Shadow of a Girl

by Shannon Greenland

  He caresses a finger down the side of my face. “There’s been a lot. But know I always used protection.”

  “No regrets?”

  “Some. Sure.” He crinkles his nose. “But that’s the past.”

  I get it, and he’s right. West doesn’t want a stroll down sexual memory lane, and really I don’t, either.

  Shifting back down, I rest my cheek on his chest, and neither one of us say anything for a few seconds as the hammock cocoons us and the porch light surrounds us in a soft glow.

  He lifts a hand and massages his fingers into my neck. “Just because I said I want to make love to you doesn’t mean there’s pressure. I hope you know that.”

  “I do.”

  He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Do me a favor?”

  I nod.

  “Relax and enjoy what we have. It’s pretty damn special. In the meantime, I have something to say to you.”

  I wait, but he doesn’t speak, and so I lift my head and look at him again. Except something’s different in his dark gaze. There’s something deep there. An emotion I haven’t seen before. Mixed with a teeny bit of nerves.

  He takes a deep breath and on the exhale says, “I love you, Eve. So unbelievably much that I don’t know what to do with myself.”

  Tears come to my eyes. “Oh, West.”

  He blows out a shaky breath. “God, that felt good to say.”

  I love him, too. How can I not? He’s extraordinary. He’s spectacular. He’s perfect. And the way his eyes crinkle when he’s amused… I think I might like that the most.

  He’s turned my life around. With his never-ending patience, friendship, and witty humor, he’s brought an enticement to my existence that I never realized I needed. My perpetual sense of loneliness dissipated the moment I met him.

  But I don’t say any of that, and I don’t say those three words back. Because it’s not fair to him. I’m not the person he thinks I am.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  At the small, private airport the next morning, we sit in the SUV holding hands, staring out the windshield, watching the workers prepare our separate twin-engine planes. West will go one way, I’ll go another, and we’ll see each other tonight.

  The pilots signal time to leave.

  West cups my face in his palms and kisses me. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “It’s only a day,” I tease.

  “I don’t care. I’ll still miss you.”

  Who am I kidding? I’ll miss him, too.

  We open our doors, grab our things, and head to our separate planes.

  When I reach mine, I turn back and with each step he takes away, my soul goes more and more empty. What if I don’t see him again? What if something happens and I have to run? What if, what if his plane crashes?

  When that last horrible question reels through my head, I gasp for air.

  I try to memorize everything about him. The fit of his jeans, his well-worn Adidas, the dark blue suitcase in his left hand, the sound of his laughter, his scent, his voice. Oh, no, what does he smell like? What about his voice? What does it sound like?

  I take a step toward him. “West!” I shout, then clamp my shaky hand over my mouth.

  Every person on the field, including West, turns toward me. With a grin, he sets his suitcase down and opens his arms, and I sprint across the open field to land hard against him. He squeezes me and rains kisses on my forehead, eyelids, cheeks, nose, and mouth.

  Then he pulls back and with crinkly eyes rubs our noses together. “There, that should do us until we see each other tonight.”

  “I love you,” I whisper. I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t. But I can’t help it. I do love him. I really do.

  “You did not just tell me that as I’m leaving,” he groans.

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  He laughs and plants a quick firm kiss to my lips. “You are so telling me that again later.”

  “Later,” I agree, smiling.

  He places a tender kiss to my lips. “See you tonight, Green Eyes.”

  I nod.

  One more kiss and he’s gone.

  West boards the plane, keeping his gaze glued to me the whole time. I watch him taxi down the runway, my emotions swelling with need, longing, and the rawness of love.

  “You ready, Miss?”

  I nod toward the worker and climb into my small plane. As it taxies away, I glance out the window, and I freeze.

  There, hovering along the fence that borders the private airport, stands a man in a dark suit, camera in hand, staring right at me.

  By the time we land in Miami, I’m so wound up that everything in me aches, and my head’s pounding. I pull my phone out and a text immediately pops up from West.

