143

by Jade Winters

  "I appreciate your concern for me, but going about it in this way is wrong," she said tiredly. "You tried four years ago and it didn't work, and it sure as hell isn't going to work this time. You can't mould me into something I'm not — what would be the point of me existing if I lived like that? If I was willing to give up my life and live a lie because you didn't like my sexuality? Is that what you would all want for me, the very people who claim to love me? Would you rather see me imprisoned in your worldview, unhappy, doing what you think is right rather than living my own life?"

  "Life doesn't work like that, Genevieve, that's what you're not getting. We have to sacrifice —" but before Eddie could finish his sentence, Genevieve cut him off.

  "Just listen to yourself!" She swung round to him. "I'm a lesbian, yet you want me to go against what is inherent in me and lay down with a man as a sacrifice... To who? And to what?" she nearly shrieked, disgusted by the very idea.

  "God!" Paul interjected, shouting. "God is who you should sacrifice it for." His face turned red with fury. Genevieve shook her head in disbelief.

  "This is all getting a little too weird for me now. You're saying I should sleep with men for God? Can you hear what you're saying to me? Am I the only one that doesn't get this?" she asked, looking at each of them. "How can you ask me to be something that I'm not? How can you ask me to live my life as somebody else, and not be true to myself? That's the equivalent of telling me to gouge my eyes out because they're green when they're supposed to be blue!"

  "Don't use silly analogies to worm your way out of this, Genie. You can dress it up any way you want, but it doesn't mean it's right," Paul said, his arms trembling with anger.

  "Then we'll just have to agree to disagree."

  "So where does that leave us?" Paul said, taking a step closer to her. Genevieve stood in stunned disbelief. Have I just been talking to myself these past fifteen minutes? she thought.

  "What do you mean, where does this leave us?" she asked.

  "We are engaged, if I remember correctly." She sighed deeply, shook her head and addressed them all.

  "It leaves us all in a bit of a tangle," she said, slipping her engagement ring off her finger and handing it to Paul. "There will be no wedding and, to be honest, I can't believe you even had the cheek to ask in the first place. I mean, what were you going to say when, sometime down the line, I got my memory back? Did any of you even care to think about the possibility of me remembering?" Genevieve looked at her mother, who had quietly begun to sob. She could only feel pity for her.

  "I'm going to get the rest of my things together," she said, not to anyone in particular.

  In her room, she flopped down heavily on her bed. She lay on her back, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, tracing where they first began and where they had spread to. She tried to make a picture out of it and when she couldn't, she turned on to her belly and pushed her face deep in to the pillow. The sound of rain beating down on the roof didn't seem as if it was going to stop any time soon. It was strange how rain had such an impact on the way she felt — it made her feel lonely and sad, imagining that someone up in the heavens was crying for all the unfortunate souls of the world.

  CHAPTER 24

  WITH GENEVIEVE IN her bedroom, the kitchen was silent but for the sound of the rain. Elsie was busy making tea while the two men sat mulling things over in their minds. A final, icy comprehension had spread through him as Genevieve had been talking. He'd realised it was up to him to put a stop to the scattered debris that had littered their lives for too long. The whisper in his mind said, Get rid of the cause, get rid of the problem. At an opportune moment, he'd managed to snatch Genevieve's keys out of her bag when no one was looking. He stood, wearing a smile that he hoped hid his true intentions.

  "I'm going for a walk to clear my head," he said, lifting up his jacket from behind the chair. He let himself out the house and walked quickly to his car. Sitting in the driver's seat he let out a deep sigh, clenching his fingers together and cracking his knuckles. Starting the car with a small rev on the accelerator, he put it into gear and steered it away from the pavement, heading toward his final destination: London.

