Adam's Fall

by Liv Morris

  That London call was only a part of it, though. Every night this week I’ve had reoccurring dreams about Simon. This one tonight was the worst yet.

  Simon held the gun to Kathryn’s head and pulled the trigger, much like the daydream I had before. However, it wasn’t a quick thought flying through my head. It was like a movie playing in slow motion.

  The sight of Kathryn in my dream, lying dead on the ground instead of Simon, was horrifying. I shudder and fight a sick feeling, remembering the blood and the emptiness in her eyes. The fire she consumes me with was extinguished like a candle’s flame. Everything I love about my beautiful Kathryn was gone.

  I place my palms against the cool glass, needing to feel something... anything. I glance back over my shoulder at Kathryn and know I can’t return to the bed because the dream has me fully awake. She needs to sleep, and I need to leave the room.

  I feel around in the dark for my clothes. Once I find my jeans, I slip them on, quietly open the door, and head down the hallway to the kitchen. Maybe a drink of water will cool me down.

  After I fell into a sex-induced coma, Kathryn must have turned off most of the lights because only a solitary lamp in the living room remains lit. I enter the room and gaze over the photos and albums on her bookshelf. Like jewels peeking out of an open treasure chest, the mementos on display beckon me.

  I didn’t fail to notice a decanter on the shelf of something I’m sure would numb my thoughts. I pour three fingers of the amber liquid into a glass and sip. Scotch. A very good one, too.

  I scan the photos as I drink. I saw many of them the night I hid out with her. Her late husband, friends, childhood days with her family. No matter the photo, in every one Kathryn stands out with everything fading into the background. Her presence steals the attention away everywhere she goes.

  A few of the older albums stand against each other. I run my finger along the spines until I stop on the last one. Her wedding album. I resist pulling it down because I don’t want to see her with him. Knowing he held her heart hurts mine, and I’m already feeling tortured tonight.

  I choose another one, grab it along with my drink, and head to the couch. I switch on the table lamp next to me so some of the darkness fades. Sitting down and getting comfortable, I drink some more before opening the photo album. Between the photos and the liquor, I’m hoping to get my mind off the reason I’m up in the middle of the night and not wrapped around Kathryn.

  The outside of the album is worn at the edges. I can only gather that someone has viewed it many times over the years. I grab hold of a padded corner and lift the cover.

  The first page contains clippings from the 90s. All of them cut from The Daltonian, the newspaper at Kathryn’s private school, The Dalton School. The second page is dedicated to Kathryn’s athletics. Tennis, squash, and lacrosse photos show Kathryn in action.

  I chuckle, realizing that all these sports require a stick and a good strong swing. If only there was a picture of a young, beautiful Kathryn dressed in a short sports skirt, my night might turn around.

  The photo that captures her perfectly is one of her lacrosse shots. Her hair is pulled back in a long ponytail and tossing in the wind. A look of sheer determination defines her face as she scoops the ball with her stick.

  Turning further into the album, there are a few shots of her and Ollie. One in particular makes me smile; Ollie and Kathryn dressed formally and standing posed arm in arm. They look like two young kids playing dress up. Ollie’s wearing a tuxedo Armani wouldn’t sell to his worst enemy, and Kathryn’s formal attire seems more appropriate for a woman twice her age. I laugh at the picture of these two seasoned socialites apparently ready to shed their formal attire for jeans. If I had to guess, it looks like they went to prom together or at least a dance of some kind.

  A page later, Ollie and Kathryn are dancing together in a line dance. Someone had written the word Macarena on the photo. I throw my head back and laugh, remembering the old song and its crazy dance steps.

  “Damn, that song was nuts,” I mutter to myself.

  “Who are you talking to?”

  I nearly throw the book across the room at the sound of Kathryn’s voice. She’s standing in the doorway to the dark hallway, leaning against the wall with one hand propped on her hip.

  “Shit, you scared me.” I close the album and take a deep breath. “You could have warned me that you like to sneak up on people.”

