He shared a look with Mason, a smirk hitching one side of his lips.
“You bet on that too?”
“No. But I knew you would be asking about her. Come with me to my office.”
He lowered his shiny black cane to the ground, gripping the stainless steel skull as he walked out of the room.
“Do you know?” I asked Mason, following on my Uncle’s heels.
“Of course I know, Declan. I know everything.”
My father scoffed from behind me, his laughed.
Mason and his father was virtually the same damn person down to their cocky, assholery attitudes, which were about ten times brasher than mine.
And if I ever wondered what I’d look like when I was older, I had my Uncles’ and my Father to go off of. To say the Andreou genes were dominant would be an understatement.
Our eye color seemed to be the only variation between us sometimes.
That and the fact boys were born into the family far more often than girls.
Katie was having the first after a long drought, and she still had to birth a boy in the process.
Grandmother was beside herself with joy. Honestly, we all were. It showed progression and continuation of our bloodline—of our legacy.
It dated back long before my Dad was a drop of sperm in a nut sack.
We all exited the red room hall and entered the main house. As we did Ethan appeared at the top of the staircase.
“Am I late to the party?” he joked, falling into our little line as we passed.
“I’m not sure. Did any of you bet on him?”
“No. He’s late for everything,” my father answered.
I had to agree with that. If I wasn’t hounding him he tended to show up whenever the fuck he felt like it.
Entering my Uncle’s office, I went straight to the leather sofa that sat against the right wall.
Mason took one of the seats across his Dad’s desk. My father stood.
Ethan sat beside me, which wasn’t surprising. Another thing I valued my family for.
They weren’t judgmental, stick-up-the-ass motherfuckers even with the mass amount of wealth they had. They didn’t give a shit what anyone was into. Not their sexual orientation, their filthy kinks, or how they liked to perform in the Red Rooms.
My father knew I was into boys before I did. He was the one responsible for my first male fuck-kill combo.
He placed me in a red room with an attractive guy already tied down and told me to enjoy myself.
So, I guess that made him nurturing?
My mom sure as hell wasn’t.
“You good, Uncle Jill?” I questioned, watching him make his way behind his desk.
He gave me a look more annoyed with me asking about his health than the nickname.
“I want you all to stop asking me that all the time. I’m not dying anytime soon,” he retorted.
It was a waste of his breath. We would always make sure he was okay. The man had cheated what should have been certain death twice now. It had become an ongoing joke that he was immortal.
Truly losing him would be a devastating blow to our morale.
He’d survived a wreck off a cliff thanks to his first and only wife. Beat cancer the doctors swore would kill him, and stood before us today with a slight limp to show for all of it.
“You wanted to know about the girl,” he reminded me, successfully changing the subject.
Taking a small key from his pocket, he unlocked his middle desk drawer and retrieved a manila envelope.
Leave it to him to have a file on her already.
“Aren’t you going to share your sudden interest with the rest of the room?” he drawled, clearly enjoying this.
“I can’t explain my interest. We didn’t actually meet. She was in the room with us for all of five seconds. She didn’t speak.”
Saying that out loud had me second-guessing and asking myself, why was I so interested?
Why was Ethan?
How could I already have this hope she was what we needed, and I didn’t even know what she looked like?
“That’s happened to all of us,” my father cut in as if he’d read my mind.
“He’s right. I could never explain my draw to Morgana either. I just knew I needed her,” Uncle Julian added.
I schooled my features to hide my sudden surprise, and I wasn’t the only one. He never spoke about my aunt.
Mason rubbed his chin, silently nodding his agreement. I’d asked him once if it bothered him never knowing her, he claimed it didn’t and that he knew she loved him. She drove off a cliff for him, after all.
Who was I to argue?
“Her name is, Helena Gardener,” Uncle Julian continued after an uncomfortable silence, flipping the file open. “And she’s young.”
“Yeah, I gathered that from her hanging around Molly. But how young are we talking?” Ethan questioned, ever the golden boy.
“Doesn’t matter, she’s legal,” Mason replied with a shrug, garnering another grin from Uncle Julian.
He was correct.
That answer was good enough for everyone in the room. Fuck, we were a bunch of gloriously sick bastards.
Did I mention I loved my family?
All we needed was Grandpa and Uncle Porter in the room, and it really would be like a mini-reunion.
“Heath said, and I quote, she thinks she’s sick.”
“The girl is most definitely sick, but not in the way you would immediately assume,” my father said.
“She’s either grossly creative or...” my Uncle trailed off to remove his cellphone from his pocket.
I shared a look with Ethan before asking, “Or what?”
“Or she has a majorly skewed perception of the world, a perception so bad that she has her own logic behind doing something like this.” He passed his phone to Mason, who stretched it out towards me.
Taking it from him, I brightened the screen to see what was displayed.
“What exactly are we looking at?” Ethan asked, reaching over to make the picture bigger.
