The Perversion Trilogy: Perversion, Possession & Permission

by T. M. Frazier

  Her name is Imogen.

  Imogen Egan.

  The daughter of Callum Egan.

  I won’t see you in this life or the next. I’m pretty sure there are no elevators up for visits, and if there are, I’m pretty sure you’d be smart enough to refuse me. So, I will simply say this: goodbye, mi amor. And even though you can’t apologize to the dead, for what it’s worth, and I know it’s not much, I’m so very sorry.

  Yours Forever,

  Fernando

  Eleven

  While Grim finishes reading the letters I just can’t wrap my head around it all. Callum, however, remains unfazed, singing under his breath.

  “Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Too-ra-loo-ra-li

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Hush now, don't you cry

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Too-ra-loo-ra-li

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral”

  “That song,” I say, “I hear that song in my head. Always have. What is it?”

  Callum stops singing. “It’s an old Irish folk song. Catchy isn’t it? I used to sing it to you as a babe to get you to go to sleep. Worked every time. It’s the only thing that did. You were a stubborn little thing.”

  I’m silent as I take in his words. “Could it be really be true? Everything in the letters?”

  “You could be his daughter,” Grim answers the question I didn’t think I asked out loud. He sets down the letters. “Or, you could be Chief David’s.”

  Grim fills me and Callum in on his theory about Marco and the reason for the marriage Marco insisted on. Some of it makes sense, and some of it doesn’t. Why would Marco risk my life so many times if I was so valuable to him? My head feels like a pinball machine. Except in my game, the glass is broken, and the pinballs are bouncing wildly all over the floor.

  I’m exhausted. Confused. Grim senses my troubles and places a hand on my knee to steady me.

  “We were at home, in Ireland. You were but a wee thing. Your mother and I, well, we never thought we could have children of our own, then you came along. You were, are, very special to us. Our miracle, if you believe in such things. One night, we sang you to sleep like we usually did. Your mother and I drifted off shortly after, knowing you were right next to our bed in your cradle, same as you’d been every night since the day you came screaming into the world.”

  He stares at the ceiling as he recalls the memory, then looks to his lap. He frowns at his hands.

  “The next morning, when we woke, my guards were all dead and Aileen, your ma, is screaming bloody murder.” He looks to me. “’Cause you’re gone.” His fists clench, his words are strained. “We looked high and low for you. Never stopped. I know that this business of mine comes with a price, but there are rules about family. I looked everywhere, to both my enemies and my friends. I had eyes on every organization in six countries, but there was no sign of you anywhere. It was almost like you’d never been born at all. Months passed, then years. But we never stopped looking. Not for one single second.”

  Callum reaches into his jacket pocket and slides me a crinkled photograph. It’s a younger version of him standing next to a much shorter woman with the same honey colored curls as my own. In her arms is a laughing baby, frozen mid-clap.

  He points to the baby. “That’s you, me, and that there, is your ma, Aileen.”

  My mother. I rub my thumb over her smile. My heart thumps in my chest as if remembering how to beat. I inhale and exhale sharply. My chest feels weighted, yet lighter. If this is my mother, then why isn’t she here? A thought occurs to me.

  “Is she…” I begin to ask.

  Callum cuts me off. “No, no. She’s not dead. She’s fit as a fiddle. Waiting for you, very impatiently, I might add, back in Ireland. It took a whole lot of convincing to make her stay put. If she had her way, she’d been dressed in one of the task force vests and helmets, storming Los Muertos like a single woman herd of wild horses.” He claps his hands together and sets them on the table. “A mother’s love knows no boundaries. No laws. Neither does a fathers.”

  “How…how did you find me? Why now? After all this time?” I ask without taking my eyes off the woman who is, without a doubt, my mother. “It doesn’t make any sense. Marco apparently thinks that I’m the chiefs daughter. He even married me so he could extract benefits from the tribe.”

