VEGAS follows you home

by Sadie Grubor

  "Becky, pull over," I demand. "I’ll come get you and explain everything."

  "You aren't coming near me or MY son!"

  "Christ, Rebecca, I need you to pull over and turn off the car, please? Tell me where you park and I'll send anyone else but me. You don't have to be around me, just please pull over. Please, baby," I beg.

  "You've ruined everything. You've let…" Her sobs make the rest inaudible.

  Tears stream down my face while I slip into my jacket and shoes.

  "I hate you, Damon!"

  "You can hate me, just please calm down and pull over. I'll explain everything to you."

  "You'll never see us again!" she screams.

  "Becky—"

  Screeching tires steal the words as my breath whooshes out of me. Crunching metal, a scream, broken glass, and a cry tighten my chest. The silence that follows feels like a death sentence.

  "What happened?" Vivianne's voice wavers.

  Unable to speak, I rush from the hotel room.

  "Damon, wait—"

  The slam of the room door cuts her off. I skip the elevator and run down the flights of stairs. Reaching the lobby, I bark orders for my car to the valet. Pacing impatiently while I wait, I pull out my cell and try to call Rebecca.

  Voicemail. My stomach flips.

  I dial again.

  Voicemail.

  This time, I call Hugh.

  "Damon?"

  "Hugh, has Rebecca been there at all tonight?"

  Panicked, I don't know where to begin looking for her. I need a starting point.

  "No. What's wrong, Damon?"

  Running through the phone call as fast as possible, I keep my eyes on the drive, waiting for my car.

  "Shit, Damon, what were you thinking?" Hugh admonishes.

  My car arrives and I climb behind the wheel.

  "I know, Hugh. I know. I was weak, but it didn't go far. I just—"

  A beep interrupts me. Without a word to Hugh, I answer call waiting.

  "Becky?" I gasp, feeling relief at seeing her number.

  "Is this Mr. Damon Knyght?"

  The voice is formal and male. Not Rebecca. My relief vanishes.

  "Yes," I choke.

  "Sir, I'm afraid your wife and son have been in an accident." He pauses and the lull in conversation terrifies me. "Mr. Knyght, we need you to meet us—"

  "Where is she? Are they okay?"

  The car swerves a bit.

  "Sir, we'll need you to come down here."

  He provides directions and I drive the short distance between my biggest mistake and largest loss.

  Arriving to the scene, I run from my car, leaving it running with the door open.

  At first, the mangled metal is unrecognizable. Then I realize it's Rebecca's car, or what's left of it. From the corner of my eye, I see paramedics pushing a gurney. I stalk toward them.

  Hands grip at my arms, voices shout for me to stop, but the anguish propels me forward. Reaching out, I strip away one white sheet.

  Looking down on the lifeless body of my son feels like a wrecking ball to my gut. Engulfing him in my arms, I hold him to my chest.

  "Wake up, DJ. Please, wake up!" I squeeze harder. "Please, God, not him! Let him wake up." Screaming, I shake him.

  Hands pull DJ's body from my arms and blackness takes over.

  The next morning, I wake in a private hospital. Having been medically sedated at the scene and through the night, doctors speak around me to my mother and father.

  I say nothing. I don't deserve to be alive, to be lying here breathing. I should be dead, not them. My unresponsiveness and overall state of being gets me placed on suicide watch.

  After another day of the same, the doctors want to release me to an institution for medical treatment. Of course, my mother won't allow it, afraid of the family reputation. So, she hides me and my treatment well.

  The day of the funeral, the doctors are reluctant to let me go — still unsure of my mental state. I bargain my sanity and promise to cooperate with treatment in order to say goodbye to the woman I loved and our son. The night after the funeral, I take all the pills from the cabinet in my temporary room at my mothers.

  Three days later, I wake, still alive, in a private location. Strapped to a bed and routinely injected with unknown medications, I remember my mother being there once. It's the only time I see her and she looks nothing but disappointed and disgusted.

