‘Oh crap,’ I yelled out loud. ‘It’s the bloody police, shit, shit, shit.’ I tried to regain composure. I was not speeding, nor had I been driving recklessly. Just trying to brush off the fact that I knew I should have been wearing my glasses to drive, and said glasses were in a heap of clothes in the corner of my bedroom, sniggering at my misfortune and undoubtedly ridiculing me for being so stupid.
I indicated to turn into the road and wound my window down. The evening air now fully entered the car, and I shuddered inside, nervous yet there was something more than that, I was scared and I did not know why.
A man in his early thirties got out of the car and proceeded forwards towards mine. The first thing I noticed was the lack of a uniform, but there was no mistaking that blue light I saw. I pondered this for a moment until I heard his voice.
‘Sophia Nichols?’ He was the police, how else could he know my name?
‘I am so sorry, officer, was I speeding?’ I asked questioningly.
‘I see you just came from the Veneto property?’ he replied; almost, I sensed, with a disgusted tone.
‘Eh, yes,’ I murmured, not sure why that was being mentioned. Before I could clarify further he interrupted my thoughts with more questions.
‘You work for them?’ he asked, with a sanctimonious raise of an eyebrow.
‘I, yes, yes I do sir, but…’ I saw the silver, so dazzling; it caused me to squint my eyes, or was that just fear? I do not know it happened so fast.
‘Give them a message for me, would you; no one touches the Sar family business.’
‘I don’t understand what…?’ I felt the tear before I heard the sound, ripping through me like a staple through paper. I looked down and saw a pool of blood forming on the one dress I owned, turning black like treacle and slowly, slowly, slowly, nothingness.
I drifted in and out of consciousness, the night taking over, filling the depths of my dreams with eerie blackness. How long I was there for, I do not know. A bakery van en route to the local organic farmers’ market was my saviour, the sweet smell of fresh muffins lingering all around me as I was lifted into the truck and driven to the local hospital. I did not remember anything for the next two days; extreme blood loss takes a toll on one’s body after all.
To this day, I still cannot recall all the events of that evening. I vaguely remember looking at the stars glistening in the sky, like diamonds trying to break free from a mine and lead their victor to fortune. It was the third day when some events started to creep back in; I was giving my statement to the police.
‘A man approached me, a policeman,’ I began.
‘He certainly was not a police officer, honey.’ A woman in her mid-fifties with greying hair strained back into a bun was taking my statement, trying to help me recall events. It did not help; I was still at a loss.
The fourth day upon release from hospital I took a taxi home, and was stood scrambling at the front door for the keys that were buried in a mountain of crap at the bottom of my bag, laughing at me for my untidiness. I pushed open the door and saw an envelope on the mat. It was padded and certainly looked out of place amongst the red reminder letters. I fumbled to open the envelope, struggling with one arm in a sling and the other wrestling the door closed, which was stuck on the pile of unopened bills lying there smirking at me with great satisfaction.
A letterhead struck me, a dragon and the V symbol. I knew immediately it was from the Veneto family. I froze then as a flashback to that night ploughed over me, the words echoing through my bones.
“Tell the Veneto family not to mess with the Sar family business.” The husky, somewhat foreign tone rang in my ears. I suddenly felt a warm gush and instantly looked at my arm as if the wound was opening, only to be hit with the smell of ammonia and the stark realisation that I had just wet myself. I ran up the stairs and fell onto the bed, catching my arm in the process, and just cried as I had never cried before. All the emotions leaching out of me, like the trail a slug leaves behind between conquering its plant prey.
I must have fallen asleep, exhaustion crippling my every fibre. I awoke with a searing pain in my shoulder and the reminder of my earlier accident filling my nostrils as I shifted uncomfortably trying to manoeuvre my underwear off. I decided to run a bath and was just padding over to the bathroom when I stood on the envelope. I picked it up off the floor and opened it.
