I relented when he reached for the device. I caught a glimpse of his mother’s name on the screen before he mashed it to his ear.
“Hello Mother.”
There was a pause where I could just barely hear the brisk voice on the other end.
“Yes, I’m home.” A frown creased Kieran’s brow. “No, I haven’t. Why—? What?”
I shot upright when he did, hands shoving the folds of my robe together.
“No, I didn’t ... when?”
Kieran scrambled off the bed. He barely paused when motioning for me to stay where I was.
“I’m getting it now. No, I had no idea.”
Those were the last words I heard before he was jogging from the room.
Anxiety propelled me off the mattress and sprinting to the closest. One whole side had been emptied for me, a cheaper, more colorful aura of colors compared to Kieran’s darker suits and white shirts. The sight usually made me smile, but I barely noticed when tugging several random articles down and pulling them on. I abandoned the idea of shoes and socks, and hurried to the door just as Kieran returned, no longer on the phone, but holding a newspaper.
“What’s going on?” My voice came out hoarse and shaky as if I’d just finished a marathon.
He moved to the bed, head bent over the article.
I followed him, heart in my throat. Its thundering amplified when he raised a hand to his mouth and rubbed at his jaw in dismay.
“Kieran?”
I touched his arm lightly.
His answer was to fold the paper up and toss it on the end table before turning to me.
Deep, beautiful brown eyes met mine, his a catacomb of indecision and guilt. Lines etched the corners of his pursed lips. He took my hand in his and tugged me to him.
“Gabby.” He broke off abruptly, tightening the noose around my stomach.
“What?”
I was already reaching for the paper, fingers shaking, but he stopped me.
“Okay, wait.” He nudged me gently down on the corner of the mattress and took the spot next to me. His fingers stayed wrapped around mine. “There was an accident.”
I stared at him, baffled beyond reasoning as his words slowly sank in, but not in the manner most people would have experienced. My mind didn’t jump to all the names and faces of the people I loved. I barely even felt panic. I was confused.
“Who?” I prompted, no longer as anxious as I had been.
He hesitated, which I didn’t understand either. The only person I loved, the only person who truly mattered to me was sitting on the bed with me. There wasn’t a soul on earth I cared enough about to fall apart at their death. I might have been sad about it, but I doubted it would go beyond that.
“Your mom,” he said at last. “She was found dead yesterday. It’s in the paper.”
In the paper.
My supposed family didn’t even think it necessary to call me to tell me themselves that my only mother had died. Then again, I was supposed to be locked up in a sex dungeon.
“How?”
Surprise flickered over his features. “Overdose.”
I should have guessed that, I realized. I had known of my mother’s addiction. I had always wondered if it would be the thing that killed her.
“Will there be a funeral?”
Now he was confused. I could see it in the tangle of his eyebrows and the bewilderment in his eyes. I almost wished I could pretend I was affected ... for his sake.
“She wasn’t really my mother,” I murmured. “I mean, she always tried. She did her best without upsetting David, but other than giving birth to me, I didn’t really know her. It’s like losing a neighbor,” I explained.
He lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
I only nodded to that. “Is there a date for the funeral?” I asked again.
“Friday.”
Three days.
It was just like David to clean it all up and tuck it away before people really got asking. I was partially surprised he didn’t just cremate her and tell everyone it was too painful to do a proper funeral. People would have bought that. They probably would have even sympathized with him for losing the woman he’d been married to forever, dying under such horrible circumstances.
Didn’t matter, I told myself. Marcella was the only link joining me to that family. With her gone, I had no reason to ever look back.
“I would like to attend,” I decided, mainly to myself. “I want to say goodbye, but after that,” I faced Kieran, “maybe we can search for a new place?”
He leaned in and kissed me lightly. “Whatever you want.”
I reached past him for the newspaper and flipped it open to the article.
It was in the gossip column, a full spread on the life and death of Marcella Thornton, a modern woman, a glamorous pillar of the community, a wife and mother to two beautiful children. I knew immediately that Cordelia had put in the story, or had some hand in it. Oddly enough, it made no difference to me that I was cut out of my own mother’s obituary. If anything, I was already expecting it.
But the article went on to describe Marcella’s impeccable fashion sense, her love of animals, and her family. There wasn’t a shred of anything substantial, nothing to make it seem like she had anything worthwhile in her life beyond being shallow and boring. But then again, they weren’t far off. My mother had never had a life. She’d been as much a prisoner as I’d been. The only difference was she chose to be married to that monster. She chose to let herself get killed a little each day. She chose drugs and numbness over her children. I wasn’t sure I was capable of sympathy, but I would go to pay what little respect I had left. Afterwards, I would start my new path without ever looking back.
Chapter Twenty-Six — Kieran
I’ve lost count of the number of parties I’d been to my entire life. In a lot of ways, they had all been useless and predictable. I would leave each one swearing to myself that that one was the last, only to find myself at another one and dying of boredom, except the one that had changed my life, the one where I first fell in love with Gabby. That was one I would never forget.
A funeral wasn’t exactly a party, but it was a Thornton event which made it extremely sought after, especially given the circumstances.