  My father and Heidi routinely visit, along with Hugh. Hugh tries to pull me out of the comatose state, but there’s no reason to come back.

  Heidi arrives for a typical Sunday visit, but this time, she brings a photo album. She talks about them, about my life with them. My first words are to request the picture she has in her hand. She allows me to look, but won't give it to me until I prove I'm well enough to have the photo. She returns day after day, coaxing me from the fog I'd been living in.

  Guilt and regret haunt my rehabilitation, shadowing me the entire time I stay with my mother for outpatient treatment and living inside of me every day I wake up breathing. Miserable most days, I live life for everyone else. Dead inside, I bury myself in work.

  Until the letter from the clinic. The moment the letter is in my hands, I plan and plot. Three patients. Three women who received my sperm. The hunt begins until I have answers.

  I stretch from a balled up position on the little couch, my back cracking in protest. Sitting up, my head throbs, my heart aches, and I feel nauseated from guilt and regret. I stand, groaning from the ache in my back.

  When I open the office door, the apartment is quiet. Too quiet.

  Slowly and carefully, I take the steps toward Alex's room. I push open his door and find it empty. Rushing to my room, I find the bed untouched. My stomach lurches into my throat and I begin a frantic search of the apartment.

  "Olivia! Alex!" I shout, going room to room.

  The throbbing in my head slowly subsides from the adrenaline coursing through me.

  "Fuck!" I shout to the empty apartment. "I can't believe her."

  Running, I retrieve my cell phone from my office desk. Picking up the device, I notice the time.

  "There's only two hours until their flight." I shake my head. She snuck out without letting me tell Alex goodbye, without letting me explain everything to her.

  Exiting my apartment, I call down to the doorman and learn that Olivia left for the airport early this morning. Holding my anger at bay, I request my car and hang up.

  In the lobby, I stalk to the front doors.

  "Mr. Knyght, the car has not yet arrived." His eyes widen, taking in my disheveled appearance.

  "Christ," I curse, exiting the building.

  I find a yellow car parked on the curb and hurry toward it.

  "Hey." I flag down two people starting to climb into the car. "Wait!"

  I reach the car as the man is helping his wife into the back.

  "I need this cab, please. I need to get to the airport."

  "I'm sorry, but you will just have to wait for yours to arrive." The lady sticks her nose in the air.

  "I'll pay you," I blurt. Reaching into my wallet, the man starts to protest. "Five hundred dollars." I extend the money to him.

  "Well, I never—"

  "Shut up, Susan." The man hushes his wife, pulling her from the car. "It's all yours." He grabs the money from my hand.

  "Frank, you can't be serious."

  It's the last I hear from Susan before I close the cab door, toss him my credit card, and demand JFK airport.

  "Yes, sir!" The driver smiles.

  During the drive, I try to reach Olivia by phone. No answer, so I try texts.

  How could you just leave?

  No response. My anger grows.

  You didn't even allow me to say goodbye to him.

  No response. My anger sprouts horns.

  I won't let you leave me.

  No response. My anger boils into fury.

  All of my calls go unanswered and my desperation forms
into rage.

  "Olivia, I swear to God, if you get on the plane without letting me see my son, I will make your life a living hell. Do you understand? I warned you."

  Using my phone, I reserve a plane ticket.

  My next attempt is the airport, trying to have them pull her from her flight. Of course, they won't do it unless the police or other authorities contact them. My further rebuttals get me hung up on.

  "Bitch," I growl.

  The cab driver glances at me curiously.

  "Can't we get there any faster?" I bark.

  "Dude, I'm going as—"

  My rage unleashes.

  "Don't ever call me dude! Get me to the fucking airport or I will make sure you regret every day you have left in this world!"

  His eyes widen, his posture straightens, and the car shoots forward.

  No longer in control of anything, I pull my phone out once more.

  You will regret this Olivia! I'll make sure of it!

