by V. F. Mason
Chapter Eleven
New York, New York
January 2018
Valencia
Breathing heavily, I finish the last position and bow to the imaginary audience as the music ends. I raise my head to face the mirror, and a completely devastated woman greets me, tears sliding down her cheeks as sorrow and grief are reflected on her face, displaying the emotions of a betrayed swan perfectly.
I just finished Act III when the prince falls into a trap, and instead of sealing his fate with the princess swan, he chooses the dark lord.
He has won again, and my heart is broken.
I pause at that thought and straighten up, wincing slightly at the aching muscles and shaking my leg a bit, because ever since the last performance, it’s been bothering me.
My heart.
Does it work? Do I feel her pain now as if it’s my own?
Pressing my palm over my chest, I close my eyes and concentrate on my emotions, and with pain comes rage that prickles my fingers as I live through her.
Poor, poor swan. The prince she loved broke her trust and lost in the game for the dark lord. She will forever stay his prisoner now.
At least she thinks so.
Suddenly, the image of Lachlan comes to my mind, playing like a colorful movie as he introduces me to his mansion and the darkness that surrounds it. With his wicked sense of humor and ultimate power around him.
If he played a role in Swan Lake, he’d be an evil spirit that creates webs of lies to get what he wants. I can’t imagine him as an innocent prince who can be easily fooled or believe in love.
The image doesn’t suit him, but instead of scaring me, it intrigues me.
Clasping my hands, I snap mentally out of the character and bring myself back to the present, where I’m Valencia whose heart is quite all right.
Confused, but far from broken.
And the time has come to mend it.
I pick up my phone and write a quick message to Bella.
The reply comes almost instantly.
Rolling my eyes at her, I just send her an emoji of a tongue sticking out and place my phone back, pondering if I should finally call Mom back.
After all, she doesn’t deserve this silence of mine.
I slide the phone open again and dial her number. She answers on the second ring, and I expect a scolding or shouting or anything other than her soft “Valencia.” Invisible knots that held my chest together disappear as I take in a deep breath, leaning on the barre, stretching my back in the process.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” There is nothing much to say except this.
There is silence on the other end of the line, and then a ragged breath. “Honey, why did you date the boy if you didn’t want to marry him?” Yeah, my mom doesn’t beat around the bush and gets straight to the point.
“I thought that was the right thing. A perfect guy for a perfect princess. And you liked him.” Which sounds so lame and it’s probably not true. I may act like a victim in all this, but truth be told, I spent all this time with Max, because he was a safe choice.
He didn’t require emotions from me, nor did he want more. He was happy with a porcelain princess who finished his appearance and fit into his life and the dreams he had.
I don’t think he ever truly loved me either; we just grew up together, and maybe he wanted what I represented.
However, the time has come to take responsibility for everything that has happened in my life and own up to it, dust myself off, and start anew.
“Are you upset?’ I ask, feeling like a small child who desperately seeks her Mom’s approval.
“I’m upset because you didn’t come to me with this problem. I’m just—I’m upset, yes. But with myself.”
“Mom—” This is the last thing I wanted, but she continues to speak.
“I love you, Valencia. You are my baby girl. And I want you to be happy. Whatever that means to you. Stop making decisions by weighing everyone else’s desires. Choose the path that is right for you.”
An image of Lachlan rushes through me, along with all the dreams I’ve had regarding Paris since I was a little girl. “What if what I desire is not right?”
A silent moment follows while my heartbeat rings in my ears, finding it vitally important for her to reassure me. “Does it hurt anyone?”
“No, not in the sense you are putting it.”
“Then I don’t see a problem. Follow your heart. It will lead you to—”
“The right place?” I supply, and she laughs, her colorful laughter mending one of the broken parts in me.
“To your place. Okay?”
“I love you, Mom.” Through all the years, she’s the one who has always supported me in my dreams and stood by me through everything. Even when she divorced my dad, she never once made me choose between them.
Even to Victor, she said that we were a package deal.
“Well, I’m glad.” I grin at her words. “I love you too, honey. Now make your mama proud and give the best show New York has ever seen.”
That’s my mom.
“I thought you told me to follow my path?” I tease, and I can practically see her shrugging as she lifts her brow. “Ballet is your path. This is a truth set in stone and nothing will ever change it.” Victor’s voice comes from the distance. “I have to go. Your stepfather can’t find his glasses. It’s a wonder he can survive without me at work at all. Oh, and he says he loves you too.” Warmth fills my chest at my parents’ support, knowing that as long as they have my back, nothing can hurt me in this world. “I love him too. Bye bye.”
She hangs up and I exhale in relief, even my shoulders feeling lighter.
All my fears seem so silly in this moment.
Packing all my stuff, I smile brightly, feeling hopeful about the future, when the phone in reception rings.
Who would call this late?
Lachlan
Moving soundlessly through the night, I place a mask on my face, finishing the black sweater and jeans attire that makes me almost invisible.
