Wishing Well

by Lily White

  I enjoyed dinner alone that night as the guests went about their routine, and after gorging myself on appértifs and fine cuisine, I skipped dessert to stroll to the lounge. As usual at that time of night, the lounge was filled with inebriated men, their eyes tracking the different cocktail waitresses in various costumes and states of dress.

  Émilie, however, was the woman who caught my eye. Upon seeing me sitting at a back table only lit by the candle that sat in its center, she smiled wickedly and added a sway to her hips as she approached to discover what I wanted. “Bonsoir , Vincent. Are you still tired?”

  My eyes lifted to hers. “I’d like to see you tonight. In the gardens, but it will be rather late. I have engagements beforehand and was hoping you’d keep from going to bed early after the lounge closes.”

  “What time?” she asked, her voice sultry, her lips shining within the candlelight from the liberal gloss she wore.

  “Will you meet me at the well around three?”

  Her smile stretched, sex written into the passionate curve. “Anything for you, Vincent.”

  There have never been more unfortunate words spoken. I knew my brother’s tastes ran the same line as mine, but whereas I was able to restrain my instincts, Maurice hadn’t yet learned self-control.

  When I bit down, a drop of blood would spill, but when Maurice did so, skin would rip, tears would run red, women would lose their lives. Unless, of course, the woman knew how to play the game, as long as she was perfectly ready and able. Following instructions to the letter was a necessity when it came to our shared games, but Maurice’s form of punishment could be far more permanent.

  I hoped that Émilie’s training by her whore of a mother would make it easier for my brother to rut with no harm done.

  Leaving shortly after she’d agreed, I slipped up to my penthouse on the top floor, settling myself at the keys of a piano I enjoyed playing on nights that stress was a constant pressure in my head. And while the intricate notes floated on air like fireflies on a warm summer night, I allowed my thoughts to escape to a girl whose room was situated below mine.

  Émilie had been a distraction for a man like me, a pretty face, a healthy body, a bit of warmth to ease the chill of lonely nights, but Penelope, that dirty, rebellious, hard headed girl, had become a siren’s song, une idée fixe , an obsession.

  The bet meant nothing, the money but a garnish on the meal I would make of her. I imagined my fingertips exploring her body, finding all the right notes, the flats and sharps, that would make her sing like the piano. My body was all tension and crudely cut stone when I remembered her reflection in the boutique’s mirror. The day would come when I could resist her no more, my teeth aching to sink into her modest flesh.

  Would molding her into the lady I craved chase away the rebellion that drew me like a moth to flame? Could I fashion her to be both hellion and slave?

  I hoped so as I became lost between one note and another, the hours ticking past as I planned how to win her heart while watching her grow. I would pluck her beauty from the life of her stem just so that I alone could know her fire.

  Émilie was expendable while Penelope was the prize.

  Three o’clock came quickly that night, and leaving my suit jacket draped over the back of my couch, I left my room, took the elevator down and retrieved Maurice from the basement.

  As we rode up, I mentioned, “I’ll need you to remain hidden in the employee hall while I explain to Émilie what she’ll be allowing. She’ll serve your needs, Maurice, on a regular basis as long as you keep from hurting her too much.”

  “What does she look like?” he asked, anticipation carved into his tone.

  “She’s beautiful. Blond hair. Blue eyes -“

  A hiss burst from his lips. “Who cares? Her tits?”

  “Large,” I answered.

  “Her ass?”

  “Divine.”

  “You’ve tasted her,” he said, a statement but still a question.

  Glancing his direction, I nodded, “I can’t toss you a fledgling. We must do this in absolute silence.”

  “Why not just bring her to my cage?”

  Sighing, I admitted. “She doesn’t yet know it will be you she’s entertaining. That’s why I need you to stay in the employee hall until I’ve had a chance to explain it to her. If it works out, if she’s agreeable, we can make alternate arrangements for next time.”

