by Ramona Wray
I paced in my room until Raisin got too frightened to stick around and scurried out. Emotions shot through me blindingly fast, always changing, using up all my energy. A part of me, what I always thought was my instinct, still argued with my mind, refusing to accept the truth. In the face of so much overwhelming evidence, his own confession included, something in me still wouldn’t believe that Ryder was the bad guy, that he had lied and deceived me. I couldn’t accept that he had played with my heart like that: coldly, keeping his eyes on the prize, and caring only about his own interest. My instinct rebelled against it, which, I guess, really did make me less intuitive than a rock.
The walls were closing in on me again. I needed to leave the house! I had to go back to the hospital and burn the remaining daylight with Mom and J, feed on their love to keep my heart pumping and my brain from disintegrating. To keep the walls from absorbing me. I couldn’t be dust, not yet, not before setting things right for J, at least.
The cracks in my composure widened. My self-control was failing. I watched my hands; they shook. My breathing kept catching; I was almost panting. Was it a panic attack? Did I need a brown paper bag?
I was losing it big-time, which made clearing out of the house a really good idea. Being with Mom and J would help me hang on.
As fast as my worn-out feet could take me, I dashed down the stairs, regretful for not having taken Mom’s advice to rest for a couple of hours. Grabbing a light denim jacket from the hall stand, followed by the car keys, I pulled the front door open so abruptly that the hinges creaked, moaning in protest.
And I came face-to-face with Mary Kate Davis, the — ahem — lawyer.
“Hello, Lily. Mind if I have a word?”
Chapter: Twenty-Four
In her defense, Mary Kate looked very lawyer-like this time in a black pantsuit and silky white shirt. Of course, the thing was so beautifully cut that the effect was, once again, jaw-dropping. As for the Christian Louboutin stilettos, well … you get the picture.
“A word?” I scowled at her. “You mean the kind that involves talking? With each other?”
She smiled. “Yes. It won’t take long.”
Blocking my exit, her long feet planted firmly on the ground, she obviously had no intention of giving up. I curbed the desire to slap her where she stood. “Fine, then. Talk.” “Inside?” she asked, arching one expensively groomed brow. I humphed, but was forced to submit and step aside. I so didn’t need this! There was no need to show her in; she moved across the hallway and
into the living room as if she owned the place. Then, after a quick look around that made me glad for Mom’s impeccable taste in designing the interior of our home, she perched herself on an armchair, crossing her legs with the grace of a crowned head. Annoying to no end.
Feeling stupid standing, I flopped into a chair, too. No grace of any kind was involved in the feat.
“I came to set things straight,” she said.
Right to the point. I appreciated that.
“No need, Miss Davis.”
I intentionally used her surname to underline the age diff erence, between us, and therefore between her and the age Ryder showed. But she didn’t even blink.
“I don’t care one way or the other,” I lied.
“I’m not sleeping with Ry.”
Dang, she was direct. It was hard not to blanch.
“Like I said, I don’t care.”
“I’m going to tell you a story, Lily,” she went on, as if she hadn’t heard me. “One that I shouldn’t share with anyone. Thus, should you decide to repeat it, I will deny ever saying a word.”
My, my, wasn’t this straight out of Spooks.
“My family, we’ve been lawyers for many generations. And when I say ‘generations,’ I mean it goes back more than a couple hundred years.”
Well now! I guess that explained the aristocratic vibe she wore like some expensive perfume. She was old money. Of course, I grunted inwardly.
“William Kingscott … Ry,” she smiled as she repeated her pet name for him, “has been our client from the very beginning.”
Now she paused. For effect, maybe? When I didn’t react in any way, her expression tightened. What did she expect? Hadn’t she trumpeted it last night already, loud and clear?
“We don’t know what,” she flushed, and then corrected herself, “who he is. What we do know is that he’s a decent person. A very generous client. Someone who, despite having always been worth a fortune, prefers to lead a very low-key life. He gives large amounts of money to charity. And, as far as we know, he’s never hurt a soul.”
