The Game

by Kira Blakely

  All these years that we’ve been apart, I thought of you. I worried that your mother wasn’t taking care of you. It took me some time to get my finances stable again – your mother squandered all my savings, you see – but when I did, I looked for you. I could no longer find you, though.

  Now, our paths have crossed again. Who would have thought? I know you want to pretend that it never happened. You want me to leave you alone. But I can’t. Whatever the case, you are still my stepdaughter and you are dear to me. My greatest regret has been leaving you, and it has burdened my conscience. Please let us free each other from the past. Let us leave its ugliness behind. There was also beauty. Remember that. Let us think of that instead and move on.

  My number is written below. I will wait for a chance to have dinner with you, to reminisce the good old times, to hear all you have to say – I know there must be a lot you need to get off your chest – and how you’ve come this far. Let me make it up to you. Let me be the man you’ve always wanted to have – your father.

  Dennis

  I close the message, frowning, then leave my desk, looking out the window. How dare he send me such a letter? How dare he try to be my father?

  No. I refuse to see him, to give in to his pleas.

  Why should I have dinner with him? Why should I believe his words? Why should I let him off the hook?

  I have no reason to.

  ***

  “You should do it for your own peace of mind,” Lindsey tells me as she pushes the cart down the aisle of the baby store.

  She came to New York to talk to her publisher, and I decided to take advantage of the opportunity and get her to help me shop for some baby essentials. I also told her about Dennis’ email. I didn’t think she’d try to convince me to meet him though.

  “If I go have dinner with him, he’ll think I’ve forgiven him,” I tell her, stopping to try a rattle.

  “Why don’t you forgive him?”

  I look at her in shock, the rattle falling to the floor. “What?”

  Lindsey picks up the rattle and puts it back. “I’m not telling you to do it for his sake. I’m telling you to do it for yourself. When you don’t forgive, you choose to burden yourself. You tie yourself to the past and when you do that, you can’t live the present fully. You lose out.”

  “I know.” I’ve heard all that crap before. “But I just can’t forgive him.”

  “I’m not telling you this as a psychologist. I’m telling you this because I decided to forgive Mark.”

  I look at her. “You did?”

  “I didn’t want to at first. I wasn’t sure I could ever trust him again. But you kind of inspired me.”

  “Me?” I point a finger at myself.

  “You and Grant. You showed me that men can change for the women they love. Also, you did forgive Grant, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Sometimes, you just have to let go of the past and look to the future. And forgiveness is just another word for that.”

  I sigh. “Listen. I’m glad that you and Mark are doing well again. But I just can’t forgive Dennis. He ruined my mother’s life.”

  “He left your mother. She ruined her own life.”

  “Fine but… If he hadn’t brought my mother and me to the US, things might have been different for her. She could have been happy. You see, the reason why she ended up the way she did was because he gave her so much hope. He made her rely on him. And then he left her.”

  “If you didn’t come here to the US, you wouldn’t have met Grant. If you hadn’t gone through all those hardships, you would not be the woman you are today,” Lindsey points out, leaning on the cart. “But don’t dwell on the should-have-beens and shouldn’t haves. Don’t dwell in the past. Grant is trying to make peace with his past. Shouldn’t you do the same?”

  I hate it when she’s right.

  “The only thing Dennis did was get out of a toxic relationship and start over.” Lindsey starts pushing the cart again. “The only mistake he made was leaving you behind, which he’s now trying to make up for.”

  “So, we should just forget about what happened to my mother?” I ask as I get a stuffed toy from the shelf, hugging it.

  “I’m saying your mother isn’t here, and Dennis is practically the only family you have left, right? You’re going to have a child soon, Abby. Don’t you want your child to have a grandfather?”

  I haven’t really thought of that.

  “If you don’t let go of the past, you’ll teach your child about hate. Don’t do that.”

  I give up.

  “Fine. I’ll have dinner with him.” I put the toy back on the shelf. “Now can we shop?”

  Lindsey smiles. “Sure. What else do you need?”

  ***

  “I definitely need to come back to this restaurant and have more of their Death by Chocolate,” I tell Dennis as I wipe my mouth with the table napkin, having just finished three servings. “And I think when I’m not pregnant anymore, I’ll have some of their Death by Coffee. The one you had looked absolutely gorgeous.”

  “It did taste amazing,” Dennis agrees, taking a sip from his glass of wine. “I’m glad I chose this restaurant. More than that, I’m glad that you agreed to have dinner with me.”

  I reach for my own glass of water. “So am I.”

  Truth be told, I was dreading this dinner, but it wasn’t so bad and not just because the food was delicious but because Dennis was cordial all throughout, even funny at times. He seemed genuinely interested in everything I had to say.

  Maybe, just maybe, Lindsey’s right. It’s time to move on, both for my child’s sake and mine.

  “So, are you going to stick around New York?” I ask.

  “Why do you ask?”

  I shrug. “Because, you know, you said you wanted to be the father I never had. I was thinking since I’m having a baby, it would be nice to have some family to welcome him or her.”