  “I’ll behave,” he promised. It was the best that he could say. I should have known better than to set up this meeting in such a public place, but my mind was distracted by a brunette girl that I hadn’t had the opportunity to play.

  Stepping out of the elevator once the doors pulled apart, I left Maurice in the abandoned hall while I stepped out into the night. Wind tugged at my shirt as I moved down my path, as if nature itself was attempting to stop me. Finding Émilie sitting on a curved bench near the well, I took my place in front of her, moving back when she reached for my pants.

  “I have a duty I must assign you,” I said, my voice soft within the twinkling night stars, just loud for enough for her to hear me. Blue eyes tipped up to find mine.

  “A duty?” she asked in French, the language she preferred when it was just the two of us.

  Tucking my hands in my pockets, I reminded her, “When I agreed to hire you and bring you here from France, I told you there would be conditions. You agreed to anything ,” I stressed the word, “a promise you repeated to me tonight.”

  Her eyes rounded. When she didn’t contest, I continued, “Not many people know that my brother lives in the basement of the hotel. It is a secret I keep quiet for many reasons and one I’m trusting with you. If information regarding Maurice’s existence were to leak from this point forward, I would know you were the one to leak it, so I suggest you keep in mind that you should always hold your tongue.”

  “What does this brother have to do with me?”

  Pausing before answering, I confessed, “He has needs much like me, and I would like for you to see to them.”

  Angry tears leaked from her eyes, her voice gaining in volume. “You will share me with other men?”

  Locking my narrowed gaze on her face, I demanded, “Whisper, Émilie. Or the guests will hear you. I have no qualms sending you back where you came from.”

  “You would do that to me?” she hissed, her voice low, her rage heightened.

  Inclining my head, I answered, “The arrangements have always been made. All it would take is a push of a button.”

  More tears leaked, a steady stream over her cheeks. On measured steps, I approached her to lift her chin and tilt her head to mine. Softly, I asked, “What have you always told me, Émilie? Since the moment I first took you to my bed?”

  Her shoulders quaked with sobs. “Je suis ta petite pute. ”

  “Oui ,” I agreed. “You are my little whore, so be that for me now. Maurice is not much different from me. He will satisfy you, if you’re perfectly compliant. But you must be careful with him, Émilie. He has a short fuse, he takes even the smallest of insults to heart. He can strike out before you understand you’ve injured his heart.”

  “Tu me fends le cœur !”

  Kneeling in front of her, I caught her red-rimmed eyes with mine. “I have not broken your heart, ma belle . I am simply demanding a favor. Never have I told you we would be exclusive, and I know you’ve slept with men other than me since living at Wishing Well. I know you accept payment. You are more like your mother than you have led me to believe.”

  Her gaze darted from mine, her cheeks reddening with anger and shame. “Fine. I will make love to your brother is that’s what you want from me, but you will pay me like everyone else. It was only for you that my love was free.”

  A smile tugged at my lips. “Payment can be arranged. Perhaps if you are to Maurice’s liking, we can make this a weekly thing. I’ll reward you greatly for your time.”

  She continued to sob, but the agreement had been made. “Stay here. I’ll send Maurice ou
t to you, and I’ll stand nearby should any issues occur. Stroke his ego, Émilie, he likes that. And for safety reasons, just behave and pretend like you’re fucking a starving, feral dog, and you should get through this just fine. Understand?”

  Ignoring the way her eyes rounded with apprehension, I retrieved Maurice from where he stood chomping at the bit and reminded him on a soft voice that we are to play nicely with our toys. One wrong move on Émilie’s part, one wrong word or facial expression, and it would take a crow bar to pry my brother’s violent hands from her throat.

  “Play nice, Maurice,” I warned one last time as I released his arm to approach Émilie. She was still wiping her tears away when he drew near her, her body tensing from where it was revealed by her skimpy frock. Barely looking at my brother, she stood from the bench, turned around, lifted her skirt and offered herself to his desires.

