by Eve Bradley
But this has to be fake. Could Shawn have made something like this? I know that people can manipulate photos, but when has he ever taken a photo of me? I shiver as the pain radiates through me, and the shock of what he’s showing me registers. Even if I wanted to know, now I may never get answers.
“So,” James sniffs and gives me an expression that is as careless as Daniel’s, and I realize that he’s been pretending to show the slightest interest in my bait. “At this point, it’s not about the money. I don’t think you’d give back to me, and I really don’t care. Now I have something every crime syndicate in the world would pay millions to have. I think this has panned out quite well for us. Oh, and it was a very nice try breaking the bond between two brothers who have played this game for years. Honestly, I expected better from you.”
I lose my breath, but this time, not from the sharp toe of Daniel’s boot. I feel like this is all one huge joke, and pretty soon everyone will start laughing and we’ll all share a nice chuckle and be on our way.
“That doesn’t mean we can’t use you how we want until we get the proper price in order,” James smirks, and I swear that I see the corners of his mouth watering.
James grabs me by the back of my shirt and pulls me to a stand, and I scream, horrified at what I know is about to happen. I am completely unable to fight against him. My body is aching and my entire being is flooded with a hurricane of confusion. All I can do is scream. Scream at the unfairness of life, and the hatred I have for my inability to save myself.
He pulls at my shorts, dragging them down as I wrestle for freedom. But then I hear the door blast open, and there’s a gunshot. James releases me and I whip around to see Alexi standing there in the doorway, gun raised at James. Beside him in a sick contorted heap is Daniel, his throat gurgling as he slides down the wall.
“Run! We can’t hold off his guys for long. Don’t look back,” Alexi urges me. His expression is severe and imploring. I can’t stop myself, never have I wanted to escape so badly. Instantly I throttle myself past him and search for a doorway out. I hear gunshots down the opposite hallway, catch a glimpse of Rhett’s leather coat as he heads the opposite direction. That must be where James’ men are coming from. There’s another doorway, one that leads to a long wide hallway with dirty windows all along its length. I’m stifling cries as I run, awkwardly trying to force myself to go- to rush. Adrenaline courses through me as I jog along the clear hall, leaving everything behind.
I’ll start a new life. I’ll go find that money at Post Ranch Inn and head out from there. I can go to Las Vegas. Homeless girls live well there. I hear roars and bellows from behind, from the place where I know I almost was raped and could have died. Gunshots. So many rattle in my head that it makes me nearly mad.
Then, I imagine them. I think about Rhett and Alexi holding off the men for me. They saved me, and I left them to die. Everything that I am and everything that I was threatens to eclipse the experiences I’ve had with them, and although giving in to the sweet sinister desire to care only for myself is alluring, I can’t stop the images of these three men from shuttering through my mind, an endless reel, an endless loop of moments that have made me feel…alive. My selfish state before them calls to me, a siren to my fight or flight senses. But now I have to choose. What type of life do I want to have?
I stagger to a halt, panting from the awkward run, lungs heaving, heart racing, and my mind resolving. I have to go back.
Running back down the hall, I can think only of them. Why should they care for me? Why should they even want me to be safe? Nothing makes sense. Only that I want them to be okay, and I’m not going to leave them to save myself if they’re going to die in the process.
I barrel through the doorway and see Rhett and Alexi both on the ground, and then I hear more gunshots, followed by a sharp stabbing pain that radiates across my abdomen. I don’t want to accept it, although I feel the small hole where it’s entered. I can’t accept that I’ve been shot. Shocked, I fly forward, knowing that this is it. I hold my hand over the wound, losing myself as my vision weakens. I can’t regret it. Not when they’ve given me the gift of knowing that life is so much more than I’ve dreamed it to be. Not when I now know what it feels like to be loved.
Fourteen
Hospital Gowns
And in the end, we all died.
Just kidding. I’ve been awake for a day, laying on my back in a hospital bed, feeling like the life has been ripped out of me cell by cell. The beeping is what inconsequentially wakes me, and then I become used to it again and fall back into a deep sleep, the kind that I nearly wish I wouldn’t wake up from because it’s so reviving. There’s an ache deep in my gut, but other than that, I sometimes wake up to extreme gratitude. I’m alive.
I clench the diamond key at my neck that Shawn bought for me as if it’s a reminder that everything that just happened is real.
Then, one morning, he comes to me. He comes with the same professional, dominating gait and suave expression, and I can hardly believe that he’s here. That he’s a real being. Because even though I know him, his body, the way his cock feels inside me, the way his hands feel on my skin, the way his blondish hair is always immaculately clean, the way his icy eyes send shots of fear and desire down to the very pits of my soul, he looks inhumanly perfect. He, in his way, adjusts his cuffs as he slowly comes to stand over the hospital bed, and looks down at me.
“You’re a wreck.”
I want to cry. I can hardly move because my body’s still crippled in pain, but I try to scoot myself up so that I can speak with him.
“Don’t move. It’s alright, Allie,” he says a bit more softly.
