Thirty Days: Part One

by Belle Brooks

  He says nothing, but I can imagine he’s smiling that big, beautiful smile of his.

  The doors part, and we both enter. I take the corner and press my spine hard against the wall.

  Marcus thumbs the button for level one and stands across from me with a weird smirk on his face.

  What is he thinking?

  There’s a screech, then a conking sound, and we’re jolted up, then down before the lift stops dead.

  “One floor we had to go up one floor. Only one level and this thing shits itself.” Throwing my head upwards, I scream, “Why me? Seriously, why me?” As quickly as my head rose, it lowers. “You did this, didn’t you?” I snarl, outstretching my finger in accusation.

  “Not at all.” Marcus’ hands rise up with palms out in defence. “This seems to be a malfunction. Someone will get to us shortly. Try not to panic, Abigail. Please tell me you don’t have a problem with confined spaces?”

  I burst into a fit of laughter, allowing my body to shrink down to floor level. My legs stretch outwards as I continue to let out my frustration and anger in laughter.

  “I get trapped in these things all the time. I’m fine with this, trust me.” The back of my hand brushes away beads of moisture from my eyes.

  “This does not surprise me. The curse?”

  “The one and only.”

  Marcus presses a button and begins speaking, “Maintenance, Marcus Klein here. Myself and one other person are stuck between ground and floor one in the elevator. Could you please give an approximate amount of time it will take to get us out?”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Klein, Oscar here, welcome back to Sydney.”

  “Thanks, Okka, good to be back.”

  “We are already working on the lift. It appears to be a power malfunction. Shouldn’t take too long to fix.” His throat is raspy, the voice of a long-term smoker.

  “Thanks,” Marcus says before removing his jacket and settling down on the ground opposite me.

  There is silence as I slip my arms out of my own jacket, laying it down before taking a long inhale.

  “Now, now, don’t be greedy sucking in all our air like a hoover.”

  I roll my eyes in response.

  “Do you want to talk about it yet?”

  “Nope,” I mumble.

  “Are you always so stubborn?”

  “Apparently. It’s what my mother tells me anyway.”

  “I can see why.”

  A comfortable silence resumes.

  “This is a pretty rough case,” I blurt out.

  “That it is.”

  “I think I want to go home.”

  His eyes narrow. “Okay, I can have that arranged.”

  “Good.”

  Marcus sits there staring at me. I wonder what he’s thinking about. His expression doesn’t give anything away. It’s a blank canvas. Suddenly, he jumps to his feet before edging closer and closer, until he kneels beside me.

  “What are you doing?”

  His fingers skim my cheek in a feather-light touch as he brushes my hair behind my ear.

  “Marcus, stop.”

  “I’m just checking your head to make sure you’re okay. Here, lower it so I can take a look.”

  “I promise I’m fine.”

  “Well, then it won’t hurt for me to look, now, will it?”

  “I suppose not.”

  His fingers bury themselves into the thick layers of my lightened locks, pressing gently as he locates a tender bump. “We have a lump here. It’s not too big. Does it hurt?”

  “It’s a bit tender, but I’ll survive.”

  “Something tells me, Abigail, that you have many battle scars and that you’re an unwavering fighter.”

  I’m instantly shocked.

  “Who’s Mike and why are you so angry at him?”

  Shifting uncomfortably, I steel my instant surge of nerves and press down on his arm until it drops away from my head. Marcus’ eyes track my every move as I manage to stand with my heart physically ripping into two.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he towers in front of me.

  Tears begin straining at my eyes. I will not cry.

  “I’m sorry for whatever he did to you.”

  “I need space,” I say with a dry tongue.

  “And I need you, Abigail, here with me, helping me through this case. I know you’re strong enough to handle this. Please don’t leave me. I need you to help me.” He caresses my arm with such tenderness, that even though it leaves behind goose pimples, it also tells me that deep down inside this beautiful man there is a person who needs me.

