by E. K. Blair
“I’m confused.”
“I married my enemy,” I begin to explain. “And the man I wound up falling in love with was someone who I was supposed to trick into killing my husband.”
“Why do you want your husband dead?”
“Because when I was five, I was ripped away from my dad. He was arrested and went to prison where he was eventually murdered, and I went to a horrendous foster home.”
“What does your husband have to do with that?”
“Everything,” I say as we continue to float around the smooth water. Releasing a deep breath, I begin telling him the story of my father’s arrest and how Pike was determined to find answers for me when we were older.
“It took a while, but after going through my father’s police records and Pike blackmailing his old caseworker for my file, we finally found out that it all started with a child abuse claim. We kept digging because my father was the kindest man I knew and had never laid a hand on me. And then we found it. A call was made to DCFS from the Vanderwal family.”
“Who are they?”
“I’ll give you one clue,” I say. “When I married my husband, Bennett, I took his name.”
“Vanderwal,” he concludes. “But why go after him if it was his parents who made the claim?”
“Because in that file was an interview. The interview was with Bennett.”
“It was his claim?”
“Yes,” I reply as I feel the hate begin to boil inside of me.
“What did it say?”
“He had been walking home from a friend’s house one afternoon, and when he passed my house, he heard fighting and screaming coming from inside. He saw my dad through the window hitting someone, but he couldn’t see the other person. He assumed it was me that was getting hit, so he went home, told his parents, and the call to DCFS was made.”
“Who was it that your father was hitting?”
“I couldn’t have been home that afternoon because I would have heard it. I was probably still at preschool or something. But looking back, with the information I have now, it was most likely someone he was doing business with. Maybe a deal gone bad; who knows?” I tell him. “The thing is, the state did their investigation. but they couldn’t find any signs of abuse or neglect. However, it was noted that the caseworker noticed suspicious activity at the house while performing random drive-by’s, so a request for further investigation was handed over to the police department who uncovered the gun trafficking. And that was it, he was arrested, and I never saw him again.”
Those last words choke me up, the pain of that last image of my father. It’s never faded for me; my father, on his knees, the tears running down his cheeks, his words, trying to convince me that everything would be okay.
When Carnegie begins to move closer to me, finding a new spot on the lily pad, I’m pulled from the sad memory, and he questions, “So why did you marry him?”
“I felt this burning desire to avenge my father’s murder, to make Bennett pay for all the abuse I suffered in foster care, for everything that was stolen from me.
My innocence.
My faith.
My childhood.
My trust.
My father.
My future.
Everything.
“Bennett is the reason there was a magnifying glass put on my father. It was Bennett who opened his mouth, made a false claim, and destroyed two lives, yet he goes on, happy, healthy, making his life into a glorious success. That was supposed to be my life. But because of him, he took it all away from me and I wound up being raped, molested, bound up in a closet, left for days to shit and piss all over myself. That’s the life Bennett gave me.
“I wanted to make him pay for what he did. I wanted revenge.”
“But you fell in love,” he states, and I whisper my confirmation, “I fell in love.”
“And now?”
“And now all I want is to spare destroying Declan. I still want to kill Bennett. I still want to make him pay, but not if it costs the good soul of the man I love.”
“Let me ask you something. How old was Bennett when he told his parents he thought you were being abused?”
“Eleven.”
Carnegie takes a moment before saying, “Just a kid. A young, innocent kid who saw something that probably scared him, thinking you were the one being hit, and his first reaction was to help.”
“But he didn’t help, and my dad wound up dead,” I defend.
“He was just a kid trying to do the right thing,” he counters, but instead of growing frustrated, the tranquility of being in this place with Carnegie keeps my frustrations at bay. “Can I ask you something else?”
I nod.
“What responsibility does your father hold in all of this?”
“My father was a good man,” I declare.
“I’m not taking that away from him. But everyone has two sides, and your father was a gun trafficker, was he not?”
Taking a moment, I concur, “Yeah. He was. But he never hurt anyone.”
“But he knew the illegal guns would hurt someone. He may not have been the one to pull the actual trigger, but in a way, he did pull that trigger,” he says before adding, “And it wouldn’t have mattered what Bennett ever said, the fact is, if your dad hadn’t been dealing in something illegal, Bennett’s claim would have been dropped and nothing would have ever happened.”
“I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to be the voice of reason, but I’ve never claimed to be a rational or reasonable person.”
“Have you ever had a voice of reason?” he questions.
“I’ve only ever had Pike, and he’s just as screwed up as I am, if not more. We’re sick people; I know this. But when you grow up like we did, you can’t expect sanity,” I say. “My father was good. He didn’t deserve the life that was dealt to him after what Bennett did. I didn’t deserve it either. The thing is, there will always be someone next in line after my father. The gun trafficking doesn’t stop, so what’s the point? The world isn’t suddenly good now that my father isn’t here.”
“So you plot to kill?”
“I used to fantasize about what it would feel like to kill when I was a kid,” I admit. “The thought brought me a sense of satisfaction and elated me. Relief. Freedom. Peace. To eliminate the truly bad, removing it so that you no longer have to exist in a world where it does.”