  She emerges from the darkness and into the room. She’s wearing a black silk robe loosely tied at her waist, her hair a mess of curls that makes her even sexier than ever. From the prominent outline of her nipples, she doesn’t appear to have put on anything underneath the robe. I look to heaven because she’s a naughty angel sent to rescue me.

  “Sorry to scare you.” Her eyes dip to my lap. “What do you have there?”

  Sheepishly, I hold up the book since I’m long past trying to hide things from her.

  “I was curious,” I say in my defense. “I don’t normally go poking around people’s things...”

  “Relax, Adam.” Her voice holds a hint of laughter. “I think I’ll join you.”

  A wave of relief washes over me as I pat the cushion next to me. She walks the length of the room but stops as her eyes land on my drink.

  “Awfully early for a drink.” She takes the glass and swirls the liquid around. She brings the glass to her lips and swallows a large portion. “When in Rome.” She sets the glass down on the side table and licks her lips. I’d love to pull her into my lap and lick those lips myself.

  “Yes, when in Rome.” She sits next to me and curls her legs to the side. I draw her near, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “I enjoyed seeing you in high school. I’m certain you were the center of all the boys’ fantasies.”

  “I wouldn’t know.” She shrugs.

  “Why’s that? Guys had to chase after you. God knows there weren’t any girls like you in my high school.”

  “Ollie and I hung out all the time. We were inseparable, and everyone thought we were a couple. But we were connected at the hips not the lips.”

  We both chuckle, and I hug her closer to me.

  “Ollie didn’t or couldn’t let Thorpe know he was gay.” The sadness in her voice told me that what Ollie had gone through with our father was despicable. Thorpe was a fucking bastard.

  “Thorpe found out later, though?” I’d been curious what happened between them. There were rumors but nothing was publicly confirmed, and I wanted the truth.

  “Yes, and I’ll never forget it. It was the summer before our second year of college. Ollie was back from Stanford, and we were spending every waking hour together. They got into a horrible fight, and Ollie came out of the closet without meaning to let it slip out.”

  “Were you there?”

  “Yes.” I waited for her to continue. She searches my face for a reaction, as if she’s deciding what to say. “The whole incident revolved around me to some degree.”

  “What do you mean?” An uneasy feeling comes over me as she moves away from me and turns her body to directly face me. She takes a deep breath and steels herself.

  “I haven’t told you this because I know you already hate your father.” The blood in my veins begins pumping a little faster.

  “What haven’t you told me?” I try to conceal my impatience, but she visibly pulls away from me even more. I take her hand in mine to keep a connection.

  “I need you to promise me one thing before I start to tell you.” Her tone is serious, and my palms begin to sweat. Like a premonition, I know in my gut what I’m about to hear isn’t going to be good.

  “I’ll do my best.” It’s a promise I’m not sure I can keep. The lightly suppressed feelings for my father bubble to the surface.

  “I’m serious. Part of me doesn’t even want to tell you. It was so long ago. But...” she stops, and I clench my jaw, trying to contain my frustration.

  “For fuck’s sake, Kathryn.” I quit my rant when she flinches fro
m my harsh words. I don’t want her retreating from me; instead, I want the exact opposite.

  “Sorry.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “I’ll be good.”

  “Okay, but if you interrupt me or freak out, I’ll stop.” Damn, she likes her control. I hope that I can control myself.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  She takes another deep breath and begins. “I was nineteen at the time. For years I’d felt uncomfortable around Thorpe—”

  “What do you mean by ‘uncomfortable’?” The words are out of my mouth before I realize it. Her mouth pinches and her eyes narrow at my question.

  “Seriously, Adam. One or two sentences and you’re already blowing up?” She begins to rise from the couch, and I grab hold of her hand.

  “I’ll rein it in. Please...” She stares at me, examining me for a chink in my armor. What she may not know is she’s my weakness, and I’m not sure that will change.

  “I’m warning you. One more chance.” She holds up one finger, and I take her hand to kiss the back of it. I hold her hand against my chest.

