by E. K. Blair
I blink a few times at his curious words before he continues, “Both men . . . murdered in their own homes within days of each other, and police are coming up blank as to who’s responsible.”
His words release a violent chill up my spine, and before I can form a cohesive thought, he kisses my forehead and walks away. I watch his back as the rain falls over him and drop to my knees in the mud. He’s the last one to leave and I’m alone, hands bracing and sinking into the soggy ground, screaming silently, but it’s so loud inside my head.
IT’S BEEN TWO weeks since Bennett’s funeral, since I looked into the eyes of my love’s father. I’m alone and I’m drowning. There’s no one left in the world for me, and the only place I find any semblance of peace is in my dreams—so I sleep. I used to always dream of Carnegie, the prince-turned-caterpillar my father once told me about when I was a little girl, but lately, when I close my eyes, it’s Declan I see. I dream about what our life could have been: living in Scotland in the estate he used to tell me about, having a baby together, loving each other. The vision covers me in warmth, but the moment my eyes open, I am greeted with the dank coldness of my reality, reminded once again that fairytales are shit-filled lies.
Pulling out another suitcase from the closet, I continue to pack up my clothes. I can’t stay in Chicago. This isn’t my life—not the one I want because what I want doesn’t exist anymore. It’s simply another fallen star that I was wishing upon. What I want is the dream, so I decided yesterday that I would go get a glimpse of that dream, of the what-could-have-been, of the what-should-have-been. Because the dream is all I have left of him, and I want to see it. I need to see it, to know it was real. So I’m leaving for Scotland. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I can’t stay here any longer.
I continue to move about the penthouse until the phone rings.
“Mrs. Vanderwal?” Manuel says when I answer. “Mrs. Jacqueline Brooks is here to see you. Shall I send her up?”
“Oh,” I murmur, not expecting any visitors today. “Um, yes. Please.”
I hang up, wondering what it is she’s wanting. We haven’t really spoken since the paternity of her son was revealed, but what is there to even say? It’s not like she was ever truly my friend, just someone I pretended to like for the satisfaction of Bennett.
I open the door when I hear the knock and am greeted by Jacqueline holding Alexander in her arms.
“Jacqueline, please, come in.”
Her eyes barely meet mine as she steps inside and slowly walks to the center of the room before stopping and turning around to face me. We both stand here for a moment while I watch her tears well up.
“I’m so sorry,” she says on a shaky breath, and I shift my eyes to look at her baby. When he becomes restless in her arms, she sets him down on the floor and he focuses on the stuffed frog he’s holding.
Walking closer, I kneel down in front of him and our eyes lock. I take this moment to observe his features, and beneath the pudge, I see Bennett. I never cared enough to ever look at this child in the past, but I should’ve because it’s glaringly obvious. He’s right there within this little boy, and my stomach knots. My teeth grind when I feel the heat in my blood surging with a need to slam my fist into this baby’s face. My palms are actually tingling with desire, begging my fingers to ball so that I can hammer my knuckles into Bennett’s legacy. I hate this child because he is the one thing that carries the life of the man that destroyed mine.
Alexander reaches up with a smile and touches my cheek, and I have to swallow back the sour bile of loathing. It takes great strength to pull back and not knock this little shit across the room.
When I stand, Jacqueline breathes in shame, “Nina . . . I’m sorry.”
“Why?” I ask with no influx of emotion.
“For hurting you.”
But I’m not hurt, so I simply respond, “Everybody has secrets, everybody lies, and everybody cheats their way through life for self-fulfillment. We wouldn’t do it if we felt sorry; we do it because it’s our human right to seek happiness.”
My words take her by surprise, and when I ask, “Did fucking my husband make you happy?” she takes a deep breath as more tears fall and answers, “Yes.”
I nod my head when she adds, “But it didn’t make me happy to know I was hurting you.”
“People are bound to get hurt in our journey for happiness. If fucking my husband made you happy, don’t ever be sorry for that.”
She tilts her head with a look of pity.
“Don’t worry about me,” I continue. “You didn’t break me. You can’t break something that was already broken.”
“He never loved me,” she confesses abruptly. “He never wanted me. I took advantage of him when he had too much to drink. I knew it made him sick to look at me after what happened, but he kept up his pleasantries for the sake of Alex. He merely put up with me because he refused to turn his back on his son.”
Jacqueline grows more upset with each word while I stand and listen. Her voice cracks in heartbreak when she adds, “But it was always you he loved.”
Releasing a heavy sigh, I give her a weak smile, shaking my head, and saying, “I guess in the end, it doesn’t really matter. All we are left with is ourselves.”
She wipes her cheeks and takes a couple deep breaths in an attempt to compose herself before reaching down to pick up Alexander, and then asks, “So what now?”
“That’s a good question, one that I need to find the answer to, but I won’t find it here.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes,” I say with a nod.
“Where to? For how long?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her, not wanting her to know, and when I give her son one last look-over, I turn my attention back to her. “You aren’t the only one with secrets. We all have them.”
