Virtuous Deception 2

by Leiann B. Wrytes

  Gunning the engine, he took the nearest entrance, merging onto I-75 South. Micah did not respond immediately. He squeezed his eyes tight. Every muscle in his body contracted as his anger started to best him. He rocked back and forth in the seat, huffing, forcing the air from his lungs.

  “Rachel, you and I never happened.”

  Reaching down between her legs, Rachel rummaged through the contents of her Chanel bag and retrieved her cell phone. Scrolling through her texts messages, she rehashed a few for Micah’s pleasure.

  “Let’s see ... I HD A GR8T TIME LST NGHT. LET’S DO IT AGN, 2NGHT. CANNOT WAIT 2 C U.–MICAH. Or this one . . . WHERE DID U LRN HW 2 DO WHT U DO? I CNT GET ENGH. XO–MICAH.”

  Micah pounded the steering wheel, dismissing the relevance of what she read aloud to him. “That proves nothing.”

  “Wait for it. My favorite is somewhere in here.” Rachel continued scrolling. “Ah, here it is. RACHEL, BABY BRNG THT YNG SEXY ASS 2 ME. IT’S BN 2 DAYS, TOO LONG. DINNER, JASPER’S IN PLANO @ 7 PM. BE OUTSIDE @ 6. SEE YA SOON. That was an awesome night, Micah.”

  “I am not whoever you think I am.” Micah stretched his legs, pressing his foot forward on the gas pedal, increasing his speed on the four-lane freeway. “I am not that guy.” Brusquely exiting the freeway, he made a U-turn and got back on the highway heading in the opposite direction. He had a new destination in mind, his abandoned home in Allen.

  Rachel swallowed hard, hinting at the uneasiness swirling within her. She sensed a change in Micah but continued, unsure of what to make of it. “I kept everything, Micah. Every message you ever sent, every gift, and any pictures we took. There’s no denying us.”

  Micah pressed harder on the accelerator of his Mercedes, whipping past the few cars in his line of sight. He jumped into the far-left lane, nearly clipping a light-pink Lincoln Town Car in the process.

  “Give me that phone.”

  “Micah! Slow down. What is your problem?”

  “Give me the damn phone, Rachel!” Micah weaved in between the cars, darting his gaze from the road to Rachel and back. “Now!”

  “No way.” Rachel shot Micah an incredulous look, unwilling to give him her only leverage. Her body shook with fear as Micah’s erratic driving sent her nervous system into overdrive. “Stop this!”

  “Give it to me!” Micah felt his blood curdling in his veins. His breathing intensified as his temper consumed him. Rachel seemed intent on ruining his life, and he was not going to stand by idly. “I’m not playing!”

  Rachel stared wide-eyed at Micah, fear muting the monologue vying for stage time. Securing the phone in her purse, Rachel placed it back on the floor between her legs. Confident in her position of power, she issued another denial. “That’s not going to happen. Where are we going, anyway?”

  Micah was livid. Cars honked their horns as he zipped around them, his pace mimicking the brisk beat of his chary heart. Jail was not an option. It would eradicate any chance for a reunion with the woman he loved. Rachel’s obstinate stance clarified, if there was ever a question, her original intention. Easing off the gas, he let the truth permeate his mind. He had been duped. Their brief romance was a ploy to get Micah to fund her lifestyle.

  Micah’s indignation climbed to new heights as the truth squeezed his intestines, causing him to double over onto the steering wheel in pain. “You little bitch!”

  “That’s not necessary. Play nice, and everyone wins, Micah.”

  He slammed his foot on the gas. The Mercedes quickly surpassed its previous speed of seventy-five miles per hour, easily hitting ninety. Rachel, without the safety of her seatbelt, fell forward onto the dashboard with the sudden jolt. Repositioning herself, she rolled her eyes, annoyed with Micah’s Grand Theft Auto antics. He was not her first wolf; in fact, he was number five in line, and experience had taught her that despite how much they huffed and puffed, if she simply stayed the course, he would come around. He wasn’t special.