“It’s with regret that the position you interviewed for today has been withdrawn, a cheque for any inconvenience is enclosed. Best wishes for the future.” Before I could even process what was said in the letter the numbers penetrated my vision, blocking out everything else. Fifty thousand dollars paid to Miss Sophia Nichols, I could not speak, there were no words.
‘What the hell,’ was all I could muster and fell to the ground in a heap. I sat there for what must have been hours, just staring at the cheque, the numbers and the payee name. I looked at my arm then the cheque and back and forth, what had I done? What was I going to do? So many thoughts filled my now deliriously drowsy head I could not focus anymore. I closed my eyes and let sleep consume my weary body.
Dreams filled my head that night, no longer the red debt letters climbing the stairs, jumping on the bed and trying to suffocate me. No this was the bloodcurdling screams from my mouth, seeing the gun, feeling the pain. I woke the next morning, the cheque still next to me where I lay. I guess the old adage money does not buy you happiness is true, for me at least.
New Beginnings
I was just staring at the cheque for I do not know how long, looking at the colour of the ink that had flowed graciously from the pen to the holographic symbol indicating it was a cashier’s cheque, and back again.
The shrill of an alarm awoke me from my semi-conscious musings, followed by screaming and the slamming of doors. I clambered out of the bed, my bare feet protesting against the icy floor they were now located on and I slowly walked over to the window.
My energy levels were still so low, no doubt significantly less than they should be, as I could not remember the last time I had eaten a proper meal, and tried to determine where the now screeching voice was coming from. I opened the window and discovered the cause of all the commotion. My neighbour, Cherie, a middle-aged woman who never looked like a hair was out of place on her vibrant red head, was screaming at the top of her lungs at the neighbour opposite, whose car alarm was reaching a crescendo at six o’clock in the morning.
Solving the mystery I pulled the window closed, shivered in the now freezing air that had penetrated the room, and grabbed my dressing gown that was flung on the back of the bed before making my way down to the only thing that I could stomach, coffee. An intravenous drip was in order. No, scratch that, no drips. It just brought back hospital memories, ones that I did not want to remember ever. They were safely locked away in the drawer marked, better left forgotten, in the back of my memory, not to be revisited any time soon.
I poured myself a hot cup of black coffee, the only way coffee should be served in my opinion. Not butchered with syrup and non-fat this, skinny that. Nope, straight up black with two sugars was my order and given my further dwindling energy, I dumped a pop tart in the toaster.
The strawberry marshmallow pop tart was nauseatingly delicious enough to give me the necessary amount of a sugar rush that I could get dressed ready to leave. I knew where I was going before I had even got out of bed. I wanted answers, I needed them, heck, I demanded them and with that mantra swirling around my now sugar and caffeine-infused brain, I picked up the phone and called a taxi.
It took around an hour to get to my destination, the wrought iron gates dazzling me, reflecting the sun back onto my ghostly white face before a dark cloud hovering in anticipation devoured its rays. I knew I must have looked a bit worse for wear, but the taxi driver’s expression when I had climbed into the car confirmed any doubts.
‘You okay there?’ A man in his early forties with dark hair and eyes looked me up and down.
‘Fine, thanks,’ I repli
ed, giving him the address and maintaining my, let’s not talk stare, out of the window the rest of the drive.
I paid the driver, leaving a small tip, and made my way to the intercom that I had used a mere five days ago; and what a five days it had been. I paused before pressing the button that would no doubt peal to be answered somewhere within the mansion house and looked up. The sun, deciding to fight and grace us again with another appearance that morning, providing a mere momentary glare of heat, gave me the energy I knew I needed to get through the next challenge, opening the gate.
‘Hello,’ the voice echoed back over the intercom. ‘How may I help?’ I saw the camera turn to face me and patiently awaited my response.
‘I would like to see Mr Veneto,’ I whispered, clearing my voice and trying again. ‘Tell him it’s Sophia Nichols.’ I heard a brief uncertainty in the response, but was not expecting the reply I received.
