A Tangled Web

by A. Claire Everward

  “Jayden,” Ian said.

  She nodded. “By the end of the day he’d figured out I knew something about computers. He asked me to come back the next day, help him some more, there was still the server to finish setting up. He said that none of the hotshot developers upstairs would bother being there, in the basement, even though this system was the heart of the company, the core of what they did. Of course, I found out later that they would have loved to help, everyone did everything at that early stage of the company and they all certainly wanted the computer systems to work, but he wouldn’t let anyone near what was then the only server, his baby.” She smiled and shook her head.

  “He let you near it.”

  “Yes. At the end of the next day he asked me if I wanted to stay, as his assistant, to continue helping him set up the equipment, maybe see what he does. He explained that he was actually the company’s data analyst and suggested that maybe I could learn from him. If my parents didn’t mind. I told him the story I made up, the one you know. He said fine, just give me your full name, address, social security number, let’s get you all settled. I looked at him and he looked at me and he knew. I was about a second from bolting, disappearing again, but then he said something. He asked me, will they hurt you if they find you? Just that, not who, not why. And I don’t know why I didn’t run, why I answered. Looking back, I guess he was kind to me, didn’t try to . . . do anything. There just wasn’t anything like that, anything bad at all, around him. He was such a good person and I was just a kid, and I was terrified someone will find me and send me back and I knew what that would mean, and I was just so alone and I had nowhere to go. I had run half the country and I just didn’t have anywhere to go but run some more.”

  Ian’s fingers flexed. He had wondered, but he’d never imagined it was as bad as this, what happened to her. He wanted to touch her, let her feel he was there. She saw this, looked at him in wonder, wonder at him, at the strength he was giving her, the ability to speak, to finally tell her story. To continue.

  “I said yes, and he just said, right. Just that, right, and then he took a piece of paper out of the drawer, grabbed a pen and motioned me to sit down. Let’s get the story straight so I can do something with it, he said. Just like that. He wrote down my name, the name I chose from a couple of books I saw in a store somewhere on the way, a place I went into to get warm. Tess Andrews. A birth date. A birth place, I said it was Denver, but he must have known it wasn’t true. Was there a family that would be looking for me, he asked, and I said I had no one.

  “That was the last time he asked me about myself. He said they’ll fill in the rest, didn’t say who, but a few years later I found out he’d used some people a friend of a friend of his knew to buy me an identity. A few days later I had a social security number, a birth certificate, papers to back up my background story.”

  “That couldn’t have been enough to hide, certainly not for so long.”

  “The beginning was the hardest. I was trying to pass for seventeen, and I wasn’t even sixteen yet. And I certainly didn’t look seventeen, not then. But I needed to pass for that age because then I could claim I graduated high school, and with that, with no family, and with a job and a place to live, I would be left alone, could be considered independent. And it worked. I kept to myself, stayed out of people’s way for a while, and nothing happened, no one came after me. And it got easier with time.

  “Jayden had a lot to do with it. What he did, helping me get an identity and covering for me, gave me enough time to think about what I needed to do to build for myself a story no one could see through for the years ahead, and to learn how to put it in place, back it up with records. And during that time, I got to know Denver and could build a real, credible story. Once that story was in place, time was all that was needed to cement it. I was betting that no one would have any interest in going back to the schools I supposedly went to, to see if I was really there years earlier, or ask supposed neighbors if they remembered me. And every year that went by made it more plausible for me to be able to say that there were many kids in the schools I’d gone to, that I moved around a lot, and anyway Denver is a big city, why would anyone remember me. Anyway, I’d set it up so that I knew if anyone searched for information about Tess Andrews. No one ever did.”

  It sounded logical. Cut and dry. Ian couldn’t even begin to imagine the reality behind it, long years during which she had looked over her shoulder, afraid she would be found. Scared she would have to run again.

  “Anyway, the day I got my new identity, Jayden hired me officially. By then I’d already moved into the apartment on top of his garage, the one he had built for his son, when he went to college—he’d moved away by then—and he and his wife are the only friends I’ve had since. They never asked, I never offered any information. And they’ve never betrayed my trust.”

  She looked at him. “InSyn was perfect. I couldn’t go to college, I never finished high school. And it was too risky, anyway. I kept thinking someone will find out I wasn’t who I said I was, or maybe he’ll find me, and I’ll have to run again. But Jayden taught me everything he knew, and I developed alongside InSyn, the work it’s done over the years. And it sent me to courses. I didn’t need any formal education for these, my experience and InSyn’s backing were enough to get me accepted to them. It was a good place for me, a small, development-oriented company that kept to itself.

  “And living at that apartment at Jayden’s house, it was perfect for me, too. It’s in Greenwood Village, you know, in a quiet spot without many people. It’s not a big city like Denver, and it was easy to keep to myself there. And Jayden and his wife have lived there for a long time, they told everyone I was a family friend so it was easy for people around there to accept me without too many questions.”

  “So you remained in hiding in the basement, in all manners of speaking.”

  “Yes. I preferred . . . not to be seen. It was easier.” She lowered her eyes. “After a while, I wasn’t a scrawny kid anymore.”

