Wishing Well

by Lily White

  Sympathy was obvious in his expression, that and the open intimacy of a man who truly cared for a woman. “I guess there’s one more mystery we haven’t yet solved, one secret I never mentioned.” His lips curled at the corners. “I never slept with you, Penelope. Not once. All those nights in my room had been my brother.”

  “What?” Her eyes widened, disbelief a shadow over her thoughts. “I don’t understand.”

  “Are you angry?” he asked, genuine curiosity a note on his fluid voice.

  “No,” she answered. “I think I should be, but in a way, it only makes me more sad to know I’d been his all along.”

  Inclining his head in agreement, Vincent explained, “From the night he stole you from the masquerade ball, I knew you were special to him. You were the first woman he felt compelled to chase after. That night was the first that he’d stepped out of his self-imposed prison. And I couldn’t take that from him. But,” he paused, the hint of a grin on his lips, “knowing how he was and knowing how rebellious you could be, I couldn’t just slap the two of you together without both of you learning how to behave. You needed to learn submission to a man such as him, and Maurice needed to learn how to control his urges. I didn’t want either of you to walk away injured, physically or emotionally. Once I felt you were both ready to know each other, I sent you down to the basement that day.”

  Cocking a brow, Penelope mentioned, “Yet you let me go down on you in your office?”

  Vincent’s laughter boomed through the small room, true joy in the sound and in the expression on his face. “I am but a man, Penelope. Sometimes these things cannot be helped.”

  She would have laughed herself if the door hadn’t opened, if the guard hadn’t stepped through to lead her away. Vincent darted a glance in his direction and sighed. “It seems it’s time for this interview to end. Thank you for agreeing to come talk to me.”

  Hating the tears that poured from her eyes, Penelope could barely speak around the lump clogging her throat. “And thank you for being honest.”

  With the guard standing and listening, she couldn’t say everything else she wanted. Like how she would miss him. Like how she didn’t hate him. Like how she would mourn him when he was no longer in the world.

  By the look on his face, he knew what she was thinking without her having to speak a word. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I’ll be there to walk with you into whatever comes next.”

  “Thank you,” he answered as she stood to leave.

  And with one last glance over her shoulder, Penelope saw Vincent watching her leave, his shoulders rolled back, his face masculine and refined, his arrogance still obvious in the green of his eyes. Both he and Maurice both had been far too beautiful to be real.

  “Goodbye, Vincent,” she called out.

  “Goodbye, Meadow,” he answered.

  Led through the gates, Penelope was escorted out of Faiville Prison, and she would return for the last time the following morning to watch Vincent Mercier die.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Penny

  The sun hadn’t so much as crested the horizon when I sat on my small hotel balcony the next morning, my eyes practically swollen shut by the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, my heart barely beating as my mind begged this day to never begin. If it were possible to stop time, I would have done so, remaining in permanent stasis, giving up the next rising sun, the next hour, the next second just to keep Vincent Mercier from never being executed.

  Already the city was applauding his death, the media setting up their camps outside Faiville Prison, the reporters keeping in touch by delivering brief live broadcasts detailing the anxious energy of the people camped outside the prison’s gates.

  And the reporters who wouldn’t be telling their tales live from on scene were busy behind their desks reminding their viewers why Vincent Mercier was being killed.

  Four lives lost: Barron Billings, Émilie Lapierre, Penelope Graham and another woman it had taken them months and dental records to identify. Her name was Candace Ray, an exotic dancer who had given a show at the Wishing Well on the night of their annual ball, and who had disappeared four days later never to be heard from again. At least until the cadaver dogs had sniffed out her bones. Her initial disappearance had never been connected to Wishing Well since she’d given two other performances since that night, but the media had speculated that Vincent had invited her back, had slept with her and killed her before burying her in the garden.

  Her parents would be in attendance for the execution, happy for the justice their daughter would receive. It was too bad they didn’t know that justice had already been given on the night Maurice Mercier had taken his life. Barron’s parents would be there as well, with absolutely no idea that their precious son was a fucking rapist.

  I didn’t believe Maurice killed Candace on purpose, and I was sure her death occurred during one of his fits, but Vincent had taken the blame for that death onto himself in order to protect his younger brother, had claimed in court that he’d enjoyed taking her life.

  Anything to distract the police, the lawyers, the judges or jury from looking in Maurice’s direction. Vincent made himself a monster in their eyes so that they had no reason to suspect another man.

  I wanted to slap him for his stupidity, and kiss him at the same time for the selflessness of what he’d done. When I first met that man, he was all about himself. People were nothing but pawns to be played. Nothing mattered except that which benefited him. The world revolved around Vincent Mercier and every other person’s value was worthless unless they had something they could contribute to him.

  I had been a game when he pulled me from the streets, a means to earn some easy money and keep himself entertained. I was only supposed to be a trophy he could set on his shelf and allow to collect dust until some other person came along to dust it off.

  But Vincent, despite his selfish ways, had a weakness in his brother, Maurice. It was the only reason Vincent would deign to give up the world he believed he owned, to give up the life he’d built on the backs of every person he’d used to achieve his ridiculously lavish dreams.

