by LW Barefoot
I’m done playing games and hiding in the shadows.
I slip back out in the recesses of the French Quarter.
Waiting, so sick and fucking tired of waiting.
Harper
“Harper, are you sure about this?” Tom asks when I join him and Ryan in the library.
“Yes, let’s get it over with,” I reply.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” Ryan comments and for hours he records our conversation, stopping occasionally for breaks, but Ryan and I both are eager to get it out there.
I place emotional and personal feelings as close to the side as I can manage. Tom is mostly quiet as I answer Ryan’s questions. I’m surprised with how many he’s managed to come up with from my handwritten thoughts and memories.
We wind down through the timetable I can remember. Ryan pulls a clear plastic bag out of his briefcase. Inside it is my weapon of choice. I was sure of every question until this crucial one. I haven’t had to explain my actions to anyone. Everyone automatically assumed the Sculptor inflicted those wounds and at the time, I was too fucked up to correct them.
But I handed over my ugly truths with that notebook this morning.
“Why were your fingerprints the only ones on the knife?” Ryan finally asks the question I’ve been dreading.
“What the hell, Ryan?” Tom rages.
“You knew I would have to ask her, especially after what we both read,” Ryan says.
For the first time this afternoon, I falter. I feel my eyes swim with tears.
“I took matters in my own hands,” I confess.
A tear escapes before I stop it.
“I need a minute, I’ll be back,” I stutter and walk out of the room, closing the doors behind me.
I just need a moment. It’s too much and I need to process the fact that now all my secrets are out there in the open. The secrets are now being documented and processed to be filed away on the off chance the Sculptor’s ever caught.
If he were prosecuted, he wouldn’t be responsible for my attempted murder because the blood is on my hands. There’s nothing to worry about because he has eleven other victims. The authorities would only need the appropriate evidence, but they haven’t been successful in gathering that either.
I want to taste the freedom I once had and took for granted. I’ve stumbled across my strength and I can only imagine what it would feel like to not look over my shoulder.
That weight of expelling my dark past reminds me that it’s not over, it’s just the beginning. We’re halfway through the day and there’s another bastard I have to watch out for. The reason I’m stuck out here at the plantation for weeks until we have enough answers before returning to New Orleans.
I take a deep breath and force my mind from making up inevitable worries.
One step at a time.
I walk back to the library, prepared and ready to finally get this over with.
Ryan thankfully removed the pallet knife by the time I resume my seat. When I found it in my apartment, I thought it was the answer, the only one I had left. I did the unthinkable, but no one here knows what that feels like. It doesn’t make you weak it makes you honest. I thought I was being strong, but that came much, much later, through time and reflection.
After my brief intermission from the interrogations, I’m able to carry on with Tom and Ryan’s questions.
Now, nothing but the truth is out there and I feel oddly relieved. That earlier panic has lessened. The only way to get through this is to be upfront, no matter how uncomfortable it is.
The other agents are now in the library, positioning themselves to start the next round of questions about the night of the ball, about Evan’s father and what I remember.
Martin rolls in a cart full of refreshments. I don’t let out the breath I’ve been holding until I see Evan walk in the room with Stacy. I knew he would be here for this part of the afternoon, but I wasn’t looking forward to it.
Martin hands me a glass and smiles at me reassuringly. I take a sip and it’s a tall vodka soda.
“Thank you,” I whisper to him as he leaves a pitcher of iced tea on the coffee table.
As the room fills with people, it becomes more intimidating. The three other agents are strangers. I feel as if I’m on display and I can only imagine how uncomfortable this has to be for Evan.
I’m expected to explain everything that happened on Fat Tuesday. Expose his father for his abuse and somehow not get upset. I look over at him and watch. His eyes won’t meet mine. He’s closed off again and I hate that.
Grayson slips through the door and offers me a small smile. At this point, the more the merrier, I think sarcastically. I wish I had Ru’ to squeeze through the last part of this afternoon.
“Harper, are you ready to begin?” Tom asks.
Each of the three agents starts in, taking turns with the questions. I answer them the best I can. This time isn’t as personal. It happened recently. It hurts less in every way that matters.
We started the day out with my scrawled notes on how my body and mind was used and manipulated. I had to articulate what I felt and how I was able to gather the strength to stab myself. I told my truths in hushed tones. I spoke what I could of what I remembered, what I pray to forget.
It made Tom, Ryan, and I uncomfortable, but now that it’s over and out there, it’s done. I won’t have to utter another word about what was done to me at the hands of the Sculptor. This line of questioning with more ears in the room is more straightforward.
I wasn’t raped, I was beaten, but I will never have to hear Joe Hawthorne’s words on repeat in my head from now on. He’s not the one that has me drowning in nightmares. I was a simple obstacle he needed out of the way.
Evan has avoided asking me about that night. He wants to talk about it as much as I want to relive it. Our need to tear into our intimacy has been full force since my recovery. It has been a comfortable lie between us. We could express ourselves through any kind of physical intimacy, but too much stretched between us to add words to it.
