How could he bear it? What he must have been going through all this time. To see me, to hold me, and not tell me. What a man. What a saint.
I couldn't stop the tears continuing to fall. Everything made sense now. My hatred for lollipops. My uncle called his cock a lollipop. “Suck the lollipop,” he used to say to me. Ugh. And the feeling that I had lost someone important. The sensation I was waiting for someone.
My legs felt too weak to carry my body, but I forced myself not to collapse before I arrived at his home. He had given me his key, which I attached to my key ring. I got out of the car, and staggered to his door.
“Caleb,” I screamed, but my voice sounded muffled and puny. I struggled to find the key and when it seemed all I managed to do was slot in the wrong ones, I began to pound desperately on the door.
“Caleb” I cried, unable to gain control of myself. I had never felt so raw, so exposed ... so broken. Then the lock turned. I had found the right key. I pushed open the door and entered the deadly quiet house.
“Caleb!” I croaked. Then I collapsed to the ground, no longer able to hold myself up. I thought I saw a pair of feet and legs running towards me, and I reached out for them, but I only grasped empty air. “Caleb, where are you? Where are you, my love?” I whispered.
And that was the last thing I remembered.
51
Caleb
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r8qpTL1wxGQ
The thudding sound woke me up from the drunken stupor I’d been wallowing in. For the amount I’d consumed it should have been damn near impossible to wake me up, but my years in prison had ingrained the need to sleep lightly. Especially, when I first arrived. I was fresh meat then, barely a man and there were too many people who wanted me to be their bitch.
My head was pounding like it had a fucking pneumatic drill inside it. I remembered attempting to drag myself off to bed, but I must have collapsed halfway through and just fallen asleep on the floor.
I lifted my head and listened to the sound, but it had gone quiet. I would have put it down to my imagination and just gone back to sleep on the floor, but something felt wrong. My chest felt tight. I felt the same way that night when Willow called me. My heart instantly slammed against my chest, and I struggled to my feet. Bare chested I ran towards the front door. It was Willow. There was no doubt in my mind about that. It was Willow.
Willow had come to me.
I got to the corridor and froze. In darkness I saw the open door and the still body lying just inside the entrance
“Willow!” I shouted and ran towards her. I skidded to the floor next to her and quickly began to check her breathing. She was still breathing and that was a tremendous relief.
“Willow!” I called.
I quickly checked her body for any injuries before I tried to move her. There seemed to be none that was obvious, but why was she unconscious. I decided not to move her.
I got my phone and called 911. Then I gently pulled her head onto my lap and waited.
My eyes stung with tears to see her like this. I rocked her gently in my arms. What had happened to her? If someone was responsible for hurting her I swore to God, I was going to make them pay.
The ambulance arrived and they put her on a gurney. I pulled on a shirt and shoes and told them I was going with them. They saw the state I was in and decided not to argue.
While she was admitted and examined, I found a vending machine and got myself a coffee. My head was killing me and I felt strange and brittle. I leaned against a wall and drank the bitter coffee. It was vile. I let my head touch the wall behind me and closed my eyes. Jesus. What a mess.
“It’s horrible, isn’t it?”
I opened my eyes and saw a woman standing next to me. She was painfully thin and her eyes were red.
“I’m here because my boyfriend overdosed. What happened to your girl?”
“I don’t know what happened to her.”
“Oh, I thought she overdosed too.”
“No, she doesn’t take drugs.”
“Lucky her. And she’s got you. I wish I had someone like you. Someone who cares like you. All he cares about is getting high.” Her voice ended on a sob.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Yeah, it’s a shit life. I’ve got no money. Can you spare some change for the coffee machine?”
I fished out some notes from my wallet and gave them to her.
“Yeah, like I said. She’s one lucky gal.” Then she went away without getting herself a coffee. I guessed that I just bought her, her next high. I threw away the coffee cup and went to wait for the doctor to be done with Willow.
Eventually, he came out.
“She is not severely hurt apart from some light bruises.”
I could tell that he was watching me carefully, wondering if I had lied about finding her in that condition and if I was the one responsible for her injuries, especially given my disheveled and half-crazed state.
“If she doesn’t have any injuries then why did she collapse?”
“Emotional distresses.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“The only diagnosis that I can arrive at right now, is that she most likely experienced a very distressing emotional episode. It’s left her completely drained. I can’t know anymore until she wakes up and explains it to us herself, so the best we can do now is to monitor her until then. You can go and be with her if you want.”
I nodded and went to her room and pulled the chair closer to her bedside. After brushing her hair away from her face, I lowered my head on the bed and watched her as she rested.
52
Willow
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9EHAo6rEuas
I could sense a hand holding mine.
It was warm and gentle. I felt weak and drained, but I opened my eyes and saw the full head of hair next to me. He was asleep. I watched him and the memories began to slowly trickle back. I tried my best to hold it all in, but it wasn’t long before I was sobbing quietly. No wonder my young mind had decided to block them away.