‘I’m afraid Mr Veneto is away on vacation,’ the voice again echoed back. I had not planned on this, what was I going to do now?
‘Wait,’ was all I mustered. ‘Which one is away? I mean I want to speak with Nicholi Veneto,’ clarifying in case there was a chance I was not being clear enough before.
Silence, followed by a clank of the gate as the lock unsealed itself and opened the path onwards. I paused for a second before panicking the gate would try to close on me, and stepped forwards, starting the walk to the property that I had driven down in Betty just days earlier, this time in silence.
I arrived twenty minutes later and made my way to the front door. I was about to ring the bell when, Mr Saviour who appeared to be scowling at me, opened the door.
‘Hi,’ I began; confused by the intense glare he was now wearing proudly and tried to remember why I had come in the first place. ‘Can I see Nicholi Veneto please?’ I made sure I was specific this time to avoid any more uncertainty and was ushered in with what looked like a tinge of regret.
‘Please wait in here.’ Mr Saviour recoiled, leaving me standing in what looked like a room whose function was an office, but completely out of place with the rest of the house I had seen so far.
The room was modern, high tech with a glass desk across the back wall, four sixty-four-inch TV screens were hanging from the ceiling and an ornamental sphere was to the side. It was this that attracted my attention the most; it was so unique and futuristic, yet elegant at the same time.
The colour changed when you touched it, and water flowed into a cavern at the bottom that seemed to be supporting it and through a pump mechanism up again. It was there I was standing when the door flew open and in walked Nicholi Veneto.
‘Miss Nichols,’ he proclaimed as though announcing my presence at a function. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘What can you do for me?’ I repeated, almost echoing his proclamation. ‘Really, is that all you can say?’ I retorted, getting more aggravated by the second.
‘Is there something you want?’ he replied, coldly now.
‘Let’s see.’ I lowered myself into the nearest chair that would not have looked out of place in NASA’S command room and began what was perhaps the most garbled, incoherent speech of my life.
‘Five days ago I came to your home to interview for a job. A job I really wanted and needed,’ I emphasised the needed part. ‘Only to be shot on the way home collecting my belongings to move in, given a message that you should stay away from the Sar family business and opening a cheque for fifty thousand dollars, what could I possibly want?’
Nicholi joined me on the closest NASA chair; still within a safe distance in case I suddenly decided to voluntarily kick out one of my legs, to avoid contact. I wondered whether that was deliberate before listening and processing what I never expected to come out of his mouth.
‘Would you still like the job?’ he asked, looking me directly in the eyes for the first time since he had walked through the door this morning.
‘I, what?’ was all I could muster.
‘The job is yours if you want it, the children are at their grandmother’s house until tomorrow, but that will give you time to settle in and unpack. The salary is as we discussed with full benefits and includes any out of pocket expenses you may have received due to the injury you suffered.’ I was just so taken aback by this turn of events that I could not find any words to respond for what seemed like an eternity. Then I found my words, albeit garbled and caffeine-infused and we began the start of the strangest conversation I had ever had.
‘You are offering me the job again?’
‘Yes, if you want it.’
‘I got shot.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘Just down the road from here, near that tree.’
‘I know the one.’
‘You want me to work for you?’
‘Yes, if you would like to.’
‘I, eh, I…’
‘Would you like to see your room and the boys’ room?’ Nicholi prompted, standing up and starting towards the door, opening it for me to exit.
‘Sure,’ was all I could muster. Seriously, did I get shot in the shoulder or the head? What was I doing? This was crazy, yet I walked to the door and followed Nicholi’s lead across the hallway and up the stairs.
‘This would be your room,’ he announced, opening the door on the first floor to the left.
I could still smell the fresh paint; the walls were all white except for a feature wall in front of the bed that was painted turquoise. A decal of a cherry tree had been strategically placed in the centre with a branch full of blossoms cascading out in the wind. It looked beautiful and was definitely something I would have chosen.