  “You grew up into a beautiful woman.” He understood so much now. The simple clothes, the hair pulled up in a ponytail. The lack of makeup or any adornments.

  She nodded. “I knew what to do, how to take care of myself, how to look. I grew up in a normal home until I was almost fifteen, after all, and also, it’s easy to learn these things. And there was a time, a short time a few years ago, when I tried to be . . . a woman. But I kept getting hit on and too many times guys got pushy, and I couldn’t be touched, and I figured that that part wasn’t there for me anymore, that monster had destroyed it, and I just wanted to be left alone. So I went back to being . . . what you saw. And it all worked out for quite a few years. And then earlier this year a conglomerate named Ian Blackwell Holdings goes and buys InSyn. A few months later, Ian Blackwell Holdings’ owner decides to visit his new acquisition, has a run-in with my friend Jayden and pisses me off in the process.”

  “And the next thing you know you’re married to him.”

  She nodded.

  “Why did you accept Robert’s offer?”

  “I didn’t know it was you.”

  At that, he laughed. “Still, why?”

  She shrugged. “You purchased InSyn, and a new ownership meant my uncertainty as to what would happen with it increased, and the way your people were meddling in it only made it worse. But if that wasn’t bad enough, the morning before we met I was called to see your transition team’s human resources rep and told that you’ve decided to dissolve InSyn, to merge it into Pythia Vision and reorganize its specialty functions. I was told that I will be one of the employees relocated, that as one of its young talents I should expect to be invested in and promoted within the merged entity, which would require an in-depth background check and security vetting because of my expected exposure to Pythia Vision’s projects and its future plans. Later in the day I received an email telling me that that process was to begin the following Monday, less than four days later. So I knew I had to leave. But
if I simply left, there would be questions, and Jayden would be in trouble if the truth ever came out and what he did for me was ever discovered.”

  “He lied to InSyn, to everyone, to help you, and he kept up that lie for years.” Ian wondered if there was a way he could ever repay the man for what he had done for her, for the girl who had survived to become the woman who was now his wife.

  She nodded. “I thought that run-in I had with you would do the job, but instead you prevented my getting fired.” She stopped. “I still don’t know why.”

  “Because you were right. And because of the way you protected Jayden.”

  There was wonder in her eyes when she looked at him. It took her a moment to continue. “Anyway, when Robert called I was in my apartment, trying to figure out a way to disappear without hurting Jayden.”

  “And Robert gave you a way to disappear in plain sight, such that no one would dare ask too many questions.” He contemplated her. “That’s quite a price to pay to protect a friend. And an impossible price for you to pay if I had been a different kind of man.”

  “I owe him. And you kept your word.”

  “So did you.”

  “I always do.”

  “And as far as you were concerned, there was no hope or chance for a life anyway. Love, a relationship. Life,” he said evenly.

  “I never thought . . .” She frowned. “It was impossible. That much I knew.”

  “You grew up, and there’s no arguing who you became, your looks. Was there never anyone?”

  She shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. “And with time I learned that it’s not that difficult to keep men away from you if you really want to.” She raised her eyes to him. “We live together, and I still managed to keep you away.”

  “No, you haven’t,” he said conversationally. “But I don’t force myself on women. As things changed between us I might have considered making advances toward you, but we’re under a contract, which I would never break unless you wanted me to. And it was clear to me there was something there, something wrong.”

  “And it would be complicated, because we live together, as Robert has made clear.”

  “That’s no longer an issue for me.” He had no intention of holding back anymore. Now that he understood his wife, that he knew it all, that he had almost lost her, he would no longer hold back.

  He saw the surprise, saw she had no idea how to react, before she lowered her eyes again. He went in a different direction. He would take it slow. She was vulnerable now, so very exposed, and them, him, what he was hoping would be, would be a first for her. He wanted her to fully understand, to be able to fully accept what she was for him, to know beyond doubt that he would go through all walls, all worlds, to truly have her as his.

  “What ever happened to them?”

  He didn’t have to say who he meant. “As soon as I thought I was hidden well enough,” she said, “once I was safely Tess Andrews, I sent all the information I’d collected to the Houston district attorney's office. I thought Houston was big enough, major enough, that if they became aware of what happened they wouldn’t let it go. And they didn’t. I sent them everything I took, everything I knew. About the two of them, about Justine, about Maddy. About another girl who was in the videos he had, while Justine was still there but before Maddy. It was more than enough proof to start an investigation. It put the two of them in prison, and the social services department in Montaville was dismantled because of what it had allowed to happen. She died in prison four years later. He tried to kill an inmate and was transferred to another prison, and was killed by another inmate last year.”

  “You were in that information, too,” he said quietly.

  “And there was a formal record of my having been in their care. Yes. And I couldn’t remove myself from all the images, the videos, without damaging the evidence, possibly invalidating it. So I didn’t. But I had, effectively, disappeared, after all. I followed up on the investigation, the trial. The indictments included me as a victim who had been killed by them, burial place unknown. There was, of course, the question of who sent Houston the information, but I don’t know if anyone even dwelled on that, I wouldn’t be the first anonymous source. And since I was listed as a deceased victim, it didn’t matter to me.”

