Serenity's Key

by Charlotte E Hart

  “You’re ready for this, Lilah. I wouldn’t ask if you weren’t,” he says as we turn through the tall trees heading back up towards the house.

  “I’m not strong enough to stop you. I think we both know that,” I reply honestly as I look at the floor for answers. There’s none to be found there, only earth littered with pink and yellow flowers that make this conversation seem all the more bizarre. He stops me and turns me to face him, tipping my chin up to him and drawing in a long breath.

  “I’m as lost as you with this, Lilah, but it’s my only option. It’s you, or me losing one of them. I don’t want to do that.” Greedy.

  I snort at him, scanning my eyes across his frame and smirking at his need for them both. It’s quite unusual, I suppose, but I’ve always known it was there, waiting to interfere.

  “And you don’t need strength to beat me. You know that already. You’ll only have to use your voice if you get it right.” I roll my eyes at him, chuckling at his words of wisdom, but nodding nonetheless. Use my voice. Get inside his head, he means. Remind him where he is and what he’s doing. I carry on walking as the sound of a car rumbles in the background, holding my arm out so I can take his again. He wraps it into his, looking up at the sky as he does and letting out one last sigh into the air. “I want today done, and then I want to lose myself in this, Lilah. I’ve spent too many years pretending. Half in, half out. Elizabeth wants a future filled with happiness, children maybe. I can see it in her eyes, no matter how much she says it doesn’t matter. I need to find out who I am for that to happen. And I need you there to help me through that. Pascal can’t. His interference confuses the dynamic too much. But with you, maybe …” He trails off, kicking his foot slightly in the gravel. “I want my balance, Lilah. I want my peace. And they deserve it from me. I’m not even quite sure what I’ll need from you until it happens, but you’re the key to opening that door for us all. I know that.”

  We keep wandering a bit more. There’s no urgency in his steps as he scans the horizon and sways along with me. I could almost tuck my head into his shoulder and remember old times, well, if we had any, but it’s that sort of feeling. Relaxed, calm, regardless of the conundrum we’re discussing.

  “I read your note this morning,” I say, smiling at the memory of seeing his words scrawled across the paper. It’s the first thing I’d done this morning before Pascal woke and interrupted my thoughts. For some reason I’d remembered it and delved about in my bag till I found the note. Maybe I just wanted to confirm that I was ready to deal with our future, or maybe I just wanted to know that the man beside me now truly believed in any of this oddity. He did, and it was confirmed by the words he’d written.

  “Which note?”

  “The one you gave me in New York. You told me not to read it until I’d got his tears from him.” He smiles and nods, chuckling a little at something and looking down at me. “I will look after him, I promise. Thank you for releasing him.” He raises a brow at me, another snort coming from him as we continue onwards.

  “It’s hardly released, but you’re free to try keeping him sane.” That causes me to snort. Sane? It’s not something either of us believes plausible, or even necessary I should think. “You were emotionless?” Not likely. How could one be when a man of Pascal’s disposition cries on your shoulder? But I was as solid as I could be, just as his note had hoped for.

  “Not entirely, not on the inside anyway, but he didn’t see it.” He nods again and smiles softly.

  “As it should be. Don’t ever let him see that it hurts you to hear him cry. He’ll bottle it up again if you do. He’ll feel it’s too much for you to carry. Just as a dominant would. Keep him in semi dominance if you can, that’s where he’s most comfortable.” He smirks. “Or most pliable to negotiation.” Another snort leaves me as we step up onto the main drive again, turning into the courtyard, as the rumble of the engine gets closer.

  “Alex, what happens if it doesn’t work? What then?”

  “MAMA!” Claire screams, barrelling out of the main house and hurtling across the courtyard towards the oncoming car.

  “Then you look after them both, and you let him come to me if he needs it,” he says, smiling at Claire as she bounds over to us. “I’ll withdraw and try for peace on my own with Elizabeth.”

  “LILAH, MAMA’S HERE!” she screams again, grabbing hold of my hand and tugging me away from him. I turn to look at him, noticing the sadness that statement brings to his face and the way he nods as if it’s the right thing to do in the circumstances.