After I turn on my phone and get inside the studio that I memorized during my last time here, I turn on the computer.
Valencia is still on the phone with her mother as I program the laptop by connecting it to my phone. I put on a playlist and send a message to Shon to follow the plan exactly.
What’s a chase without a little play?
I preset the phone to dial the studio number and disappeared into the corner, using all the skills I’ve acquired from the master who taught me to be invisible, no matter what the situation is.
Valencia
“Hello?” I ask again, but the other end of the line is silent. “Hello?” Sometimes this phone has connection issues, so I lean down, sliding my fingers over the line and checking if it’s attached to the phone, and it is. “I think it’s useless,” I mutter, hanging up and frowning, as a folder on the desk catches my attention.
Picking it up, I read through it and gasp in shock.
He wants to sell the freaking studio? I blink again, making sure I’m reading it right, but there is no mistake. Patricia signed over all the rights to Lachlan, and he is evicting everyone within a month, claiming this place can no longer act as a studio.
Freaking asshole!
I knew it! He just can’t be trusted. “I won’t leave it alone, Lachlan!” I hiss, rolling it up and hiding it under my armpit. But before I can dwell on it, music blasts from the studio, and I blink as I recognize Mozart’s “Turkish March.”
We never use it for ballet classes.
Confused, I dart to the studio room and see the stereo playing. Maybe Patricia updated the playlis
t? I quickly turn it off and shrug, almost laughing that for a second fear penetrated me because it’s so freaky to have music suddenly begin in a silent and lonely studio.
But then the music starts again, this time from another stereo located at the end. Patricia usually has two per studio. I do the same with this one as well. Maybe there is a glitch in the system? Adriana said recently some tech guy updated all the systems and made it easier to control the music from all corners; clearly, he did his job right. “All because someone felt too lazy to adjust the music by themselves,” I grouse, snagging my bag, and I’m heading outside when the music starts back up again, and this time I freeze on the spot.
The different sounds come from all over the place: music blasting from different directions while the lights in the studio go up and down, along with a crashing sound from the administrative area.
“What is going on?” With trembling hands, I fish for my phone, only to find it crushed inside my bag. How is this possible? I left it for just one second when I went to pick up that call.
A call that no one answered.
My pulse speeds up; ringing in my ears erupts as all the information I’ve heard through the years about kidnappers hits me.
My notes. Is it the same person?
This is not a simple prank all right.
Another crashing sound and I jump into action, running to the bigger studio at the end of the hallway where there’s a back door.
Then I see a flash of a baseball bat barely lit by the moonlight as a tall man hits the walls with frames displaying Patricia’s diplomas, and they fall to the floor, shattering into tiny pieces. I scream in fear, dipping while covering my face, and resume running.
The man doesn’t really hurry after me though, snagging computers and papers and everything by the sound of it as he destroys the studio in a methodical, almost planned way.
I can barely see in the dark, and only my knowledge of the floor plan allows me to reach my destination and grab the knob and twist it, but it doesn’t work. I twist it again, pushing at the door with my arm, but it doesn’t budge.
Panic swirls through me as the crashing stops and footsteps, leather boots by the sound of it, come closer and closer to me as he taps the bat against the wall in time to the music.
I frantically do my best to open it, but it’s useless. “Valencia,” he says, and my brows furrow at the familiarity of his voice, but I can’t concentrate on it now.
Abandoning the door lock, I dash to the side, where the opening leads to the narrow hallway to Patricia’s office. She has a phone there; it should work! The police are my only option at this point.
But I don’t make it two steps before he grabs my arm, tumbling me to the floor. I cry out as my knees hit against the harsh wood but manage to scoot back from him, hitting blindly at anything, but he doesn’t budge under my assault.
I kick him in the shin and that slows him a little, and I have a moment to escape him. Barely glancing to his right, I see it’s not a baseball bat as I originally thought.
It’s a freaking metal cane!
I crawl to the office, managing to get inside and shut the door behind me as he bangs on it loudly. I close my eyes, practically feeling my heart in my throat from the fear. Limping, I get to the desk and pick up the phone, but it’s silent. I press on the button a few times, but it’s still silent, and the freaking cable is cut.
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
That’s my only out. He called me by my name. Why would anyone need to hurt me?
I didn’t do anything.
What do people usually do in situations like this? I try to focus, but it’s next to impossible with him pushing against the door as it thumps and thumps and thumps.
Looking around, I don’t find any weapon to defend myself from a man who is freakishly strong.
The window!
There is a window, but the minute I get to it, I see it has metal bars that are unmovable. “Oh my God, what am I going to do?” He destroyed the studio.
This is not just a spur of the moment crime. It’s filled with hatred.
Then I hear it.
The snap of the lock, and then the door is kicked open and it bangs against the wall. He enters. I don’t know who he is, as his face is covered in a mask, but with each step, I retreat farther and farther, while asking with a trembling voice, “What do you want from me? Who are you?” He doesn’t respond, just continues his movement, breaking everything that gets in the way of his cane. “Please.”