  Interview cancelled! In route back to you.

  Yay! I type back, though I don’t feel the excitement at all.

  On the taxi ride to the hotel all I can think about is that man and his camera. It’s probably just paparazzi taking pictures of West. This is what I tell myself, try to convince myself of, but what if it’s not? What if it’s someone from Gideon’s security?

  Fear careens through my body and floods my stomach with acid. I just… I don’t know what to do.

  When I get to the hotel, I go up to my room. Anne’s stuff is on her bed, but she’s gone somewhere. I sit down and look at my phone. I want to call Bluma. A whole hour ticks by, and I think I’m going insane. All I’m doing is staring at my phone.

  Finally I go down to the business center and start doing searches. I look up Gideon, I look up me, I do West, and everything seems the same. He’s having me followed. Bluma’s words come back to me, and I decide to type her name into the search engine.

  An article pops up from last week. I click on it and begin reading, and I stop breathing when my eyes land on: Longtime friend of the Kopeling family, Bluma Spindell, set to go in Nesiah’s place on Gideon’s world tour.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Bursting from the business center, I race toward the stairwell, fling open the door, and take the steps three at a time straight up. On floor ten I sprint down the long hall to my room, and panting, I fumble with the key, drop it, and snatch it back up.

  I get inside my room and grab my phone and dial Bluma’s personal cell.

  “Hello?” she answers, obviously not recognizing the number.

  “What is going on?” I yell. “You can’t go with Gideon!”

  “You can’t call me on this number! What are you doing?”

  “Bluma! How long have you known this?”

  “A few days. Gideon and my dad have been talking about it, and I just found out.”

  “This is what he wants! He knows I won’t let you go with him.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “Are you going alone or is your father going with you?”

  “Alone. I’m set to ‘replace’ you in the teen ministry because you decided to stay longer on your fictitious mission trip.”

  I grab my duffel. “I’m coming home. There is no way you’re replacing me.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Did you tell your father that you didn’t want to go?”

  “No, and I don’t plan on it. I’ll be okay. What can Gideon really do to me?”

  My childhood strobes through my head in these flashes of horror, and I grab a wad of clothes and cram them into my duffel. Flight or fight. It’s time I fight. “I’m coming home. Good-bye.” I click off in the middle of her starting to argue. Someone knocks on my door, and I spin around.

  “Open up, Eve. It’s West.”

  I don’t answer. It’s best this way. I’ll wait until he leaves, and then I’ll scoot out.

  “I know you’re in there.” He knocks on the door again.

  Still, I don’t answer.

  “I know who you are,” he quietly says.

  I close my eyes, hoping he’ll go away and yet also knowing it’s time we had this conversation. Slowly, I cross the carpet to
the door, swivel the handle down, and open it.

  West stands there with a face full of confusion and loss and also anger. He steps into my room, and I back away. “Ms. Kelly met me at the airport,” he says, tossing an envelope onto the bed.

  I give it a uneasy glance. “What’s that?”

  “A press release that’s scheduled to go out tomorrow.” He huffs. “Nesiah Kopeling, daughter to TV evangelist Gideon Kopeling. Nobel Peace Prize winner and religious advisor to the President. And you.” He jabs his finger at me. “Sixteen years old. A runaway. Goddammit, are you kidding me with this shit?”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, weighed down with my deception and betrayal and his anger.

  He shakes his head, looking so bewildered it nearly undoes me. “All you’ve done is lie to me.”

  I reach for him, my hands shaking. “Please don’t—”

  He pulls away. “Please don’t what? Be nice to you? Be understanding?” His voice cracks. “Fall for you? Take you home to meet my family? Tell you I love you?”

  Tears well in my eyes, and I search his face imploringly as he picks the envelope back up. “Rape.”

  “What?”

  His jaw clenches. “Your father has accused me of statutory rape.”

