by Keri Lake
“Yes. There’s a pill there, if you need it. It’ll knock you out, though.”
“Any chance you can un-cuff me? My fingers are starting to tingle.”
He stares back at me, as if hesitating, and his comments from before, of keeping me imprisoned, slink back into my thoughts. After idling a minute more, he pushes up from the chair and crosses the room, coming to a stop beside the bed, and traces his finger down my temple. “I thought I was going to lose you. That’s a level of insanity I don’t ever want to experience again.”
Another moment of staring, and he unbuckles the restraints at my wrists.
I rub my irritated skin for a moment, running my finger over the ligature left there, before I reach for the glass on the nightstand, tipping back the cool fluids that coat the dryness of my throat and practically sizzle when I swallow. “He’s my father,” I say into the glass. “Is he dead?”
“No. I insisted that he remain alive. But I promise he won’t hurt you again.”
Two weeks ago, I would’ve insisted on knowing why. How. I would’ve inquired about the group that pays to torture others. But having been at the mercy of a psychopath, I’ve come to the understanding that there are some questions that don’t need answers.
“I was so scared.” Setting the glass in my lap, I take notice of the bandage at my forearm where the IV must’ve been placed. “The moment he pulled up beside me in his car, I knew something was wrong.”
“Of course you did.”
“What?”
“Most predators harbor natural instincts like that. It’s how we survive.”
“We? What are you talking about?”
“Tell me something, Isa …” Lucian stalks around the perimeter of the bed, dragging his finger across the blanket, and comes to a stop opposite me. Perhaps it’s the light of the moon that makes his eyes flicker like a burning flame, as he stares back at me, fingers curled around the footboard. “The night those boys attacked you at the party. What happened next?”
A tickle at the back of my neck is a warning, though of what, I’m not sure. “Why are you asking me about this?”
“Because I want to hear it from your lips.”
I told him what happened weeks ago. Surely, he hasn’t forgotten already. “I … I gathered up my friend and drove her back to her house.”
“And then?”
“We called the police.”
His frown breaks to a partial smile that’s plagued by disbelief. One that tells me he knows more than what I told him. “You skipped too far ahead. Go back a little. What happened immediately after you drove Kelsey back to her house?”
Panic blossoms inside my chest as I stare back at him, the memories of that night crawling out of their airtight boxes, the tiny compartments I’ve constructed inside my head. “Why?”
“Tell me.”
“I … don’t …” Remember. But I do. In the long pause that follows, the images in my head seem to project on the wall behind him, playing like a movie reel. “I went back to the party. Alone. And I found Aedon, Brady, and all their friends back out in the pool house. Drinking and smoking. I nearly choked on the cloud of marijuana clinging to the air.”
“Why did you go back?” His voice is distant, reminding me of days spent sitting in the therapist’s chair while he probed my thoughts for answers. Reasons that would compel me to do what I did.
“I was angry. I wanted to confront them.”
“Wrong. What did you do when you found them in the pool house?”
What did you do?
What did you do?
The words of Aunt Midge echo inside my head.
“I told Brady that … that I wanted him. Only him. So he sent the others out.”
“And?”
An urgency in my head begs me not to answer his question, but I do, anyway, my mouth commanded by an unseen force. “I took my shirt off, to show him I was serious. And he removed his pants.”
Lucian tips his head and strokes his jaw. “Did you want to fuck him?”
“No.” My thoughts are still tied in the dream--or nightmare, rather--spinning inside my head. “The sight of him disgusted me.”
“So, what happened?”
“I knelt down in front of him, like I was going to put my mouth on him. He closed his eyes. And I pulled the knife from my back pocket. I stabbed him. Over and over, I stabbed his groin.” I screw my eyes shut to block out the memory, but it’s all there inside my head. The screams. The fury. “All I saw was blood.”
“It wasn’t Kelsey that Brady tried to rape that night. It was you.”
