.
“Come back! Mama, come back!”
He whipped his head back as the children’s voices reverberated in his ears and another clap of thunder let loose.
There was no one there.
He glanced around again, the sensation of familiarity fading, and he looked down at his hands. Tufts of fur had sprouted on his hands and a shudder of repulsion overcame his body. It was happening again, the same strange transformation which caused his father so much unrest.
What am I? he moaned silently to himself. Where did I come from?
But, of course, there were no answers to his mournful queries. How could there be when he no longer knew who he was? Two days ago, he had been Vaughan March, captain of the football team and homecoming king.
Suddenly he was Vaughan nobody, freak and orphan.
A weirdo that even my father doesn’t want.
A car steered its way down the road and the rain started then, pelting down on him like the internal anguish he was feeling. He couldn’t let anyone see him like that, the feel of his face reshaping painful and terrifying as his eyes scanned the neighborhood for an escape.
“VAUGHAN!”
His mother’s voice echoed through the storm but Vaughan knew he could not go back. How could he face a father who stared at him with fear and pity?
He’s not my father, Vaughan thought firmly. And she is not my mother.
“Mama! Mama come back!”
Again the child’s voice pieced his mind and consternation swept through the teenager in tsunamis.
I remember! I remember… I think.
He didn’t have time to capture the elusive memory.
“VAUGHAN!”
His mother’s voice was getting closer, as was the car which slowed on the street.
“Vaughan? Are you all right?”
He did not acknowledge the driver even though he recognized Mrs. Carter’s voice and vehicle. Instead, he spun away before she could fully see his shifting face and sprinted further away from the only home he had ever known.
As his girlfriend’s mother watched him, Vaughan transformed into the beast he had been hiding for seventeen years and disappeared into the driving rain. He wondered if she had seen him, if she would tell others.
Soon it will be all over town that I am a freak. People will be looking for me to lock me up, maybe in a circus.
Even as his primal brain kicked in, Vaughan knew that he could never again return to the secure life he had always known.
That part of his life was over. Going forward, he would have to be careful never to let anyone near him because he had no idea of what he was capable.
Chapter One
Home Too Soon
She exhaled slowly, her breath creating a whoosh so deep, she was certain she would have knocked over a bird had one been within range.
But there was no wildlife, save the borderline creepy cab driver who drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in silent time to a song Vivian couldn’t hear.
Son of a bitch. What am I doing here again?
The question was rhetorical and pointless—she knew exactly why she sat, nearly paralyzed in the rented car, praying for an apocalypse. She was completely out of options.
“You okay, lady? Do you need me to wait?”
Vivian forced herself to remember that she was being watched by the impatient cabbie who clearly wanted her out of his car.
And rightfully so—I’ve been staring at the house for five minutes and off the meter. If we were in New York, he would have forcibly removed me by now. I am very grateful for small-town hospitality.
A small part of her was tempted to take the man up on his offer, to have him wait, lest she lose her nerve at the door and feel the need to run.
If he stays, I’ll definitely feel the need to run. I feel the need to tell him to keep driving as we speak.
“No, I’m good,” she lied. “Thanks for giving me a minute.”
He smirked slightly, the yellow of his teeth showing from beneath his curled lips.
“You didn’t give me much of a choice,” he reminded her and Vivian snorted.
“I’d say that tip I gave you bought me a few extra minutes.”
He didn’t answer and instead exited the driver’s seat to remove her luggage from the already opened trunk.
Vivian knew that was her cue and she begrudgingly opened the door to the backseat, stepping onto the curb with another deep sigh.
To a casual passerby, a double take would be in order. The lean, long frame of the woman standing before the sprawling colonial mansion was hard to ignore, her fine auburn hair chopped into a precise bob around her regally sculpted face. If the observer were to stare closer, he would see a pair of intelligent aqua eyes shielded by a set of naturally long-lashed eyes but that did not stop Vivian Bentley from donning the perfect amount of mascara and concealer so nary a pore was shown on her peaches and cream complexion. Even her unyielding freckles were carefully masked
between the world and an expertly applied layer of foundation.