  “Oh my God.” Horror twists my guts. “He can’t do that. Can he?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he snaps. “Just the accusation itself is enough to ruin my career. But that’s not all.” He holds the envelope out. “Get the press release out.”

  In a detached haze, I take it from his fingers and open it up. FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE is printed along the top of a sheet of paper. Rape is in the subject line. There’s a few pictures of me.

  Underneath is an article with a picture attached of a skinny six-year-old girl in full color.

  “Go on, read it,” he hoarsely whispers.

  The girl stares back at me through sad, green eyes. Her long, blond hair is parted down the middle and brushed straight to hang behind her shoulders and down her back. She wears a knee length yellow dress with white ankle socks. Her face holds a stoic expression as if she’s never seen happiness in her life. The headline reads, A Lifetime of Mental Illness.

  That little girl is me.

  I flip through all the pictures of me at various ages, my face void, my eyes hazed in a brainwashed gloss.

  I do look mentally ill.

  I pull the article out. The words blur as I read my life story: Kopeling Ministry hides the true story of their sweetheart daughter. But through prayer and support Brother Gideon’s arms are open for her safe return and rehabilitation.

  The paragraphs continue, twisting every detail of my life. That I locked myself in my room, refused to eat, to bathe. That I was deceitful and had brought bodily harm on myself. That I had scarred my back with a cane.

  Fury gathers in me as I read a direct quote from Gideon, “I’m ashamed to have lied to everyone about Nesiah’s whereabouts when in reality she’s joined a rock ‘n roll group. I fear for her life with the sex and drugs. She was raised in a loving, Christian home. My arms are of course open for her safe return.”

  A harsh laugh scrapes across my throat. Gideon has effectively covered all his bases. Bluma, West, me if I go to the police. He’s left me no choice but to go back, and he knows it. All along he’s known everything. I only thought I was winning. I only thought I was free.

  My hands fist around the pages, and I hurl them across the room. “Lies!”

  West’s jaw hardens. “Of course they’re lies.”

  I level him with an icy stare. “Do you even want to hear my side?”

  “I’ve wanted to hear your side all along. You’ve had nothing but time to tell me your side.”

  My voice hardens. “What’s wrong? You don’t want to be falling for a mentally unstable girl?” Somewhere in the back of my mind I know I’m saying things I don’t mean. “You don’t get it do you?”

  West just looks at me.

  Blood rushes to my extremities, making me both hot and cold at the same time. “You and me? What was I thinking?” I walk over to where I threw the pages and pick them up. “I want to know who I pissed off in this universe.”

  He wets his lips. “What are you talking about?”

  I shake the pages at him. “This. My whole sad, pathetic life.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Who?” My voice rises an octave. “Who did I piss off to have dealt me this life? What did I ever do to anybody to deserve the hell that happens to me? WHO?” I shout.

  West takes a step back. “Eve—”

  I throw the pages at him. “Shut up. Just shut the hell up.”

  His eyes widen.

  “Oh now I’m scaring you? Well, GOOD!” I scream. “I’m glad someone else is scared for a change. God! I wish Gideon would have just made good on his threat and killed me.”

  West swallows. “D-don’t ever say that.”

  “You.” I jab my finger in his direction. “I would’ve already moved on if it weren’t for you.”

  “What?”

  I point toward the door. “Get out,” I blurt, aching with our words.

  Anger clenches his jaw. “Fine!” He wrenches the door open and then turns back. “All I ever wanted was your trust and honesty.” His words seep into my anger, stinging, causing tears to spring into my eyes. “And all you’ve done is lie to me,” he says, his voice raw.

  I take a step toward him and stop when he shakes his head. He’s right. I’ve done nothing but lie to him. I’m a coward.

  He slams out the door, and I stand alone in my hotel room, panting for air, so consumed by pain I can barely think.