  Callum chuckles. “Marco’s an idjiot of the highest degree. A soon to be dead idjiot at that. You see, when his father Fernando died in prison, he died with a secret he never planned on telling a soul.” He reaches under the seat and hands me an envelope with two crumbled letters inside. “Except, in the end, he did. A guard recently found those behind a loose brick in a cell in the State Penitentiary.”

  “And he contacted you instead of handing it over to the proper authorities?” I raise my eyebrow.

  Callum shrugs. “The proper authorities don’t pay as well as I do.”

  My mind wanders back to the letters. “Marco assumed I was Camilla and the chief’s daughter…” I think out loud.

  “If he did, it makes sense. The three of you were together when he found you in the foster home. Camila had taken you all at the same time. I can see how he could make that assumption,” Callum admits. “You know, the first time I saw you I didn’t even know it was you.” He shakes his head and looks to his hands. “Didn’t even recognize my own daughter. You were in the park, being roughed up by Mal. In all fairness your hair was different then. Straight and much darker. I saw your yellow shoes from afar. I may not have known who you were, but maybe my subconscious knew, because all I could think about was getting that bastards hands off ya.”

  He’s talking about the day in the park. Around the time I discovered that Grim was Tristan Paine, the boy from my past.

  Grim leans forward. “It was you, wasn’t it, Callum? You’re the one who shot into the crowd,” he accuses.

  Callum’s forehead wrinkles as he considers his reply. “Yes…and no. Despite what’s said about me, about who I am and what I’ve done, I’m not a wolf in the woods. My decisions, my actions, they are carefully calculated. The code I live by may not be up to church standards, but I don’t go about killing women and children or shooting into crowds like some lowbrow hoodlum. Aye, I pulled the trigger that day, warning shots, nothing more…and they worked.” He sighs. “Mal let you go. Then, when the crowd scattered, I lost sight of ya. Didn’t see you again until the surveillance video at the marina stadium.”

  “The what?” I ask, an uneasy feeling burning in my chest. The video? Of the night Grim and I… I feel my face blanch as all the color rushes to my quick beating heart.

  Grim answers before Callum can. “The marina surveillance video. The night of Belly’s funeral. He showed me pictures at the station, of me kissing you.” There’s an ever so slight emphasis on the word kissing which leads me to believe that’s all Callum saw. Grim’s words douse the uneasy feeling. Inwardly I sigh in relief as the color returns to my face.

  “Aye, and I told him then that I knew it wasn’t just a kiss,” Callum adds. “I know love when I see it. I remember what it was like when I first met my Aileen.” He looks to the ceiling as if he’s watching the memory playing out above his head. “I imagine we looked a lot like the two of you did in that video.”

  A realization crashes into me. “So, you knew who I was, and you knew there was something between Grim and myself. You knew he wasn’t responsible for abducting me, yet you still ordered your men to shoot to kill him when you stormed the compound.” It wasn’t a question, it was an outright accusation.

  Callum doesn’t bother denying it or apologizing. “I did, but just like there is no real Agent Lemming, there is no real Task Force either. Those were my men, Clan Egan men, and they already had orders not to shoot Grim, well, not to kill anyway, since I suspected he might beat me in getting to you. Smoke and mirrors and all that.”

  He spreads his fingers and, with open palms, circles the air before him much like a magician after a
magic trick. He shakes his head and smiles.

  “I may not have recognized you the first time in the park, but I knew it was you in that video. My heart leapt from my chest and splattered out before me. My Imogen, right there in front of my eyes, for the first time since you were a babe.” His wags his pointer finger at my hair. “Those curls of yours—your mother’s curls—they don’t lie. Even in black and white.”

  Hearing him even speak of my mother makes me feel like the room around us is spinning. With each rotation I grow more and more confused about what I should think. How I’m supposed to feel. I don’t even know what that should be. Am I happy to discover who my parents could possibly be? Am I upset that my father isn’t the straight-laced accountant type I always imagined he was?

