by Bijou Hunter
As happy as I am with Brad and his family, I know the moment is coming when I can't hide any longer. Minka and Rafael arrive two days after the girls' night out with information about Fred Lorn and Marx. Brad insists on sitting in with me while they go over the info.
"Lorn died without much money left," Rafael says. "He suffered a stroke a few years after you returned to Texas. Most his estate went to pay for his treatment. We couldn't really tie him to Stein or Loucks. We can say it's very unlikely his estate had anything to do with the guy in New York. What's left of it is tied up in the courts between warring nephews. We checked them out, and neither is likely connected to the cult. "
"So Fred might be innocent?" Brad asks.
"Likely not. Lorn was the guy behind the show from the beginning. He created the concept and did the writing and producing. He sat on his pet project for decades until he located you."
"That still doesn't prove anything."
"No, but Lorn had a lot of noise complaint to his house back in the day. Neighbors complained about loud music and weird people hanging around. Some of those people were described in police reports as transients. So let's assume he was our guy for the original abduction. He's been out of the picture for a long time."
"How does that tie into Marx?" I ask.
"Well we know Marx accessed the police reports involved in the abduction. He likely could have found the ones about Lorn. In them, the neighbors described Lorn's guests as Manson types. This rich and powerful guy in Hollywood was hanging out with strange people who howled at the moon. It wouldn't be too difficult to put things together if you knew what to look for. The cops never considered Lorn, so they never cared to look at his history."
"So you're saying Marx tracked down an old member and sent him to New York? That seems farfetched to me."
Minka frowns. "See, that's the thing. I can't imagine him finding any old members of the cult. The entire thing seems like Lorn's baby. We can't find anyone who cares about this obscure demon besides the creator of your show and his weird friends. If we assume the cult lived and died with Lorn, the guy in New York wasn't involved in the original attacks. He's Marx's guy."
Brad becomes very still next to me. Until now, he believed others manipulated Marx.
"He got the package into the hotel room," I say. "He wouldn't even look suspicious going to the floor since he was staying there too. He knew about the New York trip before our team did and set up everything for his trigger man."
"What about the heart in the hotel room?" Brad asks in nearly a whisper.
"We don't know where he got it. Might have paid a mortician or killed a prostitute. Forensics couldn't tell much, and no bodies have been found missing a heart. We won't really know unless we ask Marx."
My gaze focusing on Minka, I shake my head. She doesn't complain or try to change my mind. I can't do the job, and that's that. Nodding, she glances at Rafael.
"Are you okay with us doing this, Brad?" Minka asks. "If you're not, we'll take what we know to the police and let them sort it out. I'll be honest that what we have isn't much, and Marx will likely walk away from this thing."
Rafael adds, "He'll know we're onto him, and he's aware of what we do for a living. He'll probably go into hiding."
I know Brad can't make this call. Despite everything he says, taking Dennis Stein's life still bothers him. I can't ask him to order the torture and death of a man he thought of as a friend.
"Let's not get the cops involved," I say as Brad tenses next to me. "If we want Marx to run, we scare him ourselves. Spell out what we know and what we can do. Give him the option to run or end up in a shallow grave. He'll run, and we'll be able to keep the law out of our way. The less official this thing gets, the better for us who don't need the extra scrutiny."
Holding my hand, Brad studies my face. He's surprised I'm not pushing for Marx's death. I see his expression relax. He can't have more blood on his hands, but I can even if I don't spill it myself.
One day, I'll tell Brad the truth about what happened to Marx. He'll be angry, and we'll argue, but we'll work past it. Deep inside, Brad wants to take the bloody route. He needs to know his family is safe.
The Sloanes deserve to be truly free of danger, so I give them this gift even if my soul is dirtied more. I never feel guilty about the choice. Little Maven isn't making the call in her heartless way. Instead, Saskia is choosing to do what's best for those she loves.
