by Rina Kent
H&H’s car park isn’t that big, but it’s still underground and silent. The only sound is the buzzing from one of the defective neon lights.
This time, I don’t stand there and wait for the hit.
I beep my car and reach out to open the door. When a hand comes from behind me, I startle, hitting blindly.
It’s like I’m pushed back to that day eleven years ago. Soon, there’ll be the crunch of the blade against my bones, then blood — lots of blood — followed by pain.
Uncontrollable pain.
I’ll be buried alive in a grave. I’ll be just like those women, where no one will hear my screams.
“No!” I shriek, then shove my hand in my bag and retrieve the pepper spray I started keeping on me since my most recent attack.
I whirl around and point it at the shadow. I don’t care if he’s a member of a victim’s family. I shouldn’t be the subject of his wrath.
My voice is strong and comes from the bottom of my gut. “If you want to attack anyone, go stab the fucker Maxim!”
“Whoa.”
My hold falters on the pepper spray as I come face-to-face with none other than Ethan Steel.
My harsh breathing slows down and I glance behind him as if expecting to find the shadow. Sure enough, there’s what resembles a shadow, but it’s only Agnus.
“Sorry.” I drop the bottle back into my bag. “I thought it was someone else.”
“It’s fine.” He smiles, and it’s kind of welcoming. Kind of, because there’s something else behind it that I can’t pinpoint.
“Is there something I can help you with, Ethan?”
“Yes, and I can’t exactly visit you at Jonathan’s place or he’ll chase me away with a shotgun.” He motions at his car. “Do you have a moment?”
I hesitate for a beat. It’s not only due to Jonathan’s warnings about staying away from Ethan — and the entire male population, per his words. I also want to go home tonight. It feels crucial that I be there.
Seeming to sense my hesitation, Ethan says, “It’s about Jonathan.”
That gets my attention. No matter how much Jonathan says he hates Ethan, he was once his best friend. One way or another, he knew him better than anyone else.
I follow to Ethan’s car and Agnus joins in the front seat beside the driver. He’s like Harris in a way, but without the latter’s weird antics and snobbish sense of humour. He’s kind of grown on me. Even Margot’s and Tom’s silence has grown on me, too.
Everything that I was wary of about Jonathan’s entourage has eventually snuck its way into my life. Before I knew it, they became an inseparable part.
The car rolls down the streets. The bright city lights and the endless traffic are visible through the tinted window. No idea why all of it gives me a horrific premonition.
“What did you want to talk about?” I ask Ethan.
He leans an elbow on the armrest between us and pins me down like a lab researcher would do to his guinea pig. “Why don’t you tell me, Aurora? What’s your secret?”
My heart pounds at that word. Secret. Whenever someone says it, I feel like my past will come running in and ruin any type of stability I’ve been building for years. Not that Ethan would know anything about it.
Right?
Adopting my nonchalant tone, I say, “My secret concerning what?”
“Concerning how Jonathan treats you. He’s never shown his true feelings about anyone — at least not until he crushes them. Hell, he didn’t even act this way towards his father and brother when they were alive.”
“Was he…close to them?”
“Yes, especially James.”
My chest falls at what Jonathan must’ve felt when he lost his only brother. I know he died of an accident that also took away Astrid’s mother, but that’s not all. He was an addict prior to that. I could almost imagine Jonathan wanting to help him and not finding the right way to, because he sucks at offering emotional support.
“At first, I thought you were holding something over his head.” Ethan taps his fingers on the armrest. “But we both know Jonathan is the type who holds things over people’s heads, not the other way around.”
“You can say that again.”
“So what is it? The Alicia angle?”
“I don’t know. You can ask him yourself if you’re so curious.”
“That would get my head on a platter, and I kind of need it. My head, I mean.”
I clear my throat. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Elsa mentioned that Jonathan and you fell apart because he blames you for Alicia’s death. Is that the case?”
“Not entirely. That was the final straw.” He sighs, and his gaze seems to be trapped someplace in the past. “It all started with our loathsome rivalry and games. We used to play a lot of them when we were younger. Jonathan refused to lose and I was the same. When we graduated from university and each of us took reign of part of the family business, we rivalled each other in profit margin and stock value. Then it extended to other things. Gambling. Property. Women.”
“Women?”
“Yes. We shared women. Occasionally at the same time.”
“Oh.” My lips fall open. I kind of find it hard to imagine Jonathan and Ethan doing threesomes.
“Is there a problem?”
“No, it’s just that Jonathan is possessive.”
“Of you, and of his wife, perhaps, but he wasn’t in the past. He didn’t care enough about anyone to be possessive.”
“So you, like, had threesomes…right?” I whisper, not sure if Agnus and the driver should be privy to this conversation.
“We had. Don’t get me wrong, we didn’t touch each other, but we got off on the same things. Not to mention, we were somehow always attracted to the same type of women.”
“Looks-wise?”
“No.” A mischievous smirk tilts his lips. “Personality-wise. Both of us could sense their demons, their mental scars, and I guess we were attracted to the broken sides of them.”