  I feel numb.

  “What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice so low it’s barely audible.

  His lips flatten, his words sincere. “To be your father. A family. That’s all. Truly.”

  The numbness is short-lived. All at once, a thousand different emotions collide into me like a raging bull, knocking me off my center. My head spins. It’s all too much. “It’s all too much,” I repeat my words out loud as I push back the chair. “I…I have to go.” To get out of here. I need to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

  My chair scrapes backward, and I make a run for the door. Yanking it open, I run as fast as I can, down the hall and away from that room. Away from the confusion. Away from the life-changing conversation. Away from Callum.

  Away from my father.

  Twelve

  I make a move to follow Tricks, but Callum stops me. “Let her have a moment alone. It’s a lot to take in, and there’s more to discuss.”

  As much as it pains me not to follow her, Callum is right. She needs time to process. I sit back down.

  Callum rubs his eyes, and I realize how tired he looks. Not as if he needs a nap, but weary, the kind of tired you feel after years of struggles, not after missing a few hours of sleep. “In hindsight, I should have taken Marco out right then and there. But Imogen was the priority and nothing else. When I go, I’ll leave you with a dozen of my men to help you finish the task with Marco. Win this war, Grim. Take back your city.”

  “I appreciate that, but honestly, I'm surprised that you won't want to stay and help take Marco out.”

  “There was once a time I’d been so bloodthirsty to take out a man who’s done harm to my family that I’d have slaughtered an entire flock of sheep, looking for the wolf hiding among them. I’m not that man anymore. I've learned over time what’s important, and that’s why I must go and leave you the honor of killing the wolf.”

  "Where will you go?” I ask.

  “Home. To Ireland.” He leans over the table. “But first, I want to talk to you about Imogen.”

  I know what’s coming. I deflect, as if putting off his words could stop her from leaving. “Are we about to have the stay away from my daughter talk?"

  Callum laughs. "Not exactly. I don't want you to necessarily stay away from her, but it's not like it will be safe for her here while you are fighting this war.”

  He’s right. “It won’t be.”

  “I’d like to take Imogen home to Ireland with me.”

  “Isn’t that up to her?” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “It is up to her. I’m just hoping you won’t be standing in the way of her making that decision.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” As much as the thought of her leaving pains me, Egan is right. It’s not safe. “I’d already suggested sending her away before. It didn’t go over well.” Although, I wouldn’t be sending her away this time. She’d be going toward something. A real home. Family. “I’ll try and make her understand.”

  “Good. Because Imogen’s mother is eagerly awaiting the arrival of her long-lost daughter. She’ll already be wondering why we were delayed. I don’t want to find out what happens to me if I step off that plane without Imogen.”

  He chuckles, then takes out his phone and presses a few buttons.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Calling in reinforcements,” he says. “In case you decide to change your mind and stand in the way of Imogen’s decision to come home with me.”

  I’m about to ask him what the hell he means by reinforcements when he passes me the phone. A woman with Tricks’s curls, the same woman from the picture appears on the screen. She’s Tricks in every way, but older, with tiny lines around her eyes.

  “Callum is that you? Did you find her? Does she know who you are? Let me see her!” she says, sounding equal parts panicked and excited. My image must appear on her screen. “Oh, you’re not Callum.” Her eyes widen. “Is he alright? Where is he?”

  “I’m right here, love,” Callum calls out.

  She sighs with relief.

  “I assume you must be Grim,” she says with a smile. “My daughter’s beau.”

  “I am, ma’am. And I assume you’re Callum’s reinforcements.”

  “No, don’t you be calling me, ma’am. I’m barely forty years old.” She laughs. “And reinforcements?” She twists her lips. “Is that what he’s calling his wife these days?”

  Callum’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.

  “Grim, my boy, is she alright?” she asks. Her forehead wrinkles with concern.

  “She’s fine,” I reassure her. “She’s been through hell and back, but she’ll be okay.”