  “For a few years, I’d catch Thorpe looking at me, or rather leering. Our families vacationed together in the Hamptons. Thorpe and my father were business associates, and Ollie’s mother and mine were in the same social circles. When Thorpe would look at me, he looked too long.”

  A shiver runs through her body and I rub my hands over her arms.

  “I tried to distance myself from him when we were in the same room. I’d wear a jacket, hunch my shoulders, or pull my hair over my face. I made myself invisible.” I cringe at how she must have felt.

  “Ollie knew me too well and soon caught on. He watched his father in disgust, but I begged him to say nothing. He was already hiding so much from Thorpe. He didn’t need more trouble.”

  “One afternoon, I was over at Ollie’s brownstone. It was rainy out, and we decided to watch a movie. This was before Netflix so Ollie went down the block to get a movie. I stayed and channel surfed until he got back.”

  She takes a breather and her eyes dip down. I can feel her working up to tell me something difficult. I want to hold her, but I don’t think it’s the right time for that.

  “I was on the main floor when Thorpe came home. I tried to be quiet, but he heard the television on and walked into the room. I froze as our eyes met. He wanted to know where Ollie went. With the way he was looking at me—like a predator about to capture its prey—I could only whisper that Ollie ran out for a minute.”

  Finally she lifts her eyes, tears brimming. A single tear falls down her sweet, sad face, and I wipe it away with my thumb. I leave my fingers on her cheek as I try to caress away some of the pain.

  “Oh, babe,” I murmur, trying my best to not sound like I’m about to explode. My anger toward my father has reached a new level.

  “I don’t want to go through a play-by-play of what happened.” I ache when I hear the pain in her voice, but it does nothing to lessen my hatred for my father.

  “I don’t know if I could stand it right now, either.”

  “When Ollie came home, Thorpe had me pinned to the couch with my hands clasped over my head. My shirt was torn and my bra was showing. I was kicking and screaming, trying to defend myself, but I wasn’t any match for a man twice my weight. I was just a kid at the time, a virgin. And I was scared to death he was going to rape me.”

  “Ollie grabbed Thorpe by the back of his shirt and threw him off me.” She removes her hand from mine and draws her knees to her chest. I continue to rub along her arm, wanting her to know she’s protected and safe with me. But I’d really like to wring the neck of the disgusting piece of shit that is my father.

  “Things from there were blurry. I thought Ollie would kill him. Ollie pushed Thorpe into bookshelves, which caused everything to tumble down on them. The fighting escalated when Ollie grabbed him by the collar and pulled back his fist, so I actually tried to defend Thorpe by putting myself between them. I couldn’t allow Ollie to destroy his life by going to jail. Thorpe hardly touched me really.”

  Hardly touched her? There is nothing, not even my promise to Kathryn that can hold me back any longer.

  “Like hell! He tore your clothes. You were exposed to him, right?”

  She nods but remains quiet.

  “So what happened? Ollie better have finished him off. Did the police find out?” My hands shake just thinking how my beautiful Kathryn was violated by Thorpe. A sweet young woman, victimized.

  “Ollie’s mother came home and heard yelling. I remember her standing in the doorway. She was holding her chest with one hand and onto the wall for support with the other. When she called out that she was about to faint Ollie ran to her, and I was left standing there by Thorpe, holding my torn shirt closed.”

  She buries her head in her knees and pulls her legs in tighter. Her shoulders shake as she sobs. I gather her up and hold her to me like a small child.

  I whisper soothing words, letting her know I’m here for her. My heart shatters as this strong woman falls apart in my arms. We remain in this position long after her crying subsides. I don’t want to push her, but I need to know more if she’s willing to tell me.

  “You asked about the police...” Her quivering voice rips me apart, and I want to avenge her pain. “When Ollie and my parents all got involved, the whole thing got worse.

  “What do you mean? I can’t imagine how things could get worse.”