She gives me a slight nod and starts moving towards the door. I follow and say goodbye to the woman who blindly found herself tangled in my game of lies. But she’ll go back to her husband, Richard, who believes that baby is his, and continue to live her life while I get myself ready to go see what could have been mine. If only . . .
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”
My heart catches at the sound of his voice as I close the door, and when I turn to look over my shoulder, I see his face, and suddenly I’m soothed. He stands right by me, dark hair, sad eyes.
“Why?”
Pike hangs his head, shoving his hands into his pants pockets, and I can see the tension in his muscles under his ink-covered arms.
“I took that away from you,” he says as he raises his eyes to me.
“Took what?”
“What she has. What you deserved.”
“Maybe you did me a favor,” I respond. “I would’ve been a shitty mom anyway.”
Shaking his head, he counters, “No. You would have been a great mom.” Pike takes in an uneven breath, and I can feel his regret with each word, “I’m sorry I took that away from you.”
Truth is, I don’t know what kind of mom I would’ve been, but I was willing to take the role with Declan by my side. I trusted him to keep me together. Trusted that his love would be enough to make me better. But I’m not better, and without him, I’m nothing.
Empty.
“It’s life, right?” I say with a defeated shrug of my shoulders.
“Not the life I wanted for you,” he says, stepping closer to me. “All I ever wanted was to give you a better life. All I wanted was to rip that lock off that door when you were little and cut you free from that fucking closet. I wanted to take away all the times I was forced to rape you. I wanted to take away all your beatings, all your hurt. But I fucked up.”
With no need for my steel cage with him, I let my tears fall, and I cry because that’s all I ever wanted . . . for my life to disappear. I want to forget all the horror.
“I never meant to destroy you like this.”
“I know.”
“I panicked. I got scared, and I l
ost it,” he tries to explain through his strained voice that threatens to break.
“I miss you, so much, Pike. I don’t even know how to live any more. I have no one. Not one person on this Earth,” I cry and then crumple to my knees. But he’s right there with me on the floor, hand on my back, as I heave and sob, “What do I do?”
“You live.”
“How?”
“You breathe. You fight. You take everything that was meant to be yours in this life because you deserve all of it.”
“I’m just so tired of fighting for nothing,” I tell him.
Taking my face in his hands, he wipes my tears, saying, “You’re not alone. I’m here. Do you feel me?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not for nothing. Never stop fighting.”
I close my eyes and relax my cheek into his hand, taking in his touch and truly feeling him. With a deep breath, I inhale his words and search for comfort in them, search for any shred of strength. Strength to breathe, to move, to open my eyes, and when I do, he’s gone.
Looking around the room, there’s no trace of Pike, no movement, no smell, no sound. Sitting back on my heels, I observe the penthouse, the illusory world I’ve created, and I hear his faint whisper, “This was your creation, and you were strong enough to master it.”
And he’s right.
I was strong.
But that’s when I had something to fight for. That fire in me is gone. Only ash and embers remain. Echoes and shadows. Darkness and death.
Pike is right though; I need to move. If I’m going to live, I need to remind myself that there is good in this life. Even if the good comes in miniscule drips, I have to believe the pain is worth those moments, because I’ve experienced it. It was real and alive and I would go through this agony all over again just to feel the love of Declan for one more second. I never thought the world could be that good, but it was.
For that moment . . .
It was so good.
Picking myself up off the floor, I steady on my feet before grabbing my coat and keys. As much as I’ve been avoiding the reality of Declan’s absence, I need to face it. To remember that it was real and it’s worth this pain.
I pull my car out onto Michigan Avenue and start heading north. The city is alive and moving all around me. I ignore the excitement and smiles and keep straight to River North. Turning onto Superior, I slow down. Suddenly, I feel cold and my clammy hands grip the steering wheel more tightly. There’s a sick churning in the pit of my gut as I roll the car along the curb in front of Declan’s building.
Shutting the car off, I sit for a moment in the stillness. The only sound is the pounding of my heart as it beats through my chest. This used to be my solace. My little piece of heaven located at the top of this building. When I get out of the car, I look up and see the greenery on his rooftop courtyard, but I know that’s the only life up there. His name is no longer on the intercom system in the lobby, only the number for the realtor that is listed to sell his penthouse.
The coolness of the steel on my fingertip hollows me even more, and the masochist in me begs to push the button.
So I do.
I buzz his floor, knowing that this time, his sweet voice won’t be greeting me. Instead, it’s my phone.
Pulling my cell out, I look at the screen but don’t recognize the number. As I take a few steps back toward my car, I answer, “Hello?”
“Miss me?”
It takes a moment to snap out of my thoughts of Declan to recognize the voice on the other end of the call, and a surge of panic flashes through my system. Quickly composing myself, I answer steadily, “What do you want, Matt?”
“We need to talk.”
“About?”
“Do I really need to say it?” he taunts, and I don’t need a reminder to know that when I passed him in my car the day I shot and killed Pike, he was heading straight to his trailer. Words aren’t needed; we both know what I did.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“I can’t,” I tell him as I get back into my car and shut the door.
“You have something better to do?”
