Cinderella Undone

by Nicole Snow

  I'd certainly be in a cell right now if it was me she'd found, and not Kendra.

  I'm gripping Sunflower's hand as we step inside. A vent spews the air conditioning on us full blast as we ride the elevator.

  Every minute I'm breaking my promise to my little girl stabs deeper at my soul. Turns my blood dark and toxic.

  Lizzie, I'm sorry. I can't let it end like this. Can't let Victor and that disappearing freak who's her mom in name-only take away my sun.

  Charlie waits for us in his office. He sits up as soon as we enter, a tall man, his eyes on fire when he looks from me, and then to the woman at my side. “Oh. I thought you'd be alone, Knox,” he says.

  Kendra's fingers tighten on mine. “Is my presence here a problem?”

  Charlie looks at me. His dark eyes glow like the answer to her question might be yes. What the fuck?

  I don't understand, and I damn sure don't like it.

  “Charlie, what's wrong?” My voice booms, more venom than I intend creeping into my voice.

  My lawyer clears his throat uncomfortably. He lifts his eyebrows for a second, like he's bracing for an asteroid to come crashing through his window overlooking Phoenix. Then, he turns, still not giving an answer, and retrieves a few papers from the far side of his desk.

  “Forgive me. I think you'd better see this for yourself. Last page, to be specific. Take a second, flip through it, and...” Try not to shoot the messenger, is what I think he wants to stay. “Take a moment to digest, please. I'll be out here if you need me. I'll do my best to formulate a response once you see what we're up against.”

  He doesn't even ask permission to leave. Just gets up and scurries off, leaving Kendra and I alone with the mystery package.

  “Go ahead. We'd better read it.” Kendra squeezes my hand, speaking softly, her voice making the ice glazing my back a whole lot colder.

  There's no point delaying another second. What's one more ugly shock after a day full of them?

  I snatch at the papers and begin flipping through them. Trying to get it over with.

  First page is an identical copy of the custody order left on my doorstep. The next have headers from two local psychologists – men I've never seen – both affirming, under penalty of perjury, that the 'corroborating information' attached is serious and informative enough to make a diagnosis in absentia.

  I see everything laid out real neat. Like a shopping list for psychosis.

  Anger issues. Depression. Unmanaged war trauma.

  Verdict: unfit for primary custody.

  Particularly when there's two perfectly good guardians waiting in the eyes of Victor's lackeys. Her mother and grandfather will do the job I can't.

  “Bullshit,” I hiss, clenching my teeth. Kendra strokes my arm softly, but it isn't helping.

  My heartbeat roars in my ears as I flip to the last page. Whatever it is, I know it's bound to piss me off. It's got to be horrific if it's made Charlie jump ship, abandoning his office like he's anticipating I'll turn over his desk, break chairs, smash the twenty foot square barrier between this building's innards and the evening sky.

  It's...an ambush.

  What's on that page is Kendra's handwriting. Or, rather, a photocopy of a note she's written, judging by how the ink doesn't smudge underneath my numb finger, hot and clammy in its fury.

  Each word knocks a new piece of my heart out.

  You've ordered a statement regarding Knox Carlisle's fitness for custody. My assessment is as follows, in full compliance with the law, under advice of my own attorney:

  Knox Carlisle wants to be a good father, deep down inside. He tries.

  But there are times when I worry. Love isn't always enough to cover serious deficits.

  Frankly, after living with him for several weeks, I think he lacks the emotional capacity to tend his daughter's needs.

  Knox can be intimidating. Self-centered. Angry and violent.

  I don't know if this is due to the war or what he does overseas in the diamond business. Maybe it's the lingering mystery over Samantha Wright's disappearance that's made him cold and indifferent. Maybe it's work-related stress. Maybe he was born this way.

  It's not my place to say. That's your job.

  Let me stress that I don't think this is permanent. He can change. He loves his little girl, and it's not impossible one day he'll be able to deliver the emotional discipline she deserves.

  This statement is not meant to be anything except my personal observations, recorded and certified by my counsel, in compliance with the law.