  Laughing hysterically, Micah shook his head in frustration. “I am not asking you again.” His voice was low, but it did not mask the rage cinching the soft layers of his epidermis as it blazed a familiar pattern across his psyche. His nerves were unsettled and surging out of control while probable solutions teemed his mind. Gripping the leather circle with one hand, he unsuccessfully reached toward the floorboard between Rachel’s legs for her purse. The action sent the vehicle swerving into the lane beside them, causing the car occupying the space to slam its brakes.

  “Jeez! Micah, are you trying to kill us?”

  Glaring at her while traveling at a speed well in excess of ninety miles per hour, Micah failed to notice a disabled vehicle in their lane until they were seconds away from hitting it. He frantically swerved left, attempting to avoid the inevitable. The car flipped several times, taking Micah’s courage hostage. The Benz crumpled like an aluminum can before coming to a stop bottom-side up in the middle of the highway.

  His body felt like it had been split in two. His heart pumped furiously behind his broken ribs as images of a revolving landscape powered through his mind. The faint smell of leaking gasoline intensified an already backbreaking migraine. He strained to clear his vision as little sparks of light bounced before his eyes. Disoriented and unable to move, he shifted his thoughts to Rachel, whose screams, which were prevalent before, were notably absent.

  Rachel . . . He attempted to call out to her, finding that he was unable to speak. As shock pulled him out of his conscious state, contrasting the urge to sleep, heat emitting from a fresh flame ignited his senses. The cry for help echoed within him, reverberating off the walls of his mind. Rendered silent by the injury resulting from the crash, he felt terror that mocked his mortality.

  A Good Samaritan fearlessly pulled Micah from the wreckage, dragging him several feet away to safety. Micah was not awake to see the car engulfed by flames, the horror painted across the faces of the first responders that arrived on scene to assist, nor the drivers, whose commute was interrupted by this moment in his life.

  Micah was care-flighted to the nearest hospital, Presbyterian Hospital of Allen. Rachel did not survive, her life extinguished by the fire that nearly claimed his.

  Chapter 15

  The last counseling session had prompted Dr. WonderBra to schedule another session for Brianna later that same week. Brianna was not at all excited about it, but for the first time, she did not mind talking about it. She was curious herself.

  “So, Brianna, are you ready to begin?”

  “As ready as I ever will be.”

  “Great. Previously we were able to discuss, for a moment, the prospect of love, or perhaps more specifically, your being in love.”

  “I remember.”

  “Good. I would like to delve into that. I think that it is an important development and deserves more than the ten minutes we gave to it earlier.”

  Brianna noticed that Dr. WonderBra seemed a bit more lively than usual. She was still rocking the bun, though.

  “What about it?”

  “You stated, ‘I think I’m in love.’ Expound on the why, please?” Clicking her ball point pen open, Dr. Shepherd prepared to jot down whatever Brianna had to say.

  “There’s not much to say, really.”

  “I think there is,” Dr. Shepherd countered. “Indifferent to life is how you have previously described your emotional state. To move from indifferent to in love is a significant change.”

  Brianna understood what she was saying, even if she felt she was making a big deal out of nothing. “It might not even be that.”

  “Even if it isn’t love that you’re experiencing, the fact that you chose that word out of all the adjectives available to you is telling.”

  “It’s a word, four letters. The meaning is subject to interpretation. People do all sorts of things in things in the name of love. Horrible, ghastly things.” Brianna’s voice trailed off a bit as her thoughts shifted to her father, Frank. Her mother. Love hurt. “My use is only relevant when coupled w
ith my own definition. And I can’t give it to you.”

  Dr. Shepherd’s surprise at Brianna’s remarks showed in the raised arch of her brow. “True enough. All of what you stated rings true for a lot of people. If you feel that way about love, why the admission?”

  Brianna thought for a moment. “I am fluent in French, Spanish, and Japanese. My marketing degree from Pepperdine, the launch of my business and its early success, the lifelong friendships I have with my line sisters, or anything else that I have managed to accomplish means nothing. I literally don’t feel anything about it. Things that were once a source of pride no longer mean anything at all. Something has emptied them of their power. My life is gone.”

