The ground disappears from beneath my feet, and I reach for a nearby cupboard, clinging on for dear life. Spittle returns his attention onto Brad. “I knew Danny. But I need someone to formally identify the body.”
A ragged sob rips my body in two, along with my world, and I fall to my knees. Spittle doesn’t even look at me. But Brad does. And the wobble of his lip only makes it all the more real. I knew Danny. That’s what he said. Spittle has already identified him.
“I’ll do it,” Brad replies, his voice shaky. He knocks back the whole of his drink and slams his empty down, his grip of the glass sending his knuckles white. He’s angry. He’s sad. He’s lost. “I’ll do it,” he breathes, glancing across to me on the floor. I can’t see him through my tears. But I know he’s crying too. “Unless you want to,” he adds coldly.
My head feels like it could explode. I don’t know what happens now, where I’ll go, how I’ll survive. But I do know one thing. I can’t see Danny like that. Never.
I jump up and run out of the office. Dead. He’s dead. I see nothing as I race through the mansion, except the memories of him circling my mind. I don’t hear a sound except him calling my name. I smell nothing but sea and driftwood and Danny.
I charge up the stairs, down the corridor, and into my room, slamming the door behind me. I find the blade on the floor. Pick it up. Rest it on my arm. And I slash repeatedly, over and over, screaming my way through it.
I’m not punishing myself.
I’m punishing him.
“Rose!” Brad knocks the blade from my hand, and I fold to the floor in a heap of devastation, my body racked with loud, jerking sobs.
I’ve never really felt. Not for years. Not before Danny and after my baby was taken.
But I don’t think I’ve ever felt this numb. This broken. This hopeless. There was a small part of me that always hoped that maybe one day I would be reunited with my boy. That now seems impossible. The three people in this world who would know where or how to find him are all dead. I should feel free. Nox is gone. The man with the snake ring is gone. But so is Danny, and now I feel more trapped in darkness than ever before. And through my numbness, I’m in agony.
It’s raining. Has been since Brad returned from the morgue and drank two bottles of Scotch two weeks ago. Dense, gray clouds blanket the sky. The ground beneath my heels is saturated and spongy. The air is thick with grief, and every fat raindrop that hits me hurts. I’ve declined Ringo’s offer of an umbrella. Let the rain drown me. Let it pelt me until I’m bruised.
I stare as two men lower Danny’s coffin into the gaping hole in the ground. I swallow when I lose sight of it. I close my eyes when the lump in my throat swells and lodges itself there, my measured breaths faltering. I try to breathe through my nose. I gasp for air, throwing my hand out to catch Brad’s black-suited arm to steady myself. He moves quickly to catch me.
“Hey,” he whispers, pulling me close. I bury my face in his side, unable to watch as Esther steps forward and tosses dirt on top of the coffin. Her face has remained expressionless for the two weeks since Danny was confirmed dead, though the devastation in her eyes is tangible. “Rose,” Brad says, urging me from my hiding place. I look at two sweaters in my hands, the British flags facing me. My ring catches my eye. The diamond has dulled. It hasn’t sparkled like it once did.
Gathering strength, I step forward slowly, stopping at the edge of the grave. Tears steadily drop and sink into the material of the sweaters. One more time, I bring them to my nose and breathe them in, closing my eyes. I see him. He’s there, wild and beautiful. “I’ll never forget you,” I whisper, dropping the sweaters into the grave.
I turn and walk away on unfeeling legs, but where I’ll go beyond here is unknown. I’m wet through, cold to the bone. Distraught. Taking the handle of the Merc, I pull the door open. “Rose?”
I frown at the voice I recognize, turning to find Perry Adams behind me. “Perry?”
Stepping forward, his face drenched in sympathy that I just don’t understand, he hands me an envelope. “Danny asked me to do something for him.”
Tentatively, I accept the envelope, my frown growing. “What?”
“Just read what’s inside.” He turns and walks away but comes to a stop before he makes it to his car. Looking over his shoulder, he smiles a little. “He really loved you.”