Brows slamming together, I stared at the image. At first, I couldn’t tell what the hell it was either.
Ethan’s muttered, “Holy shit,” is what brought things into perspective.
“She wanted to make dolls?” It was the only thing I could come up with. She’d sewn them together; there was what looked like stuffing sticking out from between the seams.
The man’s arm had been cut off and reattached in the wrong direction.
I had to admit; it was ingenious. The time she had to spend on such a task showed clear-cut dedication.
But why did she do it?
Was her whole timid, gun-shy thing an act?
Part of me didn’t care. Part of me was sold merely by seeing the morbid picture in front of me. The logical part told me not to act like an irrational dumbass. I didn’t want to end up like the couple on the couch.
“That’s her mother, by the way,” my father pointed out.
Okay. That was a bit of a game changer.
“So, what possessed her to do this?” Ethan asked, still staring at the screen.
“That is the question of the hour,” my Uncle sighed.
“I can’t give you an answer, because I don’t know. Heath was extremely vague when he called and asked for help.”
“He was like that at his house too, like he didn’t want us knowing anything about her,” Ethan replied.
“If it helps, I was introduced to her today. She reminds me of Katie, in a kindred spirit kind of way,” Mason tossed out.
That was somewhat reassuring. Katie had her own set of issues, but she was a sweet girl.
Nodding, I tapped a finger against my lips. My intrigue had magnified ten-fold by this point.
This is what we wanted in one aspect, but entirely in another, we had no idea what we were dealing with. But my gut told me I needed to pursue this.
Catching Ethan’s eye, I searched his expression to try and gauge if he wa
s still as intrigued as I was.
Understanding my silent question, he nodded.
“How do you want to do this?” Mason asked, already knowing where this was heading.
“Well for starters, I think it’s time we officially meet her. And then we need to drag Heath’s ass in here and find out what he’s hiding.”
I didn’t say it aloud, but the intent was left hanging in the air.
On Hollows Eve, I planned to do both.
Chapter Ten
Helena
On Hollows Eve, I got to wear a costume for the first time.
Molly said my name was, Sally. I didn’t care much about that.
I just liked the seams. I thought they were befitting.
When I asked what she was supposed to be, she said she was a French maid, as if were obvious, I’d personally never seen a maid uniform as short as her’s before.
Dad was a doctor, Bridgette, a nurse.
I didn’t know where we were going, but I’d thought I was going to be left behind that night.
After dinner the previous evening I’d overheard Dad talking to Bridgette and Molly.
He said he forgot what it was like to be around someone like me.
Then he said something about my reaction to Declan and Ethan.
The last thing I heard him say was that I was strange. Molly laughed and agreed.
He’d never called me that before.
Sitting in the back seat of his car, I stared out the window.
I was still staring when he turned off the road we’d been on for the past few minutes, into a gated drive.
There was a car in front of his; another turned in behind.
Men stood on either side of the gates, speaking to each car before waving them through.
When it was Dad’s turn, he showed one of the men a plastic card and was waved onward too.
A silver plaque flashed in my peripheral as we proceeded forward.
“Château Dahlia,” I read out loud.
“I’m so excited,” Molly sang.
“Where are we?”
“It’s a costume party. Lots of people from the town will be here,” Bridgette explained.
“I should go back to Dad’s,” I stated.
“Dad’s? Angel that’s your house too. And this party will be good for you. It’s time to make some friends.”
Friends.
I don’t think those were important.
Falling back into silence, I looked through the windshield, seeing the biggest house I had ever seen.
There were black and orange streamers on the roof.
They glowed the same color as the pumpkins in the yard, and ghost shaped lights sticking out of the grass.
People seemed to be everywhere. All were dressed in some sort of disguise.
Music wafted across the expansive lawn, setting the tone of the night.
Dad parked in the first empty space he found, and then we all got out.
He looked at me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Helena, I nee—.”
“No need for a lecture Heath, she’ll be with me. You know I know the rules,” Molly cut in.
She grabbed hold of my lower wrist and took off, leaving me no choice but to follow. We weaved between people lingering outside, making our way in.
A few turned to stare but, no one said anything.
This was another first, being around so many strangers, at least fifty.
Being back at Dad’s, tucked away in my bed was more appealing to me than this.
What was I supposed to learn from this? No one in the room looked like a friend.
“If you start feeling overwhelmed, don’t worry. I’m going to be with you all night,” Molly said, leading me deeper into the house.
Is that what this feeling was, overwhelmed?
“This place is gorgeous isn’t it?” she glanced over her shoulder and asked.
“Yes,” I replied, nodding in case she hadn’t heard me.
The house was very big, but it was really nice too. I wondered who lived here.
Just like she said Molly remained by my side, only not all night.
A group of four or five people caught her attention, and she went to speak to them.
“Stay right here, okay? I’m going to say hi, and then coming right back.”