  Enjoy seeing him now, because I will be taking him from you soon enough!

  Don't get on that plane. You both are mine!

  When the cab arrives to the airport, I leap from the car and rush toward the customer service desks. Lost in my anger, I push through the long line until I reach the desk. A man goes to argue, but with one look, I shut him up.

  "Sir, you need to wait your turn," the attendant states with fake smile.

  "Damon Knyght." I toss my ID on the counter. "Give me the damn ticket now."

  Aware of my agitation, she pulls my information up in the system and prints the tickets.

  "Do you have any luggage—?"

  Grabbing the ticket, I rush away before she finishes.

  Arriving to the security checkpoint, I shake with impatience.

  "Fuck this." I push through the line again to reach the front.

  "Sir, you need to get back in line," a man in a security uniform says, standing before me.

  "I'm in a hurry," I snap, trying to walk around him for the metal detector.

  "I'm afraid you aren't going anywhere, sir." His arm stretches out, blocking me.

  "Get out of my way. I have a flight to catch," I sneer.

  "You need to calm down, sir." Grabbing my arm, he guides me toward the cluster of security people.

  Pulling from his grasp, I glare at him.

  "I am calm!" I yell.

  Suddenly, two more sets of hands land on me.

  "You're going to have to come with us, sir."

  "Let go!" I struggle, but they are large and easily restrain me.

  "Calm down," guard one demands.

  "I'll miss my flight." I struggle harder and manage to loosen one arm. Unleashing a fist, I hit the other guard and break free.

  Hurrying for the shuttle that will take me to the gate, a large force crashes into me. We crumble to the floor.

  "Get off me!"

  The guard pulls my arm behind my back and shoves upward, causing jolts of sharp pain.

  "That will be enough out of you," the familiar guard growls.

  Guard two helps to pull me from the floor. He has blood from his nose smeared across his cheek. With both arms pulled behind my back, they click the cold metal around my wrists and lead me to a secluded security room.

  "I need to get to my wife," I cry out.

  "You're coming with us."

  Passengers in line at security cheer for the guards.

  Two hours in a holding room at the airport and the police finally arrive to take me. Homeland Security finished their investigation, so it's the local law’s turn to take me to a jail cell.

  "He's in here." The booking officer shows Hugh into the room.

  "Damon," Hugh sighs, shaking his head.

  "I need to get out of here. She left and took Alex." Gripping the bars, I plead with him.

  "Son, you need to calm yourself." My father's voice surprises me. "We've come to take you home." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Your mother is furious about the scene you caused."

  "I don't give a shit what that vile woman thinks about anything," I snap. "She's a conniving, evil person!"

  Both Hugh and my father look at me with wide eyes.

  "Did he just—"

  "Yes, he did," my father answers before Hugh's question is finished.

  "Get me out of here. I need to go to Pittsburgh."

  "Oh, no, you don't." Hugh shakes his head. "You are coming back to my place to collect yourself before you cause any more damage."

  "I don't have time for—"

  If you want out, then you'll do as I say." Hugh raises one brow, crossing his arms over his chest.

  I glance to my father.

  "I’m with your brother on this one."

  With a heavy sigh, I concede. "Fine."

  Upon release, the officer gives me my personal belongings as well as paperwork.

  "Give me those." Hugh reaches out, taking my phone and wallet.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  "You won't need these right now." He motions for me to follow to a waiting black car.

  I follow, reluctantly.

  The silence of the drive is cut by Hugh's phone.

  "We're on our way now."

  My eyes narrow, knowing he's talking about me.

  "That's perfect. Of course. No. We'll see you shortly." He pauses for a moment before smiling. "I love you, too."

  Furrowing my brow, I rub at the ache in my chest. Olivia and Alex are gone.

  "Damon, I know you're hurting, but you need to calm down before you react." My father rubs his forehead. "I don't know what you were thinking."