Those words don’t comfort me. They only remind me that he’s gone. I would rather Danny truly hate me and be here. Alive. Living. A suppressed sob chokes me, and I shake my head. “Good luck in the campaign race,” I say, getting in the car before the envelope is completely sodden by the rain.
I rip open the top and pull out some papers, my hand coming to my mouth when I see a handwritten note from Danny on top.
* * *
Rose,
If you’re reading this, my plan for us didn’t work out. But it still can for you. I asked you to be strong. Now, I’m begging you. I can’t be with you, and that kills me all over again. I’ve enclosed a one-way ticket to St. Lucia. Go. Get out of that godforsaken city. There’s a beachside villa all paid for. It’s yours. Sell it if you must, take the money, but promise me you’ll stay there for a while and remind yourself of who you are. My warrior. The woman I fell so madly in love with. You’ve lost me. I can’t let you lose her too. Don’t mourn me for too long. You’ve got a life to live. A life of freedom.
But before you leave, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. With the airline ticket is something else.
I love you.
Always will.
Danny x
* * *
I blink, swallow, blink again. I can smell him. See him. The airline ticket underneath is for a flight the day after tomorrow. I pull out the paper beneath that, my forehead creasing when I see what it is. A birth certificate. “What?” I scan the page, seeing it belongs to someone called Daniel Christopher Green. I shake my head, my confusion growing. This means nothing to me. Was that Danny’s name before Carlo Black found him? My gaze falls onto the date of birth. It can’t be. This person was born ten years a—
“Oh my God.” I nearly drop the papers when the date sinks into my confused brain. A date I will never forget. But his name? “Daniel,” I say to myself, feeling at my throat, massaging the swell of grief away. I urgently scramble through the rest of the papers, finding an address. My hand comes up to my mouth to contain my sob, my body convulsing. He found my son? In California. There’s a plane ticket for there too.
I jump out of the car quickly. “Perry!” I yell, stopping him from pulling the door of his car closed. I hold all the papers up, fighting to find my voice. “Thank you.”
He smiles again, this time not forced. But he doesn’t say a word. He pulls the door closed and drives off.
And then the rain suddenly stops.
And the clouds clear.
I look up to the sky.
The sun is out for the first time since Danny died.
The house is perfect. White, spotless, and perfect. The front lawn is an unbelievable shade of perfect green and the white picket fence containing it looks like it’s straight from a picture book advertising the most perfect family home.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” Esther asks as I stare at the house from the back seat of the cab. “I don’t mind coming with you. We don’t know how they’ll react to you.” She looks at the house too. “Maybe you should have called first.”
I shake my head and open the door. “Giving them notice of my arrival would give them time to stop me. I don’t want to risk them blocking me.” Reaching over, I kiss her cheek. “I’ll get another cab back to the hotel. You don’t have to wait.” I get out and make my way toward the house, brushing down my black pants. I’ve never found it so tricky to decide what to wear. I wanted to look as together and presentable as possible, even if I’m anything but. Danny’s note shook me to the core. When I started reading, he suddenly wasn’t dead anymore. Then I finished the letter and it was like he’d died all over again.
But he offered me hope. A savior. Something to live for.
I knock on the door and step back, listening for sounds from beyond. There’s nothing. And then there’s something. Footsteps. My heart starts beating double time, pounding fiercely, and Danny’s voice drums in my head.
Be strong. Be strong. Be strong.
The door swings open, and all the words I’d planned abandon me as I stare at the woman before me. An attractive woman, with blonde hair and brown eyes, maybe mid-fifties. She’s in an apron that’s covering a pleated skirt and chiffon blouse. She’s baking. Being a mom. Normal. She looks so normal. I cough my throat clear and search through the bedlam in my head for my lines. “Hello, my name is—”
“You don’t need to tell me who you are.” Her hand drops from the door, her eyes glazing. “He looks just like you.”
I inhale, so sharply, I find myself staggering back.
“Careful, there.” She rushes to catch me when my heel slips off the step, and I start plummeting backward.
I quickly right myself with her help, my head in even more chaos, trying to adjust to the unexpected direction this moment has taken. As I stare at the woman before me, I can’t help but think that she was prepared for it. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”
“I’m not.”
