A Winter's Vow (A Winter's Tale Series Book 3)

by Kristi Tailor

  “Do you think it’s a possibility that Isabelle could have−”

  “Never,” Deborah interrupted him. “Isabelle loved her mother’s fish, and besides that, Isabelle was similar to her mother in spirit, it wasn’t in her to hurt the living.”

  “So, what did Nancy do after Dean lied.”

  “What could she do? She hadn’t seen him do it, and she didn’t want to accuse him of something that she had no proof of . . . not wanting him to become withdrawn again, she did what she thought was best, counted it as a loss.”

  “Why do I have the feeling that it didn’t end with the fish?”

  “I wish it had. God knows, I wish it had. “Weeks had passed since the pond incident, and she’d said that while Dean had been quieter than usual there hadn’t been signs that she and my brother- in- law should be alarmed. About a month later they’d began to smell what she explained to me as being the most vile, grotesque odor she’d ever experienced. The smell engulfed their home, the smell of death, and it was as if it was coming through the walls. Well, they called an exterminator, thinking Mizty, their cat must have killed a mouse, and hid it somewhere. Nothing could have prepared them for what they had found. In their attic, hidden under a moveable floor board the exterminator found a box full of decapitated squirrels. Squirrels! And they must have been there for some time because my sister said that they had begun to decay in that paper coffin they’d been placed in.”

  “Tell me that that was enough to open your sister’s eyes, that she had gotten him help.”

  “I would be telling you a lie, even that wasn’t enough. Nancy had felt sorry for him, and the last thing she wanted to do was push him away . . . she wanted to be his saving grace, she had this need, this unrealistic desire to be a safe- haven for him,” Deborah said absently, as if in a daze. “If only she set her emotions aside long enough to realize the devastation that was released into her home, damage that could never be undone.”

  “Deborah,” Nicholas said, his voice low, comforting even. “I’m sorry, but you’re losing me.” It was as if the woman was speaking in circles, and the deeper she went into the story, the more confused Nicholas became. “What did Dean do that was so terrible?” he asked.

  Deborah frowned deeply, the expression causing imperceptible creases to form around her thin lips. “After the squirrel incident she punished him. She didn’t ask if he was guilty, she already knew that he was, and so she punished him. Punishing him seemed to work, still, there was something about his disposition that had begun to scare Nancy, something about him that she didn’t quite trust.”

  “The feeling of not being able to trust Dean, of not feeling safe around him, even that wasn’t enough for her to seek help?” Nicholas shook his head in disbelief. “He didn’t need to be punished, what he needed was psychiatric help.”

  “My sentiments exactly; however, expressing my concerns about Dean the first time had nearly destroyed my relationship with Nancy, and I was ostracized from the only family I had left. I wasn’t willing to destroy the progress we had made, let alone jeopardize the time I would get to spend with my niece. Now, all these years later, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret my decision, that I don’t wish that I had the courage to speak up again. If only, I had stood my ground, a second time, or a third. Who knows, things could have ended differently, maybe they would have ended the same . . .” Deborah sighed. “Life can be so cruel. To live day after day, dwelling on decisions made long ago, I wouldn’t wish that sort of agony on my worst enemy,” she breathed, the confession torn from her soul, leaving her fragmented. “When I started to come around again, Dean had just turned thirteen. He wasn’t the same child from the year before,” she said inching closer to Nicholas. “Although Dean had always been unbalanced, there was still something human about him, when you looked into his eyes, though they were cold, they were still the eyes of a boy.” Deborah shivered, unable to speak the words that wanted, needed so desperately to be heard. Dropping her head into her hands, she sobbed, loud, painful shrieks that echoed in the too small kitchen.

  Reaching out, Nicholas gently squeezed the older woman’s right shoulder. “Deborah, you don’t have to tell me anything else,” he said. “Talking about such a difficult time for your family is too much, and I understand that . . . I’m going to see myself out.” Giving her shoulder another light squeeze, he stood to leave.

