by Cam Johns
All eyes are on her as we walk the path all the way to security, blocking the main entrance. We hand them our tickets and head right toward the Glass Room. Capital Letters blasts through the speakers.
“I love this song!” she yells as she begins to dance toward the dance floor.
I watch her sway her hips perfectly to the beat, carefree and at ease. Her smile is infectious as she gestures for me to join her. Honestly, I’d rather watch her childishly dance around in those heels as if she’s the only one in the room. That is until some idiot jumps in front of me to dance with her. Clearly, she sees my face and quickly excuses him before I punch his lights out.
He obviously doesn’t see me standing here, but why he thinks someone who looks like her would be alone is stupid on his part. Never skipping a beat, she dances over to me and grabs my face to hold my attention so that I don’t get into a fight. She holds it, smiling up at me until I calm down and smile back at her.
“C’mon. Dance with me. I know you can.” She laughs.
I laugh back at her and spin her around a few times before I dance closely with her for as long as she can stand it.
I’ve never been so open with anyone in my life. But there’s something about her that makes me want to share things with her. To be myself and not just the name I carry. I don’t feel the need to impress her because I know she’ll eventually love me for who I am and not what I can offer her.
Something I could never say about any girl I’ve ever dated. Or even some friends that turned out to be users. So, I’ve learned to keep my distance from some people, and she’ll have to do the same. It may be hard to do considering my social butterfly has been talking to any and everyone. Her shyness has pretty much dissipated, and I’d like to think I had something to do with that.
We arrived pretty late, so it’s already after eleven, and I want to get her back home. It’s not like it’s late or anything, but I’ve shared her enough with all these people who don’t give a shit about her, but for some reason are crowding her because she’s with me. I stand quietly behind the girl she’s talking to with my hands in my pockets, patiently waiting for her to finish.
Cyn eyes me curiously, and I’m certain she can read my eyes quite well now. She excuses herself from the remedial conversation she was having, then stands in front of me. She doesn’t say anything, but wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me down to her.
“Let’s get out of here,” she whispers into my ear before pulling my earlobe into her mouth.
I growl, pulling her close against me and inappropriately groping at her ass, making her giggle into my ear. Just then, I open my eyes to see a couple sneaking out into one of the closed-off rooms, and that’s what I want to do: get her out of here. I want to take a walk with her alone. Get away from all the partying.
“Ashton, where are we going?” she asks nervously.
I shine the light toward her. “You trust me?”
“With everything.” I catch a glimpse of a smile in the light and kiss her at the corner of her lips, then grab her hand to lead her as far away from the crowd as possible.
We end up in the fields. It’s completely empty and quiet. Just what I need. There’s no way I’m making it home. I push her against the wall and immediately force my tongue into her mouth. She pulls me down into her harder, grabbing at the back of my head. She follows my intensity, wanting me just as much as I crave her.
“So this is why you leave my house?”
I hear a strange voice behind us, but I feel Cyn’s body completely tense up at the voice’s presence. The fear and anxiety quickly return as if it has never left. There’s only one person I know that has made her behave this way.
I turn completely around, remaining in front of Cynthia. I face the woman that has tormented her most of her life, before scanning the field. I have taken Cyn to the one place I probably should not have. There’s no one here to help or hear if shit goes down. Beyond that, Cynthia has no idea what’s been going on with her mother and her fight for control of this situation.
“What is with you Prestons taking what you want?” She tilts her head, trying to get a view of her daughter. “He’s only using you to get what he wants, and then you’ll be back home when he’s done.”
That pisses me off. She knows nothing about me, but she’ll learn one way or another that I’m not using her daughter. I love her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I inch closer, but Tracey lifts her arm, revealing the black 9-millimeter she had hidden.
“Oh, no. Not this time. I have no problem shooting you, then getting my family back.”
Cynthia gasps as she hears her mother is wielding a gun. My body has blocked her vision, but she pushes me to the side and stands next to me. “Mom, what are you doing? Put that gun down.”
At the sight of her daughter, her eyes become almost frantic. “No one will ever take the family I created!” she shouts, the alcohol spewing from her breath.
“Please, Mom. No one is taking us. We just needed space.” Cynthia holds her hands up in defense as she inches closer. I try to grab at her, but she just nudges my hand away. “Give me the gun, and I’ll come home.”
Cyn puts her hand up, stopping my protest. She then holds her hand out, waiting for her mother to place the gun in her hand. Cyn doesn’t utter a single word but waits patiently.
“Fine. Take the gun. It shouldn’t be here when our guest of honor arrives.” Tracey deviously smiles as she stares at a message I can’t make out on her phone. Footsteps come from the same direction Cynthia and I used to get onto the field.
I grab the gun from Cynthia and push her back behind me as I face the sounds. I don’t know who is coming, but I know one thing is certain: Tracey cannot be trusted. She’s fucking nuts. Slowly a shadow begins to bounce within the dim lights of the shadows, getting smaller the closer this mysterious person gets.
“I just thought the truth should be out there. No more secrets. No more being kept hidden. I’m done with it,” Tracey scolds as my father appears in front of me, just as confused as I am.
“Dad?” I say, slowly putting the gun down.
