Seeing Red

by Heidi Brod

  “You remembered,” I say. “Although I’m not sure I should drink and ride.” We both laugh.

  “You’ve gotten old. I remember the Seraphina from our wild college days. You were always up for anything.”

  He pours me a glass. “To us.”

  We clink glasses. I can’t help but think, There really is no “us.”

  He notices my discomfort and changes the subject back to safe ground. “Can you believe Andy Warhol and Paul Morrissey bought that estate in the ’70s for $220,000 and it recently sold for fifty million?”

  “The insane world of Hamptons luxury real estate. That really is incredible. So, do you miss Boston and living in Back Bay? It was always so charming,” I say.

  “No, I love it out here. Have you been lately?”

  “Not since the baby was born. Harper has been really busy at work, and it’s just harder to get away.”

  “You had a little girl, right?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I keep up,” he says with a mischievous smile.

  “How about you? Did you ever marry?”

  “Almost, but I just couldn’t pull the trigger.”

  We arrive, driving past the wooden fence of Deep Hollow Ranch. The sign above it reads Oldest Cattle Ranch in the United States of America.

  “This is breathtaking,” I say.

  I watch the waves break along the shoreline, pure kinetic energy; the force of it curves and slopes.

  My horse is gentle and elegant. We spend the afternoon leisurely riding along the wooded trails, ending our ride, trotting on the beach, white pristine sand with crystal-clear water. The ride is breathtaking, a mixture of open fields and bluffs.

  We pass Oyster Pond; its majestic beauty and grace open up to us. We see rabbits and turtles, taking me far from the city and all of my nightmares.

  “This all seems like a dream,” I say to Carter. “It’s almost too good to be true. I never want to leave.”

  “Then don’t. Stay with me for a while. Just until things settle down.”

  “I can’t do that. I have to get back to Sky.”

  “Well, you’re always welcome. Next time bring her with you. I would love to meet the mini Seraphina. She must be a real force, strong and beautiful, just like her mother.”

  He gazes into my eyes, letting them rest on my lips. “Are you hungry? he asks, looking me over as if to say I’m too thin.

  “Yes, I’m starving.”

  “I know the perfect place. I thought we would have lunch at my house. I brought in lobster rolls from Gosman’s Dock.”

  “That’s my favorite. How did you know?”

  “I didn’t. Can’t it be my favorite? Did you know Mick Jagger smashed his hand through the window at Gosman’s and had to have twenty stitches?”

  “No, I didn’t,” I say.

  “I wonder what Bianca did to make him so angry,” Carter says.

  “How do you know it was Bianca’s fault? Maybe he just didn’t want a lobster roll,” I say, feeling the effects of a second glass of wine on an empty stomach.

  I plant my hands in my lap, lost, thinking of Sky and Harper and wondering how I got here, feeling like I’m on a date in Montauk.

  “What just happened?” he asks.

  “I need to ask you about Boston. For the past year, I’ve been feeling like someone is watching me. I keep seeing the same blue eyes in my nightmares. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I don’t think I’m capable of killing the man who attacked me in Boston. I blacked out. I remember picking up the broken bottle, and then I was knocked unconscious by something heavy, like a baseball bat. I feel like someone else was there that night and that same person is stalking me. I know it sounds insane. I feel like they are behind all of this with Harper.”

  “I thought Harper had an affair.”

  “He did, but I think someone set him up.”

  “Why do you keep making excuses for him? Seraphina, you were always too good for him. You deserve better.”

  “Like you, Carter?” We sit in silence. My anger bubbles up, rising to the surface.

  Carter says sweetly, “Yes, exactly. Like me. I always did love that fire in you. Listen, I don’t want to fight with you. I think it’s horrible what he’s done. You have a child together, and you have given him everything. You didn’t tell me anything about that night. You couldn’t remember. Did you know Harper was at the bar that night?”

  “No.”

  “Ask him. He was there. He had on a costume. I think he was dressed as the angel of death. I can’t remember; it was so long ago. I saw him with his mask off at the bar.”

  “After all of this with Jessa Dante, doesn’t it make you wonder if maybe your husband is behind all of this, and maybe he’s the one that’s been stalking you? He’s always had anger issues. You know he killed his own father. He’s a cold- blooded murderer, and I think you are in danger.”

  “Harper’s father was a drunk and cheated on his mother. He killed his father to protect his mother.”

  “Seraphina, you are being naive. He’s out every night drinking, and you have proof that he’s had an affair.”

  Carter’s beach house is incredible. It is set back on the water, with a modern, contemporary design, and surrounded by sweeping views of the water. Carter takes me through the spa-style pool house, fully equipped with a steam shower and sauna, but my mind is spinning. All I can think about is Harper and finding out the truth.

  I see a copy of the New York Post is crumpled up next to me, asking the question on everyone’s mind. I pick it up and read it out loud: “Is Harper Swift Guilty?”

  Now all I can think about is getting back to New York. I need to talk to Harper.

  “I’m sorry, Carter. I think I need to get back to the city. I need to talk to Harper.”

