[Bellamy and the Brute 01.0] Bellamy and the Brute

by Alicia Michaels

  Silence.

  Scowling, I began opening closet doors and even glancing overhead to make sure there weren’t secret passages or attic doors in the ceiling. In a house that was practically a castle, I had to rule it out.

  Emma grew bored following me around and settled herself in the den with the television. Breaking into a run, I rechecked every place I’d looked on the second floor, my heart now pounding like a drum.

  “Max! Come on, this isn’t funny anymore!”

  No response. My throat constricted at the thought of something terrible happening to him.

  “Oh my God,” I muttered under my breath as I retraced my steps back down to the first floor. “I am so fired… I lost a kid and it hasn’t even been a week yet.”

  When yet another sweep of the first floor turned up nothing, I dashed back up the stairs.

  “No, that’s it,” I told myself. “They’re simply going to kill you.”

  “Help!”

  The thin, childish voice sounded like it belonged to Max, but it also seemed to be coming from the other side of the house.

  “Max?” I called out, pausing on the landing of the second floor and turning in circles. “Where are you?”

  “Up here!” he called out. “I’m hurt… please, help!”

  I hesitated for only a second. He’d said ‘up here’ which clearly meant the third floor. Ezra had expressly forbidden me to go up there, and so far, I’d had no reason to. But the kid I was supposed to be taking care of might be hurt, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else around who could help. They couldn’t blame me if the boy was injured, right?

  Taking the steps two at a time, I dashed up to the third floor, glancing left and right at hallways that seemed to stretch in either direction forever.

  “Max?” I called again.

  “Bellamy?” he called out, his voice coming from the right. “I’m here! Help me!”

  Turning and sprinting down the hall, I noticed that a massive window at the end had been shrouded by a heavy drape, casting the hall into darkness. As I neared the end and noticed that it turned to the left, I almost collided with a dark shadow jumping out at me.

  “Gotcha!” Max cried, doubling over with laughter while I tried to recover from the heart attack he’d almost induced.

  “Max,” I growled. “That wasn’t funny. You scared the crap out of me.”

  Rolling his eyes, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, please. Stop pretending like you actually care about Emma and me.”

  Inclining my head, I studied his face in the darkened hallway. For an eight-year-old, he sure seemed really surly. His face was shuttered and expressionless, as if he felt no remorse over what he’d done.

  “Of course I care,” I told him. “But what you did wasn’t cool. You know I’m not supposed to be up here—”

  “But you want to be,” he spat. “Well, go ahead. Get a good look. You all come here to look at him… there he is!”

  Turning to glance in the direction he pointed, I expected to find a person behind me. Instead, I came face to face with a massive portrait in a gilded frame. My breath caught in my lungs, and I found myself locked in the forest-green gaze of Tate Baldwin.

  He and I had been two years apart in school, with him being a junior by the time I entered Wellhollow Springs High as a freshman. I’d seen him a lot from a distance, but had never spoken to him. Why would I? He had been one of the popular kids, and even before my dad had been dubbed the town lunatic, I wouldn’t have been in the same circles. This was my first time getting a full-on view of his face, which was, to say the least, downright pretty.

  He had classic features, with a straight nose and full lips that appeared almost pouty. A square jaw and strong chin seemed chiseled from stone, and dark brown brows hooded vibrant eyes the color of leaves. A head of deep brown waves had been slicked and combed back from his face, but it seemed the texture couldn’t be tamed—rogue waves rippled along his head, a match for the dark eyebrows. He wore a jacket and tie, not a hair out of place or a wrinkle to be found in the fabric. His skin wasn’t as fair as his siblings, having an olive tone that made his eyes stand out even more.

  Despite knowing I needed to get the hell off the third floor, I couldn’t seem to make myself move—frozen in Tate’s compelling stare. I took a step closer, inclining my head as I continued to study the portrait. A splotch of red caught my gaze, and I glanced down to find a rose petal at my feet. I choked on a gasp, bending down to retrieve it.

  I couldn’t have been seeing things this time… I could feel the velvet texture of the petal between my fingers.