  “Brianna, you never cease to be who you are, regardless of how things may change around you. Your resume is incredible, but as impressive as the bullet points are, that’s not what truly persuades people to connect, professionally. It is the idea that you had it in you to do those things. People appreciate the tenacity, ambition, the determination, and discipline that it must have taken to do it. Whatever it is that aided you in doing all that you have, will also help you to get through this.”

  “No, it won’t.” Brianna sighed deeply, second guessing her decision to speak a tad bit.

  “It can and it will. Together, we will find it and learn how to utilize that strength again.”

  “Not unless you can travel back in time.”

  “What do you mean, Brianna?”

  Her eyes filled to the brim with tears as the moment drowned her. Her mojo, the thing that she had always relied on, had morphed into something unrecognizable, some shape she found too difficult and too painful to embrace. Her eyes could name it, but her heart could not. Rather than wiping the tears away, she let them roll politely down her cheeks.

  “I always wanted to make him proud. Never wanted to be categorized as your typical spoiled, rich kid. I worked hard to prove that I was worth more than the money I never went without. To prove that my life was valuable.”

  “Brianna, are you referring to your father?” She observed as Brianna nodded in confirmation. “What produced that feeling? Did something happen to facilitate this belief that you needed to prove yourself?”

  “Nothing specific. My mother, Lisa, was gone much of the time. The only thing she never went without was her American Express Black Card. My dad and I . . . she left us. Didn’t need us, not like we needed her. Like I needed her.” Brianna dug her fingers into the folds of the couch, steadying her thoughts while she shared her most private feelings with the doctor. “My dad was great. He gave me everything I wanted, but I felt the distance between us. I could tell, even as a young girl, that he was holding back. It was his eyes, you know?”

  She gestured toward her eyes to illustrate her point. “There was a longing in his eyes. He was never fully happy. I blamed my mother; thought she was breaking his heart. Anyway, I never really felt like I could compete.”

  “Compete with who?”

  “Their money. Their finances received more attention than I ever did. Do you know that Lisa gave my dad a weekly bank statement for his review? Every single penny was accounted for. Some nights I would lie in my daybed, pillow covering my face, to muffle their fighting. My dad would blow up over fifty dollars.” Relaxing her body, Brianna sank back unto the couch. “Unbelievable. He never addressed her absence, only the money.”

  “Knowing what you do now about the nature of your adoption, do you still feel it was money that drew a divide, or could it have been something else?”

  “It could have been any number of things. The why does not matter at all to me.”

  “Sometimes knowing the cause aids in the healing process.”

  “That may be true, but I don’t care. Trust me, I have spun my wheels around this track, and I cannot create a scenario that would make any of this okay. Not one.”

  Dr. Shepherd nodded her understanding. “Still, some part of you must be curious.”

  Brianna had considered what Dr. Shepherd was suggesting, and the premise was agreeable. That kind of secret could certainly have been the fault line in their relationship, not only the union between her father and herself, but between them all. The fault line that inevitably shifted, bringing the crack to the surface.

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Help me, Brianna.”

  “The woman I had become was built on untruths. How can I possibly continue to be her? She is not real. There is no explanation that would change that. I have not changed that much since Monday.”

  “Perhaps you are not the same person you were before you learned about your sister, your mother, before you were kidnapped, but none of us are. We are Silly Putty or Play-Doh in life’s hands, and each event in our lives, good or bad, leaves an impression, changing us to some degree. Some alterations are more obvious and feel more pronounced than others, but it’s all still part of the same continuous change.”

  Brianna stared out the window behind the doctor, allowing the emotion to depart from her eyes as she tossed the doctor’s words around in her head. It was a rational pathology that she could not deny.

  “That makes sense, but I—” Battling the urge to retreat into silence, Brianna squeezed her eyes shut. The throbbing beat of her heart, moving from her chest into her pharynx, threatened to mute her at any moment. “I close my eyes at night, and I’m back on the beach. I’m locked in that room. Terrified, alone, and powerless.”

  The tiny hairs covering her arms rose, reacting to the slow shot of adrenaline flowing through her body as she revisited the scene of her crime. The beautiful Cancun sunset drifted in and out of the background like a hammock in motion, confusing her emotional palette as the serenity of the picture-perfect landscape gave way to what became her nightmare. It was the calm before the storm. That peaceful, surreal second in time, interrupted by their plans.

