CRUX: A Dark Romantic Suspense

by Stella Noir

  She disappears out of my room, and instead of feeling sorry for my dying mother, all I can think about is that that truly is an inhumane time for breakfast.

  *

  The next day is uneventful. My parents stay away from me as if I have the plague, but on the other hand, it gives me plenty of time to think and be by myself, not bothered by anyone else, exactly how I wanted it.

  I even disconnect my cell phone after it rings continuously through the night and I’ve had enough of my shrill ringtone. I don’t bother listening to my voicemail or checking who has called, I just turn it off and enjoy the peace the quiet brings me.

  A few days pass without much happening at all, and I’m growing more and more bored by the second. My flight isn’t until the next day, and so I decide to ask my mother if it would be okay to look at my old things.

  It surprises me when she admits she didn’t get rid of them, instead putting everything in the attic. I head there, turn on a small light overhead and sift through the boxes that hold my childhood.

  I find teddy bears, little gifts from Dylan, the toys he won for me at the fair. I find old magazine clippings and CDs of bands I’d almost forgotten about, putting them on an abandoned radio in the attic and smiling as the music starts playing, bringing back so many memories.

  I dig through the boxes, finding things I didn’t even remember I had. I have a great afternoon amidst all the memories, and for some reason, they seem to help me greatly, clearing my mind and making my next decision crystal clear.

  I’m about to call it a day when I come across a box simply labeled “Summer.” I pull it out, opening it and coughing as dust flies into the air. I treat it gently, like I do all my memories of the summer.

  When I open the box, I’m transported to hot days on the sandy beach, sweet ice tea and Dylan’s sweet, innocent kisses on my tanned skin …

  I almost want to shut the box, seal it again and forget it ever existed. Yet I force myself to sift through the rest of the things in it.

  I soon realize the box is from the last year we spent on the beach. I find seashells, a bottle of sand from the beach we were always on. I find the dress I wore on my date with Dylan, so many memories spilling out of the books I’m afraid tears will follow.

  Right at the bottom of the box, I find a small notebook. It’s chevron printed in summery blue tones, and I pull it out, feeling confused.

  I don’t remember keeping a diary.

  I open the pages and find them covered page-to-page with neat, pretty handwriting. I’m sure it belongs to a girl – but who, and what is it doing in this box?

  I assume the notebook was found in our house and packed up with everything else when my parents rushed away after what happened during our last summer. I scour the pages, trying to find a name or a signature, but the person who wrote it made sure to use code names, so I have no idea who she is talking about.

  I delve into the diary …

  June 21st, 2008

  Dear Diary,

  Today, I had my first kiss. I’m nineteen years old and I hadn’t been kissed before. Mock me all you want, but I’m glad I waited, because it was perfect perfect perfect … He is tall, dark and handsome, so perfect for me, even though nobody knows it. He is the one, and he says we will run off together when I turn twenty-one.

  I don’t mind.

  I would wait a lifetime for him, so a couple of years don’t really make a difference.

  I skip forward a little, sudden eager to find out more about this girl and her mystery man.

  July 3rd, 2008

  Dear Diary,

  He kisses me whenever he can. We sneak out together; we steal moments when no one is looking. His lips are heaven and I thought I was condemned – I know now I merely had to wait for him to come along.

  We did it yesterday. I know it seems early – only a week or so after he kissed me. But it felt perfectly right. It hurt, but it was pure perfection. I know I did the right thing.

  I know he is mine forever.

  I keep reading and as the time passes, the entries get darker, more ominous.

  July 17th, 2008

  Dear Diary,

  I’m worried. She’s always here, and I catch him looking at her, devouring with his eyes like he used to do to me. I’m afraid she’ll take him; afraid I’ll be by myself again.

  When you taste perfection, you know you won’t let anyone take it away.

  I love him.

  Need him.

  I won’t give him up.

  The diary ends abruptly after a few more weeks and there is not a single word left about the girl or the mystery man. I set the diary down with a frown, feeling more confused than ever. But at least the diary served to make my thoughts roam elsewhere, and I managed to not think of my own problems for a few hours.

  I pack everything back in the box, but for some reason, I decide to keep the diary with me, as if to remind me I’m not the only one suffering, not the only one with problems.

  Though I’ll probably never know whom the diary belonged to, keeping it close to me keeps me calm for some reason.

  With a resigned sigh, I push the box back into its place, take a last look around the attic and shut down the light to my past. This chapter is now closed, and it’s time to move on.

  *

  I say goodbye to my parents the next day. My father is distant as ever, but my mother surprises me by pulling me into a hug.

  “Watch out,” she whispers in my ear, and I feel so grateful for that small gesture, it reminds me of how little I expect from my mother.

  However bad she may have treated me when I was a teenager, I realize now she only meant the best for me, tried to protect me.

  I know I hurt my parents when I left abruptly after I turned 21, but I hope my impromptu visit at least made up for all of that a little.

  As I step out of the plane and onto the ground, I’m happy I decided to visit them. I’m glad, because it made what needs to happen next perfectly clear.

  With a small smile, I set out towards my next goal, the diary clutched in my hand, my phone lying forgotten in my purse.