  “Claire, calm yourself,” Pascal calls from steps. I turn to him, seeing every inch of tension coursing through him and knowing I’ll do anything I can to help him relieve that. That’s my job—to free him of whatever concerns him. To love him as he needs it.

  “It’s exciting, isn’t it?” Claire says, bouncing on her feet and watching the car coming into view. “Beth went to fetch her from the airport. Papa just told me.” Papa. The word melts my heart as I flick my eyes to Alexander again, searching for his response to the word. Papa. He nods once more, smiling and pocketing his hands. Exciting? Interesting term for the conversation I’ve just had.

  “Yes, it is,” I eventually reply, letting her drag me further away from the pair of them as Pascal gets closer.

  The dark blue car pulls to a stop as we reach the entrance to the concourse, dust littering the air and the door immediately swinging open. Roxanne’s heel hitting the floor is the first thing I see. It’s effortless in its elegance as the other joins it and her body follows. I find myself clutching hold of Claire’s hand, suddenly less able to let her go than I thought possible, but she yanks it from me anyway and runs straight into the arms of her mother, unsurprisingly, I suppose. I gaze at the vision of Roxanne crouching down and hugging Claire tightly with what appears to be jealously coursing my bones. It’s an irritating emotion. I lift my chin, turning away from the moment for fear of it consuming rational thought. Instead, I watch Pascal’s narrowed gaze as he stands next to Alexander for support and glares at Roxanne. And then I hear Beth’s advance behind me. Her long legs cover the ground, scuffing the floor until I feel her hand on my shoulder.

  “We’ll find a way to make all this work, Lilah,” she says quietly. I look at her lips, not knowing which bit of ‘all this’ she means. The Claire bit, or the part where I’m supposed to stop the man she loves from hurting her too much. Or perhaps she’s talking about the fact that she fucks the man I love, too? I swing my eyes back to Claire, smiling at the way she clings onto her mother and wondering how anyone can make this work.

  “You three should get going,” Alexander says out of nowhere. Get going? They’ve only just got here. “Three?” Pascal asks.

  “Elizabeth is taking them to the airport.” At this answer, Beth kisses Alexander, staring into his eyes and gently running her hand over his temple.

  “You’re ready for this?” she asks, obviously concerned about his ability to fight or kill, given his injury. He smirks and kisses her again before leading her over to the Aston Martin on the drive, but I hear a word echoing back to me from his lips as they go. Always.

  “It is preposterous that you should come with us,” Pascal’s voice clips, making me turn back to him rather than looking at the display of love Alexander and Beth are currently delving into on the back of a sports car. “Why would you agree to such a thing?”

  I’m not sure I did. Although, the fact that Alexander’s thoughts on getting the rest of them to safety are the same as mine makes me consider how well he must understand me. I, too, wanted them safe, Pascal as well if truth be told. That’s not going to happen anytime soon, though. I move away from him, heading for the house to try to arrange my thoughts and find my own sense of balance. He follows, snarling in foreign languages and winding himself up for an explosion of some sort.

  “I need you to leave with Claire. You gave me your oath. You must keep her safe.”

  “And I’ll still honour that if anything go
es wrong. I’ll go and get her and take her to your father, but for now, I’m coming with you,” I reply quietly, thinking of what I’m going to witness rather than Claire. I may hide in the car while it happens, or attempt to shield my eyes, but I’m going with them. I’m going to watch and learn as much about Alexander White as I can. I’m going to engrain his being into mine, learn to think like him, move like him, use my body like him, or at least learn how to counter the moves he makes. It’s the only way I can help them through what’s to come. I stare at Pascal’s shaking head as I climb the steps back into the house. Presumably he’s concerned for my safety. Sweet. Ridiculous, given the world we’re all living in, but cute nonetheless. More foreign words erupt from his mouth as he grabs hold of my arm to stop my forward momentum. Without thought, my hand slaps his face as hard as my body dares to. Nothing is stopping my impetus. Nothing. My thoughts. Mine. I’ll do what I believe best, and he’ll damn well listen to me.