  Tears spill from her eyes. Her head bobs in a continuous nod. “Good. Good. That’s so very good.”

  “She knows now. Callum told her everything. She’s read the letters.”

  “And?” she asks.

  “And she needs some time alone.”

  “I bet she does. It’s not every day you learn about your family. This all must be quite a shock to you and her both.”

  Everyday has been one shock after another.

  “I can’t wait to see her again. After all these years. To hold my girl in my arms.” She’s sobbing now, wiping her tears with a tissue. “I hope she’ll like me.” Her tears stop. Her eyes widen in shock. “Lord, what if she doesn’t like me?”

  I almost laugh at the ridiculous idea. “I don’t like anyone, and yet, I find myself liking you already,” I reassure her. “And Tricks...I mean Imogen. She’s got a kind heart. A big one, too.”

  “That’s so good to hear. I hope to see her soon. Give her my love.” She holds up the phone, and I realize she’s in a room decorated all in pink. There’s a crib in the corner. “Although, I’m thinking I’ll have to redecorate. I don’t think she’ll fit in this wee crib.”

  She laughs, and I laugh right along with her although I realize Aileen is already assuming Tricks will go to Ireland. My heart lurches. I’m reminded of my own mother, of what I wouldn’t give to see her again. To get to know her as an adult.

  “I’m sure you have much to discuss with Callum, things much more important than interior decorating.” She sniffles. “Give my girl my love, and Grim?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you for keeping her safe. For loving her during a time when she wasn’t able to feel our love. It gives me great comfort, knowing she felt yours.”

  I don’t know how to answer her. My throat tightens. I give her a simple nod in return.

  Callum takes the phone. “I’ll call you soon, my love,” he says.

  “Give my love to Marci,” she replies.

  Callum ends the call.

  “Well played, Callum,” I say leaning back in the chair.

  He shrugs. “I’ve got to play every card I have.”

  “So, then this is all a game to you?”

  His stare hardens. “No, it’s not a game. It’s my daughter, and you’ll learn if you ever have children of your own that there ain’t nothing a parent won’t do for their kids. You think I’m capable of lies, deceit, and murder as head of Clan Egan?” He shakes his head and laughs. His voice deepens. “You have no idea what I’m capable of as a father.”

  I
lean my elbows on the table. “If she does decide to go, you best keep her safe, Callum.”

  He raises his eyebrows in amusement. I don’t trust him, even if the blood test proves Tricks is his daughter. Marco’s living proof that being related by blood does not equal loyalty. “Is that a threat?”

  I bore my words into his brain with an unblinking stare. “No. It’s a fucking promise.”

  His smile turns flat. “I fucked it all up once, Grim. I won’t be doing that again. She’ll be safe. You have my word. I promise you that when all is said and done, and it’s safe for her to return to Lacking--and she wishes to do so--I won’t stop her. In fact, I’ll bring her back myself.”

  “I appreciate that. But, there’s more,” I say.

  “More than the threat of death?” Callum jokes.

  “Not more from me. More for her. She’s been a prisoner. She’s experienced so little in this life.”

  Understanding registers in Callum’s eyes. “Aye. I’ve been waiting for many years to give Imogen the stars. She’ll have her family. Free will. She’ll have it all. She’ll see things in Ireland she never knew existed. She’ll have an education if she wants it. Tutors. Everything she missed out on and more. You have my word.”

  I search his face. I believe him. It’s comforting and terrifying at the same time. “Plus, you have to take Gabriella.”

  “Marco’s sister? Is she even alive? Last time I saw her, she was bleeding out.”

  “She’s going to live,” I tell him. “And she’s blood related to Marco, but Gabby was raised as Tricks’s sister, and just as much a prisoner. She’s her closest friend, and up until now, her only real family.”

  “Why do you call her Tricks?” Callum asks.

  I debate whether or not to tell him, but as I recall the story in my mind, I can’t help but recite the day we met aloud.