The Dark Scarlett

by Aven Jayce

  “And let me guess, you’re not going to take no for an answer?”

  He laughs and fidgets with his watch again.

  “At least you didn’t break my fingers asking for it.”

  “Not my style.”

  “What is your style, Marcus?”

  My knee is released but I’m still not free as he gives my shoulder a good grip in exchange. He leans in and whispers something that captures my breath and sends chills down my spine. “Knowing where your wife is every moment of the day, watching her every move, where and when she eats, sleeps, jogs, works, shops... that’s my style. That’s a pretty green dress she bought, I think I’ll pick one up for my wife.”

  I step away from the sick prick. He really is like Paul, minus his obsession with teenage boys and alcohol, with a dash of David thrown into the mix. Add a pinch of energy and brains... out comes a fresh face for the industry, more dangerous than anyone ever before him.

  “I was hoping that would twist your gut, Everton. I’ll get inside your head without molesting you or breaking your bones. Your wife...”

  “When do you want the money?” I cut him off. The cycle may continue, but I’m done. “When?” I demand.

  “Just like that? Seems too easy, like we should get in a fight or something.”

  My father’s calling. I look at my phone and then at Marcus, fuck it. What’s more important, Ivy, or the threats from a revolting former porn star turned businessman? I pick up.

  “She alright?” I whisper.

  “She will be. Unfortunately, she had her stomach pumped. That’s an upsetting experience for a young woman to go through, but yes, son, she’s going to be okay. She’s damn lucky you were at the Scarlett. You saved her life. If you hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have made it.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Suddenly, the situation with my father that took place in the restroom at the police station seems trivial. I still have a lot of questions for him, especially about today, but my anger from finding out I have a half-sister has decreased.

  “You still there?”

  “Yeah, Dad, that’s great news. Fantastic news actually. Anything I can do?”

  I listen to his breathing for a moment while he pauses and drinks. It’s probably some form of caffeine to help him through the night. He smacks his lips and speaks softly into the phone. “What you can do is disappear tomorrow with Sophia. Get away for the day, find yourself again, and then show up to the Scarlett in the evening with a healthier mind. I need you to come back to me, Cove.” He chokes up with his final three words. “I love you.”

  My voice disappears as I try and respond. He waits until my heart releases from its wounded state and I can finally speak. “I love you too, Dad.”

  “Aww, it’s a love fest between the Everton boys,” Marcus laughs in the background. “You’ve got your cell turned up pretty high, don’t you want some privacy?”

  “Who is that?” my father asks.

  “It’s no one important. I’m glad Ivy’s okay. Can we talk in the...”

  Marcus laughs again, louder, and more sinister this time. “No one important? What a dickhead you are, Cove. Get off the phone so we can finish our conversation.”

  “Tell me now who that is... it sounds like...”

  “Everything’s fine,” I say. “I’m just talking to an old friend. I already have plans to take Soph out tomorrow, but we’ll check-in with you throughout the day to make sure everything’s still ok with Ivy.”

  “Cove...”

  I hang up before my father has a chance to ask me twenty questions about who Marcus Wild is, and how we met.

  Marcus’s cell rings and he inhales as he pulls it from his front pocket, tossing it in the air and catching it with one hand. “Give you a grand if you can guess who’s calling,” he smiles from ear to ear. He taps the screen and looks into my eyes as he answers. “Hey, big daddy Everton. Turns out your son’s not looking to make a buck either.”

  “Jesus.” My father? Sophia’s right, he knows a hell of a lot more than he’s telling me, and Marcus has done nothing but lie to me since we exchanged hellos. Shouldn’t have expected anything less.

  “Is that right? You want me to leave him alone? Ha, is that a joke?” Marcus holds his cell with his pinky in the air.

  “Give me the phone,” I reach out to speak to my father. “Give me your goddamn cell,” I demand.

  “Hey, Cove, I’m in the middle of something,” he replies. “Give me a sec with your old man.”

