by Lena North
“Who are you?”
“I’m Charlie,” I said, and then everything went black.
***
Joao
Joao was pacing the length of his uncle’s courtyard.
“Sit.”
“Uncle –”
“Sit.”
“Un –”
“Sit down, boy,” Nicholas d’Izia barked, and Joao had enough respect for his uncle to finally do what he was told.
“Who is she?”
“She’s a friend of Carrie’s. Her full name is Charlotta Norley.
“Do you know why a police officer scares the crap out of her?”
“Her ex-boyfriend beat her up.”
“Got that.”
“Wasn’t the first time.”
Abuse victims rarely got so destroyed the first time, and they usually didn’t leave the first time either, so Joao had assumed as much. When his uncle just kept staring at him, he raised his brows in a silent question.
“You might know him, or of him. His name is Sebastian Lievens.”
Joao felt as if someone had punched him in the gut when he heard the name.
Sebastian Lievens father was a very powerful man. Senator Lievens had held government positions for as long as Joao could remember and had known their president since their university years. They were close friends, and the president was godfather to Senator Lievens only son.
Sebastian Lievens was also a decorated police officer. Handsome, well-connected and with a track record of solving any case that hit his desk, he was the darling of the press and known as the golden boy in Prosper PD.
“I know who it is. Met him a few times,” Joao said. “She reported him?”
“I only know what Carrie knows, and it isn’t much. She broke up with the guy three years ago when he hit her the first time, and I think she’s tried to get a restraining order, but they didn’t even open a case. Said there was no proof. Carrie said she’d gotten the impression he threatened to get Charlie committed to a psychiatric hospital, so she backed off.”
“What the –”
“Carrie wasn’t sure. They talk at work but never met outside the offices. Charlie refused, said it was dangerous. They never even went outside together for lunch. He has no clue there’s a link.”
“How the hell would he get her into the loony-bin? Surely someone would –”
“She has no family. Her mother isn’t alive anymore. She was sick, and again, Carrie wasn’t sure, but she thought it was something psychiatric. Charlie grew up in an isolated community out on the plains, with her grandmother who seems to have been a religious fanatic. Carrie was certain about that part. The grandmother died six years ago, and Charlie moved to Prosper City the same day.”
“Shit.”
“Carrie was worried, so she told Charlie repeatedly that she could provide an escape route. Pure luck Benito was in Prosper tonight, though.”
They were silent a while, both wondering the same thing. How could anyone deliberately hurt someone the way Charlie had been?
“Was she raped?” Joao asked quietly.
“No. She told us he’d gotten angry because she refused to see him. He beat her up and was pulling at her clothes, but the neighbors heard her screaming and knocked on the door. He went to smooth-talk them out of logging a complaint, and she jumped off the balcony. Has a small crack in her foot, but she got away.”
“Resourceful.”
“Yes.”
“She’s from the islands,” Joao murmured.
The second the light had hit Charlie’s blueish green eyes, he’d known. She was pale, but her skin had a warm tone to it, and her hair had been a mess, but it seemed to be a brown mop of curls. Her eyes, though… The turquoise color had pierced right into his soul, like a memory of something he wasn’t sure he wanted to remember. Like the waves on a sunny day. There was no doubt in his mind she had Island blood.
“She must be,” Nico agreed. “And if her mother wasn’t from here…”
“Then her father was,” Joao sighed.
“Yeah. So the question is, is she a Jamieson, d’Izia or Torres?”
“It could be anyone, couldn’t it?”
“You saw her eyes, she’s from one of the families.”
The older man was right. Not only was she from the Islands; she was related to one, or both, of them.
“Carrie guessed?”
“Of course.”
His calm, rational cousin would have guessed, Joao thought.
“How old is she?”
“Don’t know exactly but would guess mid-twenties.”
“So her father could be anyone of us above forty then.”
“Probably older.”
Joao thought about it and nodded.
“Yeah, it has to be someone in one of the families who’s forty-something to what? Fifty? Fifty-five?”
“Someone like me,” Nicholas said with a tired grin.
“Was it you?”
He got a look back which clearly communicated the stupidity of that question, but since Joao hadn’t meant it seriously, he just grinned at his uncle and asked, “Okay, so who then?”
Nicholas tilted his head back and watched the stars for a while. Joao filtered through the families and could only come up with one name. There were others, but the only logical assumption would be –
“Only one I can think of.”
His uncle had apparently drawn the same conclusion.
“Yeah. That means she’s my cousin.”
He didn’t like that realization and told himself it was the protector in him. No one messed with his cousins.
“Your grandmothers were cousins, boy. There’s nothing to worry about, you’re barely related.”
“What?”
“Just saying. You can’t talk to Mimi about this.”
“Mimi?”
“Your girlfriend?”
Shit. He’d put Mimi so far out of his mind he’d forgotten about her altogether.
“I know that,” he muttered. “Mimi is great.”
“Huh.”
“What does that mean?”
“If you think so then everyone will be happy for you. You can’t talk to her about this, though. It’s important that no one knows. Not until we’ve figured out what to do about Charlie’s boyfriend.”