  Dennis smiles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be around.”

  “Good.” I take another sip of water.

  “I can’t believe you’re having your own family but I am very happy for you. Your mother would have been, too.”

  I pause, my mother being mentioned for the first time since we started dinner. I suppose it’s inevitable, though. She’s our common factor, after all. In fact, it’s a miracle we’ve only started talking about her now.

  “Did you read about what happened to her?” I ask him, putting down my glass but keeping my fingers around it.

  “Yes.” He taps his fingers on the table. “It’s unfortunate, really, that she had to die that way – in such a ghastly manner.”

  “I didn’t look at the pictures.”

  “Oh. Well, it’s good you didn’t. I shouldn’t have. They haunt me sometimes.”

  I imagine they would.

  “When they do, I sometimes feel sorry for her but then, you know, she brought it upon herself.”

  I stroke the glass. “I know.”

  Like Lindsey said, my mother had the choice to rise above the circumstances or sink lower and unfortunately, she chose the latter.

  “She should have known better than to go out with some four-eyed nerd. They’ve got issues, you know. Insecurities.”

  I pause, my fingers tightening around the glass.

  Health nut?

  While I didn’t look at the pictures, I did read the article, which said my mother’s killer was Bernard Peters, who was an engineer. There wasn’t anything about him wearing glasses, though, or being a nerd.

  Was there?

  Chapter 16

  Questions

  Grant

  “What are you doing?” I ask Abby as I enter her office, puzzled by the sheets of paper scattered all around her.

  When she got out of bed earlier, I thought she was just going to the kitchen to grab a midnight snack or a glass of water. When she didn’t come back after ten minutes, I went to look for her, confused when I didn’t find her in the kitchen. I
searched the house, eventually finding her in her office.

  “I thought I told you to take a break from work.” I walk toward her. “You need your rest, Abby. The baby is more important.”

  “This isn’t work,” she answers, not even looking up from the papers.

  Sighing, I kneel and pick up one of them, surprised when I find that it’s a printed news article about the death of Cristina Gomez, her mother. I pick up another, and it’s the same story but by a different writer from a different website. So is the next and the next and the next, some of them with gruesome pictures, the only exception a print-out about a man named Bernard Peters.

  I frown. “What’s going on, Abby?”

  She doesn’t answer, reading an article.

  “Abby.” I grab her arm. “What’s going on here?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she finally answers. “Something was bothering me.”

  “What?”

  “Something about my mother’s death.”

  I frown. “I knew you shouldn’t have had dinner with Dennis. You’re not supposed to get upset.”

  “I’m not upset,” she tells me, wrenching her arm away and going through another article. “I’m… confused, troubled.”

  “Of course, you’d be troubled. These are pictures of bloody corpses.”

  “It’s not that that troubles me. It’s something that’s missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “Dennis said he read about my mother’s death and then he said something about her boyfriend, the one who supposedly killed her and then killed himself, being a four-eyed nerd. But there’s nothing in the articles about that.”

  “What?” My eyebrows furrow. “Are you playing detective now?”

  She doesn’t answer, getting back to reading.

  I sigh. “Abby, the article Dennis read could have been taken down, okay?”

  Still, no answer.

  “What? Are you saying Dennis had something to do with your mother’s death? I thought after he walked out the door, he never contacted any of you again.”

  “I thought so, too. I’m not saying they had any contact. I’m really just trying to figure out why Dennis said what he said. If you look at the pictures of Bernard, he isn’t wearing glasses.”

  “You can hardly see his face, Abby,” I point out.

  “I can see that he’s not wearing glasses.”

  “Maybe Dennis just made that comment for no reason.”

  “He sounded spiteful, though.”

  I sigh. “Go back to bed, Abby.”

  “I’m not sleepy.”

  “Abby.”

  She stands up, her gaze pleading with mine. “I’m sorry, Grant. I just have to get this bee out of my bonnet, you know. I told the cops not to investigate my mother’s death because I was convinced that it was simple. I already knew how my mother acted around men so everything fit. But what if it wasn’t simple? What if something else happened, and I just didn’t want to see it because I was hurting?”

  I pull her into my arms. “Of course, you were hurting. You lost your mother.”

  “I have to find out how, Grant,” she whispers against my chest. “I just have to.”

  “I know.” I kiss the top of her head. “Go to bed. I’ll have someone investigate it – a professional who isn’t pregnant.”

  She looks up at me with a frown. “Did you just insult me?”

  “No. I’m helping you.”

  “Who’s going to investigate, though? Roger isn’t here.”

  She’s right. Roger is currently in London. He’s not the only one capable of investigating something like this, though.

  “I know someone.”

  ***

  “You want me to investigate a woman’s death?” Cassie casts me a puzzled glance from the driver’s seat of her Subaru Forester.

  Cassandra Hall or Cassie, as I like to call her, is a private detective, one recommended to me by Roger’s friend. Sometimes, I ask her to gather information for me, usually about women. She was even the one who put together that file on Abby.