Guess it paid off being a half-celestial being. I wondered if he could make money appear just by thinking about it. I pondered and wrestled with the notion of his giving money away. Did he have to be so unlike any normal bad guys I’d ever heard of ? It was as if he tried to confuse me on purpose.
I challenged the last part of her statement. “How do you know he’s never hurt anyone?”
“Well, due to his extraordinary circumstances, he was considered a high-risk attachment, so we’ve had him under surveillance for a long time,” she said, softer. “Just between you and me, I’m not entirely convinced he isn’t still watched, even today.” She paused, then added almost apologetically, “My father is a particularly thorough man.”
An enthusiastic snort lurked in my throat.
“There are quite a few unusual things about William Kingscott, Lily. Despite living so modestly, he lives fully. Very actively. My family has tracked him down everywhere from Tibet to India, from South Africa to Eastern Europe. Everywhere there’s a tsunami, an earthquake, a tornado, or generally where there are people hurting, he’s there. Always on the front lines, offering more than just money, the kind of relief one can only give with one’s own hands. Sometimes, he’ll disappear to some reclusive monastery, but he’ll never rest longer than a couple of months. Then he goes right back to it again.”
How nice of him to try to save everyone’s life! Except mine, of course. I mean, what was this about? A lousy attempt at tipping the scales? A “kill one, help one hundred” sort of deal? Did he think that by helping other people, he’d be forgiven for killing me every so often?
“Yeah, yeah,” I snorted. “He’s a Boy Scout, I get it.”
“Not a Boy Scout, but a very intelligent, caring person. Do you realize he possesses at least half a dozen legitimate degrees? That he’s a lawyer himself ? A doctor and a —”
I stopped her with a flick of my hand. “Get to the point already.”
Her Caribbean-blue eyes measured me in a way aimed at making me shrink.
“Fine,” she replied icily. “You want the short version, here it is. In our opinion, two things make William Kingscott truly extraordinary. One, he doesn’t age. And two, our records show that three times during the past centuries he made legal provisions that, in the event of his death, everything he owns should automatically go to a woman. Marion Frost was the first; Sarah Manbeck came next. Can you guess who the third beneficiary might be?”
My mouth was instantly dry. “Me.”
She nodded. “Yes, Lily. You.”
Silence fell between us, but it was charged. She was fishing for a reaction. I was determined to give her squat, even though my head was spinning faster than Linda Blair’s number in The Exorcist. That Ryder would make arrangements for his money to go to someone before my final countdown made sense. By now, I was clear on how it worked. Tonight had happened before; those other two women, Marion Frost and Sarah Manbeck, were both me, from different times. And, just like tonight, Ryder had probably wondered which way I’d go. Would I offer him the magical pick-me-up that would last him another hundred plus years in the mortal plane, or would I deny it and therefore send him home, between realms? He’d wondered about it, hence the need to set his financial affairs in order. This was all crystal clear.
That he would choose me, the one responsible for his early return home, as his heir wasn’t as self-explanatory. Was it guilt? Another
act of contrition, just like his humanitarian work? Because no matter what happened to him, whether he stayed or left our world, it didn’t change the fact that I would still die. So why leave me all that money? Maybe it was set to go to my parents, like some sort of I-killed-your-daughter-here’s-a-bunch-of-money-in-return consolation gift? Surely not. He wouldn’t be so callous, would he?
“That’s the reason I’m in Rosemound now,” she resumed. “To finalize the paperwork. Would you like to know how much you’ll be worth, in the event of Ry’s death, Lily? It’s quite an impressive figure.”
I didn’t think. I just reacted. Fiercely. “He’s not going to die!”
She pierced me with an ice-cold stare. “Oh, I’m quite certain he won’t. You see, Lily, there’s a pattern here. He barely knew Marion Frost and Sarah Manbeck. The same way he barely knows you. In fact, Marion Frost became engaged to be married while Ry was her … acquaintance. Just as in your case, he acquired a home somewhere close to each of them, approximately one year before their eighteenth birthday. And while records show that he knew these … girls, he wasn’t truly a part of their lives. It almost seems as though he was there to watch them. From a distance. Contact was minimum.”