“Ex.”
“What?”
“You said it’s her ex-boyfriend.”
“She thinks so. He doesn’t.”
“Fucker,” Joao said with emphasis.
“Agree.”
“We’d need to find out who fathered her.”
“I’ll think about it some more,” Nicholas promised. “It could be someone else… but either way, I don’t understand. None of us would abandon a child.”
“I’ll investigate some,” Joao said. “Can I talk to her tomorrow?”
“You’ll need to tread carefully.”
“Wasn’t born yesterday, Uncle Nico.”
That got him a grin, and he leaned back to watch the stars. Charlie… short for Charlotta. Was she still sleeping? Her face had been one big, swollen bruise, and Uncle Nico had said she hurt her foot.
“You can’t talk to Mimi about this,” Nicholas repeated quietly.
“What?” Joao asked.
He’d said the same thing before but surely –
“She talks to her girls. Her girls talk to their girls. Word spreads.”
He turned his head slowly to look at the older man and clenched his jaws when he saw the look on his uncle’s face.
“You sure?” he asked calmly, but he knew.
“You got called out when Tina miscarried, and it was all over the Island in less than a day. Tina asked you not to tell anyone. But you did.”
Shit. Everyone had known, and it had surprised him because his cousin had been adamant that he kept it quiet. It wasn’t like anyone minded, but Tina and her girlfriend having a
child would be gossiped about. He’d told Mimi when he got home, though. It had been a rough day, and he was closer to Tina than any of his of other cousins, so he’d been unhappy. Mimi had been there, murmuring soft words of comfort when he told her. When it seemed like a lot of people knew what had happened, he’d simply assumed Tina changed her mind and hadn’t thought more about it.
“Tina knows it was Mimi, Joao,” Nicholas interrupted his thoughts. “She doesn’t blame you for unloading a shitty day on your girlfriend. She does blame Mimi for making no less than five phone calls as soon as you left her house, though.”
“Jesus,” he said, not doubting the older man’s statement. “I’ll talk to her.”
“That’d be good.”
“She made a mistake, Uncle Nico.”
“I have more examples of mistakes like that, Joao. You need to get her to understand or stop sharing things with her.”
“Why hasn’t anyone said something?”
“We all want you to be happy.”
“She’s a good woman. I’ll talk to her,” Joao said with a sigh.
“Wait until tomorrow, boy. No need to rip her a new one in the middle of the night.”
Joao couldn’t imagine ripping Mimi a new anything. He’d have to find a way to discuss this calmly, and gently. Perhaps it would just be easier to keep his work and private lives separate, he thought.
“Not going there tonight anyway,” he murmured. “Too tired.”
“You’re too tired?” his uncle asked as if needing to sleep was a concept he’d never heard about.
“Can I take another look at her?”
Nicholas didn’t pretend to not understand and nodded but didn’t go with him into the guest room. Joao crouched down next to the bed and let his hand slide slowly over her swollen cheek. She moved a little and moaned softly.
“He’ll never hurt you again,” he said quietly. “You’re safe here, Charlie.”
***
Charlie
“He’ll never hurt you again. You’re safe here, Charlie.”
The words echoed in my mind, and when the man closed the door gently, I exhaled and let the tears come.
He’d made a promise, but he had no clue what Sebastian was capable of so he couldn’t know that he wouldn’t be able to keep it.
I’d never be safe. Not until Sebastian Lievens was dead.
So, I’d have to kill him.
Chapter Two
Visitors
Charlie
“We’ll have a visitor today,” Pauline said.
I tilted my head back to look at her through the dark glasses she’d handed me when I tried to squint in the sharp sun and winced because it still hurt to move any part of my face.
I’d been on the Islands a week, and during that time my hosts had not let me do anything at all, and since my whole body hurt, I accepted their kindness. Sleeping in the small bedroom with the door locked and a chair under the handle gave me a well-needed sense of safety, and so did their walled off garden. I sat there wrapped up in a blanket, feeling like I’d found a small slice of heaven where I could breathe freely for a while.
The pilot would not tell anyone I was there. Pauline had assured me calmly that Benito apparently was so pissed off about the state of me when he’d flown me over he was ready to kill Sebastian. Or as Nicholas put it, aggravated enough to inflict substantial damage.
The only others who knew I was on the Islands were the nurse at the small health clinic and the chief of police. My memories of the nurse were hazy, but the chief of police had stopped by twice. I’d learned the hard way not to trust police officers and Joao Torres very clearly was one, so I shouldn’t be comfortable with him. I was, though. The way he asked questions I didn’t want to answer in a deep, calm voice was weirdly reassuring, and his eyes were sharp, but not unfriendly. He looked like a man you really didn’t want to mess with, but he didn’t look mean.
He asked about my background, and I answered those questions easily because it was something Sebastian didn’t know anything about. I’d lied to Seb and spoken vaguely about growing up in the suburbs to Prosper, mostly because it had seemed more appropriate than sharing details about the religious and secluded community I’d spent my first eighteen years in.