‘It has been recently decorated, with a few upgrades,’ he grinned, as though he was pleased with something that I had no idea of and was too out of it to question further.
Had I taken too many painkillers last night and was now feeling the effects? Who knows. I looked around the room, trying to take in as many details as my eyes could focus on. There was a huge super king-sized bed in the middle of the room, a vanity with a crystal trim mirror opposite and window to the side that overlooked the back of the property. I could see the woods that etched across the land dividing the outside world and shielding the house from the road beyond. To the left was a walk in closet and the en suite bathroom. There was a spa bath reflected in the mirror, surrounded by scented candles; vanilla flavour and strawberries enveloped the room and to the side a walk-in shower.
I stared at Nicholi, wanting to express exactly why I came, and waited for the words to process. He seemed to acknowledge my now clearly almost delirious state and began a speech that I never thought I would hear an employer say.
‘What happened was unfortunate.’ I flinched at his choice of words and he seemed to recoil. ‘What I mean by that is, it will never happen again. No one will ever get anywhere close to touching you without your permission ever again. It was a terrible mistake, one for which I cannot begin to say how sorry I am. We must move forward and I have checked your references, they are impeccable, the families you have worked for sang your praises and I know our children would benefit greatly from your instruction.’ The way he said, our children, gave me goose bumps for a second. I took a deep breath to steady myself, and Nicholi continued.
‘Would you like to see the boys’ room?’ He spoke softly this time, ushering me towards the door and across the hall. I followed slowly, still in a haze of emotions just trying to put one foot in front of the other and figure out a way to coherently say what I needed to him. What came out was as much a shock to me as it appeared to be to Nicholi.
‘Can I redecorate?’ I asked politely, relieved I had found my voice, but astonished by my thought train.
‘You don’t like your room?’ Nicholi questioned, and it seemed a little disappointment tinged his tone.
‘The room’s great, no, I meant the boys’ room. I love painting and interior design in general. I have a few ideas that would work really well in this room,’ I explained, still mar
velling at the fact I was talking about decorating the house of the man who had got me shot, yet at the same time somehow his words had penetrated me and my gut was saying I was safe here.
‘Of course, here,’ Nicholi handed me a black card. ‘Any expenses you or the boys have just use this card,’ he instructed. I looked down at the shiny plastic card staring back up at me with disdain. These things had been the bane of my existence and I had taken great pleasure dissecting them, chopping them into tiny pieces and throwing them in the trash, and now here was another one.
‘Something wrong?’ Nicholi asked, puzzled. ‘You’re looking at it like I just gave you Lucifer.’ He half laughed for the first time since I had met him. ‘I thought all women loved credit cards,’ he proclaimed.
‘Well, I’m not all women,’ I rebuffed. ‘Lucifer is a great name for it.’ I smiled now too, relaxing somewhat, and looked up at Nicholi.
‘You are certainly not,’ he spoke gently before going back to his business-like persona. ‘Use it for whatever you need,’ he began. ‘You will also have a car and gas will be covered.’ The way he said it made me wonder if his brother had told him about the siphoning incident and I felt my face start to flush. Possibly sensing my unease, I am not sure, Nicholi tried to bring things to a close.
‘Okay, so we are all set?’ he asked, seeking my verbal confirmation of the agreement.
‘Sure,’ I started, but paused when I heard his phone ring.
‘One moment, Miss Nichols.’ He headed for the door.
‘Sophia,’ I clarified back. ‘Just Sophia is fine.’ He nodded and proceeded out the door while I just flopped down onto the floor, head in hands. What was I doing? How had I got myself into this? I questioned my sanity before lifting my weary body off the floor and surveyed the room. It was bigger than the one we had just been in, though the layout was similar.
In The End (The Butterfly Series Book 1) Page 2