The manor was a jungle of noise and faces, a circus where everyone was dressed in elegant black. Marcella’s casket was placed amongst a forest of roses, not exactly funeral material, but they had been her favorite, or so David kept telling everyone with just enough emotion to almost make me believe he cared.
I wasn’t convinced. A man like David, someone who hurt young girls and had sexual thoughts about his own daughter, was incapable of feeling. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he really had loved Marcella. But the odds were slim.
No one came to offer Gabby their sympathies. No one was sorry for her loss. The crowd huddled around Cordelia and David, a horde of flies around a mound of shit. The majority fawning over David were women. Those offering their condolences to Cordelia were men. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was happening.
David Thornton was officially single, a filthy rich bachelor. And Cordelia was young, beautiful, and vulnerable.
No one was there for the woman in the casket, except Gabby.
The moment we entered through the open front doors, she made a straight line to the parlor. I stayed close, but left her to continue without me at the parlor doors, giving her the space she needed to say her goodbyes.
She was the only one there, ironic considering there were hundreds of people there to see Marcella. But it gave Gabby the privacy she deserved, so I couldn’t complain.
Gabby wore a simple, black dress with a U collar and teacup sleeves. The top part clung to her chest and hugged her waist before flaring at the hips and falling nearly to her knees. There were flats on her feet and a satin, black ribbon fastening her hair to the back of her neck.
She appeared so small, too vulnerable. All I wanted was to gather her up into my arms an
d hold her until she was no longer so rigid.
But I didn’t.
I remained just a few feet behind her, close enough to be there if she needed, but far enough away not to crowd her.
The truth of the matter was, I didn’t know how to behave. Since I told her the news, she hadn’t exactly acted the way a normal person would. She barely seemed affected. I kept waiting for her to fall apart, or realize what this meant, but the last three days had been reasonably normal. She spent most of it cleaning the house, or making calls to her school and Professor Weber. She did some homework and we made love several times, but never any mention of her mother’s death.
I didn’t have the best relationship with my mother. I only saw the woman, at the most, ten times in a whole year and only during social events. But I would still be sad if she died. I would still be heartbroken, because no matter what kind of mother she had been, she was still my mother.
Gabby didn’t seem to have that mindset.
I didn’t judge her for it. I couldn’t imagine what her life had been like with that family. I don’t think I would have come back if I were her, not when Marcella had done nothing to protect Gabby her entire life. What kind of mother allowed that? I rarely ever saw my mother, but when I had needed her for something that happened at school, or when I got in trouble, she had always been the first one to fly out and straighten things out. She had always — in a sense — been in my corner, taking my side ... well, the Kincaid name’s side; whatever I did reflected on the family. But I always liked to believe she did it for me as well.
“Hey you made it.”
I turned at the sound of Eric’s voice, but it was the steadiness of it that startled me, the fluidity of it.
He stood in a crisp, pristine tux, tie done up, shoes shined, hair a perfect helmet combed back from his cleanly shaven face. Eyes the clear blue of a summer afternoon peered back, clear and focused.
“Eric?”
His grin was lopsided with a sardonic quirk perking up one side. “Were you expecting someone else?”
At a loss for words, I only just shook my head.
Eric stepped around me until he was between me and the open doorway to the parlor. He peered in to where Gabby stood at the casket, small hands knuckle-white around the edges, head bent low as if in prayer.
“Mom didn’t know half these people,” he surmised with a dismissive jerk of his shoulder. “Half of them hated her. The other half, she hated. The irony, right?”
Still too wrapped up in the sight of the man sober, I wasn’t fast enough to formulate an answer.
“But she would have liked that you came.” His head tipped in my direction, an almost puppy dog gesture. “You were like a second son to her.”
I finally found my voice.
“I’m really sorry for your loss, man.” I offered him a hand. “She was a great lady. She’s going to be missed.”
He accepted the shake, but there was a pause before the contact, a subtle hesitation of someone amused by an enemy’s uncharacteristic gesture.
“Thanks, and yeah, she was and she will be.” He unfurled his fingers first and pulled back, but remained where he was, watching Gabby again. “I never cared about her. Gabrielle,” he clarified when I felt my eyebrows twitch in confusion. “From the day Mom brought her home, she never meant a thing to me. I didn’t love her, like her, or hate her. She was like a pet that everyone decided to get, but never asked if I wanted, but I was fine with that. She never took anything away from me. She never got in my way. Honestly,” he peered over at me, “I barely knew she was here half the time. She was like this little mouse that scurried in and out of the walls, so careful not to be seen. But Cordy always knew. Maybe because it was another girl in the position to steal away our parent’s attention, but Cordy hated her with a passion one usually reserved for rapists and child molesters.” He chuckled. “I guess in Cordy’s eyes, that’s exactly what Gabrielle was.”
The words came to a slow halt, not as if he’d run out of things to say, but more like he was waiting for all of that to sink in before divulging the rest. So, I said nothing and waited for him to continue.