No one would ever know by looking that Vivian had spent her childhood biting her nails to the quick and suffering from migraines. No stranger could ever guess that the uber-composed woman in the dark blue pantsuit was plagued by uncertainty, one which only mounted as she accepted her bags from the driver and moved toward the steps.
“Good luck,” the man called sarcastically. “I hope he’s worth all the stress.”
Vivian turned and eyed him questioningly.
“What?”
“You’re going back to your ex, aren’t you? I’ve never seen anyone act like you unless they were heading into prison.”
Vivian’s eyebrow shot up in mock surprise.
“Do you get a lot of fares to prison? Your work must be very interesting.”
He scowled at her jibe, apparently forgetting that he started it.
“Have a nice day.”
Vivian was sure he didn’t mean it and continued to make her way up toward the door.
This is a big mistake, big mistake, big mistake, a singsong voice played in her head but Viv silenced it and pulled open the glass outer door, knocking with force before she could change her mind.
What do you mean change it? It was never made up. It was either this or a box in the Bowery. And literally a box, not just a small apartment.
She waited, looking back toward the road longingly and her eyes fell over the immaculately landscaped lawn. The hedges had been clipped to depict birds flying from the lush green of the Kentucky bluegrass and Vivian smirked at the irony.
As if anyone could ever escape that house. If they were real birds, their wings would have been clipped and they would live in gilded cages for all of eternity.
Or until they pecked one another’s eyes out.
As if on cue, the door opened and a handsomely dressed woman in a tight chignon stood peering down with scorn-filled eyes.
“Hello, Vivian.”
Vivian turned her attention back to the door and forced a smile. She could tell it turned out to be more of a grimace but it was the best she could muster given the circumstances.
“Hello, Mother.”
She waited as Celia Bentley stared at her, the older woman’s cold, teal eyes raking over her only daughter as though she was examining for fleas.
“You look well,” Celia finally managed to say but her statement lacked both conviction and warmth. “Come in.”
She stepped back to permit Vivian entry and gestured at a stoic-looking man standing nearby.
“Gregory, take my daughter’s bags to the guest suite.”
“I thought I might stay in the pool house,” Vivian interjected as the decrepit stranger shuffled toward her luggage without a sound. He did not even bother to glance at Vivian and he decidedly made her nervous for no good reason. She idly wondered what had happened to the last butler… what had his name been? Her parents had gone through so much staff over the years, it was impossible to keep them all straight.
No one wants to work for the batshit-crazy Bentleys. Not that I blame them. I was born into this hellhole. I know what they treat their own daughter like. They certainly aren’t kind to their employees.
“The pool house is currently occupied,” Celia explained, leading the way through the foyer and toward the back of the house. “But it would probably be better for you if you remained in the house.”
Vivian didn’t bother to ask why. She could only imagine what kind of lifestyle her parents envisioned she had led since moving to New York. Instead, she frowned, wondering where she was being taken. The living room was through the hallway on the west side of the house. It was where she would have expected to find her father waiting for his ritualistic lecture.
“What’s going on with the pool house? Who is it occupied by?”
“Your brother and his wife. They’re here, by the way. They’re looking forward to seeing you, Vivian.”
“Fucking great.”
Vivian had not meant to say it aloud and she didn’t realize she had until her mother gave her a scathing look. She spun completely around, her mouth pursed into a fine line of disapproval.
“Let us set some ground rules off the bat,” Celia snapped.
Here we go.
“You will show everyone in this house the respect they deserve while you visit here. I can only imagine how many more bad habits you picked up gallivanting around New York with that laborer you married, but you won’t bring them into this house, am I clear?”
She made the word “laborer” sound like the most profane syllables in the world.
“Crystal,” Vivian retorted, refusing to engage in a fight with her icy mother. It was a battle she knew she would never win, no matter how hard she tried. Nothing Vivian ever did would be good enough in her parents’ eyes, even if their concept of how her life had gone was completely skewed in their eyes.
It didn’t matter that she had graduated top of her class at NYU in Journalism nor that she had struggled without their support, both financially and emotionally. How could she hold a candle to her perfect brother, the criminal defense attorney who made more money in one day than she did in a month as a copywriter?