“Why?”
“I’ve always wondered when you’d show up. How did you find us?”
I pull out the envelope from my purse. “My fiancé gave me these.” Again, the notion that Danny had everything in place pokes at my mind. I don’t want to believe he walked into his death willingly to save me, but everything I know suggests it. Ernie, Nox, now my son. He was willing to sacrifice himself for me. And I hate him for it. “Hilary,” I begin, and she frowns. “It’s on Daniel’s birth certificate. It’s fake, I assume. But that is your name, yes?”
Her head bobs on a light nod. “And your name?”
“Rose.”
Looking at the house, as if thinking carefully, she motions to the door. “You should come in.”
“Is Daniel there?”
She starts toward the front door, looking back. “He’s at soccer practice.”
It’s weird. Part of me is relieved. Part of me is disappointed. I want to see him, and I don’t. But only because I know that visual confirmation that Danny really did find my son might finish me off.
I follow her and enter a light, breezy hallway, letting Hilary direct me to the kitchen—a huge square space, with sofas, a dining area, and doors onto a huge yard. I see a soccer net at the back, a few balls scattered on the lawn before it. I keep my eyes on the balls as I lower to a chair at the table.
A glass of water slides toward me. I take a sip, feeling parched. “So what now?” she asks, joining me.
I look up from my glass, wondering the very same thing. “I don’t know,” I admit. “But I know I want to get to know my son.”
“Get to know him?”
“Yes. You bought my baby on the black market. He was minutes old when they ripped him from my breast, and I never saw him again. Not a day has gone by, not a minute, when I didn’t think about him.”
She swallows, and I see the guilt she’s probably been burying for years. She looks wholesome. A good woman. But she’s not allowed herself to think about what I lost, only what she gained.
Hilary shakes her head. “You’re misunderstanding. I expected you to come in here guns blazing, threatening to take him. But you want to get to know him?”
Guns blazing. I shake my head clear of the explosions of light bombarding my mind. “I’m not deluded, Hilary. I’ve never been a mother. Honestly, I wouldn’t know where to begin, but I really want to try.” I couldn’t just rip him away from her. I’ve been there myself, and it was agony after a few minutes of nursing him. Hilary has had ten years with Daniel. She knows what she’s doing. Look at her, all perfect. And look at me. Completely imperfect. My relief that for all these years my boy has been with someone who loves him so much won’t allow me to turn his life upside down. “Does he know about me?”
She looks down, as if ashamed. “I’ve thought about telling him so many times. But then . . .” Her eyes swell with tears. “What if you never came? What if you were dead?” Her hand covers her mouth. “I wished you dead,” she croaks, and I nod, oddly understanding. Sometimes I wished myself dead. Suddenly, she gets up and walks across the kitchen to the fridge. Opening the door, she pulls out a bottle of white. “I hope you don’t mind.”
I smile to myself. “I’ll join you, if you don’t mind.”
She falters unscrewing the cap, regarding me carefully. “You’re so calm.”
“The storm’s over,” I tell her as she pours two glasses. “Now I’m trying to clean up the devastation it’s left behind.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her lip quivers. “I never thought about you, I admit it. I told myself you were a no-hoper who didn’t love him. A drug addict, a waste of space. I never thought of you as a mother, not even a decent human being. It was easier that way.” She lowers to the chair, taking back at least half her wine. “I was so desperate to be a mom. Six miscarriages, a stillborn. Adoption was so complicated, and the red tape ridiculous. We got declined. Us.” She laughs in disbelief, landing me with imploring eyes. “I just wanted to be a mom.” Her hand meets mine on the table, squeezing pleadingly. “Please don’t take him away from me.”
“I’m desperate to be a mom too,” I say in reply, and she inhales. That’s all I need to say. All that should be said.
“Then you will be.” She swallows, blinking back the tears. My son knows nothing but this woman who loves him. I could never take her away from him.
Silence falls for a short time, both of us thinking, both of us taking much-needed sips of our wine. “I’m scared,” I admit.
