Driving alone through the night Alex wrestles with what he’s doing. What am I doing? I was going to break this off so why am I still going to see her? Why do I keep going back?
The image of Angela’s bruised and swollen face answers his question. I’m all she has…
He grips the steering wheel harder at the memory of the last time he saw her. She was cut and bruised, her eyes nearly swollen shut while her lips were severely swollen.
He wanted to head straight for the police and have Donald arrested on the spot. But she wouldn’t allow it. She kept saying that he would hurt Jaime if she went to the police.
I should’ve gone to the police anyway. I can’t believe that Donald could do that to her. I…I…
Feelings of guilt leave his head swimming with thoughts of exacting a little vengeance of his own. Soon enough I’ll pay Donald a little visit. As soon as Angela is a little better I’ll make sure that the bastard never lays another hand on her.
Heading out of town to the motel where he stashed Angela he struggles with the rising tide of another form of guilt. He knows now that he’ll not be able to end things with her—meaning his relationship with Victoria will continue to twist in the wind.
But that’s just the way it has to be. She needs me; I can’t just walk away from her. With all that I know how could I ever leave her with Donald? No, for now this has to continue. At least until I can deal with Donald myself.
And with a little luck Victoria never needs to find out. She hasn’t learnt anything yet; maybe I can keep this from her. He hiccups at the thought—too ludicrous for even a desperate man to believe.
Glancing in the rear view mirror he starts as he sees a car tailing him. Looking again though, it’s gone. Wiping his eyes he tells himself to calm down as he pulls off into the motel’s gravel parking lot.
Getting out of the vehicle he nervously looks around the quiet night before walking over to room 4 and letting himself in.
Slowing her car down she waits for Alex to enter a room before quietly following him into the parking lot. Bringing her car to a stop she ponders the scene. What is Alex doing here at this time of night?
The most obvious reason she refuses to even consider. Alex would never cheat on me. He loves me too much, I know it. I know he would never hurt me like that.
As much as she wants to believe that, the way Alex looked around before he entered the room causes her to doubt it. And like a crack in a windshield, one tiny doubt grows and fractures across her mind until it is all that she can think of.
Getting out of her car she tightens her robe around her neck and hurries towards the suddenly ominous wooden door with the number 4 emblazoned on it.
Please let this not be what it looks like.
“You okay?”
Angela Lincoln looks at the worried expression on Alex’s face and meekly nods; “I’m better now that you’re here.”
Sitting down on the bed next to her he takes her hand in his saying, “You should really go to the hospital. You don’t know you might have internal bleeding.”
“If I had internal bleeding,” Angela replies, “I’d probably be dead by now.”
The attempt at levity falls short. “Angela you can’t let him get away with this. He deserves to pay for what he’s done to you.” His voice rising to hold an almost keening quality, he stares deep into her blackened eyes and pleads with her.
“Let me take you to the police. They can protect Jaime. They can protect you!”
“No,” she says shaking her head, “They can’t.”
“Angela this place isn’t exactly the height of safety. It’s the only motel around here, if Donald wanted to find you it wouldn’t take him long.”
“Are you worried about me?”
Surprised by the question he squeezes her hand in his saying, “You know I am.”
“Then stay with me for the whole night, not just for a few hours.”
“I…I can’t,” he stammers.
Placing her finger on his lips she shushes him. “Hold me. I need to feel your arms around me tonight—I need to feel loved.”
She wraps her arms around him on the bed, resting her sore face gingerly on his shoulder. Feeling his strong arms slip around her she smiles.
Opening her eyes a crack she notices the open door. Still smiling she pulls away from the embrace and asks, “Do you love me?”
“Yes, I love you.”
She kisses him softly on the lips while still watching the open door from the corner of her eye. Pulling away she taps him on the shoulder motioning behind him.
Before Alex even turns around his heart sinks with the knowledge that they’re not alone.
Love is blind.
It may be a cliché, but it’s also true. The proof of it is found all around us. How many times do you see an odd couple walking down the street and wonder what does one see in the other?
How many times do you read about the older man with the younger woman? Daddy issues aside, the power that love has to blind us is on display there.
Love is blind, it just is.
In any relationship there are things that one partner does that irritate the other. These things would never be tolerated before love entered the equation. But after love rears itself, the blinders go on and ignorance is bliss.
Love can in many ways take the place of truth in a relationship if you’re not careful. We cling tightly to love once we find it and to keep it, sometimes we’ll lie to ourselves. We’ll believe things that no rational thinking person would ever believe.
But no one ever said love was rational—just blind.
Standing in the doorway of a ratty motel, Victoria Banister knows that she’s been blind.
The intimacy of the scene before her eyes weighs on her chest like a hundred pound weight pressing down on her. She can barely breathe as she watches Alex uncouple himself from her.
All the months sneaking away in the middle of the night…how could I be so stupid?
“Victoria,” Alex crosses the room towards her, “Let me explain.”