“What are you doing here… with her?” he asks with a look of almost disgust.
I get angry enough to hit my father when I notice his line of sight is on Tracey, not Cynthia. “She followed us—no wait, what are you doing back here?” I ask.
Cynthia steps from behind me, assuming it’s safe now, and my father smiles at her. His concerned glare causes me to momentarily think his heart has softened. Or he knows something we don’t. He clears his throat. “Ugh, son. Take Cynthia to our home. I need to speak with her mother privately.”
In this case, I don’t hesitate. I want Cynthia far away from this as possible, but Tracey grabs Cynthia’s free hand to pull her back.
“Not so fast,” Tracey snickers.
I turn to see a frightened look on Cyn’s face and charge at Tracey just as she pulls a knife out and puts it to Cynthia’s neck.
“Lovebird, no!” my father shouts.
Lovebird? What the fuck?
I don’t have time to consider why my father is calling Tracey a pet name or that he even knows pet names. I just need to get my woman from her clutches before Tracey ends up doing something she’ll regret.
“Don’t you dare call me that, you fuckin’ li-ar!” Tracey sings freakishly as tears stream down her face. “I gave you two fucking daughters, and you still wouldn’t leave that bitch!”
What! My father eyes me nervously as the secret finally comes out. I just hope he’s talking about Penelope and Charmaine. Not Cyn.
“Please, you’ll hurt her. Calm down,” I plead as I hear my beloved begin to sob.
“Tracey, put the knife down. You don’t want to hurt your daughter… or anyone else for that matter. Don’t you have enough deaths on your conscience?” my father shouts.
Tracey looks shocked, almost eager, before she smiles. “So you know about them?” she asks my father, who just nods.
“That’s too bad. But, you see, I’ve already killed my parents. What’s stopping me from killing someone who’s not even my daughter?” She smiles wide, almost homicidal, before beginning to put pressure on the side of Cynthia’s neck. Time seems to move exponentially slower, making all of my senses heighten. I hear what seems to be a helicopter in the distance as more feet clamber behind me. I run toward Cynthia as the pressure from the knife causes blood to trickle out, but my father grabs me.
“Now!” my father shouts. Before I know it, a red dot appears on Tracey’s forehead. Her head flies back and forward as a red streak of blood begins to fall from the small hole that’s now there. The blood falls to Cynthia’s light blue gown; she jumps, realizing her mother has been shot.
“Mom!” She turns around with a blood-curdling scream. A scream that pierces through me and carries across the field. As her mother drops to the floor, Cynthia follows, shaking her limp body just as confused and scared as I am.
“Get her out of here!” my father screams as the clock strikes midnight, and the sounds of the bells from the church across the street echo around us.
I peel Cynthia off of her mother, cradling her in my arms and get her the fuck out of there. Away from all the revelations. Away from the chaos. Away from her dead mother.
13
In the End
Cynthia
I can’t believe she’s gone. Ashton cradles me on his bed as he holds me close, letting me sob into his arms. He doesn’t move. He just lets me grieve for the woman who may have been an awful mother, but my mother nonetheless. It wasn’t until my sobs slowed that I replayed everything that had been said on the field. Everything.
The first one being that Penelope and Charmaine are Prestons, but the most important thing is her admitting to killing my grandparents. But why? They loved her. There’s no reason feasible enough to even consider doing something so horrendous.
What exactly did Mr. Preston know that got her so riled up to the point where she disowned me, claiming I’m not hers and want to kill me? Could she really hate me that much for leaving? For taking the one thing she held over Mr. Preston and now have them living happily in his home?
I guess that’s what drove her certifiably insane. We need to get to the bottom of this one way or another, and I know the person that has all the answers.
“Do you think she’s really gone?” I ask, squeezing Ashton tighter as if he could be any closer.
He nuzzles my head up by tapping his nose on my forehead. “Yes. But I’ll be here through it all.”
After hearing everything she said, I’m not sure if I want him here. How much does he know? How much has he kept from me?
“She said a lot, Ashton… Did you know?” I ask, hoping for some honesty. Considering I was behind him or had a knife to my throat most of the time during the confrontation, I couldn’t see his face. Was he shocked?
“Baby, I was just as surprised as you were.” He clears his throat. “Do you think what she said was true? That she killed your grandparents, and you’re not her daughter?” he timidly whispers.
“Honestly, I don’t know. I feel like the entire statement was some last stand or something. How could I not be hers? But…” I take a deep breath, wondering if he will approach his father. “Clearly, your father not only knows my mother, but my sisters are his, and there’s something he knows about her. Something that caused her to lose her shit.”
“Well, when you want to know, he’s downstairs waiting on us.”
I look up at Ashton, wondering why he hadn’t said anything sooner. Of course, I want to know what’s going on. Right now. I stand without a word and quickly round the bed, heading for the door, but he pulls me back.
“Wait, please!” He holds my face up between the palms of his hands. “Whatever happens, just know you mean everything to me. Nothing else matters. I will give my family up if I have to… for you.” He kisses me softly, almost nervously.
“It wouldn’t come to that. You and your father are different people.” He smiles, pecking me on the forehead, then flicks on the light before bending down.