  “Wait!” she yelled, nearly frantic. “You have to let me finish. It’s not for my sake, but for Isabelle’s. Another living being, besides myself, needs to know the truth.”

  “The truth? The truth about what?” he asked, still standing.

  “About what Dean did to her. About what he did to my Isabelle,” she cried. “About a month after Nancy and I made up, she called me crying. Her cat had gone missing. She spent hours looking for her, but she was nowhere to be found. Mitzy had never been an animal to like the outdoors, and so the thought of her going outside didn’t seem logical. When Nancy asked Dean if he had seen the cat, he laughed. He laughed. Right to her face, he laughed. She had told me that even after walking away from him, he continued to laugh, hysterically. As if from her pain, he found joy. Three days after the cat went missing, Isabelle fell from the roof. She suffered severe trauma to her head, and to her spinal cord. The doctors thought it best to put her in a medically induced coma until the swelling in her brain decreased,” Deborah said, struggling to control her breathing. Years later it was still hard to think of her niece in such a state. “For five months, she just laid there, unmoving. We thought she was going to die,” she continued. “She was only seven years old at the time. But, God made a way out of no way. It was a slow process, but the swelling eventually decreased, and after what felt like an eternity the doctors took her out of the induced coma. Shortly after Isabelle woke up, we learned that she was paralyzed from the waist down.”

  “And you think Dean had something to do with her falling from the roof?” Nicholas grimaced at the thought. “There’s no doubt in my mind that the man has issues, but attempted murder? Do you really think he is capable of going to that extreme?”

  “It wasn’t my first thought, nor was it my second. For months, we asked Isabelle what she was doing on the roof, but she wouldn’t tell us. It wasn’t until child welfare got involved, and Nancy begged her to tell the truth about what happened. It took seeing her mother on the verge of a nervous breakdown before she gave us an answer. ‘Dean.’ She said his name, and nothing more. ‘Dean.’ My sister called the adoption agency and told them that she wanted to surrender her rights.”

  “Did Dean ever admit to pushing her off the roof?”

  “No, but what reason would Isabelle have to lie?” Deborah asked incredulously, on the verge of becoming insulted. “He was wicked, an evil, horrible child. It wasn’t until twenty- three years later, two years after my sister’s death that Isabelle finally spoke about what happened that day . . . Dean had waited until they were alone, and then he told her that he saw Mitzy on the roof. He asked Isabelle if she wanted to help him get the cat down. He led her to the third floor, helped her out the attic window, and once they were on the roof he pulled what was left of Mitzy from the rain gutter. Petrified, Isabelle tried to move past him, in vain she fought to climb back into the window, but he was bigger, stronger, and like a ragdoll, he tossed her from the roof. Twenty- three years passed, and she still remembered the hate in his eyes.” Taking Nicholas’ large hands into her smaller ones, Deborah whispered, “You said that Dean is blackmailing you? Best advice I can give you is to pay him off, and move on with your life. He destroyed a family in less than two years, and he was only a child then. I can’t even imagine what he is capable of now. I’ve seen the consequences of not taking his nature seriously, and I regret it every day. Pay him off,” she repeated.

  Nicholas frowned, his mind drifting back to the conversation he had had with Dean just two days before, the man’s words echoing in his mind. ‘Christmas with her family in Baltimore . . . N
ew Year’s with your family in the Hamptons . . . her one bed room flat on W. 26th street . . . yellow diamond on her finger, you drop her off a block away from the office . . . coffee shop on 46th street . . . she buys two coffees and a cookie for you to share . . . I’m never close enough . . .’ Nicholas grimaced as the other man’s words raced through his subconscious, overtaking his thoughts. “But you were close . . . all that time, you’ve been right in front of us, and we never knew,” Nicholas muttered, his expression becoming a dark mask as fear began to spread through him.

  “What?” Deborah asked, confused.

  “I have to go,” he answered, running to the door. “Thank you for your help, I’ll be in touch.”

  “Pay him off!” Deborah yelled after him. “Regret, regret is a terrible monster to overcome,” she cried out, but he was too far gone to hear her.