As he reaches out for her she pulls away sharply from him. “Don’t touch me!” She bites her lower lip to keep it from trembling as the tears swell up in her eyes. “I can’t believe you’d do this.”
“Victoria let me…let me…” Alex stammers.
“How long?” she asks.
“Long enough,” Angela answers for him.
“SHUT UP!” Alex roars at her. Facing his wife again he begs, “Please just let me explain.”
“Explain?” Victoria questions “What are you going to explain Alex? Are you going to tell me why you fucking cheated on us? I don’t want to hear it.”
Tears streaming down her cheeks she’s gulping air desperately trying to be strong in the face of such betrayal. “Are you going to tell me that you don’t love her? Look at her Alex, did you do that to her? Is that how you get your rocks off?
“Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”
She turns to storm out of the room prompting Alex to grab her by the wrist to try and stop her. Immediately she turns on him knocking his hand away and slapping him across the face. “Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me again! Fuck you Alex!”
Walking to her car she can hear Alex crying behind her. Good, she seethes; he deserves to feel pain for what he’s done.
Getting behind the wheel she wipes tears from her eyes and looks at her image in the rearview mirror. A flood of happy memories—of times with Alex—causes her to break down crying uncontrollably again.
Not wanting him to come outside to try and explain again, she starts the engine and backs out of the lot. Driving away she gasps for air as the world seems to close in around her.
The sound of the heavy wooden doors being opened echoes throughout the quiet church. Stepping inside Walt Anjou hitches his pants up with his thumbs then removes his hat.
He spies the lone occupant of the church five rows from the front on the right side. Clearing his throat he m
akes sure that his son knows that he’s there as he walks up the center aisle.
Reaching the end of the row that Gaetano is seated in he crosses himself and enters the row. Gaetano continues to stare straight ahead offering no acknowledgment of him.
“Your mother said that you’d be here.”
Silence fills the space between them.
Coughing into his meaty fist Walt sits down heavily next to his son saying, “We need to talk Guy.”
Casting his eyes downward Guy whispers, “That we do.” Turning to look his father in the eye he asks, “What is it you want to talk about?”
Something in his son’s gaze is disconcerting for Walt. His eyes seem almost lifeless—cold and devoid of any emotion. Shuddering from the force of his glare he offers, “Your mother is worried about you.”
“And you,” Guy innocently asks, “What about you father? Are you worried?”
Swallowing Walt studies his son closely. As he does he begins to break out into a cold sweat. Wiping a handkerchief across his flat brow he clears his throat. “We’re both worried for you Guy. We know how much Dominique meant to you. I’m sorry for what happened to her.”
Guy does the unthinkable when he hears this—he smiles. But it’s not the same happy grin that Walt used to see on his son—it’s darker and more frightening. The smile of someone with nothing left to lose, Walt thinks.
“Something funny?” he asks nervously.
“You saying that you’re sorry,” Guy turns away from his father saying, “Coming from you I find that funny.”
“Why’s that?”
Guy looks at him from out of the corner of his dead eyes, his malevolent grin raising the hairs on Walt’s arms. Looking towards the altar he says nothing.
Sighing, Walt can feel his skin crawling making him extremely uncomfortable. Standing up, he yanks on the top of his pants saying, “This cryptic act is not becoming Guy. I’ll see you at home. Don’t stay out too late.”
“Can I ask you a question before you go father?”
“Go ahead.”
Looking up at him he asks, “What’s Chimera?”
The ground beneath his feet seems to shift as Walt hears this question. He can feel his eyes bulging out of their sockets as he’s unable to draw any breath at all.
“Wha…Where did…How do…?” Walt sits back down on the pew before his knees give out on him.
Picking up a slim binder from beside him, Guy hands it to his father. Walt doesn’t even have to open it to know what’s inside it. He’s intimately familiar with the contents of this binder.
Holding it in his palms as if it were a living thing that could bite him at any moment, Walt asks “Where did you get this?”
“The safe in your office,” Guy answers matter-of-factly.
“The combination…how did you…?”
“Your birthday,” Guy smiles a rictus grin, “Not terribly original father.”
Regaining some of his composure Walt asks, “Why would you do this?”
“Funny,” Guy comments “I was just about to ask you the same thing. I know what Chimera is; I just wanted to hear you say it.”
The room is spinning around Walt. Closing his eyes he tries unsuccessfully to calm down. Finally looking at his only son he tries to explain. “I don’t know what you’ve read Guy, but you don’t understand—”
“Really,” Guy interrupts “Then you didn’t sell your soul? You didn’t sacrifice justice for financial gain?”
Standing up he looms over Walt. His once dead eyes are alive now with fire and hate as he snatches the binder back from his stunned father. “You knew what they were doing and did nothing to stop them. You knew what could happen!
“I lost the only woman that I’ve ever loved. Dom is dead because of you! How many other countless lives have you been responsible for ending, huh?”
Brushing past his stunned father, Guy reaches the center aisle before turning back to look at him. “I hate you for this. You took the best thing in my life away from me. My best friend is laid up in hospital right now because of what you’ve done. DOM IS DEAD!