“I know you won’t change your clothes, but at least let me—”
He abruptly stops talking as he places my foot on his knee and lifts my dress. He stares at my ankle curiously for far too long, making me nervous as hell.
“Baby, something wrong?”
“Ugh … no, let’s go talk to my father.” He slides my shoes off and places them neatly on the floor before standing and taking both my hands in his. “Remember, you mean more to me than anything else.” He kisses me softly without letting me get a word in and leads me downstairs to the living room.
The Preston family is sitting and waiting patiently for us, it seems. Including an unfamiliar face, which I’ll assume is Mrs. Preston. She approaches us, kissing Ashton on the cheek before standing quietly in front of me with a smile.
“Would you like some tea?” she asks quietly.
“No, ma’am. Thank you. I’d rather just understand what’s happening.”
“Of course you do.” Mr. Preston stands, gesturing toward the empty couch opposite them, just as I see Ashton frantically texting on his phone again.
A usually perky Ashley is sitting beside her father with her head down. It seems as if she’s been crying also. I’m not sure why. Her mother is sitting perfectly healthy beside her. Mr. Preston lays a piece of paper on the table between us and slides it over to me. It looks like a letter in my mother’s handwriting, so I pick it up and examine it more closely. Tears begin to flood my eyes as I realize it’s addressed to me.
I hand it to Ashton. “Please read this.”
He takes it from me and places it on his lap to wipe the tears falling from my eyes. Mrs. Preston stands and quickly hands him a thick napkin to help.
“You sure you want me to read this?” he asks, and I nod. He turns to face me before lifting the letter up to read.
“Cynthia, if you’re reading this, I’m dead, and you know you are not my daughter. I’m sorry. In my death, I will offer you what I’ve never given you: love and honesty. Here’s the truth… my entire life has been a shit show. I’ve let countless men make false commitments and tell me what I wanted to hear to get what they wanted from me. Nineteen years ago, I met the man that put me on the course to kidnapping, and well, murder.” Ashton pauses and stares between his parents and me.
I try to compose myself enough for him to continue reading because I need to know the truth in its entirety. “Ashton, please keep going,” I say, thankful my sisters aren’t around to hear this. Oh, God, my sisters. What am I going to tell them?
Ashton continues, “Your father promised me whatever his money could buy me and then some. But that’s the thing about family money; you don’t have control over your life as much as you think you do. He wouldn’t stand up to his parents, so he married the woman of their choosing and got married. Your real mother. I refused their happiness by taking you from your crib and moving three-thousand miles away.
I’ve met other lying men along the way, some are rightfully dead by my hands, and then there was one I thought I loved, but I guess I was just stupid. So stupid, I got pregnant twice. Here’s my advice: stay away from wealthy men. They suck. You’ll find love with your parents. The love I couldn’t give you because I resented your father too much. I’ll enclose their names and address so you can find them. There’s a lot more that I can tell you, but what for? I’m dead, and you need to pay attention to your future. I may not know how to love anymore, but I want you to someday. Maybe in death I’ll find some remorse for what I’ve done. But those mother fuckers got what they deserved. You… maybe not so much.”
Ashton stops reading, flipping the paper over to see if there’s more. I’m too in shock to think. I don’t know what I’m supposed to think. I’ve been living with a kidnapper and murderer this entire time. Who are the men that she’s killed? She didn’t mention a thing about my grandparents, but she did say there was more to tell
.
My parents. My real parents. I look on the table to see if there is something else that has who they are.
“Unfortunately, there is nothing else,” Mr. Preston admits.
“Mom, you’re okay with this?” Ashton asks, suddenly standing. “He has two children that are now living here, and you’re fine with it?”
I may not be the only woman here hurting. But she simply smiles, grabbing her husband and daughter’s hand.
“Baby, I knew a long time ago about Penelope and Charmaine. Unfortunately, Tracey didn’t want your father and me to help in any way. She felt she had the upper hand because of it. An upper hand she apparently used to abuse all of you.” She stares at me with tears in her eyes as if she could’ve helped. “I’m so sorry, Cynthia.”
I smile at her as the tears fall heavily, realizing how much my mother has damaged everyone’s lives. Mine. The Prestons. The parents of those men. Those men… Mr. Preston had to have known my mother was the perpetrator, and that’s why he wanted us out of there tonight.
“Mr. Preston. You knew that my mother was, in fact, a serial killer? That she killed those men?” I ask, forcing Ashton to sit beside me, grabbing my hand.
“I came home early once my investigator was able to get a print off of her latest victim once the body was discovered. He got it to my personal lab, and we got a hit from one of your mother’s arrest reports when she was a teenager,” he drops his head, “there’s a lot you don’t know.”
Clearly.
But there’s one thing I really wanted to know now that I can say I didn’t come from her, thank God! That seems to be the only bright side of this. The problem is, because I don’t know who my real parents are, they’ll never know I’m alive and well.
“I wish I knew who my parents were,” I say, beginning to cry yet again.
Ashton clears his throat. “I may be able to help with that, baby.”
He leaves momentarily and comes back with an envelope, one that his father recognizes because he’s furious.