31
~ Brad ~
Escaping the Past
Marx's disappearance is a big deal for a few days. The police interview me about the last time I saw him. I explain we hadn't spoken much since the New York City shooting, and I probably pissed him off by refusing to do more publicity. My answers aren't really lies, and the police seem satisfied with my statement.
Weeks later, the detective in charge of the missing person's case tells me that Marx emptied out his account and packed a suitcase. He also hints about drug and gambling problems likely sending my friend underground.
I have to admire the level of detail the Ramsey Security team uses when setting up a scene for the police. Marx is gone, and his disappearance solved without me knowing the dirty details. One day, I'll thank Saskia for making the choice I couldn't.
Whatever they learned from Marx before he disappeared, the team doesn't share with me, of course. I assume I'm safe since they end our contract and stop watching my every move. Saskia pretends to worry about the perimeter for a week or two before losing interest in the charade.
Despite her secrets, Saskia leaves her violent life in the past. She remains at my side, leaving the bloody work with Marx to her friends. The night he goes missing, she spends on the couch, watching The Woman in Black while struggling to knit.
"I'm making a baby blanket," she says, frowning at her efforts. "A really ugly baby blanket."
"Our baby will be beautiful enough to overcome even the ugliest blanket," I say, kissing her cheek.
"The correct answer was 'you're doing a great job.' How could you not know that?"
Grinning, I kiss her until she tosses the knitting tools aside and straddles me.
"Take it to the bedroom," Nell says, passing by the family room.
"You heard her," I murmur, standing up with Saskia in my arms.
Mom and Nell adjust to having another sexually active couple around. Their room is on one end of the house while ours is at the other. Saskia says the living situation gives her enough privacy, but I know she'll lie to ensure we stay in the house. She feels safe here. This property is her slice of paradise.
We do leave every few days, so I won't forget how to deal with crowds. We see matinee movies. Eat lunch at two when few people are around. For whatever reason, Saskia enjoys grocery shopping in the early morning. I stumble after her while she happily picks out new foods to cook. Half of her recipes turn out inedible and even the dogs won't eat them. The other half is pure heaven. I never know what I'll get when I sit down for dinner.
Saskia sucks at basketball. Even when I put her on my shoulders, she can't get the ball into the hoop.
"It's a tall person game," she says, shrugging.
"Maybe I can lower the hoop for you."
"Then it'll be too easy for you. I don't want you cheating on my account."
Laughing, I chase after her playfully. Saskia though takes off running through the yard before disappearing around the house. I can't find her for nearly ten minutes until she reveals herself hiding behind a bush.
"Don't feel bad," she says, shaking leaves from her hair. "I used to be a pro."
"Spent a lot of time hiding in bushes, did you?"
"Oh, yeah. Trees too."
"Were they little baby trees?"
Saskia narrows her eyes angrily and throws the dogs' ball at me. Of course, Peter and Egon descend upon me while she makes a run for it again. This becomes a literal running gag between us for years. Whenever she isn't getting her way, she runs away and hides. If I find her, I carry her to b
ed where her punishment is to be on top. If I can't find her, she allows me to service her. I really win either way.
Even with Saskia retired and Marx gone, we never forget how different our paths were that lead us to finding each other. We rarely speak of it though. When I see Saskia's hands shaking and know she's dealing with a long buried pain from her past, I simply hold her and talk about the present.
One night, we watch a movie with a torture scene in it. Even after I forward through it, Saskia's hands won't stop shaking no matter what I say.
"You and I were on the opposite sides of that table, Brad," she whispers.
"Did you ever... work on someone like me or were they always bad people?" I ask before instantly regretting it. "No, don't answer. It doesn't matter. You weren't my tormentor. I wasn't your victim. The past is over."
Saskia watches me with wet eyes. She cries easily now as if nearly thirty years of stored up tears have finally broken free.
"I never felt anything all those years. Now I feel too much," she says, wiping away the tears. "How do I learn to deal with all this crying?"
"You could talk to a therapist."