  “Looking for this?”

  I shot to my feet at the sound of Ezra’s voice—low and disapproving. Turning to face him, I could do nothing but stand and wait while he drove his wheelchair toward me down the hall, a firm hand wrapped around Max’s arm. The boy trotted to keep up with the motorized chair, looking appropriately ashamed of himself. Apparently, while I stood gawking at Tate’s portrait like a fish, the little jerk had tried to escape.

  “Ezra,” I choked out, feeling as if I was going to be sick. “I’m so sorry… I followed him up here—”

  “Don’t worry, Bellamy,” he replied. “I know a childish prank when I see one.”

  Max turned red when Ezra pierced him with a chastising glare.

  “It won’t happen again,” I assured him, tucking the rose petal into the pocket of my jeans.

  “I’m certain it won’t,” Ezra replied. “Will it, Max?”

  “No, sir,” the boy answered without missing a beat.

  “Do you have something to say to Bellamy?” Ezra prodded.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, barely lifting his gaze to meet mine.

  I nodded. “It’s okay.”

  “Now,” Ezra said, releasing Max’s arm. “I believe Hilda should be serving lunch any minute now. Perhaps you two should go back downstairs.”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. Gesturing for Max to precede me, I took off for the stairs, putting Tate’s portrait behind me. Once alone on the second floor, I grabbed Max’s shoulder to halt him.

  “Dude, what was that all about?” I demanded. “You could have gotten me fired. I know you might not like having a babysitter, but—”

  “What difference does it make?” he snapped. “You won’t last… no one ever does. Stop acting like you’re here for us. We know you all come here for one reason—to get a closer look at Tate. I was just giving you what you wanted, so you could get it over with and leave.”

  I wrinkled my brow and stared down at Max, but he wouldn’t even look at me. He clenched his teeth, staring at the wall and shaking as if he were angry.

  “I don’t know what other people were up to when they came here,” I said. “But I just wanted a summer job. I like you guys, and I care about what happens to you. Whatever is going on with your brother is none of my business. Okay?”

  A long silence passed between us before Max gave me a look that clearly said he didn’t believe me.

  “Whatever,” he snapped. “Can we eat now?”

  Sighing, I nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

  We continued on to the kitchen in silence, stopping off at the den to pry Emma away from the TV. As Ezra had predicted, Hilda was laying lunch out on the table when we arrived. She left us alone with our food, took a plate into Ezra’s office, and then disappeared for her break.

  I stared down at the turkey and cheese wrap she’d made, unable to take a single bite. The kids ate in sullen silence, with Emma staring silently at me, then her brother, probably wondering what the heck was going on.

  The rest of our afternoon passed like this, with no one talking much. By the end of the day, I was exhausted from feeling as if I walked on eggshells. I had never been more grateful than when Ezra informed me that I could go home. After shoving my book into my bag and slinging it over my shoulder, I practically ran for the exit. Today was Friday, so I hoped having the weekend off would give Max and me some much-needed space
to move past what had happened. Monday would begin a new week, and I could treat it like a fresh start.

  On my way to the car, I suddenly remembered the rose petal in my pocket. Now outside with sunlight beaming down on me, I wanted to inspect it again. Pausing beside the car door, I retrieved it, holding it up to the light between my thumb and forefinger.

  Sure enough, a large, soft, ruby-red rose petal proved me right by not transforming into air once I got it out of the house.

  This house and family just got weirder by the day. I could see why it had been so hard to find and keep a babysitter. Between the mystery of the third floor, Max’s attitude, and the disappearing rose petals—which I had not seen again after the day of my interview—a lot of people probably had a hard time accepting so much oddness.

  Lucky for the Baldwins, I practically had a Ph.D. in oddity.

  After fishing my keys from the depths of my bag, I opened the car and threw my stuff onto the passenger seat. Just before sliding into the driver’s seat, I glanced back up at the house.

  Movement caught my eye, and I glanced up to find that the drapes covering one of the third-floor windows had been pulled back. My mouth went dry when I zeroed in on the window to find the silhouette of a person standing there.