“There’s been plenty of contact between us, Miss Davis.” I forced a smile.
She ignored me. “So why should he leave a fortune to either of them? Curious, to say the least. But do you know what’s even more curious, Lily?”
I rolled my eyes. “They both died and Ryder got to keep his dough,” I said dryly.
Her frostiness melted into surprise. “That’s right,” she whispered. “They both died violent deaths.”
I stared at her across the coffee table, but I knew my face was stony. Whatever she was hoping to learn by springing this on me, she wasn’t going to get it. “Is there a point to this story, Miss Davis?”
She frowned. Then, piece by piece, her composure returned. “Don’t insult me by pretending you don’t see it,” she enunciated. “Are you …” she faltered, “dear God, I can’t believe I’m going to say this.” She inhaled once. “Are you about to die?”
Sadly, I flinched. “How’s this any of your business?”
There was a pause, as if she had suddenly run out of the right words. But she recovered. “I’ll be blunt, Lily. The other two girls died within days after Ryder named them heirs to his fortune.”
My eyebrows curved in a silent “and?”.
Her jaw flexed, delicate bones moving under her even more delicate skin. She looked like a rose, but it was clear that she was steel-tough inside. “Despite our surveillance, it’s not clear if … Well, it would rather seem —”
“Miss Davis, I’m busy. Spit it out already.”
She was quick to oblige. “Is William Kingscott a killer?”
I could almost smile at this point. “I’ll answer that, if you answer me this. What’s your interest in him?”
She met my eyes squarely. One word came from her mouth, clipped and firm, “Personal.”
Aha! I knew she was after him, the old tramp.
I felt my lips thinning with anger. Jealousy. And many other equally unpleasant emotions that burned inside my eyes like poison spills. And then, somehow, my mind pitched in, too. Yes, Mary Kate Davis was beautiful, sophisticated, and smart. But man, was she cold! There she sat in front of me, having worked out for herself that I was about to die, but all she cared about was her own interest. She was only concerned with understanding if the person she had the hots for was a killer. I forced myself to see beyond tonight, beyond what would happen, beyond my death. Did I want Ryder to be alone? My heart broke with it, but the truth remained. No, I didn’t want that for him. I knew from experience how much loneliness sucked. But did I want him to get involved with a shark like Mary Kate Davis? Not in a million years.
My lips pulled back to reveal clenched teeth, which I bared at her as I hissed, “Ryder is my boyfriend. I love him very much. And that’s the only answer you’re going to get.”
I stood. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have things to do.”
Her nostrils flared with anger, but I couldn’t have cared less. Mary Kate Davis was the least of my problems. I saw her to the door in loaded silence and then hurried to shut it behind her without saying good-bye. Only then did I allow myself to slip down to the floor and really face up to the latest info. Finding out all those things about Ryder left my chest heavy with the knowledge, and with even more contradictory emotions. My killer was truly an angel. An angel of mercy, as far as the rest of the world was concerned.
How could I hate him?
How could I not?
Chapter: Twenty-Five
Outside J’s room, Mom hollered like a banshee. “No, I will not wait a moment! In fact, I’ll tell you what, why don’t I call my lawyer and have him deal with this? In court. This is religious discrimination and I will not stand for it!”
At the receiving end, a doctor in his fifties, probably the dad of someone from school, more nervous than a pimpled boy on his first date, kept patting his sweating forehead with a white tissue. “Mrs. Crane. There’s no need for this.”
It looked as if I’d arrived just in time to put a stop to the impending doom.
“Mom,” I called, hurrying along the off-white hallway. “What’s going on?”
In her lemon-yellow dress and with the blonde hair falling to her shoulders in a beautiful mess, Mom was a patch of sunlight. But her eyes, shooting angry darts at the doctor in front of her, added something that was definitely outside the sunny spectrum.