  This is usually how we meet so people won’t know about us – in her car parked somewhere out of sight and surveillance.

  “What? Are you into dead women now?” she teases, sucking on the lollipop in her hand.

  She’s always been sassy. That’s one of the things I like about her. I have to say she’s hot, too, with that hair of hers that’s a different color each time I see her – pink this time – and her slender figure that reminds me of a gymnast’s. I’ve never fucked her, though. I can’t say I never wanted to but I’ve never tried. I don’t know. Maybe I just don’t want to mess with her.

  “I’m interested in this one,” I tell her. “Because she’s the mother of my pregnant girlfriend.”

  “Congratulations.”

  She pops the lollipop inside her mouth and gets the folder from my hand, going through the papers inside, which are some of the articles that Abby printed.

  When she’s done, she tosses the folder into the backseat.

  “This will take more work.” She leans against the back of her seat, placing her arms around the headrest. “You need to pay me a little more.”

  “Of course,” I assure her. “I’m especially interested in finding out if a man named Dennis Cooper is involved.”

  “Dennis Cooper,” she repeats.

  “He currently works in the marketing department of Parsons Entertainment.”

  Cassie nods. “Sure.”

  “And I need this as soon as possible.”

  “Got it.”

  I get out of her car, looking around before getting into mine. As I drive away, I let out a sigh. At least, that’s done. Hopefully, Cassie can get answers soon before Abby gets worn out from thinking too much and hopefully, they’re the answers Abby needs. I’m starting to get worried about her and the baby.

  After a few minutes, my phone rings. I pick it up, looking at the screen.

  Lindsey?

  Why is Lindsey calling?

  I press the button to answer the call. “Hello.”

  “Hey, Grant. Is Abby with you? She was supposed to meet me but she suddenly canceled, saying she had something important to do. She didn’t say what, though, and I’ve been trying to call her but she’s not answering.”

  I stop the car near the curb. “What?”

  “I know she could just be shopping or, you know, trying to relax but I just can’t help but worry. Is she with you?”

  “No.”

  But I have a feeling I know what she’s gone to do.

  Fuck.

  “Grant?”

  “I’ll call you back,” I tell her, ending the call and making another as I continue driving.

  “Forgot something?” Cassie answers at once.

  “Get me the address of Dennis Cooper’s apartment here in New York now. I don’t care what it costs.”

  “Okay.”

  I don’t even care if I have to give Cassie a million dollars. Right now, Abby’s safety is my utmost priority.

  I have to get to her as soon as possible.

  Don’t do anything stupid, Abby.

  Chapter 17

  Answers

  Abby

  This is either very stupid or very brave, I think, as I look around Dennis’ Brooklyn apartment.

  How did I get here? I asked Dennis if I could come, saying that I wanted to see his place and to have another talk – a sequel to the catch-up dinner we had. He was more than happy to give me directions and so here I am.

  Why am I here? I’m here to find answers to my questions, of course. I know Grant hired a private investigator who’s probably ten times more competent than I am but I just can’t wait to know the truth and put my mind at ease.

  Even if it means putting yourself and your baby in danger?

  I know it’s risky but I’ve promised I’ll be careful. I even brought a small can of pepper spray that I have in the back pocket of my pants, though I hope I don’t have to use it. Who k
nows? I might find something here in the apartment right now while Dennis is out buying pizza.

  I start searching, beginning with the drawer of the nightstand in his bedroom. I don’t really know what I’m looking for. A bloody shirt? A matchbox with the name of the motel where my mother was killed that puts him at the scene of the crime? Something tells me I’ll know it when I find it.

  Well, it’s not in this drawer, which only has a bunch of receipts, some change, a pack of chewing gum, and a cell phone charger.

  I move to the other drawers in the room, frowning when I find nothing but clothes. I search the closet and under the bed, doing so as fast as I can in my condition, but there’s nothing there, either.

  Where else do I look? Under the pillow? In the bookshelf?

  Still, I find nothing.

  I sigh. Maybe I should just give up and leave it to the investigator to find the answers I’m looking for?

  That’s what I’m planning to do but suddenly, I feel the need to go to the bathroom, which has been happening frequently lately – normal for a pregnant woman, I’m told. I go there, washing my hands after I flush the toilet. As I do, I find myself staring at the mirror and something occurs to me.

  Medicine cabinet.

  Some people keep their secrets in their medicine cabinets.

  I open it, finding a lot of stuff inside – cotton balls, bandages, antiseptics, facial products, pill bottles, the usual.

  Yup. Just an ordinary medicine cabinet with no secrets. Or so I think until I notice something strange with one of the orange pill bottles – it doesn’t look like it has pills inside.

  What is inside?

  I take the bottle, managing to twist the lid open after several tries. I pop its contents into my hand to find a necklace inside. Not just any necklace. My mother’s necklace that she wore the day she married Dennis, a present from him. She always wore it, even after Dennis left, and when I asked her why, she simply said it was hers, not his, and that she had grown used to having it around her neck.