“I didn’t expect to see her here,” Eric went on slowly, eyes on Gabby once more. “Not today. Not ever. Once she walked out those doors, I really thought that would be the end of it. Yet, every Sunday, there she was, this tiny ghost huddled in some corner, counting the minutes until she could leave.”
“Did you know?” The question evicted from my mouth without consent and hung in the heavy perfume of roses pouring from the parlor. “About the things he was doing to her?”
Time spanned between us as he remained lost in his own head and I stood waiting for an answer, an answer I wasn’t wholly certain I wanted to hear. Eric and I had been friends for years, closer than brothers. If he had known ... if he had stood by and let Gabby get hurt based on his lack of interest, funeral or not, I couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t flatten the guy.
“Eric?”
“She sent me a text just before.”
I blinked at the unexpected response. “What?”
His hand slipped into his pocket and returned holding his phone. He held it out to me without a word.
It was unlocked, coming alive in my grasp with just a swipe of my thumb across the screen. The name across the top read Mom, followed underneath by a gray block containing Marcella’s final words.
“The world knows. Everything I’ve fought to protect, to hide is out in the open, in print, waiting to ruin our family. I can’t watch everything I’ve worked towards fall apart because of one mistake I made. Maybe I should have listened to your father and aborted. Maybe things could have been different then. Maybe Kieran would have married Cordelia. Maybe Gabrielle wouldn’t be in danger and he wouldn’t be threatening our family now. I don’t know if that would have changed what we’re facing, but I know he will never forgive me. Not after this. He will punish me and I’m not strong. I can’t fight anymore. I’m so tired, baby. My only regret in all this is how it will affect you. I want so much for you to be happy, my sweet baby boy. You’re my brightest light, my reason for fighting for as long as I have. It was your face that kept me sane. Don’t ever forget that. Don’t forget how much I love you. I wish we could have had more time and we will. Now that I’m free, I can finally be with you always. You just might not see me, but I’m there. I promise. Your ever loving mother, forever with kisses.”
“Jesus.” I hadn’t realized I’d spoken out loud until Eric chuckled.
“Yeah, crazy, right?” But there was a thickness in his voice I didn’t miss, nor did I acknowledge, because that was not what men did. “He killed her.”
I didn’t know what to say, or if there was anything to say. I could only stare at the words, no longer reading them, but unable to look away.
“We all knew,” he went on, quieter now. “You don’t miss the crying, or that initial crack of a slap. You can’t overlook the bruises the next morning. But we all did, because it wasn’t us and she was nothing to us.”
“She was your sister.” Text message forgotten, I lifted my gaze to the man standing before me, rage working up from my belly to fill my throat. “She was your baby sister. You were her older brother. You were supposed to protect her.”
“Was I?” Eric glanced back at me, one eyebrow raised. He seemed to consider his own question, then shrugged. “Perhaps I was ... if we were in a different family, in a different life. In this one, she was nothing to me.”
I wanted to punch him in the mouth. I nearly did but he unexpectedly turned his entire body to me as if already waiting for it. The motion startled my fists into pausing. He glanced at them, then back up at me, his expression brutally uncaring.
“What did she mean you threatened her?”
The perpetual hopping was making it impossible to keep up with the strings of conversation, but I doubted he meant threatening Gabby. One, because I never would, and two, because he already made it clear he wouldn’t care if I had.
“Perhaps you should ask your father,” I opted, already knowing that wouldn’t be enough. He was on a mission and my half answer would not cover his satisfaction.
“I’m asking you.”
At the casket, Gabby straightened. Her tiny frame moved as if to draw away, but she remained over her mother’s corpse. I wondered if she was still praying, or cursing the woman.
“He took Gabrielle,” I mumbled, keeping my voice low. “He had her in some ... sex dungeon. I told him I would ruin him if he didn’t give her back.”
Eric hummed and bobbed his head slowly. “He always was sick in the head. He took me once to this ... club, I guess. The women were strung up with fish hooks to the ceilings.” He gave his head a hard shake as if dislodging that memory. “The hooks were pinned through their skin. Their arms, legs, backs ... pussies. There was blood everywhere. The floor was slippery with it and the whole place smelled of piss and pennies.” He kept rocking his head. “There were men fucking the girls, with the hooks still ... attached to them. They were sobbing and begging them to stop, but no one did. Every so often, a hook would tear and the girl would scream...” He raised a hand and scratched at his cheek bone with one finger. “I was sixteen.” He laughed unexpectedly. “I couldn’t get that image out of my head for months. I couldn’t sleep without an entire bottle of whiskey first. Never told my dad, of course. Christ, he’d skin me alive and pin me to the ceiling like those girls. I was a Thornton. I’m supposed to have nerves and balls of steel.”
His story brought to mind my adventure with my own father and I wondered if it was some kind of rite of passage. Maybe all fathers took their sons to torture chambers as some proof of manhood. Who knew? But it did explain why Eric had been such a messy drunk.
“But anyway,” he went on with a wave of his hand. “That’s not important anymore. I see you got her back and she looks unharmed so I’m assuming it all went well.”
He never asked why a father would take his daughter to a sex dungeon. He didn’t even seem phased by the reasoning behind it. I didn’t know how to take that.
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