  He reels back as I glance at Roxanne and Beth getting in the car, Claire scrambling in behind them as Beth gets in the driver’s seat. No guards? She must be a good driver. Or perhaps some will follow them? Who knows? Alexander clearly has it all covered, and I’m not about to question his game playing. As I’ve been told before, he’s a master at playing them.

  “Go and say goodbye to your daughter, and tell her how much you love her.” I say as I take a last look at her beautiful brown curls and then turn away from them all. She’ll be fine. I have to believe that. I have to trust that Beth and Alexander know what they’re doing, because if I don’t, I’ll be over there seizing her back to me and telling all of these people to go to hell. I’ll just turn around and tell Pascal I won’t do any of this. I can feel the slight panic rising inside me, telling me this is all stupid, and that it won’t work. That the three of us should just get back on a plane and head back to New York. Hide. Maybe even go and live in Timbuktu, pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

  I stand there in the great hall looking at all the bosses on the ceiling and then brush my dress down, trying to calm my nerves.

  I need trousers on for this. Trainers would be good, too. I may need to run. I look down at my red heels, loving the way they elevate the arch of my foot. Fuck that. I’m not going to war looking like a ragamuffin. And I’m certainly not dying like one. I’ve served my time looking like that. Reaching down, I open the bottom four buttons on my dress then walk around, lengthening my stride to see if it gives enough slack for running. Its fine, and thankfully, the straps around my ankles should keep my shoes in place securely enough if I do need to sprint to safety. Fucking sprinting. Jesus. I roll my eyes at myself and carry on into the dining room, grabbing at the first bottle of anything that comes my way. It’s snatched from my hand before I get a chance to raise it to my lips.

  “No drinking.”

  Coming from Alexander, that’s fucking hilarious. I scowl at him as he throws the bottle at the fireplace, then notice the lack of anything in his eyes and take a small step away. Black holes would be a more appropriate description for the place where the blue normally lives. I stare, slightly shocked at the sudden transformation and wonder where it’s come from. “Think fucking smarter than that.”

  Wow, okay. Arsehole’s returned then.

  “Go and get in the damn car.”

  This lifeless Alex is colder than anything I’ve seen before. It’s worrisome, to say the least, so I engage sensible thought and leave the room as requested, swishing my arse about in disgust at his attitude as I go. Perhaps he needs a slap, too, one I might give him later when this killing thing is over with. He’s like winter and summer, hot and cold, nice and then not. I take the steps again, heading for the only car left and see Pascal leaning against it. He could look nervous if I thought about it. It halts me slightly, causing my own concerns to come racing back, but Aleexnaders large hand suddenly covering my back soon nullifies that. He pushes me forward without a second thought. Onwards, that’s where he’s going, and apparently I’m going with him. Quite right, too. Forwards is where we’re all going. Perhaps to death—who fucking knows? Good lord, what the hell have I got myself mixed up in?

  Pascal doesn’t smile at me as I meet him by the car and he offers his hand at the door, bowing graciously. I smile at him. I can’t help it. He looks so beautiful standing there in his suit. He’s perfectly turned out for a killing spree. Not like Alexander in his jeans and shirt, sleeves rolled up ready to cause damage. No, my man looks divine in a dark brown suit and a light green tie that almost matches his eyes.

  “I love you,” I whisper. I need him to hear that just once more before it all changes because I do. I love just him. None of the other things matter. None of the death or the other people involved. Just us, me and him, together.

  “As I love you,” he replies, smirking a little and fluttering his damn eyelashes as the words leave him. “You still should not be coming, though, my love. I am perturbed, furious even.” I stare in reply. What fun we could have with that fury. The car door slams on the other side, announcing Alexander’s need to leave as Pascal nods at the back seat. A wicked smile of almighty proportions descends onto Pascal’s face. “He is becoming agitated. It is a diabolical position to let him dwell within for too long. Are you ready?”

  As I’ll ever be.