  Chapter 37

  When I get off the plane, my driver is already waiting for me, greeting me like a long lost member of his family. It hurts to know that my parent’s welcome wasn’t even partly this warm after not seeing me for years, when my driver feels the need to hug me awkwardly after only a few days.

  The drive home is fast and uneventful, and I’m anxious to unpack so I can go pick up Love from Venetia’s. Unfortunately, my plans grind to a halt when I arrive home and spot an unwelcome visitor in front of the door.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, furrowing my brows at the sight of him.

  Detective Andrews moves away from the gate, allowing us to pass, but not answering my question which I asked through the lowered window of the car. Annoyed, I roll the window back up, but he’s already made his way inside and sprints towards the house.

  He’s faster than Mr. Denvers, opening the car door for me as I get out grudgingly. I’m tired and fed-up, and really don’t want to deal with his jealousy right now.

  What he should be doing is focusing on my case.

  Silently, I walk inside the house and he follows. I say goodbye to my driver and set out to go upstairs and unpack, when Andrew grabs my hand.

  “Let go,” I say, hating his touch on my skin. Violence never was something I appreciated, and even being held like this so I can’t move makes me uncomfortable.

  “We must talk,” he says, and I sigh heavily, rubbing my bleary eyes.

  “In the kitchen,” I say simply, and we walk there together after I rip my forearm out of his embrace and he looks at me like a lost puppy.

  The truth is, even I don’t know why I’m treating him this way or why I’m so angry, but I’m just tired and want to do what I’ve decided without Andrews getting in the way.

  I pour myself a glass of water as he begins to speak.

  “You went out of tow
n for almost a week,” he accuses me.

  “Am I not allowed to do that?” I ask, challenging him with my head raised high.

  “You were the intended victim when your husband was murdered,” he continues incredulously. “You told no one where you were going, you just left!”

  I don’t mention I told Venetia, instead pursing my lips.

  “I’m not your responsibility,” I inform him calmly.

  “Actually, you are,” he replies, slamming a piece of paper on the kitchen counter that separates us from one another.

  “What’s that?” I ask, feeling confused.

  He doesn’t answer, so I take the leaflet in my hands and scan the words on it.

  It informs me I’ve been placed in the care of a certain detective Andrew Andrews – who is currently grinning triumphantly at me from across the counter – who is to ensure my safety at all times.

  I sigh heavily when I discern the meaning of the piece of paper.

  “Is this some kind of game to you?” I ask Andrews, crumpling the paper between my hands and throwing it in the trashcan. His brows furrow as I do so and he looks at me incredulously.

  “It’s my responsibility, and more than that – it’s what I wish to do,” he says sternly. “Your safety always mattered to me, Lola.”

  “I understand,” I say, trying to be placating. “But you’re not giving me space to breathe. You follow me around, you take me on dates which I never agreed to …”

  “I apologized for that,” he says roughly, and I shake my head.

  “An apology won’t do,” I say softly. “Only a month ago, my husband died. You still haven’t solved the case, which is about to go cold. You’ve done nothing but bother me, when really, you should have been investigating his murder.”

  I can see his expression darkening as I continue to speak, but I have to tell him how I feel, otherwise he will keep following me around like a lost puppy – and that’s the last thing I want.

  “I had two great loves in my life,” I admit to Andrews. “Both were taken from me, both by death. One is gone forever, and I don’t have a chance to make it right. To make it better.”

  I wipe the tears that are starting to fall from my eyes and sigh. Andrews is looking at me, the pain obvious in his gaze, and I hate doing this to him, but it’s what must be done.

  “When I was with Matthew,” I continue. “I tried not to think of Dylan. I tried to pretend there was nothing left between us, but I will always, forever love that man.”

  I step towards the counter, placing my hands on the cold marble.

  “I need to do what is right for me, and Matthew would approve. He would want me to be happy. I am not happy he is gone – I loved him with all my heart. But he is not the only love in my life.”

  My lashes flutter as I speak, fighting back the tears. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, Detective Andrews?”

  He looks at me thoughtfully and for a moment, I am sure he will nod, he will understand, he will let me go. I never really was his to begin with.

  But then his expression darkens again and I know this won’t end well.

  He slams a fist on the counter.

  “Fine, then,” he says, getting up abruptly, the harshness in his voice scaring me so I retreat back until my back hits a wall.

  But he doesn’t approach me, only with his burning gaze, which I’m sure would have turned me to stone on the spot had he the power to do so.

  “Let’s see how well you take care of yourself,” he spits out, and then he takes off, slamming several doors after him.

  I slide down the wall until my behind reaches the floor, breathing heavily.

  For a second, I honestly thought he would hurt me …

  *

  I unpack my things and am anxious to get to Love, but as much as I want to see a puppy, there’s another desire burning inside of me and I know I need to take care of it.

  While I was away, the distance from everything that was going on back at home opened my eyes a little. I guess it’s true what they say – distance makes the heart grow fonder …

  It was always the case with Dylan and me.

  Being away from him only confirmed what I’d been trying not to see for years – he is still anchored in my heart, my love for him burning as bright as ever. As much as I tried to fight the feelings, I now realize they will always be present.