"Can I talk to Lawrence? I don't trust just anyone with my secrets."
I agree to set up a time for Lawrence to meet with her. Though Saskia wants to talk to him, she remains distrustful.
"Don't share my secrets or else," she says to Lawrence. "I won't kill you, but I know people who will."
Lawrence doesn't miss a beat. "Ground rules are good. Rule one is no sharing secrets outside out of our sessions. Rule two is no threatening your therapist."
Saskia's hard expression warms. "Well let's get started. First, I better grab a box of tissues."
Therapy doesn't magically fix Saskia anymore than it fixed me. She struggles for years to come to terms with how she was raised and the guilt of what she did as Little Maven. I can only support her during the dark times, much as she pushes me to leave the house when I'd rather hide.
Saskia often cries out at night, stuck in a nightmare she can't escape until I wake her. Shaking in my arms, she only wants to go numb again.
"Nightmares mean you're human," I whisper in the darkness. Resting her on the bed, I kiss away her tears before my lips taste her throat. "You felt nothing for a long time. Now you feel all the pain, but you also feel the good stuff."
Saskia melts in my arms, embracing the pleasure this new life offers. The past is never truly dead, and the suffering lingers around us often. We choose not to embrace it though. With Saskia, I'm no longer a terrified motherfucker. With me, she's no longer the ice princess. Together, the past is simply a bad dream we can now escape.
Epilogue
~ Saskia ~
No More Mavens
For whatever reason, I never expect Brad to marry me. His family is non-conventional, and I assume we will live together in blissful sin forever. Instead, he pops the question during an early dinner at a nearly empty restaurant. I should have known something was up when I noticed how nervous he seemed despite the lack of a crowd. I will always laugh about his anxiety. As if in any universe, I'd say no.
Since Brad and I lack friends, poor Rafael is forced to play both the father of the bride and best man at the wedding. I have plenty of bridesmaids though.
Brad insists we meet more people, but we never do. Years later when we have kids, we still keep to ourselves. Pretending to be normal people is another lie in a life where I've told too many of them.
The day I find out that I'm pregnant, Brad begins planning renovations to the house. He wants more space on our end for the baby. Watching him organize things, I smile at his excitement. My own feelings regarding a child aren't so clear cut.
I've learned a lot from Ruth and Nell. I can cook now. I can also knit and crotchet. None of these domestication skills taught to me by motherly figures makes me fit to be a mother. I look at pictures of Brad as a child cuddled in his mother's arms. They seem so natural, but I remain wary of touching anyone who isn't Brad. Even Ruth's hugs make me squirm. While she laughs at my reaction and says I'll learn to submit to her, I'm more worried about how I'll do with my child.
After an ultrasound at five months confirms we're having a daughter, I descend into a deep depression. I suspect my doubts might be easier to deal with if our first child is a boy. I would see Brad in the baby rather than myself.
Ruth is overjoyed and goes crazy with pink. Nell begins knitting pink booties within hours of the ultrasound. I can only think about my daughter seeing me the way I saw my mother.
"Kids can sense bad people," I tell Brad one night.
Spread out on the bed with his head between my legs, he's talking to the baby, despite his oddly sexual positioning. I wish to strip him naked and fuck away my fears. Except I don't think of it as fucking anymore. We make love. Just another change when I'm already overloaded with them.
"I don't think that's true," Brad says, talking more to my bump than me. "Dogs are good at sensing bad people, and our dogs love you. They loved you even when you thought they were gross licking machines."
I smile slightly, but his words don't really help. "They liked Marx too," I remind him.
"Oh, yeah. Well they're attention sluts, I guess. Anyone who pets them is their best friend. I didn't do a very good job training them to be guard dogs."
When he won't take me seriously, I cup his face. "Tell me I won't hurt our baby. Promise me that I can love something that only takes."
"Saskia, you already love our baby. You wouldn't be so worried if you didn't care about her."
"These hands have done ugly things," I say, still cupping his face.
