by Mason, V. F.
Emerald is mine, and I’ll be damned if her parents, or anyone else for that matter, think they can take her away from me.
The phone rings in the office, so Duke barks at Ron, “Turn the volume down.” When he picks it up on the forth ring, the annoying dinging sound stops, and I exhale in relief.
My nerves are already ragged, and the phone adds to the misery.
Duke though sits up, frowning, and then he gets up, worriedly saying, “Of course. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He hangs up and comes to me, fear etched in every feature. “Need to go, kid, it’s about my daughter.”
“Of course.” He’s a great man, but lately I’ve hated seeing him like this, almost dead with all the tragedies his family has faced.
He pats my head, and orders Ron, “Release him once twenty-four hours are up.”
Ron’s chicken wing falls from his hands as he tries to argue. “But—”
“Do what I say.” And with that, he leaves, while I sit down on the seat and wait for the hours to pass so I can reunite with my love.
Only, none of this happens, because a few hours later, Duke comes back, completely closed off, and doesn’t even look at me.
Instead, there’s a new witness who saw me drag the poor girl on the boat while she screamed, and they even found a bloodied dress.
The girl got so scared her parents had to take her away to the hospital when she filed a complaint accusing me.
And just like that, I became a rapist.
Island, United States
August 2019
Emerald
No, these thoughts are insane. I can’t be wrong about him, and he surely is not some kind of psycho who chases his thrills by killing his girlfriends.
Maybe he doesn’t realize how his jokes affect people around him. And while he probably intends to be sweet to me soon, soothing me after this scare, I don’t much care for it. “Micaden,” I say, panic swirling in me as I hear the motor running behind me and the sounds of the endless ocean, all so much closer, while his hand keeps me so low the ends of my hair touch the water. “What are you doing?”
He knows I’m afraid of the water, and no amount of his encouraging helps the matter. I even refused to go diving with him, and he wasn’t pushing.
Is he pushing now? “I’m scared.”
He doesn’t listen though. Instead, unfamiliar emotions cross his face as he leans forward, and asks, “How scared?” He presses me forward, and this time almost my whole head is wet. Fear settles inside me, but I can’t struggle in his hold, because he has all the power.
One little push and I’ll be in the water, deep in the ocean with no ability to swim. “Very. Micaden, stop it.”
His brows furrow as he sighs. “Micaden? Is that my name, Emerald?” My insides freeze, because his voice is dark and lethal, and it sends cold through my skin. I’ve never heard this tone. It’s filled with hate and distaste, nothing that I’m used to from him. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“Deal?” I barely breathe, my pulse almost in my throat pounding so hard the ringing in my ears start. “What deal?”
“I’ll help you, if you call me by my name. By my real name.”
Real name? What is he talking about? “Your name is Micaden,” I state, fisting his shirt and holding on to it, because I no longer trust him to keep me steady.
The energy around him changes so quickly I can barely keep up with it. If someone told me he kills people for a living, I wouldn’t be surprised.
“Really?” he asks and then leans closer, his breath fanning my cheek as he whispers, “My little angel found her peace, in all the glory like the morning breeze.”
My breath hitches, and I shake my head in shock, closing my eyes, because different images from the book assault me, slamming so hard it plays like a movie.
But I no longer hide from the truth that’s always nagged at my mind.
Slowly, everything comes crashing together, all the emotions, all the hidden things that I never wrote, and all the desperation.
Like a light shining brightly in my brain, finally allowing me to uncover all the secrets in my head.
“Brochan.”
Our story? The pages of the book… it’s our story?
Micaden
She trembles in my arms, fear slowly sinking into her features. Her skin pales, only emphasizing her freckles that I used to trace with my tongue.
Even in all this shock, acted shock of course, she’s beautiful.
My mermaid who thought she could deceive me twice. “Let’s play a game, Emerald.”
“A game?” she whispers, swallowing loudly and breathing heavily, all the sounds only grating on my nerves, because this innocent act really pisses me off. “What game?”
“That is the wrong question. The right one would be you asking what’s at stake.” Her eyes widen, and I see how the struggle prickles through her, as she opens her mouth then closes, thinking better of it.
She orally wants to show resistance but knows it’s not wise when the slightest move might push her into the water, which becomes deeper and deeper as the boat drives farther and farther into the ocean.
“Okay.” Wariness coats her voice, and then she asks, “What’s at stake?”
“How fast you will die.”
She whimpers and I smile, even though I barely restrain myself from choking her, because the desperation in her green pools reminds me of my Emerald, the one who was afraid for my safety when her parents came back.
But she doesn’t exist, does she?
Because everything we ever experienced was a lie.
However, I’ll make damn sure she’ll feel everything I dish out to her with every fiber of her being.
She owes me, and the time has come to collect.
Otherwise, I’ll never find peace.