“Scared?”
“What if he doesn’t accept me?”
A knowing smile crosses her face. “Danny is the most levelheaded, wise, gracious ten-year-old I’ve ever known. He’s full of heart, Rose. He won’t reject you.”
Danny. They call him Danny. Pain slices me, and not only because of that. How much she knows about my boy hurts. How much I don’t know hurts more.
I look past Hilary when I hear a car pull up. “Oh, this is them.” She jumps up, brushing down her apron in a panic.
“Them?”
“Daniel and my husband.”
I shoot up from my chair. “Oh, God.” I place my wine down and follow Hilary’s lead, fiddling with my own clothes. “I should go. Now isn’t the right time. You need to sit him down and explain about me.” I look around for a means of escape.
Hilary seizes my wrist to stop me fleeing, and I look at her in shock. “You should at least meet my husband.” Her posture straightens, her inner strength growing. “I’ll send Daniel upstairs so we can talk about what happens next together. I’ve stalled long enough. Will you wait in here?”
She heads to the front door, not seeming to give me an option, and I lower to the chair and push the wine away from in front of me, opting for the water instead. I hear the door close. I hear a man, and then the undeniable sound of him greeting Hilary with a kiss.
“Why don’t you take a shower?” Hilary says to Daniel. “Get out of all that muddy soccer uniform. Take your cleats off first.”
“Okay.” His voice, young and sweet, tips my emotions as I hear the clunk of his cleats hitting the floor. The cleats I saw slung over his shoulder in a photograph. Then his thundering footsteps charge up the stairs.
I look down at the wooden table, shakes beginning to set in. I can hear hushed whispers from the hallway, Hilary obviously bringing her husband up to speed. I wait, tense, until he steps into the kitchen. His hair is silver, his glasses old-fashioned. Daniel’s father. He says nothing. Just nods, breathes in, and then backs out of the room again. There were tears in his eyes. He needed visual confirmation of my existence.
Over the next fifteen minutes, question after question rolls around my head. I ponder wha
t I’ll do if Hilary’s husband isn’t as friendly and welcoming of me. I wonder if he’ll send me packing. I wonder when they’ll tell Daniel and how. I wonder how much longer I’ll have to wait to meet him. I’ve heard his voice, and the ache inside has only intensified. I wonder if my son will completely reject me. Or even what I’ll do if he embraces me. I don’t think I really did prepare myself for this. I thought I had. Now I’m here, I’m a nervous wreck. So when I hear a door open, I’m up out of my chair like lightning, a stressed sweat breaking out, my heart going wild, hitting my breastbone hard, over and over again. I expect to see Hilary and her husband. I don’t. “Oh God,” I breathe, trying to force my heart rate steady.
A boy wanders into the kitchen, and my ability to breathe escapes me. I blindly reach for the table to keep myself upright as he regards me with an interest that I’m not sure what to make of. My head is demanding I say something, but yet again I’m mute. Stunned. Overwhelmed. Not just because standing in front of me is my baby—the boy I’ve dreamed of every night for ten years. But because there’s not one person on this planet who could deny that he is mine. I’ve seen pictures, but they’ve always been at a distance. I never got the opportunity to marvel at his looks. Everything about him is me. The dark shade of his hair. The deepness of his eyes. His complexion, his jawline, his nose. Even his lashes are long and girlie. If I didn’t know better, I would question whether there was even another human involved in creating him. And I’m filled with gratitude for that small mercy. He doesn’t look like a monster.
My knees begin to knock together, the moment becoming too much. I lower to the chair I just shot up from, needing something to support my overcome form. “Do you mind if I sit down?” I’ve planned what I would say to him time and again. I’ve dreamed of finding him and taking him in my arms, kissing his head and telling him how much I love him. I’m capable of none of those things, and, actually, now it feels inappropriate. I wonder where his parents are, yet I can’t find the words to ask. I wonder what he’s thinking, yet dare not ask. He’s put on pajamas, red ones emblazoned in Star Wars characters. His hair is wet, his skin so clear. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. “Where are your parents?”
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