  As usual, however, Vincent was right in what he said. If Maurice had been dragged into the fray, if the police had suspected his part, they would have locked him away in a state psychiatric facility with all the other criminally insane. His last years would have been horrendous. He would have suffered those years even more bitterly than he suffered his basement prison beneath the lobby of Wishing Well.

  Vincent seemed convinced that the bulk of Maurice’s problems had been the fault of his family and him. And I didn’t doubt that Vincent would walk into that execution room this morning believing he was dying not just because he’d attempted to save Maurice from being blamed, but also believing he deserved to die because he felt guilty for having screwed up his brother’s life by never believing Maurice could have been more than he was.

  The first belief was an act of pure love for his brother. The second, well, that was simply a man atoning for his sins. He was sentencing himself to death for not knowing the best thing to do for Maurice, even if he’d spent his life trying to do what was right.

  The thought broke my heart, splintering it into a million pieces and scattering the shards.

  Regardless of how I felt, I would be there until the bitter end, just to ensure that Vincent didn’t die alone.

  The first mist of fire on the horizon had me standing from my seat to walk inside and get dressed. Only two hours remained of Vincent Mercier’s life.

  Despite knowing that it didn’t matter how I looked for this event, I still took the time to select nice clothes - a white flowing top with a navy blue skirt - to stuff my feet in heels and twist my hair up into a professional knot. I took the time to hide my swollen, red eyes beneath a generous amount of concealer, and took the time to apply mascara and lip gloss to finish the look.

  To everybody in attendance, I would look like the unaffected journalist
, there to record the facts and nothing more. But to Vincent and me, I would be the Dirty Girl from the streets whose heart was breaking.

  The drive to the prison didn’t take long, the morning so young that traffic hadn’t yet accumulated on the streets. Approaching the gates leading to the parking area, however, was a different story altogether. The addition of rides, game booths and food vendors would have been a nice touch to make it look more like the carnival it was.

  News vans filled the parking area, their floodlights glaring, their antennas scratching the sky as the reporters, cameramen, sound engineers and other technical crew littered the grounds around them.

  I guessed it wasn’t too often that the world got to witness a millionaire being put to death. Driving past the chaos, I realized quickly how much I hated those people, the vultures as Vincent had so accurately described them.

  After flashing my credentials to one of the prison guards, I was directed to park in a smaller lot reserved for the people who were being allowed inside. A line had formed outside the door, two grieving parents holding each other as they waited, several high power reporters watching them from feet away wondering if they should allow them privacy or approach. In the end, I knew those assholes wouldn’t be able to help themselves to the feast of heartache and pain the parents would give.

  Not me. I was there for one purpose alone, even if it wasn’t the purpose I’d intended before starting the interview. Originally I’d wanted to stare Vincent in the face as the puppet who’d broken free of her strings, but now I would watch as they stuck the needle in his veins and let him know there was at least one person who would grieve.

  As I approached the line, I was reminded of one other role I’d originally intended to play: that of the grieving twin sister.

  It wasn’t that I wasn’t grieving for the loss of Meadow, it was simply that I didn’t blame Vincent for it. The only person I blamed for that was Barron. So when his parents glanced up at me, and when the reporters came rushing forward, I simply glared in their direction, even if they didn’t deserve my anger.

  “Ms. Graham!” the reporters shouted, “How does it feel to know that your sister’s murderer is being put to death today? Are you looking forward to the execution? Is it true Vincent Mercier spent the past three days giving you an exclusive interview?”

  Fucking vultures...

  Pasting on a professional smile, I answered, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep to myself at the moment, as I’m sure you all can understand. Perhaps after the execution, I’ll be better able to answer your questions.”

  They backed away, but only after one of the guards came over to direct me to where the other family members were standing. We would be afforded a front row seat, as if that would make up for the losses we’d suffered.

  After a few minutes, we were allowed inside, and after passing through two large, heavy gates and two sets of doors, we entered a room with three rows of folding seats facing a large glass window with the partition pulled closed. Lucky me, I was given the seat that was front row center, stuffed between two sets of parents who would be cheering the executioner on.

  Already, their whispers were making me bite the inside of my cheek to keep from telling them how wrong they were about Vincent. Was he a jackass? Yes. Did he deserve this? No. Not at all.

  I guessed some would argue that he buried the bodies of both Candace and Émilie. He stole from them a proper burial. And with Candace, at least, his actions had left them to suffer not knowing what happened to their daughter. But, even in that, he was protecting Maurice. He made stupid decisions, but he hadn’t been a heartless monster.

  Barron’s parents could just fuck off for all I thought about their son, and keeping myself from turning to them and admitting the truth as to what he had done was extremely difficult. Not that anybody would believe me if I came out with the truth. There was no evidence to prove Vincent’s claims of what occurred that night to set off Maurice’s fury.

  The partition opened revealing a sterile room with a medical bench, a machine with several dials and tubes, and three plain white walls with a steel door set into one of them. I closed my eyes, tried to hide from what was happening, attempted to breathe when I knew who would soon walk through that door.