  Chapter Twenty- Four

  Nicholas breathed a sigh of relief the moment his flight descended from the clouds. Quickly maneuvering his way through the large crowds, he reached into his coat pocket for his phone, turning off airplane mode as he did so. 8 new voice mails. Placing his phone back into his pocket, Nicholas hastened his steps, making it to the ground level of JFK in seconds. Leaving the warmth of the airport, he was greeted by the bitter temperatures that only real New Yorkers could ever get used to. Wasting no time, he flagged down a cab, jumping into the backseat before the driver came to a complete stop. “245 W. 26th street, and hurry.”

  “Roger that, boss man,” the driver said, as he eased back into the steady moving traffic.

  ***

  Nicholas took the stairs leading to Charlotte’s apartment two at a time. His nerves were on edge as his mind envisioned the horrific things Dean could have done while the place was empty. After all, he had known about their leaving town for the holidays, about the route they took to work, about the ring . . . about Charlotte’s family drama. There was no telling what else he knew, or what he was willing to do to find out more. There was no limit to what one could do when they were as twisted, and malicious as Dean. Reaching the third landing, Nicholas quieted his steps as he made his way down the narrow hallway, his left hand instantly moving to his coat pocket in search for his keys. Opening the door, he stopped abruptly. The bright light illuminating from the living room caught his attention, giving him reason to pause. Silently closing the door behind him, he slowly turned the corner that separated the foyer from the inner rooms of the small apartment. Someone was there, he could hear the soft rustle of movement from just beyond the wall that separated them.

  “Hello,” called a woman’s voice. “Charlotte, is that you?”

  Blithe? Nicholas frowned. “Blithe?” he said, walking into the living room. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  “Nicholas. You startled me,” she sighed, repositioning herself on the couch. “I heard a noise, and got scared.”

  “What in the hell are you doing here?” he repeated. “How did you get in?”

  “The door was open when I got here. I was looking for you . . . I’ve been calling you for weeks now, and you haven’t answered any of my calls.”

  Walking past her, Nicholas asked, “Did you see anyone when you got here?”

  “No, no one was here.”

  “Did you see anyone in the hallway?” he demanded.

  “No. Nicholas, I have to talk to you. Would you sit down with me, please?”

  Nicholas ignored her. Tearing through each room, he searched for evidence that Dean had been there. Something, anything would have sufficed, but he found nothing. Aside from Blithe making herself at home on the sofa, the place was just as they had left it. Combing his fingers through his already tousled hair, Nicholas walked back into the living room. Infuriation radiated off of him in currents as he made his way over to Blithe. “How did you find out where Charlotte lived?” he asked her, his stormy eyes changing into a hunted grey as he spoke.

  “That’s not important,” she shrugged. “If you answered the phone when I called, we could have had this conversation at a different place, at a different time, but you ignored me.”

  “So, you break into Charlotte’s home? Do you have any boundaries you won’t cross?” he laughed, though there was no humor in it.

  “Do you?”

  Nicholas took a step toward her. “I know your game,” he said, unamused. “And I’m not entertained. What happened between us was nothing more than a quick fuck that I immediately regretted afterwards. Don’t mistake it for anything more than that,” he snapped.

  Blithe’s clear blue eyes met his silver ones. “Must you always be so cruel? What have I ever done that was so horrible, to get the worst side of you? What?” she yelled, clearly wounded by his words. “I was good to you. The perfect fiancé, and I would have been the perfect wife. You walked away from me, and I forgave you. You ignored me, and I still loved you,” she cried. “You never even said sorry . . . are you even sorry?” Blithe asked. Standing, she walked toward him, closing the distance between them. “Do you even know how much I loved you?” she laughed sadly. “Did you even care?”

  “We were pawns, nothing more. Our parents were using us to solidify our families’ business relationship, that’s all.”