That was nearly fifteen minutes ago. My bladder needed to be emptied now. I looked around the room, seeking the best way to go to find a bathroom.
As I was searching the tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose up, and an unfamiliar sensation prickled my skin.
I lifted a hand in an attempt to smooth them down, not understanding my body’s own alert system.
A rapid click-clack of heels came from my left. Turning towards the sound, I found myself staring at Katie’s smiling face.
“Hi, Helena,” she greeted me with much more ease than the day we first met.
“Hi,” I replied, unable to force the same smile she had.
“I love your costume. The Nightmare Before Christmas is one of my favorite movies.”
I looked down at my patchwork dress, stitched pantyhose, and black flats trying to remember if I’d seen this outfit on the television or not.
Nothing came to mind.
“I’ve never seen that movie,” I replied.
“Oh. We’ll have to watch it together sometime then.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, catching sight of the shiny rings on her left hand.
Then I studied her costume. It was nothing more than a polka dotted dress with a frilly apron tied around it.
“I’m a fifty’s housewife,” she giggled. “Mason is my milkman. He’s somewhere around here…” Her eyes wandered around the room, lighting up when she found her husband.
I followed her stare and saw he was coming towards us. The two men from Dad’s were with him.
I was quick to look away from them, eyes darting around to determine the best path for an exit.
As it was, my bladder still needed to be relieved, so I decided to focus on that. “I need to use the bathroom,” I said to Katie, walking away without hearing her reply.
Maneuvering through a mass of bodies proved more difficult than I expected. No one moved when I said, “Excuse me.”
Could these people not see I was trying to move past them?
Or was it their ears that no longer worked?
I could fix that.
I could fix them all.
No, I told Dad I wouldn’t fix anymore.
Maybe I shouldn’t have. How long could I go before the seed of sickness began to uproot?
Not only that, I wanted to fix.
I liked the small flare I felt after I made something better.
After a few more bumps and jostles, I was out of the thick, heading towards a long empty hall.
I was almost there when from behind me I heard, “Why do I get the impression you’re running away from us?”
Slowing to a standstill, I turned and found myself facing Declan and Ethan.
Given their height was a good amount higher than my own; I had to lift my chin to see their faces properly.
My eyes shifted between the two suit-clad men, zipping over my shoulder when they met silver and copper.
The word Molly had used to describe them was gorgeous. I didn’t know men could be called that.
I decided it was fitting.
“I have to use the bathroom,” I repeated.
“Then let’s get you to a bathroom,” Declan retorted.
There was no room for protest.
I barely blinked, and his hand was gently wrapping around mine, guiding me in the direction of a large staircase.
My skin tingled where his fingertips touched. It was…different. I tried to pull free, that only made his hold tighten.
Ethan fell into an easy step on my other side, making no attempts to touch me like his friend was.
When the three of us began our descent up the steps, I took notice of all who were watching.
&n
bsp; “People are staring at you.”
“It’s not me they’re staring at, it’s us,” Declan replied, adding a heavy emphasis on his use of, us.
The upper level was shaped like a giant square, also utterly silent.
Like a dog on a leash, Declan kept me tethered to his side until we reached one of many black doors that were shut.
He reached past me and turned the knob, pushing the door open to reveal a bathroom that rivaled Dad’s living room in size.
I maneuvered around his large frame careful not to brush up against him as I stepped inside.
Without a word, I shut the door in his face and locked it.
I think he may have laughed from the other side.
Feeling the wall for a light switch now that the room was closed off from the hall, I found it and flipped it on.
I emptied my bladder and then proceeded to wash my hands while the girl in the mirror watched my every move.
Music drifted from the lower level, hints of laughter and conversation following behind it.
People seemed to be enjoying themselves.
I couldn’t relate. I never had.
I reached up and removed the red wig that had come with my costume, studying myself in the mirror.
I tried to see if it was visible, my sickness. But there wasn’t anything to be seen, there never had been.
My sickness would always be hidden from the human eye. It was inside me somewhere I couldn’t reach; a seed Mother forced me to bury someplace dark and deep.
I longed to drag my fingers through the abyss and uncover it.
Perhaps it could tell me where I belonged. Or it would tell me I didn’t belong at all. Maybe death had been the answer all along.
That didn’t frighten me though, not even a little. I had never felt alive; I’d always been dead inside.
I saw other people laugh and cry, smile at all the right times.
I saw rage and hatred from the Mother that tried to love me.
It was my sickness that had prohibited emotions from affecting me.
I wished to cry when things were sad, but I didn’t know what sadness was. I would like to have laughed when others did instead of being the one getting laughed at, but I couldn’t grasp humor.
Anger and hatred seemed negative, so I never longed for those.
Love, however. I wasn’t sure that was something I had ever known—not the kind that existed without touch.
DEPRAVITY: Love Depraved Page 6