  I don't want to believe it's true. The handwritten date above is just a few weeks ago, not long after Gannon opened the gates of hell, and we started making peace.

  Timely betrayal. Backstabbing just when I trusted her.

  When I turn toward her, shoving her hand away, and we finally lock eyes, I don't know who the fuck I even am.

  The old Knox never would've been this blind. He'd have seen it coming.

  Loving this woman just cost me my little girl.

  “Knox?” Kendra calls my name, panic rising in her voice.

  I stand up, pacing the room to the window, running my fingers through my hair. For a second, I contemplate ripping it out. It's not like there's another way to relieve the insanity boiling in my skull every second my back is turned, palm against the glass, knowing she's rammed the knife through my heart.

  I can't believe she concealed it this long as well as she did.

  “Jesus Christ. You don't really think I...I mean...I don't know what this is.” She's trembling, holding it in her hand. “Knox, I swear, on everything I'll ever love – I did not write this. Please, you have to –“

  “I don't have to do shit.” Even I'm surprised how bitterly cold it sounds. My tongue hurts like it's frosted over.

  I march past her, ignoring the hot, vicious tears rolling down her cheeks, making a zig-zag for the door. I find Charlie on the balcony just outside, a cigarette hanging from his lips. It falls out the second I grab him by his lapels.

  “Whoa, Knox, calm down!”

  “Why didn't you tell me, you useless fuck? What am I paying you for?” I'm shaking him like a rabid dog with a squirrel and I don't want to stop.

  “Easy. Easy!” Words fly out between his chattering teeth while I fling him around. “Whoa, whoa, holy shit. Knox, please, you're gonna kill me!”

  He isn't wrong. I don't throw him against the wall for another few seconds, not until I'm ready to drop the question burning acid through my soul. “Is it her fucking handwriting? Huh?! Did you send this to forensics?”

  “Knox!” I stop just short of squeezing his throat. His eyes are huge, and he slumps in my arms, choosing his next words very carefully. I give him a few seconds to gather his breath. “Everything happened so fast. I only got the package here this afternoon. When I called you, and left the voicemail, you didn't get back to me for another hour. By then, you knew what was going on yourself, after Samantha –“

  “Yeah, yeah, we both know what happened. Get to the goddamned point. Was it her handwriting?”

  His eyes pinch shut, as if he's bracing for an imminent collision. “I fished out her Gannon statement from a few weeks ago and compared the handwriting. Look, Godzilla, I'm no specialist, but...it sure looks the same.”

  Fuck.

  I let his feet hit the ground, sucking in my own cheeks, instinct clenching my jaw. I taste blood.

  “I'm sorry. I didn't have a clue how to break the news with her standing right in front of me. I hate that it had to go down this way, my man. Really, really sorry.” He stiffens to full height, brushing off his jacket in quick, nervous sweeps. “Next time, let's learn to keep our hands to ourselves. Okay, buddy? Or else I'm doubling your retainer.”

  I don't care. I've heard enough. I start walking to the elevator.

  She's waiting for me next to it, tapping her foot impatiently, sniffing back tears. It's incredible how fast my empathy is obliterated. I don't even acknowledge her presence
as my fist crashes into the button on the wall.

  “It's not true, Knox. I didn't write a single word. Can't you see the truth?” She's staring through me. I never glance her way, just gaze dumbly at the silver door, wondering how long it'll take to melt a neat hole through it. “Goddammit, say something!”

  She snaps first. Grabbing my shoulders, Kendra digs her nails in so hard it should hurt.

  If only I could feel anything.

  My turn to whip around, pinching her arms, flattening her against the wall. She's breathing the same quick, fierce way that used to turn me on. Incredible how there's no desire to do anything except never lay eyes on this two-timing bitch again.

  She'll know my suffering. I brand my hate into those vivid green eyes where I thought I'd find my forever before this afternoon. How the hell could I ever be so stupid?

  “I loved you, Kendra. First like a sister, then like my own flesh and blood.” Past-tense chokes me. “Go home. Stay away from Jamie and ma's place for awhile. I'll have a moving company drop your shit off in a few weeks.”