After gently kissing the palms of both of my hands, he stares into my eyes. "They're also as tender as a whisper."
Brad's goodness and knowing his mother and Nell will help keeps me from truly panicking. I don't enjoy my pregnancy though. The baby's kicking makes me tense. The stronger the kicks, the sooner she'll be born. I don't fear giving birth. I fear every moment afterwards.
"I'm sorry," Brad says when we learn I'll need a C-section since our baby is too gigantic to vaginally exit my body.
"I want her to be like you in every way," I whisper. "I don't want to see anything of me in her."
Brad frowns at my words, but he doesn't say anything else. We prepare for the surgery, and I'm so tense that I panic until the anesthesiologist dopes me up with something wonderful. I even smile when they show me the baby. Unfortunately, the drugs wear off.
Denise is a good baby, I'm told. I don't know what a bad baby is like, so I can't really compare. She cries a lot but mostly sleeps. I go through the motions with the redheaded giant baby girl who stares at me. I don't know if she senses I'm not a good person or that I'm nervous around her. Whenever I feed her, she stares transfixed by me as if afraid to turn her back on the bad lady. To be fair, she also stares at Brad, but I sense she's simply impressed by his beauty.
When Denise is three months old, a virus runs through the house. Ruth gets sick first and soon Nell is bedridden. The minute Brad feels off, he quarantines himself in a guest bedroom. Suddenly, I'm alone with Denise.
Trapped with a child I don't understand, I cry constantly which makes her cry. We're two sobbing females in a house where everyone else is puking. This isn't the fairytale I imagined when I fell in love with Brad. I stupidly believed he could magically fix all the flawed things about me. Love is a powerful thing, but even it has limitations.
Hour after hour, I bounce around the living room, trying to soothe Denise when I can't even soothe myself. We're still crying when Brad peeks out of his room to see if he can help us by sending happy thoughts.
"Put on Ghost Hunters," he says from down the hall.
I'm too tired to argue with Brad, despite knowing he should be in bed. After turning on the show, I return to pacing with my crying baby. Denise looks too much like me when I was a baby. Was I a miserable baby too? Was that why my mother hated me? I know my thoughts are stupid, but I feel l
ike I've created another me rather than the mini-Brad I wanted.
My husband mutters something about a ghost recording from the show. Frowning, I glance at the ghost hunters gasping and flinching at imaginary terrors. Even after all this time and seeing too many episodes, I can't help laughing at their antics.
"I think this house might actually be haunted," Brad says.
His worried expression makes me laugh harder. "It's not our house, so why do you care?" I ask between giggles.
Over my rolling laughter, I miss the sound. Brad's smile draws my attention back to now laughing Denise. I've seen her laugh for Brad and Ruth but never for me. Now she's laughing wildly.
Kissing her wet cheeks like Brad does for me, I feel like a parent for the first time. Not a caregiver doing a job, but a mother capable of soothing her baby. Denise isn't scared of me. She's just never sees me do anything besides stare at her, so she only stares back at me.
Brad watches us, knowing his little plan worked. I wish I could climb the huge man and thank him properly, but that'll have to wait. Through Brad's eyes, I see me holding Denise, and we're one hell of a beautiful sight.
Epilogue
~ Brad ~
Tight Knit Forever
Two years after Denise joins our family, Saskia gets the go-ahead from the doctor to try for another baby. She won't do anything without his approval, taking childbearing very seriously. Three months later, she's pregnant with our last child, Randy. Like his sister, he's born with red hair, but is blond by his toddler years. They both share Saskia's dark eyes.
Her pregnancy with Randy is very different from her first. Saskia doesn't suffer from depression and never fears the new baby will hate her. Most days, she walks around the property with Denise, speaking in Ukrainian. Our kids grow up bilingual while I learn enough of Saskia's native language to follow along with their conversations.
Saskia has her tubes tied during the c-section with Randy. She knows what she wants, and two children is it. As only children, we both love the idea of a girl and a boy.