Both sets of parents are waiting in the foyer of our house, apparently ready to celebrate our return from our honeymoon. I lean into Jax, close enough so that only he can hear my comment.
“Somebody’s had her Stepford pills today.”
I can feel his low laugh where it rumbles in his chest below my palm. It calms my fears about returning home. During our flight, I was worried that the connection between me and Jax would be lost. He seemed to grow more aloof the closer we got to home. Tension that hadn’t been in his hard frame during our three-week honeymoon became more noticeable by the minute. It diluted the tenderness I felt for him after such an amazing honeymoon, which made me feel guilty, so I’d spent the remainder of the flight trying to find ways to recapture it with small talk and inane observations.
“Seems someone’s skipped hers,” Jax replies loud enough for our parents to hear. He takes a step to the side, putting distance between us and causing me to stumble from the unexpected loss of his body. I right myself, bright spots of embarrassment making my face burn. “I have work to do. Amber, you should rest. We have a battery of tests organised for you first thing tomorrow. It’s time to see why you’re not living up to your end of the bargain.”
Jax strides out of the foyer in the direction of his office, my father and his falling into step with him. Left alone with our mothers, I look between them to see if they’re going to comment on how my husband just acted. They meet my perusal with deliberate blankness, although my mother does seem to be more nervous than usual.
“Is anyone going to tell me what tests he’s talking about?” Their mouths fall open at my belligerent tone. Internally, I shrug it off. They’re lucky I didn’t stomp my damn foot. I certainly want to. “No? No one?”
I give them my back, extending the handle of my biggest suitcase and tilting it so it will roll behind me. I signal the maid to bring the rest of my bags with her. Jax’s luggage can sit in the middle of the entry until the end of time, for all I care. When I reach the curved staircase, I immediately regret my show of defiance. There’s no way I’m going to be able to pull my bag up there.
“Maria.” My mother snaps her fingers at the maid. “Bring some refreshments to the lounge, then have the luggage taken to their room.”
She sniffs when Maria takes too long to move. “Come now, Amber. Tell us about your trip.”
I follow, with reluctance in each step, sitting on the loveseat closest to the window. It’s a beautiful day outside. Bright sunlight and barely a breath of wind. It’s a day that I could spend with my husband, if he wasn’t a workaholic who barely drew a breath before he dived straight back into his job.
“I think you’re mistaken as to how things will run from now on.” Jax’s mother, Elizabeth, speaks first. I run my gaze over her, taking in the perfectly coiffed hair and her unnaturally straight posture with her hands tucked between her knees. Looks like she had her Stepford pills today, as well. “My son is a very busy man. It’s your job to make his life run as effortlessly as possible. There will be no further allowances made for your delicate state.”
She stands, pacing in front of me. I assume that her “delicate state” gibe is a reference to my ongoing amnesia.
“You’ll take over the running of this house. It is not my place to do so now that he’s married. However, I am happy to provide some tips so that the transition is smooth. The same goes for Jax’s social calendar. That will require close attention so that your influence as the only St. George heir benefits my son from the outset. Once you are with child, Cynthia and I,” Elizabeth indicates my mother with her jutting chin. “will assist you so that you are able to concentrate on your most important duty—providing as many heirs as possible.”
“So, that’s what the tests are for tomorrow?” I slouch in my chair when they both incline their heads in agreement. “Well, I guess I’d better rest then. Wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of my ability to breed.”
“I feel that you would benefit from a lie down.” My sarcasm goes straight over my mother’s head. “It will improve your disposition.”
My feet are in action in an instant, hell bent on removing me from this conversation before I say something I regret. I can’t take this farce, anymore. We’ve been home for less than an hour and my life is already being dictated by the expectations of “society”.
Isn’t that one of the reasons you ran away in the first place?
My stupid heel catches in the corner of the rug when that random though pops into my head. I stumble, steadying myself with a hand on the back of the closest settee. Balance regained, my shoulder clashes with the person currently entering the room as I restart my hasty exit.
“My apologies.” I give Seb a ghost-like smile as I pass.
He takes hold of the top of my arm to slow me, a shopping bag dangling from that same hand.
“It’s time. Be ready.”
The fours words are murmured, then he lets me leave. Curiosity rings in my ears and I expect him to follow me. He doesn’t, instead greeting the two women as if he hadn’t just whispered instructions to me.
“Morning, ladies.” As I leave, I see Seb take the seat I just vacated. Once I’m around the corner and out of sight, I stop to listen. “Why’s Amber in such a rush? I thought Jax had back-to-back meetings this afternoon.”
“He does. Jax is a very busy man.” Elizabeth sounds annoyed by her youngest son’s idle query. “Shouldn’t you have something better to do other than shop and question me about your brother? I’m certain your father could find a position for you if you’d let him.”
Seb snorts. His current surroundings make the sound even less inelegant than it is. “I’m quite happy with my research position. My soul isn’t for sale, unlike the rest of my family.”