  I wasn’t polite enough to turn and not watch, and if I were to be completely honest, it was fascination to see a woman submit so thoroughly. He took no time thrusting inside her, his lips pulled back on a snarl, his huffs of hot breath like white plumes against the cold night air. For a brief moment, I believed Émilie was enjoying herself, but then...

  It seemed Maurice was a bit too excited. After taking her in either her cunt or her ass, I wasn’t quite sure, he leaned over to taste her flesh. His teeth must have sunk down a bit too hard because she pulled away from him with a scream on her lips and pulled back her hand readying a slap.

  Even though I ran from where I stood witnessing the tryst, I wasn’t fast enough for my brother. By the time I neared where they had been, Maurice had already lifted Émilie from her feet, walked her the short distance to the well and tossed her in. He stalked away as I ran to the well, his low growls a whisper against the wind as I looked inside the well to see Émilie sinking beneath the water. Reaching, I was barely able to take her hand and pull her up, a wash of red sweeping down into the depths to settle amongst the pennies.

  Laying her on the grass beside the well, I felt for a pulse and didn’t find one. Blood leaked from her head where it had struck the stone rim of the well from how she’d been tossed inside.

  No pulse.

  No breath.

  No response to anything I said.

  Maurice had claimed his latest victim and I was left to clean up his mess.

  Picking up Émilie’s body, I carried her from the well, my mind racing and my eyes narrowed on my brother who shrugged as if he’d done nothing wrong.

  Holding the door open for me, he waited until we were inside before saying, “She called me a dog. She was going to hit me, like Papa.”

  The breath I’d been holding fell from my lips on a rush. “It’s fine, Maurice,” I answered, knowing that any harsh words could set him off. “We’ll deal with this situation, and perhaps next week, we can find a woman you’ll like.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Faiville Prison, 2:17 p.m.

  “You’re not saying anything. I’ve been silent for a few minutes now.”

  Meadow attempted to uncurl her fingers from the edge of the table, attempted to silence her thoughts, slow her heart, take a full breath after listening to his sordid confession. “I’m not sure what to say,” she admitted on a rushed exhalation.

  Vincent was quiet for a short moment before whispering, “Would you like some salt to season those ridiculous words you’ll now have to eat?”

  Her gaze tipped up and their eyes met. “Ridiculous words?”

  The green of his beautiful, mesmerizing eyes glimmered. Softly, he explained, “You accused me of killing Émilie, but as you can now see, it wasn’t my hands that led to her death. It was an accident, an unfortunate one at that. I believe she could have fulfilled my brother if she’d just learned to behave.”

  Without arguing that he had, in fact, been responsible, she chose to instead ask a question that screamed in her head. “Was Penny intended for Maurice? Had that been your ultimate plan for her?”

  Seconds ticked past, the quiet hum of the air conditioning the only noise in the room. “There you go skipping ahead again.” Vincent’s shackles rattled as he sat back in his seat. “We should tell this story in the order that it occurred, and I haven’t reached the training of Penelope just yet.”

  “Training,” Meadow repeated, the one sickening word echoing in her head. “Training for what?”

  “To be the ultimate lady, a woman of such high esteem that even a man like me could never forget her. She was so brash when I found her, wet clay ready for a skilled hand as she was spun around and around on a potter’s wheel and given shape.”

  “She was a human being, Vincent!” Meadow’s voice rose in volume, her crushing anger barely contained. “You keep referring to her as a flower, as clay, as a puzzle or some fucked up game, but never what she actually was! She wept tears, she was able to feel love, she could express herself through laughter or smiles or words, but never in this entire interview have you admitted as much.”

  Cruelty stretched his full lips, the corners lifting with amusement. “She was mine to play with as I wished, Meadow. Penelope gave me that permission eventually. She admitted that without me, she could no longer continue living. She begged to be transformed into what I helped her become.” Pausing, he studied her face. “And she did become something truly special, a rarity in a world of facsimiles and replicas, of people who don’t have the balls to be who they are. I was, and I’m still, proud of her.”