  “Why me, Marcus?”

  “Because it was always supposed to be you.”

  Instant confusion. “How? I don’t know you. I’ve only just met you.”

  “You do know me, Abigail, and in time you’ll remember.” Grabbing my wrist, he pulls my hand to his cheek and places my fingers against his skin. The small raised scar falls beneath my touch.

  “I’ve seen this scar before, haven’t I?”

  “You have.”

  “Tell me how.” My eyes beg him to offer an explanation, which only causes Marcus to sigh heavily.

  “That I can’t do. You need to remember on your own. I promised. Just know that my heart will always find you.”

  “Promised? Who did you promise? Find me? What?”

  “Yes, Abigail. It’s such a shame that your eyes have lost their sparkle. They are so much more beautiful when you’re happy. You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  “Well, you have a pretty mouth. But I wish you’d learnt to shut it more often because I’m so confused right now that I’m suffocating in here. Please get away from me.”

  One, two, three steps back is all it takes until Marcus is standing at the other side of the elevator.

  “Well, hello, you two,” a bald and sun wrinkled man says, looking down at us as the doors part. “We’re going to pull you up. We still haven’t been able to get this thing to move, but we can get you out.”

  “Oscar, good timing,” Marcus says, grabbing his jacket from the floor and passing it to him through the gap. “Move aside.” He instructs before placing his hands on a ledge and pulling himself upwards until his legs slide completely through.

  “You’re a strong lad,” Oscar says as I watch Marcus dust his pant legs.

  “Your turn, Miss McMillian.” Marcus kneels and reaches his long arms through the gap. Slipping my jacket back on, I lift my arms up. My body is lifted out with ease, and before I know it, I’m on my feet being held securely in Marcus’ arms.

  “I think we should get you back to the manor.”

  “You think?” I scold, rearranging my skirt.

  “You’ve always had such fire.” He chuckles as I begin stomping towards the emergency stairs on the first level.

  How the hell does he know me?

  Fighter

  “Are you okay?” I can sense Marcus’ desire to comfort me as he stands by my outstretched feet.

  “Fine.”

  “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” The river glistens with the late afternoon sun as I lie on a pool lounge looking towards the jetty.

  “It’s peaceful.”

  “I have to go to that dinner now…you’re sure you don’t want to come?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “I’ll be back about nine, okay?”

  “Okay,” I reply softly, shifting so I can see past the sun’s glare. Instantly, I’m met with darkening eyes, a grey suit, and hair that’s been tamed. He’s so damn beautiful. “Come here,” I beckon, swallowing hard.

  Marcus moves to my side as I sit upright.

  “Bend down,” I demand. His eyes widen with surprise as he does. Shaking fingers reach up, straightening his lopsided blue tie at the knot. “Much better.” My voice is almost inaudible.

  Smiling, his cheeks press upwards as his eyes narrow.

  Taking my still trembling hand, I cup it gently against his warm cheek, allowing
my thumb to brush back and forth across his scar. “What you said today, do you think I’ll remember?”

  He nods slowly, never taking his eyes from mine.

  “Marcus. Do I want to remember?”

  His head begins to shake almost hypnotically. Clearing his throat, I see pity. “I want you to remember, because if you do, then you’ll remember me. I want that more than anything. I just wish you didn’t have to remember everything.”

  “Everything. Why not?”

  “Because sometimes we choose to forget the things in life that hurt us the most.”

  “Hurt me the most?”

  “Yes.”

  “If I do remember—if I want to. Tell me, will it be worth it?”

  “It will be painful, but I think I’m worth it.”

  I drop my hand before lowering my head. It’s quickly lifted again by my chin.

  “Abigail, I wish you could remember this.” His lips press feather-light against mine as his breath stutters.

  Cupping my hands to his cheeks, our mouths press hard together. Whirls of lust heat up my skin in response.

  Why do his lips feel like home?

  Disconnecting, I’m halted by his expression—eyes now darker than before.