  "It doesn't matter now," I growl. "You let them leave and now there isn't anything I can do."

  I glare at my father and brother.

  "Do you realize the problems you already caused?" Hugh asks. "What would have happened if you had actually got to them? What would you have done?"

  "I would never hurt them," I snap.

  "No, but you obviously want to push her further away," he rebuts.

  "What did your mother do?" my father asks.

  At the thought of that harpy, I clench my teeth.

  "She ruined everything."

  My father nods, understanding.

  "Did she tell her about—?”

  My glare stops Hugh from finishing his question.

  "Yes, but she insinuated it was much more than the reality of it all."

  At Hugh and Scarlett's apartment, Heidi and Scarlett are waiting.

  "Damon," Heidi cries softly.

  Her arms wrap around me, pressing her cheek to my chest.

  I don't move to return the embrace.

  Once she realizes I'm not reciprocating, she pulls back and looks at me through narrow eyes.

  "Don't, Damon," she states sharply. "Don't go back to that dark place."

  "How about a drink?" my father offers the room, leaving to get one for himself.

  "Come on." Scarlett tugs on my arm, pulling me into the living room.

  Her goal is to get me to the couch, but I sit in a large chair instead. Scarlett kisses the top of my head and leaves the room.

  My father enters, holding out a glass for me.

  I take the drink and drain the scotch. Setting the glass on the coffee table before me, I rest my elbows on my knees and close my eyes.

  "She told her about Vivianne," I whisper.

  "Christ," Hugh curses. "I'm sorry, Damon. I never thought she would go that far to—"

  "What about Vivianne?" Scarlett asks from behind me.

  Still leaning on my knees, I look up and see Hugh's round eyes focusing on Scarlett.

  "Um, it's just that…" he sputters, torn between being honest with her and loyal to his brother.

  "I was with Vivianne that night," I state, dropping my gaze to the empty glass.

  "What night are you…?" Her question trails off, having figured it out for herself.

  The clicks of her heels are heavy on the wood floors just before she smacks the back of my h
ead.

  Jumping from the chair, I turn to face her.

  "What the fuck, Scarlett?" I shout.

  "Don't look at me like that," she yells. "How could you, Damon? Why would you?"

  Scarlett turns her anger on Hugh.

  "And YOU! You knew about this? All this time, you knew."

  Her arms cross over her chest and her long legs carry her until she stands over my terrified brother.

  "Scar, I'm sorry."

  She smacks him in the head, too.

  "You let me think I was completely honest with Olivia and then let me try to open her up to the idea of being with him, all while knowing he was with another woman that night?!"

  Before Hugh can respond, she turns back to me.

  "And how the hell can you work so closely with her every day? What kind of sick person does that? You know what? Don't answer. I don’t want to know."

  "I don't work with her by choice." My words are clipped and loud. "And I didn't sleep with her. I almost slept with her, but stopped. Rebecca called and Vivianne answered my phone."

  Scarlett opens her mouth, but I cut off her argument.

  "I was still wrong and unfaithful, but I didn't sleep with her."

  Bile rises in my throat as I remember where I'd been that night — what I almost did and all I lost.

  "What do you mean you don't work with her by choice?" Scarlett studies my face.

  "My mother hired her and has the company locked in a ridiculous employment contract."

  "So, you haven't taken it up with Human Resources?" Scarlett raises her brow.

  "There's nothing I can do, Scarlett. I've gone to H.R., had lawyers go through the contract, and even talked to my mother. The contract is iron clad. I can't change her position and mother dearest told me it was my own foolish mistake and now I would live with the consequences."

  "Wait a minute," Heidi interjects, garnering our attention, "you mean to tell me your mother knows what happened and basically told you to 'suck it up'?" Her face contorts in a mixture of disgust and anger.

  "Not those exact words, but basically." Shrugging, I drop back into the chair. "She's been doing it my entire life."

  "What kind of mother…no, woman, does that?" Heidi storms to the center of the room.