Wishing Well

by Lily White

  Taking a seat in one of the leather chairs facing my desk, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and relaxed. “How is the monster these days?”

  Feathers ruffled by the comment, I couldn’t blame him for his use of the term. Three months ago, I’d used the description myself to describe Maurice.

  “He’s improving, actually. In fact,” I glanced at the clock on my computer to see I was supposed to meet Maurice and Penelope in the basement in forty-five minutes, “I’m going to have to keep this visit short. I’m taking Maurice for an activity in a little while. How have you been?”

  “Better than you. While you’re busy babysitting a grown child, I’ve been having the time of my life. Making money. Fucking women. Attending party after party with grownups. And everybody has been asking about you, wondering where you’ve been.”

  Clicking to exit my email program, I relaxed back in my seat and lifted my feet to rest them on the surface of my desk. “I wouldn’t call it babysitting, and I’m glad people have missed me, even if I can’t say the same about them.”

  “Has one particular woman been keeping you busy?”

  Brows pulling together, his statement confused me until the past came back to me and the reason for his presence clicked in place. “You’re here because of the bet.”

  Inclining his head, he grinned. “Today is the last day of the three month time period. I’ve come to see how well you’ve trained her. I look forward to my taste. Especially after the bruise she left on my cheek the first time we met.”

  Damn. Losing the profits from the hotel for a full year would sting, but it wouldn’t bankrupt me. And being a man of my word, there was no way I was getting out from the wager I’d made. “Looks like I owe you a ton of money, Barron. I didn’t complete the bet.”

  A curious expression flickered across his face. “Are you telling me that a homeless teenager bested Vincent Mercier at his own game?” Shaking his head in disbelief, he laughed. “You’re losing your touch. I would have had that girl eating from my hand after not giving her a choice.”

  My fingers drummed on my desk. “It’s not that she bested me, it’s just that her usefulness ended up being in a different place in my life. It seems Maurice fell in love with her.”

  His eyes widened. “Tell me you’re fucking kidding? You’re giving up millions so that your pest of a brother can be in love? What the hell is going on with you, Vincent? That bitch deserved to get put in her place.”

  Pausing, he stared at me, thoughts racing in his head. “Unless tossing her to Maurice was your way of training her? Being used by that psycho son of a bitch can’t be too enjoyable.”

  My anger crested as my patience wore thin. It was one thing to disparage Maurice once, but to continue doing it was beyond what I considered tolerable. “Be careful, Barron. You’re beginning to anger me. Regardless of his issues, he is still my brother.”

  “Maybe I’m angry, Vincent. You dragged me into this and even accepted that little bitch struck me. But I allowed it with the understanding I would get to strike her back. You can’t possibly be telling me that I have to simply settle for her disrespect. If I’d known you’d backpedal, I would have done something about it a few weeks ago when I saw her.”

  My eyebrow cocked. “A few weeks ago? Were you at the hotel and didn’t tell me?”

  Stretching his legs out in front of his body, he tapped a finger against his knee. “No. I went to the cafe to grab some coffee and walked in as she was walking out. When I touched her, she threatened to rake her fingernails down my face. I left it alone, but only because I thought I’d have the opportunity to show her what happens when a girl like her says something so nasty to a man like me.”

  Seeing the anger in his expression, I had no doubt that Barron was looking forward to teaching Penelope a lesson. Thankfully, she was under lock and key at the moment, down in the basement where Barron couldn’t reach her. I would be sure to warn her of his intent, be sure to tell her to keep an eye out for him on the streets.

  “Isn’t the money you’ll receive for winning the bet enough to more than make up for any insult? We’re talking millions, Barron.”

  “I already have millions,” he reminded me. “But what I don’t have is tolerance for petty little bitches who think they can treat me as if they’re somehow better.”

  Worry crept down my spine at the menace in his voice. “Penelope is off limits to you, Barron. She’s a woman who’s dragging Maurice out of his shell and also my employee. You’ll be smart to leave her alone.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a pointed request from a friend and business acquaintance to leave this one alone. Penelope may have started as a game, but in the effect she has on my brother, she has become a very important person in my life. And as such, she has my protection. It was a slap, Barron. That’s all. I’m sure a man of your stature can look past it.”

  He barked out a laugh. “So, you’ve gone soft? I should have known.” Rising from his seat, he straightened the creases from his pants and rebuttoned his jacket. “I’ll expect the money I’ve made off this hotel on the first day of every month.”

  Nodding my head, I stood and extended my hand to shake his. “And you will receive it. I’m a man of my word.”

  Flicking a disgusted glance at my hand, he stormed off, closing my office door behind him with considerable force. I dropped my weight into my seat and went about finishing up a few issues that needed my attention before shutting down for the night and heading to the basement. Sunset was in twenty minutes and I didn’t want to be late. This was as important to me as it was to Penelope.

  Reaching the basement, I heard the standard tapping coming from the left. Assuming Maurice was busying himself with what he was learning about managing aspects of the hotel, I strolled down the hall expecting to find Penelope on the couch curled up with a book. Although I couldn’t mention Barron in front of Maurice, I had every intention of warning her when I next saw her alone. Unfortunately, when I entered the room, only Maurice was inside.