  “Can you feel it, Abigail?” he asks hopefully.

  Clasping my lower lip between my teeth, I can, but I’m rendered to silence by the tingling sensations coursing through my body.

  “I know you can, Abigail. I never forgot what this felt like, but I also never remembered correctly either. That memory was so much more than my mind could have ever captured.”

  “Stop.” I shy away. “Go or you’ll be late. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  “Be good,” he says before the sound of his shoes walking through lush grass grows quieter and more distant.

  “It will be painful,” I mumble under bated breath.

  ***

  I’ve no idea what time it is when I re-enter the manor. Sunset has come and gone, so I assume it’s around seven-thirty p.m. Entering through the back door, I’m met with sweet golden eyes.

  “Miss McMillian, are you hungry?” Grady asks, folding closed what appears to be a newspaper.

  “No. But I’m hangry.”

  “Hangry?” he repeats, cocking his head.

  “Yes, hangry. You know when you’re so hungry that you turn into a crazed maniac, one who would kill violently if food isn’t delivered immediately.”

  His eyebrows rise before a placid smile exposes the cute dimple in his chin. “Well, we better be getting you something to eat then. I’m not sure I’m interested in becoming the murder victim of a hangry lady.”

  I begin to giggle, making my way over to the staircase. “Well, just let me get out of these work clothes and put on something a little more comfortable. I’ll be right with you. I’m sure you know all the best places we can go in town to eat.”

  “No!” he barks in a stern tone, standing a short distance from me. “Miss McMillian, I’m under strict instructions that you are to remain here. I’ll get some takeaway for you instead.”

  My mouth drops open, and I’m instantly cranky. “Strict instructions? By who? Let me guess, Mr. Klein?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Pffft…I’m going out to eat. It’s Sydney. I want to see the sites. We’re going out, Grady. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re the driver, right?”

  His eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t answer.

  “I’m guessing, in some way, I’m your boss, yes?”

  He still doesn’t say a word, but the look of amusement on his face tells me that he finds this statement entertaining.

  Trying to remain confident, I clear my throat. “Now be a sweetheart and fire up the car, will you. Give me twenty minutes.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do that.” He stands, puffing out his chest in a way that exerts authority. “We eat here tonight.”

  “Well, either you take me or I will catch a taxi. Your choice.” I glare, trying to gauge if this ploy might work. “Grady, we will be back before Marcus finishes at his dinner thing, I promise. He’ll be none the wiser. I can keep a secret if you can.” Turning on my sexiest pout, I think maybe, just maybe, he’s coming around.

  “He said you can be quite persuasive.”

  “So?”

  “I really shouldn’t…I could get fired, you know.”

  “You won’t get fired. Nobody will ever know. It will be our secret.”

  “Miss McMillian, the answer is a firm no.”

  “Taxi it is then,” I huff, turning and taking the first four stairs up the staircase.

  “Wait!” he calls out.

  I can’t help but smile before coming face to face with his now worried expression.

  “Fine, I’ll take you. At least if I do, I’ll know you’re safe.”

  “Exactly. See, that wasn’t too hard, was it?”

  He grins. “Marcus didn’t lie about how stubborn you are, that’s for sure.”

  “Hmmm. Marcus seems to think he knows a lot about me.”

  “Of course he does, you’re his Abigail.” As quick as the words expel from his lips, his hand launches upwards, pressing firmly across his mouth. Golden eyes turn a shade of honey in panic, and I know immediately that Grady has spilled a secret, one never meant to be spilled.

  “Say what now?” My heart hammers hard in my chest.

  “Nothing. Forget I said anything.” His tone is soft as he lowers his hand to his waist.

  “No, no. I heard that loud and clear. Tell me what you know, Grady.”

  “Miss McMillian, I will be waiting in the car for you. Please be ready in twenty minutes.”

  “Grady, please.”