Eyes still clamped, I shake my head, but the truth in his words are too strong for the months of denial that has served as a shield. Because if--if--I’d so much as dipped a toe into those dangerous waters, there’s no telling what damage I would’ve done to myself in the aftermath. I wanted Brady more than anything my senior year, and when he finally showed interest, all my good sense went out the fucking window. I became a statistic. Another after-school special, warning girls of the dangers of drinking alcohol at a party. Only, instead of Brady looking like the villain, my retaliation made him the saint in all of this, and I became the psycho.
“It was Kelsey’s testimony that kept you from being locked up, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” I finally open my eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. “She witnessed everything, except the stabbing.”
“Tell me about Uncle George. Do you remember how his throat ended up sliced open?”
Lowering my gaze, I shake my head. “I blacked out.”
“He lived. Miraculously, given the depth of the cut. But his wife found the knife in your hands.”
Tears wobble before my eyes, distorting the dark gray sheets. Hold still. I can hear his raspy voice in my ear, smell the beer on his breath, as he yanked down my underwear. The grunting and groaning that churned a sickness in my stomach, while he tried to breach my barrier, too small for his size. The burn. The pain. The sight of his pocket knife sitting on the nightstand next to the wooden horse he carved for me. A knife he always carried around and used to clean his nails. “He tried to hurt me.”
“All of them tried to hurt you. And if you’d had a knife in your hands the other day, when Boyd pulled up beside you?”
“I would’ve cut him with it.”
Lucian rounds the bed, and sits beside me. “Your whole life, you’ve been ridiculed and treated like a monster.” He strokes his hand down my cheek, and at the gentle nudge to my chin, I lift my gaze to his. “And all you’ve done is protect yourself.”
“I didn’t want to hurt anyone.”
“But we do what we have to.”
“I tried to forget it. I desperately tried to forget all of it, but … it’s always there, Lucian. It’s always there. Playing over and over inside my head.”
“And it always will be. Trust me, I know.”
“Did you kill Amelia?”
Turning away from me, he sighs, and his eyes seem contemplative for a moment. “I did. Over the course of our marriage, I killed her a little bit every day that I didn’t show love for her. I couldn’t lie to her, though. Not even in the end.”
“Are you capable of feeling love, at all?” It’s a question I’m not supposed to ask, because we established what this is before it began. To hear him say no would only stab my heart at this point, so perhaps it’s masochistic of me to inquire, at all.
“When I figured out that Boyd had taken you, and saw you tied to that bed. Helpless. Scared. Only one thought stirred in my head. That anyone who touched you would die a long, slow, and painful death at my hands. I didn’t care who, or what, it was.” Palm caressing my throat, he strokes his thumb over my jawline and chin in a way that demonstrates his possession. “I’d have given up my soul to the devil himself for you. If that isn’t fucking love, then I don’t know what is.”
“My aunt says love is when you try to imagine a world without someone in it, and can’t.”
“I’ve only felt t
hat one other time. When my son died in my arms. I wanted to follow right after him, wherever it was that he went, because I couldn’t face him no longer being in this world. I’ve only felt that one other time, since then.”
“When?” I dare to ask him.
“The day you told me you wanted out. Out of this place. Out of my life.”
“I was scared of you, then. I’m not anymore.”
Hand still clasped to my neck, he lowers himself and captures my lips in a kiss. God, I missed the feel of this, the scent of him, the taste of him on my tongue and in my head, wrapped around every nerve ending in my body. “I want you to stay with me,” he says against my mouth. “You’ll never want for anything, Isa. And I promise you, no one will ever hurt you again.”
“And what happens when you get bored of me? When the thrill of the forbidden is gone?”
“Impossible. You can’t get bored of the very thing you need to stay alive.” Lips devour mine in another kiss, and he squeezes his palm, just enough to steal my breath.
Hand against his chest, I break the kiss. “I want you to let Giulia go. Honor the contract by allowing her daughter to stay in school, but let her go.”
“Done.” His voice is as resolute as the expression on his face.