Chapter Seventeen
Island, United States
Micaden, 21 years old
The door beeps loudly and I enter, seeing Tom sitting by the table drumming his fingers on the metal surface, but then he jumps when he notices me. “Brochan!” The officer pushes me roughly to my chair, not caring that on the way I hit my knees on the leg of the thing, and barks at both of us. “No touching. And remember, eyes are on you two.”
My cuffed hands fist and Tom nods, although he snaps his teeth so hard I wonder how he doesn’t break them. The officer presses the button, and within a second, we’re alone. Well, as much as you can be alone in the visitor section of the prison.
“You look like shit,” he says, and I shrug, although even the slightest movement brings fucking piercing pain to my shoulder.
“Well, life here isn’t exactly rainbows and unicorns.”
“I spoke with the lawyer. He said they offered you a settlement?”
“Yeah. If I take the deal, I’ll just serve fifteen years in prison; otherwise, I might be looking at a life sentence.”
“Fuck,” he exclaims and rises, pacing the room.
But I quickly order, “Sit down or they’ll come back.” He immediately listens, and I clear my throat, wanting to know just one thing.
I asked Tom to travel to Seattle and search for her. To understand what really happened, because I don’t believe she just betrayed me like that. Her parents have created some kind of vendetta against me, spitting bullshit left and right. The town that raised me and claimed me as their boy has quickly forgotten about it and turned their back on me. They all believe the lies and shout that I deserve nothing but hell for what I have done to Emerald.
But she can’t be part of it. My beautiful angel belongs to me and loves me as much I love her. They must be keeping her locked away somewhere. “Emerald.”
Tom avoids my gaze, only his fisted hand giving any indication of his emotions.
Dread sweeps up in me, but I push it back, not wanting to believe it or succumb to it. That’s what everyone involved in this whole rape case aims for.
So we will both doubt our love and give up. I won’t give them the sati
sfaction. I won’t let them play these games. “Talk now.”
“We called many times; we went to the house. Nothing. She doesn’t just ignore me, but Eve too.”
“They must be keeping her cut off from any kind of communication.” Only then, I notice a yellow envelope in his pocket that he fishes out and places between us, opening it quickly.
“I thought so too. That was why I followed her to their family mansion.”
I barely hear his voice from the roaring in my ears, because my eyes stay glued to the pictures displayed in front of me.
Emerald locked in an embrace with some dude I don’t recognize, while he murmurs something in her ear. Then another picture of Emerald in her room in the house where she paints, a completely blank expression on her face. And then the dude kisses her while she stands, not pushing him away. I can’t see her face, only her familiar red hair.
My Emerald, mine, in the arms of another man.
The rage that had just simmered through my skin finds its full outlet, and I roar, the chair hitting the floor while I punch the table, desperation filling every bone.
“Fuck, Brochan, calm down,” Tom begs, but I can’t.
I dart to the door, focusing only on my anger that demands I find the man from the pictures and fucking kill him for touching my woman.
I beat on the door, shouting, “Let me out! Fucking let me out!”
Thud, thud, thud.
“For fuck’s sake, Brochan!” Tom screams, but I don’t stop, just use more force.
The door opens and guards enter, hitting me with their bats while one of them pushes my face down to the floor, shouting, “The fucker thinks he’s the king of the world.” I struggle in their hold, pushing them away, but more blows come, hitting and hitting, digging painfully in my liver and stomach, and after a few moments, I can’t fight anymore against four men.
They drag me outside, back to the cell where all I can think of is Emerald.
She couldn’t betray me. She couldn’t.
***One Week Later***
“Just take the damn deal!” The lawyer grits his teeth, but I stare numbly into space, even though it’s practically impossible with both my eyes swollen from the beating. “Look at you.” He waves his hand up and down and then taps on the file in front of us. “None of this is good for you. The last thing, the rage… it just proves you’ve done what they’ve accused you of. No judge in this fucking country will go against her father. Take the deal, Brochan,” he almost begs, and for the first time, I focus my attention on Patrick. My father’s best friend and a man who used to be a hotshot lawyer back in the day.
But even though he’s kept his license, he’s succumbed to alcohol, and the addiction rules his life. He explained to me once that when a person meets unbearable pain, he finds different resources to soothe it.
He couldn’t handle his son committing suicide, and honestly, I didn’t judge him. Felt sorry maybe, but I was never in the position to judge him. The only reason he’s handling my case is because everyone else has refused to.
His wrinkled face has aged ten years it seems from the beginning of this nightmare. His suit has several stains, and by his labored breathing, I know he’s exhausted from all the stress. “Think about your dad.”
Dad.
The person who took me in and raised me as his own. I can’t imagine how he’s coping with all this, especially with the town seeking blood and vengeance like vultures. However, despite that, I have his full support, and he has never—not ever—asked me if the accusations are true. “No deal. I won’t admit to doing something I haven’t done.”
Patrick covers his face with his hands and exhales heavily while I continue to play in my mind the pictures like a PowerPoint presentation.
Beautiful Emerald in the arms of another man.