  He looks at me with gentle eyes before turning and heading gingerly to the door.

  My hammering heart leaps into my throat as I race after him, gripping a handful of his suit jacket to keep him from leaving. “Grady. I need to know, please?” My skin becomes moist from instant nerves.

  “I can’t help you with this.”

  “Why won’t any fucker tell me what the fuck is going on? How do I know Marcus? Have I met you before? Katherine?”

  “Abigail, please. I said more than I ever should have. Unhand me.”

  “No. You have to tell me!”

  Shaking his head, Grady whispers, “I can’t.”

  My grip loosens, my stomach drops, and my mind whirls with inconsistencies.

  “Abigail, I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for, Grady?” I grunt.

  “For saying anything.” Slipping his arms from the jacket, he exits using the front door. I don’t allow my eyes to leave him until it shuts.

  “What is going on?” I plead aloud. A million questions soar through my mind. Grady’s jacket hangs limply from my fingertips as I realise just how much I want to go home and forget I’ve ever laid eyes on Marcus Klein. Sydney is turning out to be a bigger nightmare than I could have ever imagined.

  Breaking Rules

  The sound of crystal tinging catches my attention. My eyes lift wearily from the jet-black plate, almost vacate of food. The faces of four Asian people, two women and two men, sit smiling, while a fifth male stands to his feet. He’s much older than the others, a face aged from time. Pleased, he puffs out his chest before tobacco-stained fingers rub at a well-groomed moustache. The restaurant Grady drove us to is small in size, but very public. A busy footpath endlessly fills with commuters as we enjoy our meals. Every time my eyes meet the road beyond these glassed walls, I see passing strangers of all shapes, sizes, ages, and races glancing in. I’m captivated by these five humans who, in this moment, seem oblivious to this invasion of privacy, much too engrossed in their own celebration.

  “My beautiful daughter Leeha, how we love you with the entirety of our hearts.” His voice is filled with pride. “Your mother and I…we couldn’t be prouder than we are today. You did it, our daughter, our now graduate. You’re an amazing woman and a wonderful gift to have receiv
ed. You’ve given us so much, Leeha, and asked for so little in return. For that we’re grateful.”

  “Here! Here!” say the voices of their guests as the young woman closest to us wipes at tears falling freely with the backs of her hands.

  “Wow! How lovely,” I mutter.

  “She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” Grady states the obvious.

  “So very pretty and smart by the sounds of that.”

  “Yes, smart.” His voice sounds distant. “Miss McMillian, did you enjoy your meal?” he asks, once the celebratory moment settles.

  “Seriously, Grady, can you just call me Abigail? I hate being called Miss McMillian.”

  “Sorry. Abigail, did you enjoy your meal?”

  “Better. And yes. The glazed pork cutlets were delicious as you said they would be. This was just what I needed. Thank you for bringing me here even though I was worried I’d lost my appetite.”

  “Well, by the looks of your plate, there was no need to worry. I’d say that meal is demolished.”

  “See, hangry.” I giggle.

  “I will take note not to cross you when you are, how do you say it? Hangry?”

  “That would be a good move on your part.” Placing my knife and fork centred on the plate, I’m satisfied after eating such a good meal. “So, Grady, what’s there to know about you?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid,” he answers before gulping a mouthful of water.

  “Surely that’s not the truth.”

  Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

  “Where’s that sound coming from?” I ask, looking around the quaint restaurant.

  “That would be my mobile phone. Would you please excuse me?”

  “Sure.”

  Standing abruptly, he reaches into his pants pocket before answering. “Hello. Yes, sir.”

  I watch the entry door open and then close before he’s no longer in view. I can’t help but wonder if Marcus is on the other line and if so, it’s probably time to hightail it out of here before I get this nice driver fired.

  “May I get the bill, please?” I manage to get the attention of a tall and curvy waitress.

  “Good evening. Yes, of course. I’ll get that for you now. Did you enjoy your meal?” she asks, politely.