  Sadness drowns her eyes. “Knox...you're insane. If you'll just work with me, give us a chance to figure out what really happened.”

  So much desperation. Damn if I don't want to believe her. But I'm done being blinded by comforting lies, including the biggest one of all called 'love.'

  “Stop fucking talking,” I growl. “Charlie told me everything. It's your handwriting.”

  “Screw Charlie! And yeah, I know it is, Knox. I don't deny it. What I can't figure out is how. I'm telling you, and believe me, I get how crazy this sounds, but I didn't fucking writing it!” She's screaming. So loud my lawyer's receptionist shoots a worried look down the hall, one hand on her phone. “Do you think I'd ever do anything to hurt you? Or Lizzie? Why in God's name would I?”

  Fear.

  Distress.

  A love that was two weeks too late to blossom in her heart, and maybe truly came after she'd twisted the knife. She wanted her revenge for that night at Danny's house, maybe, and sat on it for fucking years.

  None of it matters anymore.

  I can't let this get worse. I need to save Lizzie. There's no time for a run-in with security.

  “Give me a sixty second head start, and I'll be gone. Call an Uber or a cab home.” The elevator chimes and the doors slide open. I step inside, turn, and look through the tears in her eyes one last time. “I'm sorry, Kendra.”

  “No! No, you're not,” she whimpers, wiping her face, considering whether or not she wants to jump inside before the doors slam shut. “If you ever cared, there'd be no apologizing. You'd stay.”

  “Wrong,” I say, adjusting my tie. “I'm sorry for your sake, Kendra. You'll have to live with what you've done for the rest of your life. I'm also fucking sorry for myself. I'm the guy who has to come up with a story after Lizzie's back, and explain why she doesn't have a mommy again.”

  Her eyes drop. So do mine.

  The door closes and I feel the lurch as it drops down the skyscraper.

  Next stop is the darkest pit of hell.

  13

  How? (Kendra)

  I didn't know there were so many ways to make a woman's heart scorched earth. Not before I lost everything in less than two hours, and I had to flatten myself against the wall just to breathe, completely hollowed out.

  She doesn't have a mommy again. His last words echo in my mind, over and over, a monstrous taunt bent on breaking the last thread holding my sanity together if I don't start moving now.

  Thankfully, the elevator chimes. I step in, grab the banister, and let it carry me to the ground floor. I say a silent prayer for him to be gone, out of the parking garage and away from this place. If I see his car while I'm waiting on the curb, I might step in front of it.

  He's already killed me emotionally.

  A minute later, I'm at the end of the block, watching my ride criss-cross its way through Phoenix. I don't even look at the name when I see the Incoming Call, thinking it's probably my driver.

  “Hello?” What I really mean is, please, God, can it just be over?

  “Traitor! Did you really think I'd never find out?” Jamie's shrill voice stabs at my ear. “You were dating my brother the whole time and hiding it. Marrying him! What. The. Hell. Kendra? I thought we were friends.”

  I see it now. The last domino to fall today is my oldest, closest friendship. If I hadn't just lost everything else in my life, maybe I'd give a damn.

  “Jamers –“ I sigh. “Look, it's not what you think. And I'm pretty sure it's over. The engagement is off.” My eyes are on my ring when I say it. Just looking at it brings waves of nausea, regret, heartache.

  Where is that stupid Uber? “Listen, I can't talk right now.” I mean it.

  “No, don't fucking bother. No need. If you're planning to elope with another dumb story, don't bother hiding it from me. It's mom who's really crushed.”

  My phone makes its familiar clicking sound as she hangs up. It takes two more minutes before my ride pulls up on the curb.

  Plenty of time to hold in an internal scream.

  It's been at least an entire day since I fell back to earth. So far from the asshole's majestic estate, lovely finishes, sprawling bed, and irresistible kisses. A chasm separates my cluttered old bedroom studio from the beautiful garden shed surrounded by citrus and sunflowers. I swear a lifetime has passed since I heard his little girl's laughter.