When Joao asked about Sebastian, I became more cautious, which he saw right through and kept the questions coming until I’d shared everything that happened the night I came to Croxier. His face hardened with anger on my behalf, a muscle clenched in his jaw, and he exchanged a look with Nicholas that suddenly gave me hope. No one had believed me before, or if they did, they hadn’t dared to go up against Sebastian and his father. It looked like these two men might, and it made me feel safe. I still locked my door each night, but I stopped putting the chair under the handle. It was a small step, and it still felt like a victory.
“Our son is coming for a short visit,” Pauline added with a smile
“Do you want me to stay in my room?” I asked.
“Of course not,” Pauline said. “He’s stopping by briefly, and he’ll be happy to meet you.”
“Okay.”
It seemed strange to include me if their son only came to the Islands for a short time, but I didn’t protest. Carrie had talked about her brother, the famous photographer, and I was curious.
“I’ll go and make coffee. If he shows up, just introduce yourself and tell him to sit down. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” I repeated and leaned my head on the warm wall behind the bench I was sitting on.
We’d done an x-ray of my foot the evening before, and what they’d thought was a crack in the bone had indeed been precisely that, although so tiny both Nicholas and the nurse had told me it barely counted and I’d be as good as new in no time at all. My face was still swollen but not much, and the bruises were fading away. If I had to leave within the next few days, I should be able to cover them with only a minimum of makeup.
It had taken several showers before it felt as if the blood was washed out of my hair, though, and that had bothered me more than the injuries Sebastian’s fists had caused.
I’d grown up in a community where water was considered the devil’s temptation, put on earth for mankind to resist. We’d wiped ourselves clean with cloths, and once each month we’d had a ceremony where everyone’s hair was cut close to the scalp. When I got away, I realized that this had been the only way to keep us reasonably clean, but while I grew up, it simply was the way of things.
When my grandmother died I was free to look any way I wanted, so I’d let my hair grow, and it almost reached my shoulders. To my surprise, it had grown out curly and with a caramel color which got pale golden streaks from the sun in the summer. If wasn’t that curly hair was unknown to me, quite the opposite. In the community, everyone was dark skinned and in the last week before everyone’s hair was cut off, I’d seen that most of the others had thick, tightly curled mops on their heads. The exceptions had been my grandmother and mother who both seemed to have straight, mousey brown hair. They were also both ghostly white, partly because they were born that way, but mostly, I suspected, because they were rarely outside the big main house which also was the church. This was one of the reasons I told people I grew up in the suburbs. Only crazy people lived in an actual church.
I didn’t know who my grandfather had been, and Grandmother was not the kind of woman you asked something like that. I’d asked about my father when I was younger, although I’d stopped because it infallibly made Mother’s eyes roll back in her head and start her usual babbling litany about how God should forgive her, mixed up with stories about the devil and his servants.
I was rarely alone with Mother, though. Since I had been born in sin, I was considered an already lost cause, and as long as I wasn’t a nuisance, I was left mostly to my own, although a few of the adults talked to me sometimes, and I was allowed to go to school with the other children. I also had a few friends, but over the years they ei
ther changed into the kind of people their parents were which meant they ignored me, or they disappeared. I’d wondered where they went, but when I asked, I got blank stares or sad shakes of the heads in return, so I stopped asking about that too.
When Grandmother died, one of the old women told me it was such a shame how the young people left, she knew how they did it and what did I think she should do? I promptly told her that if she told me how it was done, I’d think about it, wondering if they expected me to lead the congregation, which was something I absolutely would not do.
Grandmother had been our leader, and until my mother was taken away strapped to a stretcher, the assumption had always been that she’d pick up the reins. As I stared into the older woman’s black eyes, I decided that there was no way it was what she wanted me to do.
I was the devil’s child.
They had told me this for as long as I could remember, and I never minded particularly much. I’d discovered early on that the devil’s child had a whole lot more freedom than all the other children. I could roam the plains while everyone was in church or sit in the library for hours while the other children were forced to study our scriptures and rituals.
Then the old woman explained about the path leading west and how it ended at a low, black house where friendly people apparently helped anyone who could prove they’d turned eighteen. I promised the woman to think about what we should do, promptly packed the few items I wanted to keep and started walking. I reached the house a quarter past midnight which meant it was my eighteenth birthday. The couple who stepped out on the porch as I came stumbling down the dusty lane had known who I was and told me I was welcome. I’d never been welcome anywhere before, so I’d cried a little, and they let me.
“Hey,” a deep voice said next to me, and I opened my eyes slowly to look at the man standing there.
“Hello,” I mumbled, got to my feet and pulled off the sunglasses. “I’m Charlie.”
“I’m Domenico, and you should sit down,” the man retorted.
It sounded like an accusation, and his face was hard. I wasn’t quite sure what he was upset about and hoped it wasn’t the danger my presence could mean for his family. Sebastian shouldn’t be able to find me in at least another month if I was careful, so I’d thought I had another week to get stronger and after that, plenty of time to disappear.