Here he was. Protecting me. Caring for me. Just as he had always done. Putting me first.
I felt it then, the powerful bond we had shared twelve years ago. Two hurt and lonely kids, finding peace, comfort and even joy in the other.
As I looked at his silky hair my heart felt like it might burst.
Just then I felt him stiffen, and my heart slammed into my chest. He raised his face and looked into my eyes. God, I couldn’t hold back the emotion. All these years … All these years.
I felt his hand on my face, wiping away the tears.
“Why are you crying?” he asked.
His calm, deep voice sent ripples of emotions through me. Joy ... pain ... love … guilt. The sacrifice he had made for me filled me with sorrow.
He was my angel. I didn’t know how to express the gratitude I felt for him. But before all else I needed to be in his arms. Somehow, I lifted myself off the bed and slipped my arms around him. A small groan sounded from his lips. He probably didn’t know I had remembered everything.
He held me tightly to him until I was ready.
“Take me home,” I told him.
“Just as soon as the doctor says you can go,” he said gently into my ear.
A little while later, we were in a taxi. He was giving the driver the directions to my parents’ house, when I laid my hand on his and said, “Not there. Your house. Your house can be my home, right?”
He couldn’t speak, but his Adam’s apple bobbed. Then he nodded and quickly turned his face away so that I wouldn’t see how deeply affected he was. I gave the driver his address and snuggled up against him.
He looked so incredibly unkempt, which was such a stark difference from the Caleb I had become familiar with. He had allowed his beard to grow out, and his eyes were sunken. Maria had been right. He truly had given up on everything and gone home to mourn. It hurt me all over again.
“I remember everything now,” I w
hispered.
He turned to look at me. The pain in his face ripped through my insides.
“You … you remember?”
“Everything.”
Tears of joy filled his eyes. “How? When?”
I didn’t want to tell him about Bradley because I didn’t need to hurt him more, but I didn’t want to lie either. I held his hand and spoke quietly, and by the time I was done, he had gone as still as a stone. That scared me more than anything.
“Caleb, forget about him. He got nowhere. I hurt him more than he hurt me. He’ll never be able to face me again.”
His hand shook with fury and he spoke through gritted teeth. “How dare he? Take advantage of your vulnerability. The fucking bastard.”
“I’m so sorry.” My voice broke. “I don’t know why I keep getting caught up in these situations.”
He cradled the side of my face. “It’s not your fault if men are assholes.”
“I’m so very sorry, Caleb, you had to go to prison for all those years. Even though you wanted to take the blame to save me. The truth is If I had not lost my memory, I would have told them everything. They would never have sent me to prison. It was not fair. You suffered way too much for me.” I thought of all the hardship and torment he must have suffered in a prison with dangerous people for twelve long years on my account. And yet he had come back to me without a trace of bitterness.
“You should have told me,” I said. “From the moment you came back. How could you bear all of it alone?”
“Your life had moved on. You’d gotten yourself a little business and I was proud of you, Willow. I didn’t want you to remember what that beast did to you.”
I shut my eyes against the flash of images in my mind, and fought the urge to throw up. I looked away from him and tried to bring myself under control.
“How could I make you remember that? I was glad that you had forgotten, and I hoped that you’d never have to remember.”
“I love you, Caleb. I love you so much.”
“I love you more,” he said simply.
I leaned my head on his shoulder, and wrapped my hands around his arm as we rode home.
When we got out of the taxi he turned to me.
“Do you want something to eat?” he asked as we got into the house.
“I’m not hungry,” I said. “What about you?”
“I just need a shower.”
“So do I,” I whispered.
I followed him to my bedroom ... our bedroom. The room was a complete mess. Over the last several days, it seems he had retreated into it and drank himself to oblivion. All around, were empty whiskey bottles and take-out food cartons. He began to pick up a bottle, but the motion must have made his head ache because he winced and straightened.
“I’ll help you,” I said and walked over, but he stopped me.
“No, there’s too much to do,” he said. “I’ll get someone to come clean it up in the morning. Let’s use the guest bedroom for tonight.”
“Alright,” I agreed with a smile.
He took me to one of the other bedrooms. I stood at the doorway watching him. Suddenly, I remembered what Marie had said.
“Marie came to the shop. She told me you’ve lost everything, even your license. She said you will even have to sell this house to pay for all your losses. Is it true?”
He stopped in his tracks, then turned to look at me. “Yes, it’s true.”
Quote
“When Death smiles at you, all you can do is smile back.
They are barbarians, all who cannot understand true love.”
- Anonymous.