  Concern was an icy finger scratching at my heart. “Where’s Penelope?”

  Maurice’s eyes never left the screen of his computer. “She left a few hours after lunch to go up to her room and take a shower.”

  My brow arched. “Why doesn’t she just shower down here?”

  His eyes sparkled. “Because she never gets clean. I won’t let her.”

  Shaking my head, I said, “Well, I’ll just go upstairs and bring her down. Sunset will be happening soon.”

  I’d barely turned to leave before he answered, “She had to run errands before coming back. If she’s not down here on time, she’ll meet us by the employee door leading to the garden.”

  By now, my pulse was absolutely jagged. “Then we should go.”

  Perhaps it was a note in my tone that caused his eyes to dart up. “Sunset isn’t for another ten minutes.” Maurice’s shoulders went rigid, worry creasing his brow.

  Purposely attempting to hide my own feelings, I smiled. “We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting. You know how Penelope can be.”

  The expression on his face was love-struck. “Wonderful?”

  “Let’s go, Maurice. This will be your first sunset in a long time. I wouldn’t want you to miss it.”

  Watching him rise from his seat, I had to stop myself from rushing him along. My spine was prickling with anxiety, my thoughts racing to the conversation I’d just had with Barron. Telling myself there was no way his path could have crossed with Penelope’s, I walked with Maurice down the hall, taking a deep breath as I punched in the code that would take us to the lobby.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  The first indication that something was wrong was Penelope’s absence by the employee door leading into the garden. She had been so excited for this step in Maurice’s life, so adamant that I let it occur. She was his champion after falling for a man that was learning to love himself as much as he loved her. For Penelope not to be at the door with a selfless
smile to give to him, together with her hand for him to hold, was the first warning I needed to turn around and take him back to the basement.

  I wish I could say it was just me that tensed to see the hallway empty of her presence, but Maurice grew concerned as well, his eyes searching the distance looking for her. “Maybe she’s outside,” he posited, “I may have misheard her. I do that all the time.”

  It was a momentary relief to think the two had simply miscommunicated, and I walked beside my brother through the door. The garden, like the hall, was silent, even as guests strolled by, their hands or arms locked together while they enjoyed the peaceful serenity of the garden I’d commissioned to remind me of home.

  I should have turned around. I should have forced him back inside. But doing so would have only set him off. Now that Maurice was outside the confines of the basement beneath the hotel, there would be no stuffing him back in that cage until he had Penelope beside him.

  “Maybe,” I said, “she’s just late. Anything could have held her up. We’ll continue walking until we find her.”

  Nodding his head, Maurice tucked his hands inside his pockets, his shoulders folding in on themselves as self-conscious thoughts attacked his mind. Already he was assuming that Penelope had forgotten about him, that she was rejecting him by not being in the place where she’d promised to meet him.

  If she was running late, I would be sure to tear her a new asshole when I had a moment to speak with her alone. This was a big step for Maurice, an important step, and she should have known better than to fuck it up. And even while my anger caused my teeth to clench together, there was still the concern that Penelope would have been on time if something hadn’t stopped her.

  To say I wanted to run the perimeter of the garden to find her and drag her to us was an understatement, but with Maurice at my side, I had no choice. I had to walk calmly. Running would only cause him to panic. It would cause him to lash out.

  “The well,” he finally breathed out. “I bet she’s there. She always talks about how much she loves it.”

  “Does she?” I asked, making idle conversation, my eyes scanning every nook and cranny, seeking her out. “Why does she love it so much?”

  “Because that’s where she met me.”

  My mind returned to that night, to the fear I’d seen on Penelope’s face when I told her to be careful around Maurice. If only I’d known she’d be the catalyst for his change, I would have shoved her at him, chained her to his waist. As it was, Maurice had been the first to pursue her, the only one to love her, but Penelope wasn’t aware of that yet.

  We were nearing the well when a distant sound drew both our attention, and before I could react by holding Maurice back, he’d taken off at a dead run. It was nothing more but a startled cry, it could have been anybody, really. But Maurice had Penelope’s voice dedicated to memory, the pitch of her tone a siren’s song that called to him. I was sure he heard her voice in his sleep, was sure he could sniff her out like a dog does a rabbit when on the hunt.

  The next scream that cut through the silence of a day turning to night was far more compelling, far more distressed than was normal for a woman playing around. I couldn’t run fast enough to keep up with him, couldn’t yell loud enough to make him stop.

  All hell broke loose when Maurice crashed through a grouping of distant bushes to find Penelope limp on the ground, her attacker standing above her with rage darkening his face. I only caught a glimpse of the gouges across Barron’s face before Maurice was on top of him, only caught a peek of the blood that wept from the wounds. If only Maurice had been more in control, those wounds would have been our salvation.

  But as it happened, as the fury overtook my brother and he lost the ability to understand reason, Barron was on the ground screaming as Maurice became more dangerous than a wild animal, beating on and breaking every bone in Barron’s face. At the time the fighting began, this portion of the garden was empty, but as any loud noise will do, as any terrible fight will cause to happen, the battle between the two men drew attention. As guests ran over to see what the noise was about, I was attempting to jump in and drag Maurice off the man he was beating to a bloody pulp.