“And I want you to leave Schadenfreude.”
“If I could, I’d do it today. But leaving puts both of us at risk. It so happens I’m privy to things that ensure I’ll never be able to just walk away.”
I let my hand fall from his chest and turn away from him. “So, you’re still willing to make deals to fuck other women?”
“No. I’m no longer participating in the rituals. Only the occasional meetings.”
“And what happens when they decide that isn’t good enough?”
“Then, we follow our instincts, you and I.” He strokes a hand down my hair and tips my chin up. “No one will hurt you again. Not even me. I won’t allow it. Are you hungry?” he asks, placing a gentle kiss to my forehead.
“Starving.”
“I’ll get you something to eat. Stay put.”
“Here? In your bedroom?”
“Would you prefer to hobble your way back down to your room?”
“Not particularly. I just … never mind.”
“Good. Then, stay put.”
Upon his exit, the door clicks, and I turn over on the bed, breathing in the scent of him clinging to the pillows. The warmth and safety of my surroundings, or perhaps the lingering effects of the drugs, lulls me in and out of sleep.
“Isa, wake up.”
At the sound of a woman’s voice, I turn over to find a shadow on the wall moving like a lithe figure. It rushes toward me, and as I kick back against the headboard, Laura’s face comes into view in the light from the window. Her long, silvery hair drapes delicately over her shoulders, and the red rims of her eyes only accentuate the deep black pools of dilated pupils that swallow the blue.
No cane.
No wheelchair.
No stagger in her movements.
“What is this?” I glance around the room, but find Lucian hasn’t yet returned. “Am I dreaming?”
Wrinkled lips curve into a smile. “I didn’t find you in your bed, dear. Figured you’d be here.”
“My bed? Did you …. Do you need something?”
“No.” Her eyes soften, and she tips her head. “I just like to watch you sleep. For weeks, I’ve watched you now. Twitching with nightmares. Gripping the knife under your pillow. Whispering my son’s name.”
The room falls to a brittle silence, and it feels as if the temperature has dropped about ten degrees. A chill tickles the back of my neck again, crawling down my spine. “Why aren’t you …”
“Limping around?” She scratches at her own face, eyes lost for a moment, before she directs her gaze toward my ankle. “Oh, dear. You hurt yourself.”
“Yes. Mayor Boyd. He shot me.”
She gasps and rests her hand against my ankle from the end of the bed, setting my teeth on edge. The way she seems to study it has me drawing my knees up, sending her stare in my direction once more.
Trying not to be obvious, I slide my gaze toward the door again, catching the light beneath, and watch, waiting, for Lucian’s shadow to appear there. “There’s nothing wrong with you?”
“I suppose it depends on who you ask.” Head tipped back, she inhales a deep breath. “How curious that it doesn’t seem to reek of sex in here. With you lying sprawled out on his bed like this, surely he couldn’t resist.” Absent of the usual hobble in her gait, she practically glides closer me, her proximity sending a tremble through my muscles. “Such a telling aroma. Thick and heady. I remember the scent of sex very well. When you’re married to the biggest man-whore on the island, you become something of a hound dog. He fucked just about anything in a skirt. Would’ve fucked you, eventually.”
I shake my head, and she slaps her palm over my face, steeling my muscles.
“He would’ve fucked you. Yes, he would’ve. Whether you wanted him to, or not. He fucked Amelia mere hours after Lucian. How do you think she ended up pregnant?”
Oh, my God. My back stiffens as shock spirals down my spine. “Roark was Griffin’s son?”
She lowers her hand. “I didn’t think so at first. The paternity test came back positive for Lucian. Initially, we were just making sure it wasn’t her own father’s child, since Boyd always had a thing for very young girls. Most of the genetics between father and son are quite similar, though, I later learned. It’s when I requested further testing that I learned the truth about Roark. That child went from beautiful grandson, to stepson, overnight.”
The way the sparkle in her eyes dims to something darker sends a feeling of dread to my stomach. “Did you kill him? Did you give him those pills?”