53
Caleb
Two days earlier
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oBirzjRF4aE&list=RDoBirzjRF4aE&start_radio=1
One of the Don Carlo Bambino’s goons held the door open and I walked into his study. I stood at the entrance of the dark wood paneled room and waited. It was very quiet in the room even though there were three people in it. Two men in dark suits, whose sole purpose was probably nothing other than intimidation, were standing behind the Don, and the Don himself.
The Don was sitting behind a big mahogany desk with a green leather surface. There was nothing on the desk except an elaborate Christie’s lamp, an intricately carved golden box, and a black gun. Where I stood I could see he had a flabby white face and pitiless, dead eyes. He was what one would call a thoroughly ugly man. He kinda reminded me of Hitchcock. His corpulent body was dressed in a charcoal black silk shirt and a beautifully cut white suit. He looked like a poisonous frog in it.
He leaned back in his chair and waved his hand towards the gold box.
Immediately, one of the men who had been standing behind him rushed to open it, take out a cigar, cut and light it. His head was slightly lowered as if he was in the presence of greatness. He held the cigar out for the Don as if it was an offering. Foul cigar smoke drifted towards me. Through the curls of smoke his dead eyes watched me.
“I like that you didn’t presume to come forward.” His voice was surprisingly smooth and cultured. Like a radio personality’s. “Come in and sit down,” he invited.
I walked to one of the two chairs on the other side of him and sat down.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he offered, as he took another puff.
“Whiskey, neat,” I said.
He waved his hand again, and the same man who had rushed to prepare his cigar poured me a drink. He watched me take a sip. He didn’t have one himself.
“Good?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I’m not a connoisseur.”
He smiled, and it made him look even more dangerous. “No, they don’t serve whiskey in prison, do they? Not even to the smart boys.”
I didn’t smile back. “No, they don’t.”
“You went to a lot of trouble to find me. What do you want?”
“I want to say I’m sorry. I fucked up and put your project in jeopardy.”
He blew smoke in my direction. “Jeopardy? How so?”
“I made a miscalculation and lost a lot of my own and my clients’ money. I believe I have already been reported for mismanagement and there is a good chance my license will be revoked, and I will no longer be able to continue with my work on your project.”
“Hmmm … I spoke to Frank yesterday. He couldn’t believe you could make a rookie mistake like that. He didn’t understand why you didn’t sell when you had the opportunity. Why didn’t you?”
“I believed the market would rebound. I realize now I was too naïve, too optimistic, too inexperienced.”
He waved his hand to indicate he wasn’t interested in my excuses. “How do you intend to make it better?”
“I have a few million parked in a different jurisdiction. I would be happy to transfer it to you.”
He nodded. “How many million?”
“Three, give or take a few thousand.”
He nodded. “Yes, that would be acceptable. What about your house?”
“That will be sold to pay off my debts.”
He shook his head. “I want it.”
Of course, he was not happy with emptying out my bank account. Blood was not enough for him. He wanted a beating heart. “Right. I’ll work something out.”
“Good. What about the girl’s shop?”
I clenched my hands, but I kept my face expressionless. “She doesn’t own the property.”
“Yes, I know. I wondered what it would take to infuriate you. Now I know. You can go. My men will tell you where to transfer everything.”
“Not so fast. You can have everything I own, but I want something back.”
He smiled. It never reached those snake eyes. “I never negotiate. I tell you what I want and you give it to me.”
“No, that is not how this is going down.”
“You know, I was exactly like you when I was young. Brash. Arrogant.” He reached out and stroked his gun as if it was a cat. Then he took it in his hand, stood and walked laboriously around th
e table towards me. He put the gun at my temple. “Tell me, how is this going to go down, then?”
I could feel a muscle ticking in my jaw, but I stared straight ahead. “I walk out of here and we never meet again, you never send your men to ask me to do anything for you again. You forget me or my woman even exist.”
He cocked the gun and the room went deadly silent. “And why should I do that when it is clear you can be very useful to me in the future?”
The cold metal on my temple had no effect on me. I felt no fear. My hands were steady and my heartbeat was normal. I knew he would be wasting a bullet if he shot me now. No money, no house. I looked at the painting behind his desk. It depicted the scene of a battlefield. Could have been Italian or French. I was not an expert on paintings, but the old antique frame suggested it was a very important painting. I didn’t turn my head.
“Because,” I said softly. “You have stuff on me from many years ago, but I have dates and times and names that very interestingly connect to some unsolved murders.” I started to mention some names and dates. The pressure of the gun didn’t ease, but I felt that instinctive jerk in his body. “I have no intention of ever doing anything with that information. It is being stored very carefully by solicitors in New York and Boston. If anything happens to me or my family, and that especially includes my girl and her family, then they will be released to the FBI and all national papers. All I want is to live my life in peace. You have all my money, you’ll have my house. All I ask is to be left alone to live a small life. A life that doesn’t include crime. I have no Intention of ever seeing the inside of a prison again.”
Saint & Sinner: A Second Chance Romance Page 22