  He parked half a mile from the Parliament View apartment block, opened the boot and took a black cap from it. Putting it on his head, he tugged the front down so it shaded his eyes from view. Slamming the boot shut, he locked the doors and made the rest of the journey by foot, keeping his head down each time he passed a stranger. When he reached the apartment block, he peered over the potted plants outside the building and looked through a large window into the reception area. He was grateful to see that the concierge was distracted by two women, presumably residents. He touched the security pad with the blip on the key ring, and without stopping or looking at anyone, walked directly to the lift; he didn't want to draw attention to himself by looking hesitant.

  The lift was already on the ground floor. He stepped into the metal box and pressed number ten on the metallic board. The doors closed and the lift began to ascend. Several seconds later, the automated voice informed him he had reached his destination. Wasting no time, he stepped out of the lift and made his way toward the door, swiftly letting himself in. He gently closed the door behind him. The sound of the TV floated throughout the apartment. He walked into the living room, where he found Rebecca sitting on the sofa, her attention frozen on the window. He realised she was watching his reflection. They both remained in position, like pieces on a chess board caught in a stalemate. The atmosphere was hostile, he could feel it emanating from himself and filling the whole room with his hatred. Rebecca's body was rigid.

  "Is Genevieve with you?" she asked, buying time, not wanting to accept that he was there solely for her. He walked further into the room, looking menacingly like a cat who'd finally trapped a mouse.

  "No."

  "What do you want?" she asked, standing up very slowly and turning to face him, taking in his obvious attempt to disguise his face with his cap drawn down.

  "To put an end to all of this," he said, expanding his arms.

  "And how do you plan to do that?" she asked, fear starting to permeate her body. She didn't want to hear his answer. She knew exactly what his intentions were, but she was desperately trying to figure out what she could do about it. He was blocking the door, her only exit, and the window was not an option.

  "If I were to ask you to leave Genevieve alone, would you?" he asked calmly.

  "No." There was no point lying to him, regardless of what fate he had in store for her. He wasn't stupid enough to think that she would. "But what difference does it make anyway? You have her exactly where you want her; she doesn't want to be in a relationship with me anymore."

  "Don't you fucking use the word relationship as though it is normal," he snarled. Her whole body stiffened. "A relationship is something that human beings have, not fucking animals like you." He began to walk toward her, his eyes ablaze with resentment.

  She heard herself yell but it sounded muffled somehow. She felt an agonising pain as he slammed his fist into her head, the force of it knocking her backwards onto the sofa. He watched her fall backwards and went for her again, but despite her dizziness from the blow she somehow managed to heave herself out of his reach and stagger toward the hallway. She was quick and it was only a short distance to the door, but he was already behind her. He grabbed her by the back of her hair and yanked her toward him.

  "Oh no you don't," he said, breathless after the short excursion. He began slapping and punching her mercilessly on whatever part of her body was available. When she finally fell to the floor, he began to kick her until she lay lifeless. Each blow he dealt was for all the hurt and humiliation he'd had to endure because of her and her sickness — the sickness that she had tried to pass on to his daughter.

  CHAPTER 25

  GENEVIEVE WAITED patiently while the concierge retrieved a spare set of keys from the security box for their apartment. She'd reluctantly called Rebecca but there was no answer.
She was relieved in a way, because she was still angry with her. She couldn't remember where she'd misplaced her own set, she was sure she'd put them in her bag before she'd left the apartment that day.

  The concierge returned, handing her the spare set of keys, and she made her way up to the tenth floor. She was quite pleased with how the evening had turned out in the end. She had stood up to her parents and had set Paul straight about their relationship. Though her father hadn't returned from his walk by the time she'd left, she was sure he now understood that she was going to live her life the way she deemed fit, and she was not going to be bullied like a child.

  As she opened the front door, at first her mind chose not to register the disarray of the hallway. Beautiful wall paintings lay torn and broken on their backs. The large lamp, once an elegant show piece, lay on its side with its bulb flickering, adding to the sinister appearance of the scene. She stood there in mute detachment, unable to comprehend what she saw before her. Her brain was only kicked into gear by the sight of what looked like a bedraggled, bloody doll lying between the front room and hallway.