  ~

  It’s interesting how fast time goes by when you’re not sure you want to get somewhere. When you’re happy to linger in a moment, or enjoy the journey, time can stand still as you study everything. But those times you’re not sure of, the ones that make you want to halt the spinning of the Earth beneath you, they never go slowly. I try to stare at the view, attempting to forget what we’re driving towards, but nothing eases the perpetual ticking of the clock. I end up watching it on the dashboard as Alexander drives us onwards. I watch the seconds rush by, and then the minutes, and finally a little over an hour. We don’t stop once as he navigates the roads like an expert, cornering the car as if it is made for rough country roads. We just keep going onwards without fear. It seems men like Alexander don’t linger over anything. They forge forward, not letting anything get in their way. I watch Pascal for a while in the front passenger seat. He’s quiet. He gives the occasional smile or comforting stroke on my leg behind him, but pensive is the best way I can describe him. No one speaks. What is there to speak about? Killing people? The best way to do it? Something makes me think both of these men already know the best way to do it. Alexander especially, with his carefree, somewhat whimsical approach to talking about the act. But Pascal’s not the same. He might have killed before; he’s told me he has, but I don’t think he gets the sense of satisfaction that Alexander feels. I daresay he questions the moment, possibly emotionalising the thought as he does the deed. He’s too romantic to be a cold-hearted killer. Too loving. Too nervous. That may seem an odd thought to others who know him, but to me it’s true. His need for hope is more embedded than Alexander’s. The blue-eyed master sitting in front of me is too cold to need the feeling of warmth on his skin. He likes the cold, revels in its embrace, only comforted by the occasional warmth he takes from Elizabeth when he feels at his weakest. It makes me wonder if he’s ever cried, or taken solace in his own sense of self-absorption. Does he even care about what he does, who he hurts? I don’t suppose it matters if he does or not. Certainly not this time around. Jon deserves this ending. He took something precious, threatened it, and has likely got hundreds more children lined up for delivery. How many already? How many poor lost little children have been hurt because of this man? My blood boils at the thought, let alone the images that are racing through my brain as we round a final corner and then pull into a small rustic farmhouse yard.

  The silence continues as we sit here. Still, no one speaks. I doubt it’s nerves on Alexander’s part like it is on mine. It’s more likely he’s readying himself, preparing to kill. Although, does one prepare to do that or is it primal? Another question I want the answer to. I’ll either find out in the n
ext half hour, or I’ll ask him about it at some point in the future, supposing we all have one, that is.

  “Why can she not stay in the car?” My frown descends quicker than I’d like it to. It’s not the fact that he cares for my safety. It’s the fact that he doesn’t believe I should see this, or maybe that I’m not hard enough to see it. Fuck him and his sense of decency. Where the hell has that come from? In this moment, it’s of no use to anyone, especially not me.

  “Because she doesn’t fucking want to,” I answer, because there is no way Alexander’s having the power over what I can or cannot do, never mind what I should or should not do. I will decide what I want to do, just as I did when I got in this damn car.

  No one answers me. Quite right. My neck cracks as I stare into the yard and wonder what the hell we’re waiting for. My standard reaction to waiting seems to be becoming one of boredom lately. It’s either that or I’ve lost the ability to be patient.

  A man appears in the far corner, holding something up in his hand and starting to walk towards the car. I notice the grip of Alexander’s hands on the wheel first. They whiten, highlighting his mood and showing me he’s not quite so at ease with the act as I thought. I had assumed anger lived there, helping him do the deed, but that’s tension, not anger. He’s fighting with himself about something. Perhaps that’s Beth spinning through his mind, challenging him. It’s an interesting observation, one I’ll delve into again at some point when I have the time. Not now, though. Now is for killing. For finalisation. For death.

  Eventually the man reaches the door and Alexander leaves the car, wandering away with him as they discuss something by a small shed with flowers growing on the side. It’s quite pretty here. Quaint. Not the sort of place I would have thought this would happen. It’s a shame really. It could be lovely as a bolthole, or somewhere to relax and unwind.