“Ah, Lillian Marie, good!” she cried, by way of greeting. “You must bear witness to my persecution.” “Persecution?” the doctor repeated in shock. “Really, Mrs. Crane, I hardly think —”
“Oh, I know what you think!” she bit back.
The crisis wasn’t, in fact, a crisis. Not entirely surprising, it was about Mom’s incense, and the crystals, and the candles she’d been burning around the clock inside J’s room. Her attitude may have had something to do with it, too, not that I was going to call her out on it. But the hospital refused to put up with it anymore. She didn’t back down, arguing religious freedom to justify the use of the items in question. In reality, Mom was a temperamental drama queen, but never mind that. Less than ten minutes after my providential arrival, things were settled. How? Through meaningful conversation, a sometimes alien notion for Mom. The hospital gave in, as long as we agreed to burn no more than two candles and one incense stick at a time, and keep the window open and the door closed. Reasonable, right?
My BFF’s condition hadn’t changed. Her vitals were fine, but the brain activity was scarce. She looked peacefully asleep, even if her color had never been so ashen. The tube through which she breathed made it hard to stand watching her, though. It hurt too much.
Mom and I sat by her bedside in silence for a while. Then she went hunting for food and I got to eat my first real meal in ages, a surprisingly tasty steak sandwich procured from the hospital cafeteria. But even as I ate, I could tell that Mom had something she was itching to say and get off her chest.
“What, Mom? Spit it out,” I prompted, too tired of waiting for her to make up her mind.
Sitting beside me on the little couch, she squirmed, her eyes fluttering back and forth from J’s still face to mine.
“This boy I found here,” she said hesitantly.
“Uh-huh. Lucian,” I provided, with my mouth full.
“Yes. Who is he?”
Er … my soul mate?
“A friend. Why?”
There was a pause. “Ryder came in, too.”
My jaw locked tightly, the bite of food in my mouth lurching down my throat in painful knots.
“They got into a terrible fight,” she went on, eyes searching me attentively.
I busied myself with the paper towels in my lap. “What kind of fight?”
Her shoulders sank. “They went outside, so I didn’t catch all of it. But I’m sure it was about you. I heard
your name a few times. Also, someone named Katherine?”
I could only nod. Exactly how much had she heard? Did she know? Was she fishing for confirmation?
Anxiously, she let out a whole string of questions. “What’s going on, Lillian Marie? Who is this Lucian boy? And how come you’ve never mentioned him before?”
I choked on the soda and then fell into a wild coughing fit. “He’s just someone from school, that’s all,” I offered vaguely.
Her brows puckered in a frown. “Really? So why would he tell Ryder, your boyfriend,” she accentuated sardonically, “that he’d been wasting his time? That he’ll never really have you? What’s this about, these … these … claims of ownership over you? From a boy who, you say, is just someone from school? What about Ryder?”
As I lived and breathed! For the first time ever, she was pulling the Mom-card on me; wasn’t her timing just impeccable? I set my plate down and then clamped my hands together on my knees, resolved to treat the moment with all the monumentality it deserved.
“It’s complicated.”
Since she met that with a hearty snort, I tried harder. “Ryder is my boyfriend.”
With a hurt look on her face, she averted her eyes, glancing at J’s bed again.
“Personally,” she said quietly, “I have no taste for these displays of macho claptrap. Then again, they’re both awfully young, aren’t they? I suppose some concessions are in order.” She paused. “Especially since I do like them. Both. Ryder, and Lucian. What’s bothering me is that I’m not sure if … well, I just hope that you’re being honest with me.”
I swallowed. “I never lied to you, Mom. Ryder is my boyfriend, you know that. I love him,” I admitted, my heart breaking.
Her head snapped back to me with an audible crack. By the way her eyes were nearly popping out of their orbs, she was shocked. “Love him? That’s a really big word, Lillian Marie.”
If only she’d known how much bigger the implications truly were. But it didn’t change anything; the heart knows what the heart wants. “Yes, Mom, I know.”