  The crimson stain was everywhere. On the ground, on the bushes, on my clothes, on Penelope where she lay much too still to be alive and breathing.

  Barron managed to break free of Maurice for an instant, long enough to run in the direction of Penelope’s body, to fall on top of her, to sink down as Maurice tackled him again. In the fight between the two men, Penelope’s body was also being crushed. There was nothing I could do to stop it. My clothes were ripped like theirs, my body, face and hair covered in the blood of Barron and Maurice both. All three of us had wounds consistent with a battle.

  The fight was far too brutal, the ripping of skin, the crunching of bones, the viciousness of a man gone mad, creating a scene that caused the guests to scream as they witnessed it, for them to grab their phones and call the police.

  Bones protruded from Barron’s body, his face unrecognizable as human, and when Maurice made sure that Barron was no longer breathing, he flung me off his back and crawled to Penelope.

  As far as the guests had witnessed, the gathering of people who would attest to the facts of what had occurred, my brother and I had killed a man as well as the woman who was with him. They didn’t know what caused the fight to occur, they hadn’t heard the muted cry of a woman fighting off her attacker. They didn’t know that Barron had caused her death with a blow to her face, or by breaking her neck. In truth, and when all the examiners and doctors had their chance to detail the injuries of her body, they wouldn’t be able to opine which one had been the blow that killed her.

  The sun was setting over the garden, the distant horizon lighting up like a painting over the endless sky, and in the distance, sirens were tearing through the warm spring evening, blue lights swirling within the reds and golds, pinks and violets of a sun sinking beneath the horizon.

  On my knees, I watched as Maurice lifted Penelope’s limp body from the ground, a roar escaping his chest and mouth as he cradled her to his chest, his lips pressing to hers with a gentleness that brought tears to my eyes. Pulling away, he roared again, the sound that of a man who’d just lost everything. I’d never heard such deep sorrow and pain, and in my entire life, I never wanted to hear it again.

  Behind me, the drum of running feet approached, the hurried voices of guests explaining what they’d seen, and in a panic to protect my brother from what I knew was coming, I rushed toward him to make it appear as if I’d been the aggressor. The police had me by the arms, their grip crushing as they dragged me away from a broken man clutching his broken doll, tears streaming from his eyes.

  Before they could approach him, I screamed the only words I could think to say. “It was me! Okay? That son of a bitch thought he could fuck her behind my back! My brother tried to stop me, but I wouldn’t let him!”

  Yes, I’d flipped the roles we’d played, but with the injuries, the blood, the carnage that covered us both, it could have been either of us that had been the one to kill.

  How stupid had I been to scream the first words that came into my head when it would have been easier to use logic and explain calmly what had happened? To lay blame at Barron’s feet? To go against everything the guests were claiming they’d seen so that I could protect us both from being arrested?

  However, instinct isn’t always stupid.

  As it turned out, it was my immediate confession that had been the only thing protecting my brother from being taken into custody, from being tossed to the ground where he would have fought to the death to get back to Penelope.

  Perhaps that’s why emotion had clouded my better judgment in that instant: I knew Maurice would have been killed by not listening to a single instruction the police gave him.

  I could only be thankful that my hotel manager had come running as soon as he heard the report there was a fight in the garden, that he’d been smart enough to brin
g the drugs that would neutralize Maurice and keeping him from fighting the police who wanted to take Penelope’s body from his arms.

  While being handcuffed, I watched Maurice’s body crash to the ground, watched John explain something to the officers that kept them from hurting my brother.

  Figuring it all could be explained once I knew Maurice was safe, once I had a moment to calm down and come to my senses in the police station, once I had time to speak with my attorney, I let the officers lead me away and place me in their waiting car.

  And while waiting for the officer to round the car, climb in and drive away, I heard the slap of the employee gate closing, and turned to see a dark haired woman running away.

  . . .

  “What do you mean one of us is taking the fall for this? It was Barron who killed Penelope. I only attacked him because he went after my brother next.”

  “That’s not what seven guests had to say. I’m not privy to their exact statements, but from what I’m gathering on what little the police have told me, the guests are pinning the deaths of both the man and the woman on you or your brother.” Stephen Chase, the man who had been my attorney for longer than I could remember relaxed back in his seat, obviously uncomfortable with the plastic chairs in the holding room of the local police station.

  According to him, I would be staying overnight to attend my arraignment in the morning.

  “What are my chances of getting out on bail tomorrow?” I asked, hating the jumpsuit they’d given me to wear after taking my clothes as evidence.

  “Slim, considering the brutality of the crime. That man was ripped apart, Vincent. The woman’s body crushed in parts. What the hell happened?”

  “I already told you-“

  “You told me you killed a man for attacking a woman in your garden, but for fuck’s sake! The scene was a blood bath!” His palm slapped the table in frustration before he reached up to run it through his hair. After releasing a heavy breath, he leveled his stare on me and lowered his voice. “I know you couldn’t have done that. You’re not a fucking maniac. Your brother, however-“