Now with everyone present, it’s about to get rough because I know things about Evan’s family that will hopefully put his dad behind bars, once and for all.
“Why do you believe Joe Hawthorne attacked you?” agent number two asks.
“I posed a threat to his plans,” I answer.
“Were you sexually assaulted?” agent number one asks, but he knows the truth from the medical report.
“Not that night, no,” I answer. If I was being honest then I couldn’t answer with a simple no.
“Your dress was in shreds and you were found naked, why?”
I hate that I have to spell it out. My eyes meet Ryan and then Tom’s as if looking for reassurance from them.
“With each tear of my dress, I was hit or kicked or punched,” I answer.
“Could you go into further detail, please?” agent number two asks. “I know this is tough, but it might help us understand why this happened to you. Why don’t you start at the beginning, what you remember of leaving the ball and how you ended up in Evan Hawthorne’s penthouse.”
The agent’s forced smile somehow allows me to carry on as if she’s uncomfortable hearing what I have to say as I am having to confess it.
“I was pulled away from the bar at the masquerade and was asked to join Mr. Hawthorne. I thought nothing of it and went along because the man said he was the reason I was there in the first place. I immediately believed Evan was the Mr. Hawthorne he was referring to. I climbed in the back of the what I thought was the same car I arrived in, then a needle was forced in my shoulder. The next thing I remember is waking up in Evan’s bed, surrounded by men in masks. The drugs made me lethargic and I couldn’t fight back.”
I take a deep breath.
“Do you remember what any of the other men looked like?” one of the agents asks.
“No, they were all wearing matching masks except for Joe.”
“Continue, please, or do you need
a break?”
No, I need to get this over with.
“No, it’s all right. They took my mask off and then started tugging at the material of the dress. I would get pulled in one direction and get hit, only to be pulled back and get hit again. As the clothes came off the pain increased with the beating. Joe would order the men to watch me, to see what a deceitful whore looked like. One that was already used and marked by another.”
Take a breath, you’ve been through worse, I tell myself on repeat.
“He wanted to know if his son caused my scars before he saw the Sculptor’s. Whatever was done to me, he would make it worse because I was in the way. I was the reason Evan was changing Joe’s carefully laid plans.”
I feel everyone’s eyes burn through me, my own are on the floor as I gather enough strength to explain the rest. I wasn’t sexually assaulted because Joe didn’t want his son’s slut, thankfully.
“When my corset came off, I thought this is it, this is the moment he kills me, but my ribs were cracked instead. I fell off the bed and Joe said he could help me, that I had learned my lesson like the good whore I was, all I needed to do was crawl to him. The drugs and the beating made it almost impossible for me to move but I managed. Joe helped me off the floor and warned me to stay away from Evan and his family. That I didn’t understand what I was interfering with. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me up, smiling. He said, ‘look here boys’ as he pointed to the number the Sculptor left. He elaborated that it was one more risk of exposure he couldn’t take. Joe punched me for the first time and his second hit caused me to blackout. The next thing I remembered was waking up in the hospital,” I finish and finally look up, I don’t allow the tears swimming in my eyes to fall.
That last part is the first lie I’ve told today. I didn’t want to admit seeing Evan, for remembering him being at his place just before I passed out a second time.
“Do you know the details? Did he let you in on what you were interrupting?” agent number three asks.
I should look at Evan, but my attention is drawn to my lap. How do you inform a room full of people that your very presence threatened an entire empire? Before I have a chance to answer the question, Grayson steps in and answers for me. All eyes in the room turn to him.
“All illegal businesses were signed over to Sarah Trent at the time of her engagement with Evan. I was present when the papers were signed.”
“Why were they signed over before the actual marriage? And why to this Sarah Trent and not one of his own sons?”
“Joe’s paranoid, he wanted insurance that one of us wouldn’t push him out. If Evan and Sarah were married any and all guilt would be easily pushed on them. The Trent family controls the only port Joe’s supplier unloads without detection. It was the easiest way that neither the Trent’s nor Joe’s own children could come after him. Add to that a publicized engagement and marriage and it doubles Joe’s chances of keeping everyone happy and loyal.”
Grayson knows everything, even more than I do.
“Who knows what else he’s managed with all the time that’s passed since those papers were signed,” he admits.
I watch Evan’s astonished face as the new information sinks in. He didn’t know about any of this.
Ryan finally cuts in, “I take it you had no knowledge of this, Evan?”
Evan remains silent but shakes his head. The three other agents whisper in hushed urgency amongst themselves. A shallow buzz sets about the room. Grayson and I are the only ones who aren’t shocked by this development. I knew Joe was smart enough to tie up his loose ends before he went after me. I’m just surprised Evan didn’t think about that before. Stacy takes notes on Evan’s quiet instructions.
“All Joe’s illegal activity, with the exception of Harper’s attack, are linked through Trent Shipping and the entire family,” I hear agent number two state.
“Joe’s banking on his son’s engagement to keep peace with Sarah’s family. Joe can’t get his hands on his shipments without the Trent’s port of entry. Without their cooperation, a war starts between the two of the most powerful families in the South,” Grayson mutters.