“Is that why he married Alicia? Aside from the revenge, I mean.”
“You know about that.”
“He told me.”
He nods. “It’s part of the reason, yes.”
“And you married Elsa’s mother.”
“Correct. Both women were…how to put it? Beautifully broken. At least, Abby was. Alicia slowly disintegrated from Jonathan.”
“What?”
“She pulled away from him after Aiden’s birth. He became her world and Jonathan was second.”
“That’s not what Aiden said. He mentioned it was Jonathan who pulled away.”
“Aiden was just a kid. He had no idea what was going on between his parents.”
“And you do?”
“Despite our rivalry, Jonathan and I remained friends. We talked.”
“Did you continue to share?”
He laughs, the sound light and amused. “Our wives? Absolutely not.”
Phew. Then whatever Layla heard about Ethan’s wife having an affair with Jonathan must’ve been a stupid rumour all along.
“So what happened? What caused you both to be at each other’s throats?”
“They both fucked up,” Agnus says from the front seat, making his presence known.
Ethan releases a breath that seems exasperated, but he nods. “We did. For net profit rivalry reasons, Jonathan arranged for someone to burn down my main coal factory in Birmingham. Due to a miscalculation, the factory caught fire while people were inside and many passed away.”
“The Great Birmingham Fire,” I gasp. It was all over the news back then. I can’t believe Jonathan was behind that.
“So you kidnapped Aiden as retaliation?” I ask.
“Correct. Though, due to another miscalculation, he was tortured for more than a week by my unwell wife and almost died. Alicia figured he was with us, and drove to find him, and that’s how she had her accident.”
“That’s why Jonathan blames you.” It
all makes sense now. His aggression towards Ethan is fuelled by the past, and although the man in front of me indulges him, there’s something else to it.
He’s not as closed off as Jonathan, and he doesn’t hold grudges as long either. The reason he’s been a thorn in Jonathan’s side is probably because it brings back memories from when they were rivals or frenemies or whatever their relationship was.
“You want to be friends with him again.” I don’t voice it as a question, because I’m almost sure that’s the case.
“Friends?” He chuckles. “Are we talking about the same Jonathan?”
“He’s not a stone and you know it.”
“But he’s perfect at emulating one.”
“That’s because you keep provoking him.”
“The only way he reacts.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I smile. “But I don’t think he’s that immune to emotions. He might not feel them like everyone else, but they’re there, and I’m sure he also remembers your friendship.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“I would, and you know what? I’m going to help.”
He raises a brow. “And how are you going to do that?”
The car comes to a stop at a gas station for a refill. My grin falters as I stare out the window at the very familiar face on the TV screen inside the store.
Ethan is talking, but I’m not listening. Like a moth drawn to a deadly flame, I open the door with shaky fingers and step out.
My ears buzz, and the closer I am to the store, the more everything else is erased from my surroundings. It’s like there’s no one and nothing. No smells, no sights.
Just nothing.
I’m floating on air, unable to feel my legs. By the time I reach the counter, where the cashier and a few customers are focused on the news, I think I may fall.
I don’t.
My feet keep me planted in place as the buzz in my ears gives way to the male news anchor’s voice.
“Turmoil broke out in the juridical system today when Judge Huntington approved the parole hearing of Maxim Griffin.” The image flashes from the anchor to an archived footage of when the police first arrested Dad. He was on his way home after that call he made to me when the police grabbed him. As they led him to the car, a conceited smirk tugged at his lips. “The most notorious serial killer in the UK’s recent history has murdered seven identified women and ten others remain suspected. The ages of his victims ranged from nineteen to thirty and all carried the same physical description.
“Griffin is labelled as the Duct Tape Killer because he abducted his victims and suffocated them using silver duct tape for long periods of time that ranged from several hours to a day before he buried them behind his cabin. His daughter, sixteen years old at the time, was the one who reported seeing her father dragging a corpse out of their hunting cabin. The trial was messy and had a lot of public attention, both inside and outside of Great Britain.” The screen flashes again to show Dad during his recent interview. “A few weeks ago, Griffin conducted an interview for the first time and accused his daughter of being an accomplice. He claims the only reason the police caught him was due to being betrayed by his partner in crime.
“The Crown Prosecution Service announced that it will re-open an investigation in regards of Clarissa Griffin, who also happens to be the only alleged witness of Maxim Griffin’s crimes. The serial killer’s daughter should be twenty-seven now. In an exclusive statement, her father’s solicitor, Stephan Wayne, says that she has adopted a new identity and currently lives in London. It’s notable to mention that Clarissa disappeared right after the sentencing of her father and escaped the Witness Protection Program.” A headshot of me from eleven years ago appears on the screen. Even though it’s old, if anyone looks at it hard enough, they’ll recognise me. “The question remains. A victim or an assailant?”
My legs shake, unable to carry me as the screen switches to a statement made by the solicitor, Stephan.
I try to focus, but the world is closing in on me and all I can hear is the beeping in my ears and the sinking of my heart.