  I take out my phone and call my father but he doesn’t pick up. My hands run through my hair as I pace in front of the sofa with breathless gasps, in a panic about my dad. “I asked you if you were here to see my father... said I couldn’t handle anymore surprises from him... how do you know him? Why is he calling you?”

  “You hear your son? He’s a mess. Looking kinda pale. I’ll have to call you back.”

  He leans back on the sofa with a smug grin. I’d love to kick the dumbfuck in the head, and just my luck, he’s at the perfect height to do so.

  “Go ahead, I know what you’re thinking,” he laughs. “You were never any good at masking your emotions.”

  “I’m going upstairs to get you that check. I’m not meeting you anywhere after today, and screw you if you think I’ll ever let another person take control of my life.”

  “I think I already have. You’ve got two weaknesses as far as I’m concerned, alcohol and your wife... three actually, considering how wound up you get about your father, wait... four, I forgot you’re a momma’s boy. Hell, I’ve got a lot of options here.”

  “No, no options. I’m getting you the check.” I head for the elevator as he clears his throat.

  “You ever read that book, Watership Down? A tale for children about rabbits?”

  I stop dead in my tracks, standing in front of the elevator door. That story scared the shit out of me as a kid. And for some odd reason my heart skips a beat when he mentions it. It gave me nightmares for a good month.

  “You remember Woundwort? His mother was killed by a weasel?” he asks. “He grew up to be a domineering fuck, right? Killed off the lead rabbits in several warrens, becoming chief rabbit; a hungry and aggressive terror to all.”

  I tap the button and the elevator door opens. “That book ends in a bloodbath, Marcus. Woundwort was evil and sadistic and he disappeared. No one ever heard from him again. The dog he fought in that last battle probably ripped his head off.”

  “You think? I like the other ending to the story.” I turn around and see him fiddle with his watch one last time before the door’s about to close. “The story parents would tell to terrify their kids, warning if they didn’t do as they were told, Woundwort would return.”

  The door closes as my hands shake from frustration, a rage over my father’s lies, fright over the unknown, and total exhaustion. Get the check, and get rid of him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Get up. I need the check,” I call out to Sophia while sliding on a pair of jeans. I open our bedroom closet safe to get our gun. It’s not loaded, and I’d never use it, not after my evening at the Scarlett. Still, it looks threatening and could be an effective deterrent to whatever comes my way. “Soph!” I shout, positioning the gun in my back waistband.

  She fidgets and rises slowly. “Babe?” she says with heavy-eyes. “That took you a long time, you need some fiber?”

  “I need the check, and I need it now,” my voice is direct. I want to get this taken care of immediately. I want that fucker out of this city. “David’s top man is in the lobby, the guy who took your father’s place in the company, he wants the check.”

  “What? Who is it?” she asks, now wide-awake and showing authority in her voice. “It’s over there, in the drawer,” she points as she gets dressed in a rush. “What’s his name? And what the hell is he doing in the lobby this time of the night?”

  “Fuck,” I fume and gaze at the check.

  “What’s wrong?”

 
; “You have to sign it over to him, and I don’t know the asshole’s real name, only his porn name, which means I have to go down and ask him, then come back up here to have you sign it. Fuck!”

  “I’ll just go with you.” She starts down the staircase in her black leggings and red tank, without a bra or any shoes.

  “The hell you will. You know that’s not an option. Stay here and I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t open your mouth, don’t say another word, I don’t want to hear it. Keep yourself and our kid safe.” I shut our front door behind me and hear it open immediately.

  “Cove, if it’s so dangerous, why the fuck are you going down there... hey! I see that gun! Cove, come back here. At least get your father!”

  I wait for the elevator as she catches up and stands next to me, pissed and with a face full of fright.

  “I’m not letting you in this elevator, Sophia. Just wait here with the check and I’ll be right back. Then you can sign it, I’ll take it back down to him, and it’s over. Capiche?”