That’s when the music by Mozart ends on the softer note, and he hits the only light bulb above us with his cane and everything goes black.
And then I hear only my raspy breath as he flicks something and digs into my skin as my screams fill the space.
Chapter Twelve
Lachlan, 5 years old
The car moves swiftly on an empty road while nothing but desert greets me as I gaze out the window. Songs are blaring through the radio as Aunt Jessica hums the tunes under her breath. She looks over her shoulder at me while still navigating the car and winks. “You will love it in Peaceful Heaven, Lachlan,” she assures me while opening her window. Hot air fills the car, and the added breeze offers some relief from the heat. “Everyone is so nice there.”
Resting my head on the windowsill, I mutter, “I miss Mommy and Daddy.”
“Me too, honey. Me too. But they are in a better place now and it means their time has come. The only thing we can do is accept it.” Tears form in my eyes, and one of them trickles down my cheek, but I quickly wipe it away so she won’t see it.
Mommy and Daddy died in a car accident two months ago, because the road was slippery and it was too dark for them to get out in time. I had been at school in my kindergarten class, so I survived and they placed me in foster care till they could locate my family. Although it was hard, they finally contacted Aunt Jessica who lived with her husband and daughter in a town called Peaceful Heaven. I couldn’t find it on a map and always wondered why the social workers winced whenever it was mentioned.
I’d never seen her before, ‘cause Mommy always claimed we lost her to some cult, but I never understood the words. When she came after me yesterday, she hugged me close, rocked me in her arms, and promised me that even though she couldn’t bring my parents back, she would give me a real family.
I don’t want a real family. I want just my family.
Why did God take them away from me?
Wiping away another tear, I glance down at my newest gift, a Holy Bible from Aunt Jessica, and flip it open, wondering if I can find the answer there.
I close my eyes, hoping that wherever that Peaceful Heaven is, it’ll be kind to me.
I startle awake as the car stops abruptly and I hear Aunt Jessica say, “Hey, Carl!” She takes out something from her shirt and shows it to the man standing on what seems like a big fence or something in front of the city, and he nods, opening the big gate. She drives inside while I sit up higher to see the town better.
The sun is shining brightly, giving me a good view of everything. My heart falls as I understand it’s not really big, and only lots of little, white houses are there, and I don’t see any people. “Where is everyone?” I ask, and Aunt Jessica jerks nervously.
“At church, darling. It’s Sunday. And we are late.” I blink at the fear in her voice. But she quickly adds, “But it’s all right. There was traffic on the road.”
My attention is still on the view, and I question, “Why are all the houses like this? There is no school?” She doesn’t answer and pulls the car to the side, near the square white house with short grass. Everything is fixed nice, but it’s almost squished with other houses, not leaving even an inch between them.
“Let’s go, honey.” She gets out and then opens the door for me, and I hop down, wincing slightly at the pain traveling from my numb neck. Her small car isn’t comfortable to ride in. “This is your new home now.” She wraps her hands around my shoulders, squeezing me lightly, but all
I feel is sad.
Because this doesn’t feel like my home.
“Just follow the rules, and it will be the happiest place on earth for you.”
Rules.
I will soon learn that they are the most important part of this “Peaceful Heaven.”
New York, New York
January 2018
Valencia
Wincing, I slide my head to the side to avoid something annoying poking my face, but the touch follows me. “Bella, go away,” I murmur, wondering why my best friend has showed up early in the morning at my place and is annoying the hell out of me. She always has this stupid habit of waking me up while playing with my hair.
It doesn’t stop though. Instead, something sprays on me, and with a loud huff, I snap my very heavy eyelids open and still in shock.
A man looming above is splashing me with water from a glass while holding a towel on his arm!
What the freaking hell?
I sit up on the bed, raising my hands to push him away, when they are pulled back.
Chained. I’m chained to the headboard attached to the… I glance to my right to see I’m way down from the guy and that I’m on the floor, occupying a white-as-snow mattress, and held in place by metal rails next to it.
I pull at my wrists, but it’s useless. “Don’t be scared.” The man gives me a reassuring smile, but I just scoot back and kick him in the knees as he steps closer. He stops with a pained expression on his face. “Valencia—”
“Who are you?” I scrunch my eyes hard and then open them again, hoping that maybe I’m having a nightmare and just haven’t woken up from it.
But the image doesn’t change, and that’s when the panic overtakes me. I scream my lungs out as I try to get away from the source of danger.
“For God’s sake, child, you have strong lungs. Please have mercy on my ears,” he begs and finally retreats, giving me time to study him.
He wears a gray suit with a slightly longer jacket and white gloves that have not a single stain on them. His gray hair is perfectly put together, and his wrinkled face mostly holds indifference, even though his voice doesn’t support it. He must be around sixty or more years old.