The most ironic part is that after all the rage and my initial reaction settled down, I didn’t believe it. Didn’t want to think it was possible. After all, her dad was a powerful man. He could fabricate anything.
But Patrick brought with him other evidence that Tom didn’t have the chance to give me after my outburst.
A handwritten letter, in her writing. I would have recognized it anywhere, since she used to slip small love notes to me at my workplace. Words written in that letter will forever be engraved in my head.
Eve, stop writing to me. Summer has ended and so did we. Stop!
Now her parents should be satisfied and leave this case alone. They won’t put me behind bars, since their daughter has put an end to this relationship.
Although my heart hurts like a motherfucker, it doesn’t compare to the pain that comes after.
When she truly destroys everything.
***Few Months Later***
“Where is the victim, Emerald Hayes?” the judge asks, adjusting her glasses on her nose as she focuses her attention on Emerald’s lawyer.
He rises, holding up the paper in his hand. “We have her deposition that was made two months ago. The lawyers for both the prosecution and defense were present,” he points out, and my confused gaze travels to Patrick who avoids my stare, fumbling with his fingers. Dread fills me.
Isn’t a deposition the thing in which the witness or victim testifies outside the trial but still under oath? It’s usually taken to ensure the witness’s confession or that he or she won’t change their minds after.
Why didn’t he tell me? Was that why he tried to push me so hard to accept their deal? He knew about her testimony?
I thought if I had the chance to see her, she wouldn’t have the courage to spill bullshit on me. But I guess I underestimated the lengths her family would go to ensure I’m behind bars.
“I’m aware of it, and I have it,” the judge replies. “But there was no medical examination either. The deposition might be considered hearsay, because nothing backs up her story.”
“There are many witness—”
The judge cuts him off, and I’m actually fucking surprised she doesn’t go along with him like everyone else seems to be.
Are there still good people present in law? “Yes, but we need a victim here. She should be present during the trial. If she’s not here, then we will have to—” She grabs her gavel and is about to hit with it, when his next words halt her movements.
“Emerald Hayes was admitted into a hospital five days ago.” He quickly steps in the direction of the judge, holding another folder, and she nods, allowing him to approach her. He places it in front of her, and she starts reading, her head moving from left to right as she reads it, and she covers her mouth with her hand. “Due to these circumstances, we were hoping we can still continue the trial.”
She shifts her gaze to me, and that’s when I see something change. From indifference and somewhat compassion, I see revulsion. What could she have possibly read there to change her mind so drastically?
And I barely hold back a laugh that wants to escape at the fact that they even admitted her into the hospital.
Lie after lie after lie.
Then her testimony is read aloud and with each new sentence, the rage inside me along with betrayal spreads and spreads, because the words are so hideous.
I did nothing but love her, but she described it as something despicable… something I would have never done to any woman, let alone to the one who was my everything.
The show continues with several people admitting they saw me and my vile tendencies, and others coming up with stories that are completely taken out of context. This all paints me in the light of some psycho who can’t control his emotions or desires, and that Emerald has been my prey all along, because I got off on the idea of owning something so pretty and new.
The prosecutor clears his throat and stands right in front of the jury, clasping his hands together while their stares stay glued on him. “We don’t control everything in life. But you have the power for this poor soul to sleep peacefully knowing the man who hurt her is in jail. That’s all, your honor.” He returns to his seat, dropping o
nto the chair, and only then do I notice how he gives slight nods to several jurors who shift uncomfortably.
And Patrick avoids my gaze as the lawyer drills his eyes into him.
Then I understand what’s going on, or rather, how much money rules this world. Because those stares mean only one thing—everything was bought and paid for in this case.
And all this is enough to finish the trial that forever destroys my life.
In five hours, they sentence Brochan MacGabee to twenty years in prison without the option of parole.
Island, United States
August 2019
Emerald
This man who has me in his arms, whose fury can be felt even through his skin, is nothing like Micaden or the Brochan from my books.
He is a stranger, a stranger who just announced he’d kill me.
Or rather who will kill me gently, depending on how I play his game. “Please let me go,” I try again, hating the begging in my voice, but it’s the only weapon I have right now.
I watched a documentary on TV once that showed the life of serial killers and how they hunted their victims. One of them said that speaking to his humanity or showing that she had emotions helped her escape the hell.
I’m not sure serial killer applies to Micaden, but what else describes the madness shining in his eyes that he no longer hides from me?
Instead, he wears it proudly, almost stuffing it down my throat like it’s the greatest of honors. “I don’t know why you’re mad,” I say while he still drills me with his blank, icy stare, completely unaffected by my words. “But let me explain. I just found out—”
He raises me, but then he fists my hair and seethes in my face. “Cut the fucking act, Emerald. You know damned well why you’re here. Did you really think I would punish everyone else and spare you?”
I don’t even have time to process his words though, because he pushes me onto the deck, and I land on my side, groaning in pain as my knees hit the harsh surface followed by my elbows and chin. As I sit up, rubbing my chin, his shadow falls over me, making me look up at him.