I let out a frustrated breath and lick my dry, cracked lips, blinking against the unnatural fluorescent lights. Shawn comes to sit beside me and reaches for my hand, the California sun still evident in his tan. His fingers are warm around mine and enclose my hand almost completely.
“Are they okay?” I croak out, afraid to know the answer. My heart begins to beat faster, nausea rising in my stomach. I don’t know if I can handle the answer. Would I rather be dead if they’ve not survived?
“Alexi and Rhett are alive,” Shawn affirms, his voice hollow. These words salvage my anguished heart, and slowly, carefully, I feel myself start to pick the pieces up and put the puzzle of myself back together. I try to decipher what his tone means, but then, as I analyze his downturned gaze, I realize that he is battling against emotion.
“I’m so sorry…for everything.” My words come out in a torrent of jumbled almost unintelligible murmurs, and I press my lips together, holding back the tears.
“Everything is fine now, Allison,” Shawn says, but somehow I don’t believe him. I shake my head, but he reaches out and with his thumb and forefinger, stops my chin.
“It’s my fault for involving you. I’ve become reckless. I’ve an illusion of grandeur. Sometimes I forget that this is real life, and that every choice I make has consequences. This is very clear to me now. Now more than ever,” he says, and he gives me no hint that he will smile or show the kindness I have seen within him before.
“What happened to them? How did everything…” I don’t know what questions to ask. There are so many on my tongue fighting to be asked.
“I constructed a plan. I went to my connections in the government and told them that you, Allison Banks, my girlfriend, along with Rhett and Alexi, were taken hostage and held for ransom. I showed the police forged documents and then told them I’d located you all. It was soon after that there was a stakeout and James and his men were arrested. Each of you were taken to the hospital immediately. I sorted out all of the documentation and things like that,” he explains, and then shrugs, his gray suit shifting on his bulky shoulders. “James was yelling his own allegations, but there’s too much evidence against him. Not only this, but I had a few of my guys call in anonymous tips on the Young Brothers and their mob. Their locations across California should be shut down, and whatever businesses the
y have going should stop in the process.”
I let out a sigh of relief.
“Then, you got away with it? You have his money?” I say, lowering my voice.
Shawn finally snickers, his smile almost reaching his eyes and causing those crinkles to appear. “Well, I don’t know. Do I have it, or does Penny?”
I roll my eyes and groan.
“What the fuck was that about?” I remark, nearly returning to my savage self. “You put me in the worst position! They thought I’d stolen their money and that I was playing them all, even you, the entire time.”
Shawn seems idly amused, as if he knows something boldly obvious that I haven’t come around to.
“If James thought for one second you were the one who owned the accounts and you were the only one who had access to them, he wouldn’t kill you. I planted the information so that if this happened he’d do anything to keep you alive, and I want you alive, Allie.”
“Do you?” I ask, mildly moved. “How’d you even know where we were?”
Shawn reaches out and taps the diamonds that dangle over my hospital gown. “A key for safe keeping.”
I can’t even be angry that he gave me a tracker. I did try to run before. What assails me now is the moment in which James showed me the sinisterly similar woman in the file with her short, black hair and jet-black eyeliner. Penelope looked exactly like me, only harsher.
“You mean, Penny?” I say, and look down at where our hands are tangled together.
Shawn nods, and his sigh resembles that of a defeated man.
“I planted that file so that James and Daniel would have access to it,” he starts to explain. “And don’t worry. I retrieved it before government officials could find it.”
“I could have guessed that,” I state stiffly. “What I don’t understand is how it looked so real. Where’d you get the picture?”
Shawn tilts his head and leans back a bit, acknowledging my questions.
“Do you trust me still, sweetheart?” he says, and I hear the deep richness of tone, steep with both austerity and fondness. “Because if I answer your question, there’s no coming back from it. For either of us.”
My heart beats like a frantic horse, galloping towards freedom. A freedom that may be in the opposite direction of the truth of what he’s about to say. I don’t know, do I even want to know? Do I even care at this point? I’m mentally exhausted, emotionally drained, and all I can think about is that everyone is okay, and the Young Brothers and their men are all in prison. Still, the pictures and the description of Penelope Windsor has left a sour taste in my mouth, one that won’t be washed away with time.
“I trust you…Mr. Van Doren.”
Shawn seems pleased and sucks in a deep breath.
“You were her,” he says.
These three words catapult me into shock. I release his hand and look off towards the window, haunted by the words I’d read. Sociopath. Liar. Arson. Assault. Grand Theft. Robbery. Murder.
“How…” I gasp.
Shawn reaches out and holds my shoulders.
“You’re not her now. You know how I know that everything inside of you has changed?” he says, but I can hardly hear him, because I’m absorbed in a million outrageous questions and thoughts. “You went back for Alexi and Rhett. You never would have done that before.”
What does this mean? Does this mean I was a sociopathic criminal? How? For how long? Are my memories even true? Is my mother and Emily…are they even real to me? My heart feels as if there are suddenly a thousand more cracks along its surface, and the essence of my reality is oozing out.
“But I don’t…I can’t…my mom and Emily…” my thoughts scatter themselves across the room.
“Everything you experienced before was mostly true. You’re just missing certain memories. And a few years,” Shawn expresses. “And even if you wanted those memories back, I don’t think you could ever get them.”