  She dropped her bag and ran to the body, putting a finger to Rebecca's throat for a pulse. There was a slight flutter. Before panic could set in, she ran to the phone and called the emergency services, relaying as much information as she could while she tried to deal with her shock. She knelt beside Rebecca again and stroked her face, trying her hardest not to look at her matted, blood-soaked hair. She closed her eyes to the horror of it all. Her head spun — she wanted to be there with Rebecca, but at the same time she wanted to squeeze her eyes shut and block out what was in front of her.

  The room spun and she dropped her head onto Rebecca's chest as fragments of memories started to rise. She'd been walking toward the embankment... a male figure with his back to her... the figure turning around. Then, with a force that made her breathless, it was suddenly all there: her father, shouting at her, bullying her, then pleading with her, desperately begging her, and finally, beating her, a forceful blow to her face. The last thing she'd seen before she hit her head and descended into blackness was the expression of bitter hatred on his face.

  She snapped her eyes open and looked down at Rebecca as an overwhelming feeling of love rushed through her. There was a quick knock on the door, and not waiting to be asked in, the paramedics rushed to assist. Genevieve stumbled away from Rebecca as they set to work. Her mind was whirling. Everything had come back to her as though it was yesterday. The paramedics were working with some urgency. When they put Rebecca on a stretcher and wheeled her out, Genevieve followed closely behind them.

  She called Tia from the hospital, who arrived within fifteen minutes.

  "What happened?" Tia asked as she rushed toward Genevieve, sitting in the waiting room looking grief-stricken.

  "I don't know. When I went home, I found her in the hallway, unconscious, viciously beaten." Genevieve stared straight ahead, still unable to comprehend what had happened.

  "Was there any sign of a break-in?" Tia asked, sitting down next to her.

  "No, the door was locked."

  "What aren't you telling me, Genevieve?"

  "I think the person who attacked Rebecca was the same person who attacked me," she said in a monotone.

  "And do you know who attacked you?" Tia asked slowly, as if talking to a child. Genevieve nodded tiredly.

  "Who was it?"

  "My father."

  "Your father?" Tia screeched, jumping up from the chair. Genevieve nodded. She had never felt so drained, so devoid of feeling. Tia sat down beside her, taking her hand in her own.

  "What else do you remember?" she asked hopefully.

  "Oh, everything," she said, smiling a little.

  "Under normal circumstances I would have been over the moon to hear that, but..." She didn't need to finish the sentence. Both women sat there, too stunned to speak anymore.

  As soon as Genevieve caught sight of a doctor, she ran up to her.

  "Can you tell me any news about Rebecca?"

  "Are you family?" the doctor enquired.

  "Well no, not really, I'm her partner — she doesn't have any next of kin." The doctor looked at her for several seconds. "Okay," she said finally, "you can see her, but only briefly."

  Tia stayed where she was as the doctor led Genevieve into a room off the corridor. Rebecca was bandaged across her head, her face and her eyes swollen, her arm in a cast. She looked like a victim of war.

  "Can she hear me?" Genevieve asked.

  "Yes, it looks worse than it actually is."

  "She's been asking for you," the nurse who was tending her said with a smile. The doctor beckoned for the nurse to leave them alone. Genevieve walked tentatively towards the bed. She took Rebecca's one good hand and held it to her face.

  "Becca," she said gently, "Becca." She kissed her hand and saw one swollen eye open very slightly. Rebecca heard Genevieve's voice through the haze.

  "Genie?" she croaked in a whisper.

  "Yes darling, I'm here." There was silence.

  "Did you say darling?"