“Now, that’s hardly a fair thing to say about your father and brother.” My mother sounds scandalised by Seb’s statement. “You should apologise to your mother.”
“I’m sure she’ll cope.” A grin curls my lips at his nonchalant rejoinder. “She sold her soul long ago.”
I hear footsteps coming up behind me. A quick peek confirms that it’s the maid directing the valets to organise our luggage. Shedding my heels, I hold them in one hand and sneak up the staircase before they see me. Previously, I was merely curious about Seb’s whispered directive; now, as I close the bedroom door behind me, I find myself excited to see what he means by “it’s time”.
There appears to be more at play than my stupid memory loss will let me see.
But, I’m more than ready to learn what it may be.
Especially when the mobile phone in my pocket pings and a reminder pops up to check the secret journal that I have tucked away in the internal pocket of my toiletry bag.
TWENTY-ONE
There’s a lump in my throat and I’m fighting back tears when the sound of someone knocking at my bedroom door interrupts my reading. I quickly close my journal, sliding it under the mattress mere seconds before the door is opened.
If only I could shed the dark memories the words contained within the pages have evoked.
“Oh, shit.” Seb stops in his tracks, hand raised in apology. The other holds a shopping bag with two boxes in it. “I thought you might be sleeping.”
I force a smile. Shaking my head, I gesture to the armchair near me. “Not at all. I was reading a horror story.”
My brother-in-law narrows his eyes at me, suspicion clinging to him like the finest Armani cologne. He sits where I directed, laying his bag on his lap. Crossing his legs at the ankle, he matches that posture by folding his arms across his chest. “A horror story? Didn’t think you liked to be scared?”
I sit Indian-style on my bed, hugging a pillow to me. It’s almost comforting, yet not enough to slow the racing of my heart. I don’t think that will happen until I’m out of this Hell I find myself trapped in. “I don’t. I’ve always found life has enough horror without needing to go looking for it.”
“Amen to that.” Seb lets the
pretence drop. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and steepling his hands under his chin. “Did you hear what I said to you downstairs?”
“I did.” It feels like we’re embarking on a game of cat-and-mouse, and I’m unsure if Seb is friend or foe. I decide, on the spot, to give him only what he asks for. After reading the journal entries from my honeymoon, I’m not feeling favourable toward anyone in the St. George and Ray families. Every member seems to be using my memory loss to their own advantage.
“Good.” Seb sighs, then he leaves his seat and kneels in front of me. Taking my hands, he holds one in each of his. My heart manages to pick up the pace, roaring in my ears in a deafening cacophony of stress. “I’ve found the data. The anti-dote has been perfected. The prenup is iron-clad; the provision’s everything we could have dreamed of. It’s time to end this.”
There’s excitement in his voice that’s tempered by the worry in his eyes. He pulls the two boxes from the shopping bag. The first one he passes to me. I turn it over in my hands, recoiling in disgust when I see what it is. “A pregnancy test. Why the hell do I need this?”
Seb pats my leg in a soothing tempo. “Please calm down. If you don’t, they’re going to hear you. None of this will make sense to you until tomorrow, but you have to trust me. I’m the only person on your side.”
He pulls an envelope from his shirt pocket and hands it to me. “This is from Charlie. It contains everything you need to know. Read it, then follow my instructions to a T if this test comes back positive. If it doesn’t, then you need to forget everything until it’s time to try again next month.”
I turn the envelope over in my hands. The spidery, old-fashioned writing seems familiar. I run my thumb over the ink, wishing like mad that I could remember why it feels so important to me. My gut is screaming at me to confide in someone—Seb—so I shoo him out of my way and retrieve my journal from under the mattress.
I pass it to him. “I’ll read the letter, if you’ll read this and explain it to me.”
Our mutual agreement is exchanged without words. I use my thumb to rip open the envelope, breathing in the scent of the paper. It brings with it flashes of a kind-looking, older man with concern in his expression and paternal love on his lips, urging me to get a move on before someone sees us.
Holding the thin paper in trembling hands, I take my time absorbing the words.
Dearest Amber,
If you’re reading this, it means that somewhere along the line I let you down and got myself killed. Probably because I deviated from our plan—you know what I’m like. It’s a distinct possibility, darling girl.
I know your memories of our relationship have been lost to you so let me introduce myself. I am Charles St. George. Your paternal uncle. The only person who saw fit to help you escape the money-hungry pit of deceit that you called home. It was my most fervent wish for you to stay hidden for eternity; truthfully, we both knew that this day would come.
Although, it never crossed my mind it would come this soon.
Together with Sebastian, it is our duty to the ill, the poor, and the disenfranchised of this country to put a stop to the ruin my brother is about to bring down on their heads for the sake of the only God he worships—the almighty dollar. I hope that makes sense? Adding further details to this page leaves it open to falling into the wrong hands so I’m going to insert a passage that I hope will have had enough impact on your life to cut through the prison Centrifuge has created for your memories within your mind. If this resonates with you in any way, please take it as the only confirmation I can provide that you need to do as Sebastian requests. He is our ally since he is trapped by his blood, just like we are.