Perfect Justin, married the model and has the big, beautiful house in Virginia Beach that he can afford to redo every five years because his princess wife wants it.
There was simply no contest—Vivian could do no right in their eyes.
Especially now.
The women stared at one another for a long moment but it was Vivian who lowered her gaze first. It was what Celia demanded, after all, and Vivian knew that she couldn’t very well be standing there all night having a staring contest with her mother.
No matter how tempting it might be to watch her eyes bleed, Vivian thought viciously.
“Good,” Celia said, whirling back around to continue through the house. “As I was saying, Justin and Rochelle have taken over the pool house while their house undergoes renovations. I imagine you will be gone before their plans are completed. It is your plan to get a job and place to live, isn’t it?”
“Of course, Mother, as warming as your southern hospitality is.”
“It’s like I’ve told you a million times, Vivian, you need to earn respect. Your problem has always been your sense of entitlement. We are not giving you a hand-out but we couldn’t very well leave you to rot in New York, could we?”
Vivian bit back the reply threatening to bubble from her lips and inhaled sharply when she saw where they were headed.
It’s a goddamn celebration of my failures! she thought in disbelief, eyeing the small mob of people milling about the backyard. She called a party in to witness my humiliation!
“You know what, Mom? I think I’ll just go rest up. The flight from New York was—”
“An hour and a half,” Celia interjected crisply. “The least you could do after not showing your face here for five years is say hello. At least to your family. Everyone else expects you to hide out like you always do and frankly, I’m a little sick of having to make excuses for you.”
From where Vivian was standing, it was her entire family, extended from everywhere in Virginia. Vivian didn’t know why she was shocked at the antic. There was nothing her parents wouldn’t do to relish in her embarrassment, it seemed.
They’re hoping to get some intel from one of these busybodies. That’s what this is.
Again, Vivian shoved back the overwhelming desire to argue and smiled instead.
“It sounds grand,” Vivian offered acidly. Celia frowned but made no comment, pushing open the glass doors and sliding out to greet her company. As if a mask had slipped over her face, a passive, content look played upon Celia’s classical features and she clapped her hands.
“Look who’s here, everyone!” she called in a sickly-sweet voice which physically churned Vivian’s stomach.
She’s not going to let me live this down for one minute. She loves that I was forced to come back here and
grovel.
“Wow, Vivian!” came a murmur of surprised voices as if she’d just returned from the dead. Vivian idly wondered if they took classes to act so phonily.
As if they didn’t know I was coming, she thought bitterly. She was instantly surrounded by an air of expensive perfume and air kisses, desperately trying to hold back the scream that was formulating in her throat. Vivian could tell that all they wanted was to pull her aside and gorge her for the sordid details of her divorce.
There was a chorus of, “Oh honey, it’s so great to see you!” and “You and I must catch up over cosmos!”
Their voices all blended together in her ears until they were a dull drone of vapid hum. All until one man’s words boomed out, driving her back to reality.
“Hello, Vivian.”
She heard the disapproval in her father’s voice even before she saw his face.
“Hi, Daddy,” she sighed.
“Aren’t you going to give me a hug?”
Vivian swallowed her resentment and offered him a quick embrace before releasing him.
“You look well, considering,” Theo Bentley told her. The backhanded compliment did not shock her in the least.
Considering what? Considering I’m twenty-seven years old and back under your roof?
“Thanks. Is there alcohol around here somewhere?” Vivian replied brightly. “I mean the good stuff, not wine or beer.”
Theo’s mouth grew tight.
“How much have you been drinking?” he demanded and Vivian almost laughed until she realized he was serious.
“Today?” she answered innocently. “Or in general?”
“That’s what I was afraid of. Do we need to arrange some kind of rehab for you?”
“What?” she snapped. “What the hell kind of question is that?”
His face soured.
“Watch your mouth, Vivian. You’re among some of your elderly relatives.”
She ignored the advice.
“Why would you ask me something like that?” she demanded. “Have I ever had a problem with alcohol?”
Theo shrugged and cocked his head to look at her.
“How would I know, Vivian? You’ve been gone, virtually incommunicado, for five years. For all I know, that’s exactly where you’ve been—off in a gutter somewhere.”