  “It doesn’t make me feel any better that you’re using a gangster term as you walk away from me, and the gun, Cove? Who is it? Is he big? Should we call Haverty?”

  The door opens and I give her a kiss before I step inside. “Right back, Dove. I promise.”

  “Leondra!” she runs down the hall toward my parent’s place. Damn it, I knew she was scared, but I didn’t think she’d turn to my mother for backup. I’ve got to get this taken care of as quickly as possible before the two of them show up in the lobby.

  The cold gun rests against my back. It doesn’t matter that it’s visible; our building’s deserted right now anyway, and Marcus won’t see it unless I turn around. I don’t even know what I’d do with it if I felt threatened. Point it at him? Wave it in the air like a madman? I’m not much of a badass when it comes to weapons.

  And, I guess I won’t find out tonight. The lobby’s empty. Dead silent. “Marcus,” I yell, while checking the front of the building. Damn him. Gone.

  An email comes through on my phone as I walk back inside, and sure enough, it’s him. He sent a message to my business email address.

  Cove,

  You and I probably have the same thoughts about that rabbit, Woundwort. He was full of himself, like Paul and David. I never could connect with him; but all the secondary characters in that story... they were crucial, don’t you think? Who needs a main antagonist anyway? Get rid of ‘em early, clear the way for something better. Endless disputes, my friend... hold onto your freedom... watch out for the enemy... surround yourself in a safe and loving environment. That’s what that story, and what life is all about.

  I’ll find you, soon. Look for me. But for now, let me leave you with a small section of Richard Adams brilliant tale of those savage rabbits. A bedtime story.

  Rabbits do not weep, as men do, but they sometimes cry in their own way, when met with extreme emotional trauma or fear. Avens began to do so, trembling against the ground in shame, and for a moment Blackavar thought the poor fellow might go tharn. He leaned against the Efrafan gently, giving comfort, thinking only to stop him before he brought all manner of Elil down upon them. A long moment passed, and then Avens snuffled, nuzzling Blackavar's mutilated ears, as if by doing so he might put them to rights again.

  "Wish I could have done something," he murmured. "I should have done something."

  Before long, Marcus

  “Don’t you think you’re the antagonist now, Marcus?” I whisper. “Should I get rid of you and clear the way so you do no harm to anyone while running that company? I’m not ready for another struggle in life, just my freedom from here on out.”

  Is he referring to my wife with that part about Avens? How would he know I opened up to her about Paul? Is that what it means? Maybe I’m reading too much into his words.

  My father walks through the front door and I put my phone away. “How the hell do you know Marcus?” I explode.

  “I don’t, and stop bitchin’ at me, I left the hospital to make sure you were okay.”

  “Yeah, well don’t do me any favors. You’ve been lying as much as all the other fucks who’re part of that sick company, and you better start telling me what you know or we’re through. I don’t care if you’re my father; I’m not taking shit from anyone any longer. Where the fuck were you when Paul had his hands on me? Did you know what he was doing to me? What do you know about David’s death? And how the fuck do you have Marcus Wild’s number?”

  “What are you accusing me of, son? Just say it!” he shouts. “You think I was part of Paul’s child porn business? Is that what you believe? That maybe I made some money off of you, sold you to him?”

  Without any further thought, my fist makes contact with my father’s nose in an unspeakable act of aggression. Blood sprays out as his head’s jolted back. I’ve never committed such violence toward him, and seeing the expression on his face change from concern, to being repulsed by me is unbearable. For fuck’s sake, I just struck a man who gave up years of his life to keep me safe. And now, the manner in which he stands before me; his mouth dropped open, eyes laden with tears, and horrorstricken by my attack is finally enough for me to process the extreme error I’ve made. Not only have I scarred our relationship, probably for life, I’m also entirely in the wrong.