  “When I could get away, I ran from Ollie’s. I was a disheveled mess when I got home. You’ve met my mother.” I nod and imagine what Ava Swanson thought when her beloved Kathryn showed up in that state. “I was too upset to hide the truth from her. She saw my clothes and at first thought some random stranger had attacked me. But Ollie came barging through the door a minute after me.”

  “So Ollie left his mother and father and came after you?” I was really starting to like my half-brother.

  “Yes.” Kathryn shares a watery smile. “He called out to me, and I went running to him. My mother followed me, in tears, too.” She glances at my glass of scotch. “Pass me your drink, please.”

  I hand her the glass and she slams down what’s left and wipes her hand across her mouth. I’m tempted to pour us more, but there isn’t enough scotch in New York City to calm my rage against Thorpe.

  Then it hits me. The Fortune 100 reception is tonight, and he’ll be there. Fuck. I can’t tell her now, but I will have to at some point. She needs to know. Maybe she shouldn’t even go.

  “So my mother called my father, hysterical. I was hysterical, too—only Ollie was calm. Although deep down I know he was livid. His muscles were rock solid when I leaned into him.”

  Kathryn draws in a breath and continues.

  “When my father didn’t come home right away, I began to worry. My mother did, too. She tried him on his cell phone a few times, but nothing.” I picture her huddled with Ollie, traumatized. The anger builds in waves as my mind wonders.

  “Then Ollie’s mother called our house. I’ll never forget my mother’s face as she listened on the receiver.” Kathryn breaks down in tears. It’s killing me to watch her in pain.

  “My father.” The words are spoken through her sobs. “He went to see Thorpe. They got into an argument.” I fear for what’s ahead as she cries on my chest. I know her father died the summer before she went away to Paris. It was sudden, as per the background report by Peters. A heart attack.

  “He died in the foyer. Heart…” She can’t say the word.

  “Shh,” I whisper while rubbing her back, trying to absorb some of her pain. “I know, babe. I know.”

  “Ollie wanted to call the police, but with my father dying…” She sniffles and wipes at her tears. The puzzle pieces are coming together. The death of her father was too much for her to bear. If Kathryn had chosen to press sexual assault charges against Thorpe, the public attention and media circus would’ve been ugly, accusing, and damaging to everyone involved, innocent or guilty.

  The
pain and personal cost would’ve been too great. So she ran, just like my mother did. I understand it because Thorpe owns this concrete jungle. The power he wields in this city resides in the gutter with the vermin he calls his friends. They’re thugs and bullies just like him, gaining an edge by knowing another man’s weakness. The world has no idea who this man really is, but I think it’s time they find out.

  Knowing Kathryn’s father met an early death and the thought of her having to flee to Paris in such turmoil—both because of my father—stokes my already simmering hate for the man. How many others like us has this man destroyed or tainted?

  The muted rays of early dawn appear through the window. I hold her and savor my time with her while I plot to annihilate my own father.

  I need to plan an attack where it will hurt him the most: his pride. He struts around this city like a peacock, touted as the mascot of Manhattan, but the devil couldn’t find a better recruit for Team Hell.

  I lean my head back on the couch, tired from everything but still riled up from Kathryn’s confession. I squeeze my eyes shut to block out the fury that is rising up in my chest, but the only thing I want is his blood. I hear a faint whisper that resembles Simon’s voice. I know my mind is playing tricks on me again, but I strain to make out the words as they repeat in the dark distance.

  Destroying a man for revenge. You’re no different than me.

  I pop my eyes open.

  Holy fuck! I’m startled beyond reason because there is a hint of truth in what I just heard. I would love to see my own father ruined, but death would be too quick. He needs to suffer in shame somehow, be humiliated. I’d have no remorse or tears for his demise.

  But I’m not like Simon; I’m not seeking revenge for myself. Instead I’d be avenging the woman I love. Damn, is it love? No other word can describe what I feel for her, and I can’t deny it a moment longer. I’ve fallen in love with Kathryn. This remarkable woman in my arms is the one. I lay my cheek against her head, very comfortable with the fact that I’m not afraid to admit I’m deeply in love with her.