  “I understand. I’ll call the pilot and let him know you’re ready to go back. You know I’m here for you. I can protect you. I will take care of you.”

  “I don’t think I ever thanked you for taking care of me after the attack. You’ve always been there for me, Carter. I’m just not sure who I can trust. My family is in danger.”

  If there is any truth to what Carter is saying, I will attack Harper. I will go to the police and have him locked away in prison for years.

  At this point, I’m not sure who I can trust or what to believe.

  Twenty One

  HARPER AND SERAPHINA

  “I’ve been calling you all morning. Where have you been?” Harper asks me immediately as I walk through the door of Yao Lu’s office.

  Harper looks like he hasn’t slept all night. He is standing with Detective Belle, ADA Lara Kane, and another man, someone I don’t know, who is extending his hand toward me.

  “Hi, I’m Agent Walthrop with the FBI, and this is Yao Lu, our cybercrime specialist.”

  “Hi everyone, and sorry, it looks like I’m late to the party. I was in Montauk visiting an old friend. I don’t get much cell reception out there,” I say.

  “Carter?” Harper says, raising an eyebrow with an angry look on his face.

  “Yes. Can I talk to you alone?” I ask.

  “No. I need you to sit down and promise me that you’re going to stay calm,” Harper says.

  “I can’t promise you that, Harp. You seem to have a talent for pissing me off lately,” I say. “But I’ll try.”

  He sighs.

  “The security system in our house has been hacked, including the camera, and that includes the baby’s monitor,” Harper says.

  Now I remind myself to stay calm and keep breathing. “After I saw you last night, I went back home to check on Sky. I couldn’t sleep. It was late, after midnight, and I walked by the baby’s room. That was when I heard a voice, a man’s voice, whispering. It was dark, and when I looked inside the room, I saw that it was coming thr
ough the monitor.”

  “What was the voice saying?” I ask, my voice steady and controlled.

  Harper takes my hand, and in his eyes, I can see terror.

  “What? You are scaring me. Just tell me,” I say, raising my voice.

  He plays the recording back from his cell phone.

  The same terrifying whisper from that night in Boston fills the air around me, electrifying it.

  The voice says, “Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock.”

  I cover my mouth with my hands to stifle a scream, and then I can’t hold back the tears.

  My mind is spinning, and I’m terrified, my worst fears imagined.

  “Seraphina, can you describe the man who came to your house that night?” Belle asks.

  “He had jet-black hair. He smelled like a combination of hair dye and stale cigarettes. I couldn’t really see his eyes. He wouldn’t really look at me. Something seemed off about him, but then I never did anything about it.”

  “Were you drinking again? Don’t you think you should have called me if you felt threatened?” Harper snaps.

  “Really, Harp? Would you have answered or just let it go to voicemail because you were too busy ‘working’?”

  I close my eyes tightly and take a deep breath in. I feel anxious. The pressure is building again. That night, I thought I was paranoid, just my imagination on overdrive, but the danger was real.

  “Sit down, Seraphina,” Belle says. “Someone could be controlling the camera remotely, but we don’t think so. You have a wireless camera, which sends video to a nearby monitor, where you can view it on your phone.”

  My heart is beating faster.

  Belle says, “But some cameras transmit these images hundreds of yards, broadcasting them outside of the home, so anyone can pick them up by radio frequency or public airwaves. The signal can reach as far as five hundred yards away.”

  “Jesus, Harper. Did you get an ID on that boat that was so close to our house? Did you take out the hacked system? What have you done?”

  I think about Sky. Is she safe now? Does she need more protection? Is she safe now?

  I am panicking. The horror is beyond anything I can ever imagine. The vulture is still circling our family from above, and I feel helpless, unable to find a way to stop it.

  “Yes, we’re installing a hardwired system today. We’ve upgraded the entire thing.”

  I turn to Harper. “Where did you find these people? The ones who installed the system?”

  “What? I was going to ask you that question. Remember, you found them online?”

  Now Harper is looking at me, again like I’m crazy. “No. They canceled that day on my voicemail. That’s why I was surprised when I got home and Birdie told me a new company had been by to install the security system. I figured you called.”

  Harper rolls his eyes. “We can’t communicate. This has always been our problem, Seraphina. Jesus, you let a stranger into our house.”

  Harper is a master at making me feel like I’m to blame. I’m an awful mother, unfit to be at home, and I should go back to work immediately.

  “Remember at the hospital, you said you would get us more security for the house? I was actually relieved that you finally did something right.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have if I didn’t think you had scheduled the appointment. If I had thought I could even get you on the phone to answer my question, I might have called to check.”

  Belle, feeling the escalation of the fight, chimes in, “This isn’t the time. We need you both to stay focused on the investigation for the sake of your child.”

  “Right, sorry,” I say, my eyes blazing at Harper, the rage dark, desperate, and vulnerable. My worst fears are coming true.

  “It’s important we don’t let any of this get out to the media. We need these people to think that Harper is still the prime suspect in the case. We are getting closer. Yao, can you talk Mrs. Swift through what we do have?” Lara says.