The disturbing smile on her face doesn’t disappear with the question. “She was pregnant again, you know. Considering Lucian wouldn’t so much as touch the poor girl, who do you think the father might’ve been?”
“Did you kill him?” I ask again, desperate to know.
“She stopped taking her pills. Didn’t want to affect the baby growing in her belly.” Eyes spacy and unfocused, it’s as if she’s reliving the memory. “There is nothing more cunning and determined as a scorned woman.”
“Answer the question.”
“I couldn’t bear the humiliation. And poor Lucian. Believing Roark was his only son. It was too much. I snuck into Roark’s room that night, because Lord knows, that child feared everything. Wouldn’t come anywhere near the doll on Amelia’s nightstand.” The feathery touch of her fingers running up and down my arm sends goosebumps across my skin. “I fed him the pills. I watched him choke. His face went pale as freshly fallen snow. When Lucian entered the room, I hid in the boy’s closet. And ten minutes later, my humiliation was no more.”
The sound of shattering dishes snaps my attention to the doorway, where Lucian stands, his hands balled into fists at his sides,. “What have you done?”
“What I had to. You don’t think I know what your father pumped his money into? What he was so desperate to hide from me?”
“You killed my son.”
“Your brother. He wasn’t yours, Lucian.”
“He was my fucking son! The only thing I ever loved.”
“He would’ve destroyed your life. She was destroying your life, and he was the reason you almost died that night.”
Brows lowered, he steps deeper into the room. “I’ve tried to forgive you all these years. For forcing me into marriage. Forcing me into that bullshit institute.” Lips peeled back, he snarls and stalks closer. “What have you done?”
“Your father put you in that Institute. Not me. He put too much faith in that doctor. They both swore you’d forget that woman after a while.”
Woman? Amelia?
It seems to dawn on him, and he lifts his gaze to Laura, eyes darkening with betrayal. “Solange?”
The woman whose name Lucian spoke when he seeme
d to be having a hallucination a while back. When I asked about her, he told me she wasn’t real. She was a different affliction, he said.
“The sound of her name still makes me want to wretch.” Laura grimaces, as if she might just do that. “I knew from the very beginning she was trouble. The way she paraded around you and your father.”
“She was real.” Uncertainty bleeds through his voice, as if he doesn’t trust the answer.
“Of course she was real. It’s a wonder to me that you ever fell for all that brainwashing.”
Eyes narrowed, he stares back at her, his mind seemingly lost to unseen images. “You … never acknowledged her.”
“Why would I acknowledge the woman? She was nothing to me.”
Brows pinched tighter, he lowers his gaze, as if more images are coming to mind. “The staff … they always gave me strange looks.”
Laura scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Of course. The two of you looked ridiculous together. It was obvious to everyone that she was obsessed with you, Lucian. The way she’d pet you and fawn all over you. She couldn’t keep her hands off you.”
He rubs his hand over his head, back and forth, as if he might rub the hair right off. “She’d disappear for days at a time. Days.”
Rolling her shoulders back, Laura clears her throat. “I became privy to a cage your father kept in his chambers. Locked away in some secret little room. He’d lock himself up with her for days at a time, fucking her like his little pet, when he wasn’t torturing her. I’m surprised you couldn’t hear her screams through the walls.”
A strange numbness settles over me, and I can’t even begin to imagine what has settled over Lucian with this revelation. To think it even possible that he could’ve been brainwashed for so many years, into believing that woman didn’t exist. And for what purpose?
“You … you tried to convince me she wasn’t real.” Clutching his skull, Lucian paces at the end of the bed, while I sit trying to piece together the how’s and why’s of such a thing. “Do you have any fucking clue what they did to me there? Their methods of making me forget!” His bellow bounces off the walls, and I flinch at the flourishing anger in his voice. Judging by the cold disgust creeping across his face, it must’ve been torture. “All the drugs they pumped into me!”