At my uncle’s stark description of Seb, I look up and find him watching me. My journal sits closed on the floor next to his knees, the deep sorrow in his eyes telling me that he’s finished reading it. I offer him a tentative smile before taking a deep breath to prepare myself for the rest of the letter.
These words have helped both of us during hard times. I pray they will prove your salvation once more.
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
I don’t need to read further for I know how Uncle Charlie would have signed off this letter. The William Ernst Henry poem is engraved on my soul. There isn’t a strong enough drug in the world to override the dedication of the man who taught me to use this piece of prose to find my strength in the darkness that surrounded my childhood. These words mean everything.
Strength. Survival. Salvation.
I fold the letter with precise fingers, sliding it back into the envelope before I pass it to Seb. Picking up the pregnancy test that had fallen to the mattress beside me, I gingerly hold it aloft between two fingers.
“So, if this comes back positive, what’s my next step?”
Seb lets out the breath he must have been holding and hands me the second box. “This has the anti-dote to Centrifuge. I’ve tested it. It is safe for you and the baby, if there is one. I need you to inject it once Jax leaves for work, but only if the test comes back positive. If there’s no baby, we have to strap ourselves in and prepare to ride this out until there is one.”
The blank canvas that I call my mind is attempting cartwheels within my skull. The constant struggle to remember causing a painful thumping that is getting worse with each revelation and threatens to blind me. Add in a churning stomach and we have a recipe for disaster. There’s no way I can trust myself when I’m not operating on all cylinders—and, it’s only going to get worse considering I have a full night to get through.
“What if he gives me another dose of Centrifuge and it makes me forget? What about the testing Jax has scheduled for tomorrow?”
Seb dismisses my questions with a wave of his hand. “I’ve organised a distraction. He’s going to be needed at the hospital for hours. Plus, I’ll be here the second he leaves. Nothing will keep me from you.”
He looks at his watch and then stands. Handing me my journal, he gathers the pregnancy test and antidote and places them back into the shopping bag. “Write everything in here, just in case. I’m going to stash this in your bathroom with your girlie stuff. Jax won’t even notice it.”
I start scribbling down notes, barely looking up when Seb comes back. He stands in front of me for a moment, a long sigh the only indication that he’s as stressed as I am.
“Amber. Promise me that you’re not going to do something stupid? I know you hate Jax. I hate him, too. It would be easy to become blinded by revenge and forget why we’re doing this.”
The pen drops from my fingers when I fall still. Looking at the man who so closely resembles my worst nightmare sends a shiver down my spine, but I force myself to maintain eye contact. There is nothing but honesty in my voice when I provide the answer he seeks.
“I can’t remember exactly why I hate him, but I know with every fibre of my being that I do. It’s pretty obvious that there’s much more to our history than the dozen entries in my journal expresses so I’m willing to put my trust in you and proceed as planned.”
My response satisfies my brother-in-law. He ruffles my hair, chuckling when I glare at him. “Good. Stay safe tonight. Hopefully, this ends tomorrow.”
“Fingers crossed.”
When the door closes behind him, I let the faça
de drop. I meant everything I said, bar one thing. Proceeding as planned is all well and good when you’re privy to the plan. I am not. My amnesia and the deliberate vagueness of Seb’s answers leave a lot of holes. Those gaps are my trump card.
Because I am going to do as I promised.
Proceed as planned.
Proceed as I plan.
TWENTY-TWO
“Baby,” Jax shakes me as he speaks. “There’s an emergency and I have to go. Wake up.”
I open one eye, and find that he’s fully-dressed. He’s leaning over me, as I lie in our bed, trying to rouse me for some reason. The room is barely lit, not a skerrick of light to be seen around the window.
“It’s the middle of the night,” I mumble. “Leave me alone.”
The covers are ripped off me. Strong hands take hold of my left arm and drag me into an upright position. My eyes fly open, and it’s then, that I realise what I did in my sleepy stupor.
I poked the beast. I woke up the monster.
“Leave you alone?” Jax slaps my face. “Sometimes, I swear you enjoy pissing me off. It’s almost a game to you. How far can I push Jax before he loses it?”
My husband is stripping off his black suit while he berates me. Piece by piece, he removes another item of clothing, revealing an athletic body made up of perfectly sized muscles and smooth, tanned skin.
He’s the Devil cloaked in an angel’s flawless visage.
“I’m sorry.” Please, please let it be enough to make him stop, I pray when he finishes undressing. I managed to escape his touch last night by feigning exhaustion. I do not want to give him the satisfaction of touching me today. Not when the end is in sight. “I’m tired, that’s all. I didn’t know what I was saying.”
Speculation brightens his handsome face. “Tiredness is a symptom, you realise?”
Amnesia: a psychological thriller Page 12