“You can’t live like that. Killing and holding on to the past.”
“I’m not holding on to it, I’m trying to let it go.”
“You haven’t let it go. Instead, you married it, and now it’s controlling every aspect of your life. You met a man you love, but Bennett has power over that because he’s your husband and you were forced to fill this other man with lies . . . because of Bennett—because of the past you are refusing to let go of.”
His words hit me hard. But how do you let go of a wound that is cut so deep there’s no chance of it ever healing, at least not without an ugly scar to remind you of it? So I simply ask, “How do I let go?”
“It’s easy, really. You find what makes you happy, and you walk towards it, leaving the past behind,” he tells me. “So what you need to ask yourself is, what makes you happy?”
“Declan.” My answer comes without any second thought or hesitation.
“Then go to him. Go find him and don’t look back. Soon the happiness will be enough to weaken the control the past has on you, and it won’t hurt as badly as it does right now.”
“But I’m here. How do I get back?” I ask and watch as he makes his way to the edge of the leaf, and when we pass a log floating in the water, he slides onto it when the bark meets the lily pad.
“Carnegie, wait! How do I get back?” I ask as I begin to drift away from the log.
“There are signs everywhere. You just have to look for them,” he tells me. “Come back and visit me, okay?”
“I do. Every night in my dreams.”
“Those are dreams thou
gh.”
“Is this not a dream?” I ask, suddenly very confused about what this is, and his response doesn’t help when he says, “This is your awakening,” before scooting his spiraled body down the length of the log and eventually disappearing into the forest.
I continue to float aimlessly around the pond, staring up into the sky, thinking about everything Carnegie said to me. He’s right; I need to walk away from my past if I don’t want it to follow me.
Hours pass as I enjoy the serene tranquility of my surroundings, and when I see the shimmer of the sun rising through the trees in the distance, its sparkling rays light up the murky water. It’s then that I see my sign. Green bulbs that stick out of the water begin to open, hundreds of them. One by one, lotus flowers bloom, spreading their pure white petals over the muddled water. They’re beautiful, and when I float into the blooms, I have to squint against the bright light that the sun’s glow is creating in this fragrant, white paradise.
DARKNESS.
Nothing but black as I lie here awake, although I’m not awake. I can feel a warm hand stroking my arm as I inhale a familiar smell.
Bennett.
My body aches, throbbing in a dulled pain, but when I try to move, I can’t. When I try to open my eyes, I can’t. But I can feel Bennett’s touch. I can smell him. I can hear the steady beeping of a machine that alerts me to the fact that I’m in a hospital.
The last thing I remember is lying helplessly on my dining room floor while Pike threw kick after violent kick to my stomach.
My stomach!
My baby!
I can’t wake up. But do I even want to? I already miss Carnegie. Do I really want to wake up to find the horror that’s waiting for me? What happened with Pike? Why did he do it?
“Mr. Vanderwal,” a soft, female voice says, but I can’t see anything as I lie here in my comatose state.
“Finally,” he says with an urgency to his voice. “What’s going on? Is she going to be okay?”
“She’s stabilized, but she had a lot of internal bleeding. Unfortunately, there was a fetomaternal hemorrhage and by the time she arrived here by ambulance, she had already lost the baby.”
No! God, no!
With all the strength I have, I try to move, I try to do anything, but nothing happens. I’m stuck, unable to get out a cry, a scream, a movement, something to release the torment that is beginning to flood inside of me.
“Baby?” Bennett questions. “What baby?”
Oh, God.
“Your wife was pregnant.”
“No. There must be some mistake. My wife has endometriosis. She can’t get pregnant,” he refutes.
“I’m so sorry. I know this is a difficult time, but according to her OB/GYN file that was faxed over, it seems the pregnancy was confirmed last week. I have noted that an ultrasound was performed, indicating at that time, she was nearly ten weeks pregnant.”
I don’t hear a response from Bennett, and I can only imagine his shock right now.
Bennett, speak. Say something.
“I’ll give you some time,” she says. “I’ll be back to check in. If you need anything, just hit the call button, okay?”
“Yeah,” he responds on a breath, and when I hear the door click, he removes his hand from my arm, and the room is silent.
I can’t even think about Bennett, all I can think about is my baby. The baby that Pike took away from me. The baby that Pike killed. He knew exactly what he was doing, beating my stomach as violently as he did.
I hate him.
I thrash around like a maniac inside, trying to free myself, but my body doesn’t respond. I’m paralyzed in this bed.
“She’s in the hospital,” Bennett says, but I don’t hear anyone else in the room.
“I need you to get here now,” he demands. “Bring everything you have on her.”
He has to be on the phone, but what the hell is he talking about? Who is he talking to and what do they have on me? Fuck. What’s going on? I need to get out of here. I need to find Declan. I can’t breathe. Oh my God, I’m panicking and I can’t breathe. Machines start to go off, filling the room with loud beeps.
“Nurse!” Bennett yells, and moments later, a cold fluid swims through my veins and I drift out peacefully.