  “Brianna, you are not alone or powerless. You never were.”

  “That’s funny, because I was held for several days, and I don’t remember consenting.”

  “Michelle was looking for you. Her fiancé was searching.”

  “I know. I knew it then, too.”

  “That knowledge had to have helped you in some way. Empowered you, even?”

  Brianna puffed out her lips, placing her finger to her temple, expelling the small balloon of air from her lungs. “That’s true, it did help. I knew she would find me. I held on long after I felt the urge to give up because of it.”

  “That brings me back to my original question. Why did you say you were in love?”

  Brianna met Dr. Shepherd’s gaze, suddenly unable to share her innermost misgivings.

  Stripped of a pathway into her own psyche, her mind closed and would not allow her to tape the words together that would explain how his presence made her feel secure like a child in the mother’s womb; how sleep evaded her each night until her eyes connected with his. She lacked the power to force them out. Their bond, forged in the face of death, could not be ignored. She could not escape him if she wanted to.

  Brianna scrunched her eyes closed as her cheeks suddenly billowed with air. She quickly gulped, sending the acidic fluid back down her throat, attempting to convince her mind that the queasiness percolating in the base of her tummy was nothing more than a figment of its imagination. It was a futile attempt, as Brianna sprinted out of the office, into the bathroom, where she found herself on her knees, reliving her last meal in reverse. It was a scene becoming all too familiar to her.

  She walked to the sink, waved her hand in front of the spout to turn on the water. Taking a second to collect herself, she gathered a pool of water in her hands and filled her mouth. Swishing the cool water around, she gargled in an effort to rid it of the bitter residue left behind. Satisfied with her effort, she splashed her face and grabbed a soft paper towel from the wicker basket on the granite countertop. As she dried her face, she studied her reflection in the large mirror, debating whether she wanted to return to her session, whic
h would mean a return to the conversation.

  She knew Dr. Shepherd had fifty shades of the same question locked and loaded, probably aimed at her, itching to pull the trigger. Brianna did not mind anymore, honestly. She simply did not have a lot of answers for the good doctor—only questions.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Brianna, are you okay?” Dr. Shepherd’s voiced eased into the space. She must have come looking for her.

  “I am fine. I’ll be out in a minute.” Brianna could still leave as long as Dr. WonderBra wasn’t blocking the sole exit. The private, chic, upscale bathroom provided a small haven for Brianna, if only for a little while. With her stomach knotting up at the prospect of deciding to finish the session, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Stepping out of the bathroom, Brianna spotted Dr. Shepherd sitting comfortably on the edge of Rachel’s desk, presumably waiting for her. Dr. Shepherd’s light-hearted demeanor soothed the restless chill crawling up Brianna’s spine.

  “I thought you might make a run for it.”

  “Thought about it.” Brianna offered a light chuckle as she made her way past the good doctor and into the office, but an eerie feeling swept over her as she passed by the doctor. Something didn’t feel quite right. Pausing in the doorway, she gave the reception area a quick once over.

  “What is it, Brianna?”

  Brianna looked at Dr. Shepherd, ignoring the puzzled expression on her face, realizing that the issue wasn’t anything that was there. It was what was missing. Rachel was not there. Brianna had not noticed before. Not her problem really, but she had a strange feeling about her absence.

  Brianna resumed her seat on the couch. She waited for Dr. Shepherd to take hers. “I guess I just hadn’t realized that your receptionist isn’t here today.”

  “Oh, yes, my niece, Rachel. She didn’t come in today. It hadn’t dawned on me that you were so accustomed to seeing her.”

  Brianna laughed uncomfortably. “Surprised me as well.”

  Dr. Shepherd gracefully walked to her seat across from Brianna. Sitting down in the Italian leather office chair, Dr. Shepherd prepared to dive back into the session. “Are you able to continue, Brianna? If this is too much, we can resume at our regular time next week. Though we concentrate on your emotional and mental health, your overall health is of concern to me.”