I shake my head, my brain rattling around as if I’m a fucking moron. I swear pretty soon, if I take much more, I’ll be admitted to a mental hospital.
“But then that means you knew me before…” I utter breathlessly. “That means…oh my god, was I the one Rhett was talking about? Was I the one that betrayed you all?”
Shawn seems annoyed at this, but he finally inclines his head a fraction, confirming my fears.
“So you knew me as Penelope before,” I start off, trying to wrap my head around the insanity of it all. “And what happened? What did I do? How can someone even take your memories? What did I do to all of you?” I ramble, simultaneously both impressed with my prior self and hateful of her.
“Allie,” Shawn lifts up from his seat on the bed, the hospital cot creaking as he moves his weight forward so that his face is irresistibly close to mine. “Hush, sweetheart. You don’t need to know it all right now. You have to rest. For now. When you get out of here…I have a few things I want to show you.”
“I’m definitely not a sweetheart if I betrayed you, Rhett, and Alexi!” I burst, but the exertion causes the stiches in my stomach to pierce with pain.
Shawn chuckles, and he reaches out to draw a hand through my hair, his fingers tracing my face as he goes.
“You were always a brat,” he smirks, expression cynically bemused. “But then, I’ve always liked your spirit.”
“Shawn. You have to tell me. I can’t just not know,” I plead, wholly beyond myself.
Shawn goes to grab something from behind the curtain that parts my bed from the doorway, and as he swings it around, he tosses it onto the foot of my bed.
“I believe that belongs to you, doesn’t it?”
I don’t fucking believe it. It’s my black bag of twenty-thousand dollars. I can’t help it. I start to smile, and then, I can’t hold it back. I laugh. The audacity of it all causes me to hold my side and allow the laughter to torture me cruelly, because I suppose, self-sabotage is a better kind of torture than if it were done to me by someone else. Shawn comes and kisses my forehead, the gentlest kiss he’s ever given me.
“When you’re better,” he says, tone low and gravelly as his breath hits my ear. “I’m going to fuck you until you scream for me to stop. Is that alright?”
I am speechless, and reach up for the collar of his shirt.
“I look forward to it, Mr. Van Doren.”
Fifteen
Underground Operation
You know what they say, that change is the only constant thing in life. Every other stable thing in our world is an illusion, and the only thing we can count on is the shifting tides of life. But now that I’m standing here, looking at the tiny trailer house that housed me as a girl, I feel that this is unavoidably true. I’ve watched the house for almost a full day, and I remember feeling that being there was forever. That living in that space in poverty, with sunrise to sunset screaming, glass shattering, fists being thrown, and fear in every footstep, it felt completely universal. But standing here as an outsider looking in, I inhale freedom and perspective.
Even if these memories aren’t exact, it still comforts me to know that my mom is my mom and Emily is still my sister. And now I’m here to try to give something back to them after leaving them to pick up the pieces after I shot my stepdad. I’m thankful that he left them, even though I know they still struggle. But hopefully this will help at least a little. There will be more to come in the future, and I’ll be sure to make this clear to them in the note I leave.
I clench the black handle of the bag that holds the cash I’d earned from one night out with Shawn Van Doren, and almost laugh at the insanity of what’s occurred since then. This isn’t the last of the money. I have over a million dollars in Penny Windsor’s account, the access codes Shawn has told me he’ll give to me at dinner tonight.
Orlando, the driver, sits in the rental car waiting for me around the corner of the shitty little neighborhood. I have a flight in two hours that’ll take me back to California. I may as well get it over with.
I hur
ry up a rickety wooden staircase that leads into the trailer. It’s easy to use a credit card to open the door, and when I enter, I’m accosted by the scent of old food and days-old trash. I go to the table, littered with bills and mail from creditors, and set the bag in the center, atop all of the junk.
“Okay…” I whisper to myself as I grab for a letter. I turn one over and find a blank space, and then grab for one of the pens laying around.
Mom and Emily,
I want you to have this. I’ll be sending more again soon. I don’t know how I’ll get it to you, but I’ll figure it out. Just know that from now on I’ll be looking out for you. I can’t stay to say hello for obvious reasons, just know that I’ve missed you both and hope that this helps.
Allie.
Or do they know me as Penny?
Allie/Penny.
I don’t know why, but tears are streaming down my face. Droplets pitter onto the page, and I draw back, leaving the letter in an obvious spot. I hate myself for leaving them. I hate myself for a lot of things that maybe I don’t even fully understand because of Penelope’s fragmented memories. All I can do is hope, and pray, that this is enough for now, and that if I’d hurt them in my previous experience, that they can forgive me.
Wiping my eyes, I shake away the grief and leave the trailer home that still retains the hushed insidious shellshock that I remember so well.
Shawn smiles at me, his index finger on his lower lip as he looks at me from across the limo. Fully healed, I feel excited to be blushing under his gaze again. It’s been a month at least, but that time hasn’t been without visits. Rhett and Alexi have visited me as well, and now they’re posted up in Shawn’s mansion, waiting for me to come back to them.