  You never forget your first love.

  Determined, I put on an outfit reminding me of those summer days when I was a teenager. I wear a poppy printed red and white dress, letting my hair fall in loose waves down my back. For the first time in months, I realize how long it has gotten, almost reaching my behind.

  I put on some strappy nude heels and grab my phone and keys before leaving.

  I decide not to bother Mr. Denvers, though I’m soon regretting that decision as the long walk to town leaves my poor feet in blisters. However, there are more important things on my mind, and I soon forget all about the pain as I reach Dylan’s apartment.

  The nice doorman, who must recognize me from my previous visit, lets me into the building and I thank him with a smile. Instead of taking the elevator, I choose the stairs, to prolong my trip and still my heart, which is beating incredibly fast.

  Finally, I can’t delay it any longer. I stand in front of Dylan’s apartment, raising my hand until it’s positioned over the doorbell. I take a deep breath, and then I press the button as I hear a shrill ring inside the apartment.

  Here we go.

  Chapter 38

  “Venetia!” I say with surprise, and some regret, too, as Dylan’s sister opens the door. “What are you doing here?” I ask hesitantly, looking over my shoulder, unsure of whether I should come in or not.

  I had hoped I would be able to have this discussion with Dylan in private, and I’m not too thrilled about the idea of his sister witnessing my confession, as much as I like her.

  “Hi, Lola,” she says with a smile. “Why don’t you come in? We’ll talk inside?”

  I think it through for a moment, and as if sensing my indecision, Venetia laughs, adding, “We have fresh coffee.”

  I smile at her, thinking how well she knows me after a mere few weeks of being back in town. I give her a nod and step inside as she waits for me to get in to close the door.

  “Oh! Where is Love?” I remember, turning around to ask the question when suddenly, I’m hit with an incredibly strong scent of chemicals. My eyes try their hardest to shoot backwards, but I manage to see a white fabric pressed to my face before they roll back.

  And then I follow, tumbling to the floor in all my glory.

  And then everything goes dark.

  *

  I wake up when someone slaps me awfully hard, gasping for air when reality hits me. It’s like waking up from the deepest sleep I’ve ever experienced, and I feel woozy and nauseated.

  “Don’t touch her!” someone spits out, and my head lolls around as I try to figure out what exactly is going on. I’m so dizzy though; I can barely make out shapes …

  A cacophony of voices and noises fills my head as I try to discern my surroundings. I’m most definitely in Dylan’s seedy apartment, but there’s something wrong with this image.

  I try to move and soon realize I can’t. I look around, panicked, and as my vision gets back into shape I realize I’m strapped to a chair. One of Dylan’s sweet, mismatched dining chairs, no less, my hands tied behind my back and my legs in the front.

  I whimper, feeling scared and violated.

  This is wrong. Something is going on.

  “Lola,” Dylan’s voice sounds out. “Lola, look at me. It’s going to be okay, we’re going to be okay.”

  Ever so slowly, I turn my head until my gaze lands on Dylan. He’s in a similar predicament as me, also strapped to a chair, a big bruise forming on his face, his voice raspy, his lip broken and bleeding.

  “What is going on?” I ask, feeling completely disoriented.

  “I’ll tell you,�
�� a sweet voice interrupts, and I look to see Venetia standing in front of us. I feel completely confused for a second and am about to ask her to untie us, when she laughs the most devilish laugh I’ve ever seen on a human.

  Apart from Frank, when he tried to hurt me that summer when we were all teenagers.

  “Come on, Lola,” Venetia says in a mocking tone. “Have you really not put two and two together yet?”

  I stare at her blankly, completely confused as to what she’s talking about.

  Instead of replying, she kneels down and moves towards me until we’re face to face.

  “Pretty, pretty Lola,” she says softly. “What a beautiful girl you are. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  It feels like I’m a part of a trance, and all I can do is give a half nod, half shake.

  “Liar!” Venetia yells, and another slap lands on my face, my ears ringing with the impact as Dylan curses and thrashes in his chair, trying to come to my aid but unable to do so.

  “I’ll kill you,” he says, gritting his teeth. “I’m going to murder you if you don’t stop hitting her right now, Venetia!”

  She laughs her devilish laugh again and another slap lands on my cheek as I gasp with the burning sensation. It’s as if she’s trying to make fun of the both of us.

  “Venetia,” I gasp when my cheek is able to move again. “Why are you doing this? Who made you do this?”

  She looks at me icily before she responds. “Who? Do you want to get slapped again?”

  I shake my head quickly and she takes a second to collect herself, sighing heavily as she does so. “You made me, you stupid bitch,” she says, looking at me with such contempt I start to shiver. “It was always you who was at fault, right since the beginning.”

  I feel completely confused and shoot a glance at Dylan who looks completely beaten, almost losing consciousness as his head lolls to the side.

  “Oh, you better get a good look at him,” Venetia tells me, grabbing Dylan’s head so his eyes focus on mine and we grasp each other’s gaze like it’s our lifeline. “See this, Lola? He’s going to die because of you, and you’ll have another man’s blood on your hands. Aren’t you getting tired of all these games?”