  I can tell by the way she’s looking at me that everyone in this room thinks I’m certifiable, totally insane. I wonder what Harper has told her.

  “Your husband got another anonymous e-mail last night. The good news is even though it was sent through an anonymous retailer, he forgot to use a bridge, so all of the exit points are publicly listed. I know that means nothing to you, but for me, it’s a jumping-off point to track and investigate.”

  I nod. My head is spinning.

  Belle says, “An IP address isn’t always a smoking gun, Yao.”

  “I know. I just need some more time to narrow things down.”

  At this point, all of the information feels like speculation. The newspapers and Internet chatter have made a strong case against Harper, incriminating him in the murder of Jessa Dante. The latest bizarre theory is a distorted lie that somehow seems plausible, the magic and illusion created by the spin of social media, stating that Harper is the Renaissance Killer and that he is responsible for all of the Boston murders, connected and triggered by the night of my attack, yet another gross and unsubstantiated theory flooding the airwaves.

  I don’t know who to believe.

  The evidence is nothing more than anonymous e-mails, a series of offensive tweets, blasting out lies, and planting seeds of doubt against Harper. This investigation has crumbled into a bad game of telephone, our lives reduced to gossip, salacious stories, and cocktail banter.

  “What did the e-mail say?” I say, spurred on by my intuition.

  Belle lowers his head and lets out a deep sigh of resignation. Harper stands up and starts pacing, like an animal trapped in a cage.

  After a moment, Belle says, “We were able to restore the hard drive of Jessa’s computer and uncover most of her deleted files. Most of it was stuff for school or her business, PowerPoint presentations, and spreadsheets.”

  “She spent a lot of time on the Web,” Yao says.

  “I’m sure the dark web was a great place for her to grow her business,” I say, unable to resist the jab.

  Yao punches at the keyboard, and I watch as the browser opens up onto a website. The front page has an image of a butterfly, each wing in the shape of a skull with a red rose in the center, bloody and surrounded by sharp thorns.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  “They call themselves the Skull Club. They are anarchists, some sort of radical, stateless society. They put up names of individuals, hoping to incentivize murder. The bounty is collected in Bitcoin, a popular form of digital cash, and the retailers are all anonymous.”

  “Sort of like crowdfunding murder?” I ask.

  “It’s just another way to hire an assassin and cover your tracks. The fact that we have uncovered the site is going to be the breakthrough we need,” Yao says.

  “That’s great but I’m not sure what any of this has to do with us.”

  She clicks on the rose, and it opens up another page, this one with only one name and a picture: Harper Swift

  I don’t know what to think when I see Harper’s name. At first, I think this is madness. All of it, like some bad dream I will soon wake up from.

  “Seraphina, can you remember anything else from that night you were attacked?”

  Now it’s all too real, and I’m terrified. My whole body freezes in fear. My mind spins, struggling to recover any of the lost details that may put an end to this darkness.

  I think about my anxiety, night after night. Someone has been watching me, tracking us. The haunting begins after midnight; while the rest of the world sleeps, I lie awake, wide-eyed in fear. Death has been stalking my family, and it is dangerous and faceless, sheltered by the darkness.

  All of this time, I have been made to feel as if my memories have evolved into some sort of madness, like witchcraft. These visions, these things I see and feel, are all real. They aren’t just fragments of the pa
st, trapped inside my mind.

  I can hear the sound of my heart as it bangs inside my chest. Now I finally see the end, the sun that always rises, even after my darkest nights of pain and suffering. I can finally see the light.

  The only thing that matters is our survival. I force myself to think about the attack, the hospital, anything that feels like a real memory, something other than the way his eyes looked that night before I was raped.

  “My father was in the public eye. He didn’t want anyone to know his daughter had been raped. He was embarrassed, and so was I.”

  “Your father didn’t want you be become a victim all over again. He did it for you,” Harper says.

  “When are you going to stop defending my father and his shitty choices?”

  “I’ll keep working,” Yao says. “Just be careful, Harp.”

  I don’t feel like hiding; I feel strong. With the adrenaline and courage surging through me, I have found the resilience and the will to face the broken bones of my past, but this time I will win.

  Harper takes my hand. “Let’s go. Somewhere we can talk.”

  As we round the corner, a shadow falls over us. It’s just the scaffolding from above, but I can feel the darkness of his blue eyes and hear the click of his black shoes against the pavement, just watching us, wherever we go.

  Twenty Two

  HARPER AND SERAPHINA

  Some waves travel at the speed of sound, and as the speed increases, the waves are forced together, compressed. Eventually they collide, merging into a single shockwave, which travels at the speed of sound, faster, stronger, and invincible.

  The threat of losing Harper, just the very thought of it, brings this moment into focus, giving me clarity and moving me forward with that same velocity.

  The simple architecture of the Greenwich Inn fuses together our history, for us, a bridge connecting the past and present.

  The slate-gray stone fireplace, mahogany shelves, and books line the walls of the penthouse. The light from the fireplace smolders. The reflection of it in my eyes is hypnotizing, a seductive dance.

  Harper closes the door, and finally we’re alone. “I’m sorry, Seraphina,” he says.