  "Yes," Genevieve said, laughing through her tears. "Don't try to talk, just rest." Rebecca tried to squeeze Genevieve's hand, but couldn't muster up the energy. She felt as though she had fallen off a cliff; every part of her body ached. She had been trying to move to make sure all her limbs were functioning properly. As she lay there in the comfort of the knowledge that Genevieve was back, her thoughts turned to Genevieve's father. What would possess a man to go as far as he went... to hurt me so badly? She didn't know if he had been trying to kill her, or merely sending a message.

  * * *

  Four months had passed since Genevieve's attack, and although the case had been filed, it was still at the forefront of Isabel's mind. If there was one thing that Isabel hated more than violence, it was unsolved crimes. She'd convinced her boss to let her have one more shot at solving it by staging a reconstruction. What had come as a shock to them all was Genevieve's insistence last week on retracing her own steps. Although Rebecca and she were dead set against it, Genevieve was adamant about going through with it, so they had relented and it was arranged to take place the following morning. Isabel and her colleague were working late at the office, making arrangements to set it up.

  "I still can't believe that we've had no serious leads from this case," Isabel's colleague Charlie said.

  "I know. It's like her attacker just vanished into thin air."

  "She still doesn't remember anything?" Charlie asked, pushing his straight dark hair to one side.

  "Nope, which makes it all the more frustrating."

  "And how are things with her partner?" he asked discreetly.

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "Well, I'm only repeating what I've been told." He sat on top of her desk.

  "And what's that?" she said, leaning back into her chair and crossing her arms defensively.

  "Only that you've been seeing quite a lot her. Everyone is talking about how pretty she is, and the fact that you and she are both, well, lesbians," he whispered.

  "Charlie, if it wasn't for the fact that you are not only my partner but also my best friend, I would squeeze you by the goolies." He smiled playfully.

  "Come on, Izzie, give it up. Let a sad man at least have something to go home and dream about." Isabel laughed.

  "No Charlie, I'm afraid not. She is very much in love with her girlfriend and I don't think that's going to change anytime soon." She began to busy herself tidying her desk.

  "Uh huh," he said teasingly, "so you're just friends?"

  "Charlie," she said in a warning tone.

  "Okay," he said, standing and holding his hands up in front of him. "But tell me how this works in your world. Rebecca is in love with a woman who remembers nothing about her being a lesbian —"

  They were interrupted by the telephone ringing. Isabel picked it up, listened intently and then replaced the handset with vigour.

  "I think we're about to f
ind out Charlie-boy," she said with a smile. She stood up, grabbed her jacket from behind her chair and headed toward the door with Charlie trailing behind her.

  As Isabel entered the hospital room and saw the extent of Rebecca's injuries, the beginning of tears stung her eyes. Suddenly aware that Genevieve was present, she pulled herself together, trying to swallow the lump that lingered in her throat.

  "Hey, Rebecca," Isabel said gently, waiting for a response. Rebecca grunted an acknowledgement. Encouraged, Isabel carried on, "Rebecca I need you to tell me if you know who did this to you." After a few seconds of silence, Rebecca tried to nod her head. Tears were coursing down her face. She was trying to turn toward Genevieve, but the pain seemed too much to bear.

  "It's okay," Genevieve told her reassuringly, "you can tell her." After several attempts of trying to say his name, Rebecca finally got it out.

  "Eddie Simmons." Isabel wanted to touch her. She wanted to stroke her hair and comfort her, but she couldn't. She understood that that door had been firmly closed and wouldn't be opening again. Not that she believed it had ever been opened, but she had hoped."Okay Rebecca, that's all I need for now," she said gently. She turned and looked at Genevieve. "Do you know where he is?"

  Genevieve shook her head, "No — but where do all rats scurry back to?" she said wryly. "He was also the person who attacked me; I remember everything. You make sure you lock him up so he can't hurt anyone else!" Genevieve said as the anger rose within her.

  "It was your father," Isabel said in a hush, shaking her head in disbelief. "OK, do you know if your mother is alone at the house?"

  Genevieve nodded."They don't have many visitors," she said sadly, recalling that her father's presence had all but stopped anyone from going to the house.