  Fuck, I wasn’t sure I could watch it. Not without screaming, not without banging on the glass and telling them to stop. Vincent hadn’t been walked inside the room and I was already crying.

  A hand patted my back. “I know it’s hard, honey. But it will be over soon.”

  I opened my eyes to see Candace’s elderly mother attempting to comfort me. Slapping away a tear, I forced as much of a smile as I could and redirected my eyes to the window.

  The steel door opened, all six foot five inches of Vincent’s muscular frame being led through, his hands locked behind his back, his shoulders pulled wide and his hair a dark, wavy mess dusting his white prison jumpsuit ... his green eyes locking on me where I sat.

  A sob shuddered through me, so violent it shook the legs of my chair. Candace’s mother took my hand in hers, patting the top like a mother would to comfort an upset child. She meant well, so I didn’t snatch my hand away. I pretended it was my mom or sister sitting next to me and comforting me to watch this event.

  Led by two officers to stand in front of the glass window, Vincent was positioned in the center, an intercom turning on with some quiet static. When the warden at the back of the room starting speaking it was a jolt of harsh noise against the silence of where we were seated.

  “Vincent Mercier, you have been sentenced to death for the murders of four people. Having been found guilty by a jury of your peers, your punishment for those crimes will be carried out today. Prior to the execution, are there any last words you would like to say?”

  My eyes locked to his, and it felt like I was the only person in the room. The usual glitter was in the green of his gaze, the humor, the arrogance, the laughter I remember seeing in him when we’d both shared in the joy of seeing Maurice improve. Despite knowing he would take his last breath, he didn’t beg or cry, didn’t lose any part of who he’d always been. Vincent stood tall, and he stood proud.

  Still watching only me, Vincent opened his mouth to say, “Tu faites un vœu, et espérons que cela devienne réalité. ”

  It was exactly what he’d said to me at the well in the garden on the day he told me we would take Maurice out to see a sunset. Back then, I’d had no clue what it meant, but I knew now.

  You make a wish, and hope it comes true...

  My tears wouldn’t stop falling, my entire world crumbling down on top of me as they led him away from the window, laid him down on the bench and hooked him to the drip line.

  He didn’t fight. He simply closed his eyes.

  And at 6:27 a.m., on a chilly Thursday morning, Vincent Mercier was officially declared dead.

  I felt like I’d died beside him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  It was nine in the morning before I was in my car again, emotionally stable enough to leave the parking lot and make the hour and a half drive to the hotel where all of this had started. Just like I felt seven years ago after my sister was killed, I had no desire to walk into the Wishing Well, to see the opulent interiors, to meet the eyes of the employees or Vincent’s attorney. But he had my recorder, and I couldn’t contain my curiosity as to what items Vincent had set aside in the belief that I’d want them.

  I couldn’t turn on the radio without having to listen to all the news reports concerning Vincent’s death, so I listened to the smooth white noise of the tires rolling over the asphalt. My thoughts were in the past, my mind conjuring images of happier times, and my quiet meditation didn’t end until the noises of the city drew my attention. I turned off the freeway exit to drive down the main boulevard. Finding parking at a public lot a few blocks from the hotel, I walked slowly to approach the six story structure that stood tall in the bright sunlight. It was just as I remembered it, surrounded by a beautiful stone wal
l that held all the secrets of the garden behind it.

  Entering beneath the large wrought-iron courtyard gate with purple and pink wisteria that hung down in a breathtaking display, I strolled up the cobblestone walkway to the front doors, smiling at the doorman as he opened them for me. My heels clicked across the gold scarred marble floors, the white shined to a brilliant polish. Above my head, the crystal chandeliers cast their light is a prism of color and at the large front desk that stood to my left, three impeccably dressed employees waited to welcome me to this heavenly place.

  Only it wasn’t heaven to me, it was a ghost of a memory, a nightmare I had to face if I ever hoped to breath easy again. Thankfully, I didn’t recognize any of the clerks who stood waiting.

  “Bonjour! Welcome to the Wishing Well. Are you checking in?”

  “Um, no,” I answered, attempting to smile politely at the pretty brunette clerk. “I’m actually here to see Stephen Chase. He was the attorney for-“

  “I know Mr. Chase,” she answered, interrupting me before I could mention Vincent’s name. “He’s in a meeting with the hotel manager, but if you’ll have a seat on one of the sofas in the waiting area, I’ll let him know you’re here. May I tell him your name?”

  “Meadow Graham.”

  Her eyes widened just barely before she gained control of her expression. “Of course, Ms. Graham. I’m sure it will only be a short wait.”

  She wasn’t wrong. Within ten minutes of my having taken a seat on a large, white sofa that had elegant curves and carved wood detailing, Stephen Chase, with his salt and pepper hair, and his power suit glory, came strolling out to the waiting area with a manila envelope in hand.

  “Ms. Graham. How nice to see you again.”

  Sad laughter tumbled from my lips as I stood to shake his hand. “I can’t believe you’d actually say that to me considering the horrible circumstances. I noticed your absence today at the -“