  My little girl. The only one who ever called me mommy.

  I'm tearing up when I hear the hushed voices outside. My parents know to leave me alone, let me recover, give me privacy while they talk quietly about 'something troubling me' that has to do with my best friend and that 'nice young man.'

  If only they knew the truth.

  The Nice Young Man is Mr. Hyde when he thinks I've done wrong. He's a quick-to-shoot, heartless, wounded asshole.

  Yet still, somehow, the asshole I loved.

  I bury my face in the pillows again. That's where it stays until the knock. “Honey?” Mom's voice, an octave higher than it usually is with concern. “I brought you some dinner.”

  The door creaks as she pushes it open a crack. Probably just checking to be sure I'm alive. “Leave it on my dresser, please. Thanks.”

  She does, and slips out quietly. There's a lot we don't see eye-to-eye on, but kicking me when I'm down has never been her style. My parents are also introverts, just like me, and I'm lucky they understand how important it is to try healing alone.

  Assuming there's any coming back from this. I don't know that there is.

  Frankly, I don't know anything. Nothing changed since the grim discovery.

  I've only had a few hours without a pounding headache to contemplate how someone duplicated my handwriting perfectly, framing me for a crime I'd never commit in a trillion years. Unless I was drugged and hypnotized to write it and forgot – an angle I've honestly considered – then someone with a PhD in foul play sprung their trap flawlessly.

  That evening, I'm sitting by the tiny pool in my parent's backyard. The moon glows overhead, but it's not a healing energy. It's swollen on my pain, glowing with my loss, hanging high in the glossy night sky. Mysterious and unreachable as the pieces of my life just pulverized.

  This shouldn't be so hard. I had my new life no more than a few weeks. That ring I've stuffed into a dark corner in my drawer didn't feel real until this month.

  Why does it feel like we were already a family for years? Why am I sitting here staring at the soft, cool waters, knees tucked under my palms, sweating because I'm going through withdrawals.

  I don't want to live without him, or that precious little girl.

  “How?” I mutter to myself, biting my lip. This is the first time since it all blew to hell that I've been able to focus.

  I can't figure it out. I don't know where to begin. I wrack my brain for possibilities, anyone who would've had the skills and motive to ruin my life in the cruelest way possible.

  Wright had to
be involved. Sam's reappearance was coordinated with my fake statement to the court and the snap custody decision. Several articles I've read say there's nothing normal about this. Victor clearly leaned on his connections and wealth to ram through a decision, a real shock when the legal system typically moves at a crawl.

  I remember sitting down with Charlie the first time. He looked on while his secretary dictated everything I said about Gannon, word for word, from the moment I took the internship until he went berserk.

  It's a cold, creeping realization when it comes. My jaw drops, and I whisper two words. “Gannon. Crap.”

  I bolt up. I don't know how, but the artist is involved. He's the only one with the talent to string together words I never said. I remember reading about last year's exhibition, when he created a letter-white bridal gown covered in ink, love lines he duplicated by hand, lifted from the famous romance notes between Napoleon Bonaparte and Josephine.

  There's no time to contemplate more. I don't know how he intercepted my statement, or how he got it out of Charlie's office, but right now it doesn't matter.

  I need evidence.

  I'm halfway to my car, planning to drive downtown into Phoenix, when I realize how utterly alone I am. I freeze, one hand on my car door, drawing deep breaths in the cool night.

  I shouldn't do this alone. If I run into Gannon, it's game over, and waiting for him to call the police to haul me out in handcuffs would be getting off lightly.

  He's violent and insane. If I go to the studio, and he corners me alone...

  I don't want to think what would happen. If he's truly capable of framing me with false words, then I have no doubt he's perfectly able to hide a body, too, if rage makes him do the unthinkable.

  I'm sighing as I take out my phone. Searching my contacts, I find the number, and press call, then wait for her to pick up.

  It rings four times. Just when I think I'm getting voicemail, Jamie's angry voice snaps on the line. “What do you want?”