  Her heart skipped in rhythm to hear the compliment, rage a tenuous thing. Meadow’s recorder clicked loudly behind her in warning to change her tape. After doing so, she retook her seat and stared at a man who watched her far too closely. Could he taste all the feelings she harbored inside? Did he know more than he let on?

  “We only have another two hours today, and we’ve been sidetracked.”

  Nodding his head once, he commented, “Heightened emotions will do that sometimes.”

  Clearing her throat, Meadow rolled back her shoulders. “Despite your reluctance to admit as much, Émilie’s death was your fault. You knew that Maurice was a danger to any person that got too close to him.”

  “And I warned her of that,” he argued. “It’s not my fault she didn’t listen. Although, after hearing what you told me of Penelope’s recollection of that night, what Maurice said to me when I returned from disposing of her body now has meaning. I couldn’t figure it out while sending off the email to Theresa to make it appear as if Émilie herself had quit.”

  “And that was?”

  “That he’d already discovered another toy he wanted to play with. I was so angry with him at the time that I didn’t bother to ask what he meant, but if he had spied her watching from the window that night, his words now make sense.”

  “Would you have given her to him if you’d asked him at that time and found out it was Penny that he’d seen?”

  “Stop skipping ahead,” he reminded her. “The next part of this story is quite lovely, actually, a fairy tale for both Penelope and me. It was within the next few weeks that her love for me blossomed and I chased her through a maze of deceit.” Leaning forward, he added, “I had feelings for her beyond the ordinary, Meadow. The desire wasn’t one sided.”

  Blinking, Meadow fought against the tears that threatened. “Why do you think that matters to me?”

  He laughed. “It’s just a hunch.” Waiting for Meadow to meet his stark gaze, he asked, “Wouldn’t any person want to know that their family member was loved?”

  “Fine, we’ll go in order of events. But first, I want to know why you kept Maurice hidden. There are many people in the world with psychiatric problems, some of which are able to adjust and live perfectly normal lives. Why keep him locked up?”

  A shadow darkened Vincent’s expression. Meadow knew Maurice was a subject that affected Vincent more than he wanted to admit. It was rare for any person to say something that made Vincent Mercier squirm. “Maurice would never live a normal life. We knew that by the
time he was twelve. It wasn’t just his disruptive fits, his hallucinations or delusions. There was something else inside him that was never officially diagnosed. I believe my father had a strong hand in that. Whether it was because he didn’t want his son to carry another label, or if he believed he could cure the problem himself, my father was the person who first kept Maurice locked down. He was educated like any normal child, given tutors and books and everything else, but he was never allowed to leave the premises of whatever hotel we happened to be living in at the time.”

  Meadow caught the catch in Vincent’s voice, the subtle sneer of his mouth when he mentioned his father. “Was your dad abusive to you and your brother?”

  The shadow was gone, there and then no longer an obvious mask over his skin. “Not to me. Possibly to Maurice, but with his fits being as violent as they were, there was never any telling where he got the bruises. He wasn’t an easy person to handle. But we loved him. We cared for him and we kept him as comfortable as possible.”

  Not wanting to drop the subject, Meadow asked, “Where is Maurice now?”

  His jaw ticked. “Shouldn’t we be talking about Penelope? That is what you came to discuss, is it not? I’d hate to run out of time over trivial things so that you never discover the full story.”

  Expertly, Vincent deflected the question, changing the subject as smoothly as night becomes dawn.

  “Yes. I guess you’re right. What happened next?”

  Satisfied that they’d turned back to the story of the wicked game played against Penny, Vincent answered, “For the next two weeks, it was business as usual. I made it a point to remain busy, while managing to always be within sight of Penelope. She’d acted strangely at first, but as the days wore on, she warmed to me again, smiling when she saw me, her cheeks heating with color if our bodies brushed too close. I guess you could say I’d played a game of hard to get until she was chasing me down. It wasn’t until that beautiful day in the garden that I finally made a move.”