  “You never stopped being afraid.”

  “Before I reported them, they looked for me. At least he did. I suppose he couldn’t report me as a missing person because if I was found I could talk, and”—she hesitated—“it was . . . easy to physically prove what was done to me back then. So he used the social services network and his own connections to see if I turned up somewhere. He also contacted certain . . . bad elements, sex offenders mostly, in the surrounding states. Offered to buy information. Offered me to the finder.”

  He didn’t ask her how she knew this. By now he knew what she could do. But his face must have shown something, because she shrugged and said, “Because I’d already been in it once, I could get into his laptop easily, remotely, but he didn’t know that, so he used it freely.

  “Anyway, after he was arrested I had no doubt he would know it was because of me. The authorities might have thought I was dead, but I figured he and I both knew the two things that would convince him I was the one responsible for him getting caught. That he hadn’t killed me, and that I fight back. So I continued to follow what he was doing, using . . . other ways, since he no longer had his laptop. That’s how I knew that once he was imprisoned he kept, for a while, getting people on the outside to try to find me. I guess he made some friends in prison who helped him with that. Eventually he stopped trying, and, yes, logically I knew that he had no idea who I was now, and that he probably wouldn’t recognize me if he saw me. But still, I never stopped expecting someone to find me. I couldn’t know if anyone outside might have been paid by him to continue doing so, or maybe just developed some interest in finding me.”

  He frowned. “So even after he died you couldn’t assume your former identity again. But then it was impossible by then anyway, wasn’t it?”

  “And there was nothing to go back to, don’t you see? Nothing. I was dead. The girl I used to be, they killed her. That part of me died there along with Justine and Maddy and that other girl. And even when I knew he couldn’t . . . couldn’t hurt me anymore, the memories, the feelings, those horrible sensations, they stayed. Yes, I was living a lie, but that lie had become my life, and I couldn’t go back, I couldn’t be her anymore, it was better if she stayed dead.” The words flowed, full of pain.

  He desperately wanted to hold her. To make her feel safe. To make sure she knew she was safe, with him. Had she looked at him, she would have seen this, would have seen her, in his eyes.

  She fell quiet, took the time, all the time it took for her to force back the pain that welled up. And then she braced herself for what she was about to do. Or at least tried to, as best as she could. This had to be done.

  She looked at him. “Under the circumstances, I’d understand if you decide to terminate the contract. I could disappear for a while, for as long you need me to until you can dissolve this marriage or create whatever story you'd like. I won’t contest it.”

  “You’d go into hiding again,” he said.

  It would be harder now to go back to some obscure basement, she realized. The life she’d lived these past months, what had been the closest to a life she’d had in a long time, she would miss it.

  She would miss him.

  “You’re a powerful man,” she said. “Do whatever you need to do to make sure no one will look for me, tell them you didn’t want me anymore or something. I know how to disappear. And they’re not likely to find anything about me, I made sure of that over the years. I had the means, the time, to foolproof myself, and obviously no one had found anything, not even Robert, that report he gave you about me. That’s why when he approached me despite running his own check, I knew I could do this. I just never thought . . .”

  “That you would ever decide to tell anyone
the truth. That you would trust me.”

  His voice was soft, and it hurt. God, it hurt so much. “I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to make you a part of this, a part of my life. I’m sorry.” She lowered her head.

  “You should be,” he said, his voice gentle. “I was looking for a superficial, easily controllable woman who would provide for me the semblance of my wife, represent what I needed without causing me any grief and stay out of my way. Instead I got a woman with a mind of her own, generous to a fault, caring, smart, interesting. And frankly, I think everybody likes you better than they do me.”

  She was trying hard to hold on now. “Graham doesn’t,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “I'm not so sure about that,” he said with a deep sigh, and it warmed his heart to see her smile, even if for too brief a moment. “I am a part of your life,” he said to her. “A willing one. And now that I know, that I finally know everything, I will watch out for you. You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

  She closed her eyes, hoping the tears would stay back, but they didn't. She opened her eyes again when he finally wrapped his arms around her, and for the first time allowed herself to be pulled to him, held by him, without resisting.

  He stayed close to her even when he had eased away, asked her to drink some more of the tea. He then tucked her in, wanting her to sleep. She was pale, so pale now. This day, and the night it had brought with it, had been too much of an effort.

  “You didn’t ask me.” She was lying on her side, facing him, on the soft pillows he’d arranged around her. Cried out, exhausted. Still unable to grasp that she no longer had to run.

  Sitting on the armchair, which he’d pulled closer to the bed, he looked at her in question.

  “My name.” Her voice was slurred with sleep.

  “Your name is Tess Blackwell. My wife,” he said softly, then hurried to her when the tears returned. When he let go of her again, she was deeply asleep.

  He sat on the bed and stroke her hair, then touched his lips to a tear-streaked cheek, lingering. Then he went back to the chair and settled back to watch over her.