I’m still watching for Evan’s reaction, he leans into his assistant and rattles off commands. Tom reaches for his laptop after he squeezes my hand in reassurance.
“Harper, I think we’re done for now. If I need anything else, I’ll let you know,” Ryan says.
“Thank you, Ryan, for everything,” I tell him.
I’m being dismissed.
I take one last look at the scene in the library and shut the doors behind me. They no longer need my input or answers, they have Grayson for that.
I walk away in a decisive need to expel the effects of today. Relief and exhaustion settle in and it’s the perfect evening to start on the raging, storm section of my collection, but first I need fresh air.
Evan
My throat closes with straining emotion. I want to hold Harper as she tells me the truth. I knew she’d been lying to me, I just didn’t know to what extent. I’m afraid for her, afraid for us. Anger, fear, pity, none of which I want to feel, are at the forefront of my mind and I wish I could control them.
I have to make up my mind. I have to do what’s best for her. She’s not weak, she’s not someone I can save, she’s already saved herself.
Harper just broke my heart by confessing everything that happened the night of the masquerade. The night that changed our entire relationship.
When she spoke about my father asking about her scars, it made me sick. I know firsthand how he likes to mark women and then discard them after he’s done.
I watch her walk out of the library with her head down. I stalk her down the hall, if for no other reason than to make sure she’s okay because I know I’m not.
“Shh, just let me hold you,” I whisper when she stops to open the front door, wrapping my arms around her.
“You’re not mad at me?” she asks, shaking under my grip.
Her question reveals how fucked our situation is and how insecure I’ve made her feel. I spin her around so that she has no other choice than to look at me.
“Harper, how could you think that? You should be mad at me, you should hate me, even,” I say in truth.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she whispers.
“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”
I hold her to me. I shut out every thought, every instinctual inclination I can because this isn’t about me. Not all that long ago, we were in her studio and I couldn’t bear to listen to her truths. Now I wanted to prove to her that if nothing else I would be here for her.
“Let’s get out of here,” I suggest.
“We can’t do that,” she says as I grab her arm.
Mae watches us in the shadows. She’s heard our entire exchange. A sly smile reveals her bright teeth against her dark lips, her eyes light with mischief as she walks out from the hallway.
“You two go. I’ll say that y’all needed a break,” Mae speaks up, her suggestion seems to make Harper feel better about leaving.
“We’ll be back tomorrow. Call Lorraine, tell her I’m coming. Have Brad take care of Rufus. And Mae, thanks.”
I pull Harper out of the house without a backward glance. We walk fast, hand-in-hand to the garage, as if someone will try and stop us. I open the door from the keypad and motion for Harper to walk in.
“Which one do you want to take?”
I turn the lights on in the building, highlighting the collection of cars. I watch her take in the variety, some are in various stages of restoration. Row after row of every kind of classic car is too overwhelming for anyone to choose.
After her eyes adjust to the bright lights, her focus locks on an eggplant colored convertible with vanilla toned seats and soft top. I’m glad it’s up and running.
“Do you want to drive?” I ask, finding irony in the fact that she chose the car I planned on giving her.
“Absolutely not.”
She shakes her head side to side and climbs in the passenger seat.
The sun hangs low in the sky as we leave the plantation and hopefully the day behind.
Harper moves close to me and I pull her even tighter with my arm stretched around her.
Within fifteen minutes, I pull the car down Lorraine’s driveway. I can’t help but smile at the improvements she’s made since I’ve last been here. Harper’s silent and trusting when I open the door and hold my hand out to accept hers.
“I thought Mae was just pulling my leg, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t Mr. Hawthorne himself. What the devil are you doing here?” Lori says as she unhooks the screen door and welcomes us.
“Good evening, Lori.”
She smiles and wraps me in a hug.
“It’s not every day my landlord wants to stay at my bed and breakfast.”
I watch Harper’s eyes move back and forth between Lori and me.
“Lori, this is Harper. We’re just exhausted, it’s been a long day.”
“Well, I’ll leave y’all to it. I’ve got a loaf of bread baking and with the short notice I only have deli cuts and fresh fruit if that’s okay with you?” Lori asks.
“Of course. I’m sorry for springing this on you,” I offer.
“Hush. You’re the only reason I have a steady stream of guests. I just got a shipment of wine in and I’ll have breakfast on the bar when you get around to it,” she confirms.
“Thanks again.”
“Don’t forget to hook the screen door. There’s a strong wind blowing through later. Make yourselves at home.”
She pats my arm and leaves us alone in the house. I lock the deadbolt on the front door.
“So you own this place, too?” Harper asks when I grasp her hand and pull her toward the kitchen.
“No, I don’t own it. I loaned Lori the money to renovate her family’s place when her insurance failed to come through after Katrina.”
“Is that when you bought the plantation?”
“Yes. But it was vacated long before the hurricane. I just got a better deal on the place thanks to the storm. It didn’t settle well with me that I could restore the property and not help the locals,” I explain while leading her through the house.