“As if my doings are any of your business, but yes. I’m leaving town, so if you’d like to talk, it would need to be done today,” I bite in irritation. Matt has always been a source of friction for me. I’ve put up with him because of his friendship with Pike, but he’s always given me the creeps. Still, there’s a part of me that’s grateful for him, because it was him that gave me one of the greatest gifts, and he gave it from a pure heart.
Probably his only moment of selflessness.
Matt was the one that gave me my first taste of revenge when he set the stage for me to murder my foster parents. My payback for the years of abuse. So as much as I despise Matt, a part of me is thankful for him.
“Thirty minutes? Tribune Tower?” he suggests.
“Fine.”
Hanging up, I toss the phone over to the passenger seat. Hearing his voice makes me even more anxious to leave this town. To run far away from this place and from everything I know.
I start heading back towards Michigan Avenue, and once I’ve parked the car, I walk over towards the Tribune Tower. The streets and sidewalks are flooded with businessmen and tourists. Making my way through the crowds, I cross the street and wait for Matt.
My attention is on a street performer who’s playing an old Otis Rush number I recognize on the saxophone. As people walk past him, dropping dollar bills and coins into his open sax case on the ground, I get lost in the smooth melody. I watch the man, and wonder about him. He’s old and grey, dressed in tatters of worn clothes. His dark skin is aged with deep wrinkles, and even though his knuckles are worn and ashy, they move with grace along the keys. By looks alone, you’d think he was lonely and sad, but the sway of his head as he plays is a sure sign of happiness. But how does one, who appears to have nothing, find joy? I want to ask him how, but I stumble on my feet when I’m knocked off balance, only to find that I’m now in Matt’s arms. He grabs me from behind and turns me around to face him. With a hand on my back and the other holding my hand, he moves me in a slow dance to the music.
His sly grin rakes at me, knowing the pleasure he’s taking in having me this close to him. If it weren’t for the mass of people around us, I’d push him off of me. The last thing I need is to cause a scene, so I allow him to lead me to his liking while keeping my eyes downcast.
“Don’t look so miserable, Elizabeth. People are watching us.”
Biting down, I muster up a weak smile and raise my head to meet his eyes. They’re dilated dope black, but that’s nothing new. It amazes me that this druggie I’ve known since I was a freshman in high school hasn’t wound up overdosing.
Pulling me in closer, he rests his cheek against the side of my head, whispering in my ear, “You miss him?”
Yes.
I don’t answer as I focus to keep my composure in front of him, but inside I can feel my wounds ripping deeper.
His hand wraps further around me, tugging me in close while we continue to dance on the bustling sidewalk in front of the Tribune Tower.
“If you’re worried, don’t be,” he continues softly. “I took care of it.”
When I pull my head back to look at him, confused by what he means, he adds, “I made it look like a deal gone bad. Cops questioned me, and I confirmed their suspicions.”
“Why?” I ask, wondering why he would want to protect me.
“To ensure your loyalty.”
A fury of heat ignites my neck with the realization that this punk sleaze was able to undermine and trap me to him.
“What do you want?”
“I’m not ready to collect on my investment right now,” he responds with a grin I want to knock off his face.
“You’re a sick fuck,” I sling at him. “Using Pike for nothing more than a transaction.”
“You’re one to accuse of using. I watched you use him since we were kids.”
> “You don’t know anything about our relationship,” I snap in defense.
“I know that he loved you and sacrificed everything for you.”
“And here you are, pissing on the both of us.”
“You should be thanking me for keeping your ass out of prison,” he throws back at me, and then mocks, “What was Pike anyway? Number three? Four?”
“Fuck you. He was my brother.”
Gripping me tighter, the saxophone continues to fill the air around us as Matt dips me and seethes under his breath, “No. Fuck you, Elizabeth. He was my best friend and you killed him, and for what, I have no fucking clue because he never did anything but give you everything you ever wanted.”
He then pulls me back up, and I feel like I’m about to explode in hate at this piece of shit who doesn’t know a goddamn thing about the truth of me and my brother. He has no idea what the two of us endured and how it fucked us up for life.
When Matt kisses my hand, I realize that the music has stopped.
“Don’t stray too far, kitty. Remember your place in this equation. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to recoup the debt you owe me,” he jeers before turning his back to me and walking away.
I watch as he disappears into the sea of people, thankful that he has no clue I’m about to hop on a plane to Scotland. If he thinks he can use me as a pawn, I won’t do anything to dismantle that thought, because pride is a faulty wire that will ultimately burn you.
THE CRACKLING OF the fire fills the room. Darkened in the dead of night, the only light coming from the nearly extinct embers. I’ve been hiding away in my home office all week, panicked and on the search for anything to weave my way out of this fucking mess.
Knocking back two Xanax and a hit of whiskey, I pick up the phone. My fingers tap incessantly against the bocote desktop as the ringing pierces my ears in this silence that’s consumed me.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“Everything okay?”
Rolling back in my chair, away from the desk, I pinch the bridge of my nose and bite against the oncoming headache. “She’s on her way to Scotland.”