  “It was more than that,” Blithe argued. “We loved−”

  “I never loved you. My father threatened to take away my trust fund, and my position within the company if I didn’t marry you. I was doing it for the money. Not because I loved you. My father exploited what was once my weakness to get me to do what he wanted, and I foolishly went along with his bullshit out of fear of being cut off. But that’s as far as it went between me and you . . . the engagement, my falsified attempt at showing you affection, it was all a sham. None of it was real.”

  “You’re lying,” she wailed, not bothering to hide the tears that fell rampantly down her pale cheeks. “You’re just trying to hurt me.”

  “I’m being honest with you.”

  “Honest,” she repeated, tasting the word. “Honest. Have you been honest with Charlotte about what happened between us? Hm? Or am I the only one that’s deserving of Nicholas Elliot’s honesty?”

  Nicholas licked his lips. Exhaling he asked, “Is that why you’re here? To tell Charlotte?”

  “No,” she said, angrily wiping her face with the back of her hand. “I’m here for . . . you.”

  “Blithe, you need to leave.”

  “Not until you hear what I’ve come to say,” she insisted. “I’m not leaving until we talk.”

  “About what?” he yelled.

  “About us,” she shouted back at him. “About our baby.”

  Nicholas opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Closing his eyes, he shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t do this Blithe. Don’t lie about−”

  “I’m not lying,” she interrupted him. Turning away from Nicholas, Blithe reached for her Louis Vuitton purse that had been tossed carelessly on the couch. Opening the Ebene satchel, she quickly pulled out a pregnancy test. “See,” she said, holding it out to him. “There’s a plus sign.”

  “When did you take a pregnancy test?” he asked, his gaze moving from the white stick, to her face, and then back again.

  “Three weeks ago, and if my calculations are correct, I should be about ten weeks.”

  Shaking his head in denial, Nicholas turned away from her. “Fuck!” he shouted. Raising his hands to his head, he fought to keep his composure. His life was falling apart before his very own eyes, and all he could do was sit back and watch as pandemonium swept through and destroyed all that he had worked so hard to build.

  “Nicholas, I know this is a lot to take in, but we are in this together,” Blithe said, placing the pregnancy test back into her purse. “Aren’t we, Nicholas? We’re in this together?”

  “You should go.”

  “We need to talk about−”

  “I’ll call you,” he interjected, his back still toward her. “But right now, you need to go.”

  Si
ghing, Blithe ran her fingers through her thick blonde hair. “Okay,” she muttered, rolling her eyes at his back. “Call me when you’re ready to talk . . . but Nicholas don’t make me wait too long,” she said before turning to leave.

  Once alone, Nicholas exhaled deeply, realizing only then that he had been holding his breath. For a moment, however brief, time seemed to stop; the world stood still, unmoving, unchanging, static. The guilt of being with Blithe had weighed heavily on his shoulders for months, his subconscious continuously bombarded with images of that night. Just a few moments, that’s all it took to destroy his life, the very foundation of his existence was crumbling, and with it he had begotten a child. The remnant of his sin was enough to bring him to his knees. Squeezing his eyes shut, Nicholas fought to keep from crying as thoughts of the inevitable clung to him like a second skin. Releasing one breath and then inhaling another, he pulled his Blackberry from his back pocket. She’ll forgive me . . . she loves me enough to forgive me . . . we made vows, for better, or for worse . . . she won’t leave me. The words were a litany to his soul, and if nothing else worked to soothe him, they did; however, unrealistic and untrue they may have been . . . it was those words that kept his sanity intact. Staring down at the device in his moist hands, he shook his head in denial, his heart breaking at the thought of what would come next. With uncertain fingers, he blindly scrolled through his contacts, stopping as if on cue. Dimple. Nicholas groaned aloud, hating himself for what he had done, for what he was about to do to the only woman he had ever loved. For better, or for worse, until death do us part. Nicholas, I vow before God that I will be your peace during every storm. For better, or for worse, we are in this together. That is my promise to you, until death do us part. Charlotte’s words echoed in his mind, soothing . . . tormenting, until the two were one in the same.

  “Nicholas!” Charlotte squealed into the phone. “I miss you so much, too much,” she said. “I know I just saw you, but I really−”