“And so are you—you’re dead to me now. You hear me? I have no father!”
Walt watches him stalk down the aisle towards the doors. After a moment he manages to stand and stumble towards the aisle calling after him.
Guy finally stops with his hand on the door, to acknowledge his calls.
Walt tries to sound forceful but his voice sounds like a helpless plea. “You’ll keep what you know to yourself? Please tell me that you won’t say anything about what you know.”
“Live in fear.”
With that Guy is gone leaving Walt to clutch at his chest while leaning heavily on the end of a pew. Turning around he stares wretchedly at the crucified Jesus hanging at the front of the church.
Chapter 41
October 30
The autumn sun peeks over the horizon twinkling light off the dusting of hoar frost. Red and blue lights dance between the yellow strands of sunlight. One police cruiser and an ambulance crowd around the side of highway 7.
In the ditch rests a solitary car with its rear wheels off the ground and its hood crumpled up like an accordion. Clark Starling snatches the collar of his jacket tighter around his neck against the chill of the fall morning. Pacing along the edge of the road he watches as the paramedics work to remove Victoria Banister from the car.
The bright yellow of the back board seems somehow vulgar to him so he turns away. What were you doing out here by yourself last night Victoria?
Examining the car he notices some damage to the right side rear bumper that is inconsistent with what they know about the accident. If she lost control of her vehicle and crashed into the ditch the rear shouldn’t have any damage.
Leaning closer over the elevated trunk he spies silver paint flecks that don’t match the red of her vehicle. A chill begins to seep into his bones that has nothing to do with the temperature.
Maybe you weren’t out here alone last night after all.
Having secured her to the back board the two medics carefully bring her up out of the ditch. Looking over at her immobilized body, Clark takes a cursory inventory of her noticeable injuries.
Her head has been busted open, presumably from colliding with the dash of the car. The same collision that probably broke some vertebrae in her neck—the reason for the back board.
Her right leg is resting on the board at an odd angle as well, leading Clark to conclude that she most likely broke a leg too.
“Is she conscious?”
Laying the back board on top of the wheeled stretcher on the road, Weston Everett turns his attention to Clark. A subtle and somber shake of his head answers the question.
Clark knows Weston fairly well from their bi-weekly meetings on the golf course. His curly blond hair, bright blue eyes, and pudgy cheeks are usually the perfect complement to his vibrant personality. Clark’s not used to seeing his friend subdued like this.
“How bad is it?”
Stepping away from the stretcher for a moment Weston answers, “It’s bad. The force of the impact almost certainly fractured some vertebrae…she might not walk again.”
“Can you tell how long she’s been out here?”
“It wasn’t that cold last night, but she does show some signs of exposure. The shock probably helped with that though. Best guess is that she’s been here for a few hours anyway. Does Alex know?”
“Haven’t been able to reach him yet.”
Weston notices the look in Clark’s eyes and asks, “You’re not thinking that Alex had something to do with this are you?”
“Damage to the rear of the car, including paint chips, suggests that this might not have been a simple accident.” Seeing that his words have shocked his friend, Clark pats him on the shoulder adding, “We’ll know more for sure when Victoria wakes up.”
“If she wakes up,” Weston somberly comments.
“You better go,” Clark says, “Call me as
soon as there’s a change in her condition.”
Reaching out his hand Will Sullivan grabs the door handle to the police station before stopping. Every instinct that he has, every bit of sense and reason is screaming at him to turn around and leave.
But he can’t. If he’s ever going to find justice for his parents, then he has to do this. Taking a deep breath he pulls the door open and crosses the threshold returning to the dragon’s lair.
Once inside the memories of his confinement tug and pull at his consciousness, instinctively drawing his attention towards the desk of Sheriff Anjou.
Unoccupied…for now.
Turning away he meets the curious gaze of the officer on duty. He’s of average height with short auburn hair, a groomed mustache, and has reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.
“Can I help you?”
Focusing on the young officer behind the counter he sees his nametag reads ‘Dodson’. He has a patient expression and an intense quality to his eyes.
“You recognize me?”
“Yes,” Dodson nods.
“I’m looking for Agent Fine. Is he around?”
“Not at the moment,” Dodson asks, “Anything I can help you with Mr. Sullivan?”
“I doubt it,” Will looks around the room asking, “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“He doesn’t exactly punch a clock around here. Last I heard he was looking for Jacob Castle—could be awhile before he turns up again. Sure I can’t help you?”
“No,” Walt Anjou’s gravelly voice booms from behind Will, “I think you’ve been enough help already Dodson.” Staring at his officer, Walt shakes his head in disgust over his tongue wagging.
“That’ll be all Dodson,” he dismisses him before turning his attention to Will. “What are you doing here Sullivan?”
“Looking for Agent Fine, I have information for him.”
Turning around Walt walks behind his desk and sits his heavy bulk down in the chair to the protestations of the hinges. Looking up at Will through narrow slits he asks, “What information?”
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