  The pain flashes to anger, and my teeth clench together. I’ve got to get out of here. I wrench my door open, and West whirls on me. “And one last thing—”

  The elevator dings, and it all happens in a sort of slow-motion fog. West and I both turn. Gideon steps out, followed by two of the men on his private security. Beneath my feet, the floor shifts. From down the hall Gideon pins me with that evil, eerily calm stare, and his lips curl up into a satisfied smirk.

  He moves toward me with his security trailing behind, and the closer they get, the more locked my muscles become. I take a step back and come up against the wall. Gideon stops feet from me, his cool hazel gaze never leaving mine, and I stare into the wicked face of the man who’s haunted my whole life.

  His eyes take in my blue hair and my clothes. I know he’s disgusted with the heathen way I look, but he hides it well behind his gentle expression.

  “Nesiah,” he breathes relief.

  I try to swallow but end up inhaling a shaky breath instead. “Wh-what do you want?”

  His face transitions into one of sadness. “All I’ve ever wanted is you, my sweet daughter. I love you.”

  A shiver crawls my neck, and I make myself stay still.

  West shifts closer to me, and Gideon rolls him a slow threatening look before turning his eyes back to me. “You know the right thing to do. You need to come back home. You’re not on a good path right now. Let’s get you home and get you straightened out.”

  He glances at his two guys, silently telling me he’ll make me go if I don’t willingly.

  “If I do, you’ll leave Bluma alone, and you’ll drop the rape charges?” I ask, terror lodged in me, knowing the direction my whole life is about to take.

  West steps forward, “Wait—”

  “Of course,” Gideon answers my question. “And that press release won’t go out.”

  “Can I have just a few seconds with West?”

  Gideon’s face hardens, and I know he hates the request, but I also know he won’t deny it with West standing right here.

  He nods, and I turn to West. My soul splits open as I look up into his confused and lost eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  His whole face falls. “Eve…” he reaches for my hand. “Don’t do this. You don’t have to go with him. Screw the rape charges.”

  Gideon moves in, as do his two men. “Yes, she do
es, and if you come anywhere near her, I’ll file a restraining order. I am a very powerful man, Mr. Wolf. Don’t cross me.”

  West grips my hand, and it takes everything in me to disengage our fingers. Statutory rape, restraining order. West is only nineteen, Gideon will make his life a living hell.

  I turn away.

  “Eve,” West’s voice breaks.

  I ignore him, and without a glance back, I let Gideon lead me down the hall. Back to the hell I know all too well.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Gideon’s private jet flies us back to the west coast. He remains eerily quiet the entire time. Unnervingly so.

  A choking feeling settles over me with each mile in the sky that goes by. If only I could rewind the clock, I would. How naive of me to think my life was in some sort of upswing. My life’s never been in an upswing. Didn’t I learn long ago not to have hopes? That hopes only get shot out from beneath me?

  But hopes are what I most definitely developed in my time with West.

  He put all his trust in me, and all I did was step on it. If I would’ve just sat down with him and explained everything, we’d both be at such a different place right now. I don’t know where exactly, but it wouldn’t be here.

  The thing is, I’ve spent my entire life not trusting. Not talking. Not being open. I’ve spent my entire life being scared. It’s hard to be anything else. It really is.

  For sixteen years I’ve been driven by fear. I finally did something about it and ran, and look where it’s gotten me? Right back where I started. I thought I was brave. A fighter. I’m not a fighter. I’m a coward. I’ve simply been existing. Playing at a normal life.

  Tears blur my eyes, and I turn my head. I don’t want Gideon to see me crying. I’m so upset at myself for handling this the way I did. I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow the overwhelming desire to scream.

  I’d give anything for West’s voice right now.

  I open my eyes and turn to see Gideon staring at me. He narrows his eyes in his infamous passive-aggressive way, and I turn back to staring out the window. He’s an expert at subterfuge. Thousands and thousands of people are hypnotized by him. They blindly follow his every word. His dynamic, authoritative personality. None of them would ever guess his true malevolent self. All they see is his charisma.