The cashier’s attention shifts to me, and I jerk back. God. They’ll recognise me. The nightmare will start all over again.
“May I help you, Miss?” The cashier watches me closely.
I lower my head as Dad’s voice filters from the TV. “In the time I spent in confinement, I started believing in justice, its rules, and how it should be applied. I love my daughter, but she needs to pay for what she’s done. Justice, Clarissa. I taught you that.”
If someone stabs you once, stab them back ten times.
That’s what he taught me. Those were the exact words my father said to six-year-old me when I came crying about a girl who stole my pens at school. He kept repeating them until they became my mantra.
The cashier is still staring at me, but before he can recognise me, I spin around and run out of the small store. They’ll know who I am now, and everything will start again.
The name-calling, the trials, the poor police treatment, the accusatory looks.
Everything.
A hand grabs me by the arm and I yelp, coming to a screeching halt.
Ethan.
His brows scrunch. “Are you okay?”
No. Absolutely not.
He holds my phone that I left in the car, on which there are five missed calls.
“Jonathan has been calling nonstop.” His gaze drifts behind me. “Also, why is everyone staring at you?”
No, no…
Agnus barges outside and kind of pushes me towards the car.
“What’s going on?” Ethan asks, but he follows anyway.
“She needs to get out of the public eye.” Agnus’s features remain steady. “Now.”
Ethan and I are both inside when the car revs its engine in the street. Then Elsa’s father asks, “Are you going to elaborate, Agnus?”
“She’s part of a public trial.”
Again. I’m part of a public trial again.
I barely survived the first one. I can’t go through that nightmare all over again.
18
Aurora
I’m shaking by the time the car stops. I have no clue about the destination. All I know is that I should stay far away from that place, those people.
From everything.
Ethan didn’t try to talk to me, and I’m glad for that. I wouldn’t have been able to converse with him even if my life depended on it.
I’m back to being that teenage girl who sat in a dark corner in the safe houses the police took me to. I pulled my knees to my chest and trembled all night, unable to rid the victims’ faces from my mind.
At every trial, their families brought their happy pictures, their toddler albums, their graduation memories — all the things that made them human.
They thrust them in my face and demanded I see how their lives were stolen and could never be retrieved.
In that dark corner, I prayed for their souls. I even asked for forgiveness on Dad’s behalf, but with time, I stopped everything altogether.
I think a part of me died during those excruciatingly long weeks. With every trial, every escape from the media, and every look in Dad’s desolate eyes, pieces of my soul slowly chipped, then scattered.
For eleven years, I’ve been trying to gather them back together again, and just when I thought I finally could, the nightmare rushes back in.
The door opens, and I startle, pushing into Ethan’s side. What if they found me so soon and will now finish what they started eleven years ago?
Maybe my attacker has returned and he’ll drag me back to that eighth grave.
A breath leaves me when I get trapped in those grey eyes. It’s a weird sense of relief, something I never thought I’d feel upon seeing Jonathan.
There’s a crease in the middle of his forehead as if he doesn’t approve of the scene. As proof, he clutches me by the elbow and pulls me out of the car. I stumble, but he catches me against him, his arm wr
apping tightly around my waist.
He leans back into the car to glare at Ethan. “Get off my property and don’t show your face here again.”
“A thank you would be nice,” Ethan shoots back.
“You’re lucky that I’m not setting you and your car on fire.”
“If it weren’t for me and my car, Aurora wouldn’t have gotten here in time.”
I gulp, imagining what might’ve happened if I had been caught there on my own. Sure I could’ve escaped, but they could’ve recognised me first, or worse, filmed me and caused some sort of a media ruckus.
“That’s why I’m allowing you to leave intact.” Jonathan slams the door shut.
Ethan lowers the window. “Take care of yourself, Aurora.”
And just like that, the car speeds down the road.
“That fucker.” Jonathan stares at the retreating vehicle.
I’m still shaking, and as much as I want to, I can’t stop. There isn’t anything I want more than to pull myself together and then…what? Run? Disappear? Is that even an option anymore?
Jonathan holds me by my shoulders an arm’s length away and leans down so he can stare me in the eyes. There’s a slight furrow in his brow, only, it’s not his usual disapproval; it’s something similar to concern. “Are you okay?”
Tears gather in my eyes as I shake my head frantically. I don’t attempt to speak, because I have no clue what to say, and something tells me I’d burst out in sobs.
I don’t want Jonathan — or anyone — to see me that way.
“You will be.” His thumb slides under my eyes, gathering the unshed tears and wiping them away. “Do you trust me?”
I stare at him, taken aback by his sudden question.
If he’d asked me that in the past, my answer would’ve been a definite no — especially after I heard Alicia’s message. However, ever since that turned out to be null, there’s been something morbid growing inside me for this man. Maybe trust is part of that?
When I don’t answer, he grabs me by the hand, where the wound is almost healed. “You’ll have to trust me on this one.”
Before I can make out what he means, Jonathan drags me to his car. As soon as we slide inside, Moses drives out at full speed. I physically push back against the seat cushions from the force of it.