“WHAT THE HELL happened?” I hear a man’s voice say. It sounds familiar, but my head is so fuzzy as I come out of a deep sleep.
“I got a call from Clara. She had come to the penthouse and found Nina beaten and unconscious. I don’t know what happened. I’ve spoken to the police and they’re investigating,” Bennett says. “Tell me what you know.”
“You wanna do this here?” the man questions.
“Yeah.”
“Her name’s not Nina.”
Oh no. No, no, no, no.
“What are you talking about?” Bennett asks.
“Her name is Elizabeth Archer. A runaway foster kid,” he reveals. “It’s all in the file.”
“Archer? Sounds familiar.”
It should, you asshole.
“Her father was arrested for international gun trafficking,” the man says.
“I know her.”
“Looks like she came straight for you. Piece of advice . . . call your lawyer.”
“As soon as you can, I want surveillance set up,” Bennett demands, but there’s no need. I’m done with him, and the only thing I’m guilty of is identity theft.
“The affair you originally suspected, she’s having one. Name is Declan McKinnon.”
“Fuck,” he hisses. “What is she up to?”
“Here’s the file. Everything’s in it.” There’s a long pause before the guy speaks again, saying, “I’ll get security set up. Everything should be in place tomorrow or the next day.”
The door clicks and I know I’m alone with Bennett, and that freaks me out, because I no longer have control. He’s not a stupid man. If he hasn’t already figured it out, it won’t be long before he does.
Fuck! Why can’t I wake up?
“Elizabeth,” he whispers, and I can tell it just clicked by his acknowledging tone. “I always wondered what happened to you.”
Bullshit.
“Rick,” he says, speaking our attorney’s name. “Things could be better. Look, I have something that can’t wait. When can you see me?”
What’s he going to do? Shit. As much as I hate Pike right now, I need him.
“No, that works. I’ll leave right now.”
I listen to the movements around the room when a female voice says, “I need to change a couple of her bandages.”
“That’s fine. I was just leaving,” Bennett responds. “Here’s my card. I want you to call me the second she wakes up, and I mean the second.”
He leaves, and I continue to lie here in my comatose state, unable to react to anything. I don’t know what I’m doing or what’s going to happen to me. I need to run, to go find Pike. I hate that I still need him, but things are headed south, and fast.
I KNOW HE’S here. I can smell lotus blooms, and with that alone, the pinching angst that’s been festering relents and I feel safe. His hand is on my belly, another combing through my hair, and I will myself to open my eyes. To move, to do anything to let him know I can feel him. My body hurts so badly as my muscles start to flex and shift.
That’s it. Come on; wake up. Wake up.
“Nina?” he says, his voice is sad, but I need to hear it. I need that voice to pull me out of this darkness.
“Can you hear me?” he asks, grabbing my hand, and finally, I can feel my fingers move. “Baby, please wake up. Just open your eyes. Show me you’re still with me.”
I cling to his words, and light finally filters in. My eyes blink, responding to my body’s request.
“Thank God,” he sighs in relief as my blurred vision begins to clear. He leans over me, kissing my forehead, and I reach up, grabbing for any part of him.
“I’m here, darling,” he assure as I clench on to his shirt, and his hand covers m
ine. “I’m here,” he continues to soothe, and when I try to speak, I gag. “Shh, relax. You have a breathing tube down your throat. Just relax, okay?”
I nod, taking in a few deep breaths, allowing his soft, whispered accent to calm me, and notice the single, white lotus flower that’s lying on the bed beside me.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. When I didn’t hear from you, I called all over until I found you here.”
I reach up and touch the tube coming out of my mouth and shake my head, needing to tell him that when I leave here, I’m going home with him. I need him to know it’s over with Bennett and that it’s him I want, but he takes my hand away, reading me well, saying, “It’s fine. You don’t need to say anything.” His eyes are hard and serious when he says, “You’ll never go back to that bastard again. You’re coming home with me. I should have never let you leave my place the other night.”
I nod, agreeing with everything he’s saying.
“He’s never going to touch you again.”
I place my hand over the one he still has on my belly and the emptiness is too much as I begin to cry. He keeps his eyes on my stomach, fisting my hospital gown in his hand. His face pinches, as if he’s trying to brace himself for the worst when he finally asks, his voice coming out hoarse, “Please tell me our baby is okay.”
And when he finally brings his eyes to mine, I can already feel the salts eating away at my flesh as they spill out. He drops his head and releases a God-awful sob, and I do what I can to give him comfort as I run my fingers deep into his hair, gripping it tightly in my hand as he rests his head on my stomach. Seeing him in this much pain, this strong man who is always in so much control, is unbearable.
His shoulders hunch over and heave as he silently breaks. I want to be swallowed up by anything, just to be taken far away from this life, but I want to take Declan with me. I’ll always want him with me, and when he lifts his head, I notice the blackness of his eyes. His jaw grinds and I watch the muscles along his arms constricting. I begin to shake my head as I witness his transformation—the one I had been leading him to make. My heart slams against my broken ribs, and when I grab ahold of his wrists, he snaps, “I’m going to kill that motherfucker.”