  “That was out of line.” His response is a whisper with blood trickling from his nose. “Marcus called me today and wanted to know if I had any interest in working for him. His number was in my cell’s history, and that’s how I was able to call him back. I don’t know him, Cove, and I’d never do anything to cause you bodily harm, or anyone else for that matter, including David Rosen.” He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye and pats his nose with the collar of his shirt. The bloodstains from his nostrils appear in the shape of a broken heart on his clothing.

  I take one step forward and inhale, about to apologize, only to see his hand rise as he takes one step back. “Let me finish,” he says in a strangely calm voice. “Your mother and I spent the morning together during the time that David died, and after I left our loft, I walked over to the Gateway Trail, and along the Mississippi to try to clear my head. You should know I’m just as stressed as you are, son. Then, when it was time, I waited for him in the park, but he never showed. I left and stopped back at our building to see if Sophia had returned, and then I headed out to meet Kaitlyn and Ivy.”

  I’m such an immature bastard, forcing him into a position where he feels a need to explain himself as if he’s on trial. “I should’ve trusted...”

  His hand goes up and I’m silent as he answers my final question. “I’m sorry I didn’t save you from Paul. I’ve said it a million times, and I’ll continue to repeat those words for the rest of my life. It’s the first thought that enters my mind when I wake up each day, and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep.” The tears from his eyes match the blood that streams out of his nose, both pooling on his chin and dripping onto his chest. “Please, don’t ever think I didn’t try to help you,” he slips off his shoes and socks as he speaks. Four of his toes are missing, the two smallest on each foot. “Don’t think I didn’t fight for you. I just wasn’t strong enough to win.” He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and searches through the slots. His hand trembles as he hands me a folded sheet of paper. It’s worn, as if it’s been opened and refolded hundreds of times.

  It’s a pencil drawing of a boy, faceless, dismembered, being placed into blocks of cement by an unidentifiable man. A chill passes through my body as I look back at my father.

  “Paul said each toe he took from me represented one of your limbs, and as long as I was okay with him keeping a part of me, you could stay whole. He was a psychopath, we all know that now, but I knew it long before anyone else. He forced me to listen to a recording of him raping you, and while I listened, he drew your death on that sheet of paper. He said, keep it close; don’t lose it, because if you lose it you might forget what I’ll do to your son. Yes... I knew. So, you want
to know what I was doing during those times? Praying, for one. And staring at that drawing, trying to convince myself that what you were going through was better than being severed to pieces.” He cleans up the mix of tears and blood with his shirt and continues. “I’d never hand you willingly over to Paul, and I wasn’t part of Jameson Industries in the way that you believe, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t fucked up my life in other ways. I expect to feel hatred from your mother, for my lies and the affair, but I get just the opposite from her. But you, I did everything for, and you’re repulsed by my very presence. Your mother is the one I misled for our entire marriage, and she’s willing to continue on,” he says, still in a calm voice, while concealing his feet inside his shoes. He knows my next question and answers it before I have to ask. “I told her it was an accident from the motor on Paul’s speed boat, said one side of my foot got sliced, and I quickly turned to get away and caught the other foot in its path. The lies to her were non-stop and the less she knew the better. Besides, one of us had to be able to sleep at night.”

  “Why did he hate you so much, Dad? I need answers. Was I punished for something you did? Was this really between the two of you, and I was just used as a pawn in a game?”

  “Cove,” he sighs. “Your mind’s still trying to find an answer to something that will never make sense.”

  The elevator dings and we turn to see my mother step out holding a butcher knife. Sophia’s close behind, still braless, and in bare feet. I shake my head at the two of them and pull the gun out of my waistband, unable to stand it pressed against my ass a moment longer.

  “What’s going on?” My mother demands an answer.

  “He’s gone,” I reply. “Just another prick taking Paul and David’s place, looking for a little extra cash. I’ll tell you about him when we get upstairs.”

  “Where’d he go? If he wanted the check then why did he leave?” Sophia asks.