  Were they watching me?

  The sensation of eyes following me left goose bumps along my arms, despite the summer heat. I shivered, unable to tear my gaze away from the shadow, just as I had been trapped by that painting.

  Tate.

  It was ridiculous to assume it was him when the house was filled with staff—Hilda, three maids who came every other day to clean, landscapers, and a group of contractors who were doing some bathroom renovations throughout the house.

  Yet, I knew it was him, just like I knew Max hadn’t been completely wrong about me.

  I was dying to know more about Tate Baldwin, and I could see trouble coming from a mile away. Something in me was actually excited for whatever might happen, anticipating that trouble like the cat that was killed by curiosity.

  Tearing my gaze away from the window, I got in the car and started it, immediately cranking the air conditioner all the way up. As I threw the car into drive, I glanced back up at the window, finding that the shadow had disappeared, and the drapes covered the window once again.

  Shaking my head, I chastised myself for being so foolish. Tate Baldwin was the last thing I should have been worried about. Ignoring the rose petal now lying on the floor of the car, I drove away, putting Baldwin House, and its hidden son, out of my mind.

  On Monday, when I returned to work, Ezra called me into his office to present me with my first week’s pay. After putting a crisp, white envelope in my hand, he asked me to have a seat for a moment. My pulse raced as it occurred to me that I was going to be fired for the little incident on Friday. Sweat dampened my palms, saturating the envelope. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I lowered myself into a chair.

  “Yes, sir?” I managed, fighting to keep my tone even.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin have a charity event to attend this Friday evening,” he said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands on the desk. “It’s taking place about an hour outside of town, so they’ll be late coming home. If you could stay until about midnight or so, we’ll double your pay rate for the extra hours.”

  I was so shocked about not being fired that it took me a moment to respond. First, my heart rate had to slow, and I needed to resume a normal breathing pace.

  Raising his eyebrows, he studied me with a frown. “Are you all right, Bellamy?”

  Clearing my throat, I nodded. “Yes, sorry. I’ll have to talk to my dad about it, but I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

  With a small smile, he nodded. “Good. That’s all I needed. You and the kids have a good day.”

  He returned to the mountain of paperwork on his desk, effectively dismissing me. I left the office with a wide grin on my face, relieved he seemed willing to overlook my little slip-up. In fact, he hadn’t even told the Baldwins about it. If he had, I doubted they’d trust me in their home late at night with their children.

  I entered the kitchen to find the kids seated at the table, eating bowls of oatmeal. Today, I accepted Hilda’s offer for a cup of coffee, since it seemed she was going to keep that sour expression on her face whether I did or not. Stirring lots of cream into my mug, I joined Max and Emma at the table, taking the seat between them. It looked like Max was on the last few pages of The Neverending Story, barely glancing up to acknowledge me when I slid into the chair beside him. On my right, Emma sat eating with one hand and clutching a doll with the other.

  “Look!” she cried, mouth full of oatmeal as she thrust the doll in my face. “I got a new doll. Now I have one that looks like you!”

  Accepting the doll, I smiled. She had dark skin and a head full of springy, black curls. She wore a pair of fashionably torn blue jeans and a crop top that read GEEK across the front. There was even a pair of square-framed glasses similar to mine.

  “She’s awesome,” I told her, giving one of the curls a little tug.

  “I named her after you,” Emma replied before shoveling more oatmeal into her mouth.

  “Does that mean I can be her when we play today?”

  Scowling at me, she snatched the doll from my hand and held it against her chest. “No, I wanna be Bellamy!”

  Laughing, I held my hands up in surrender. “You got it,” I replied.

  I attempted to engage Max in conversation, but, as usual, he answered in monosyllables and gave me scathing looks that might have killed me if he had laser vision.

  The week passed much like the previous one had, with me spending more time with Emma as Max made it clear all he needed from me was an escort to mealtimes. He scorned every attempt I made at trying to be friendly, so we went back to treating each other with icy civility.

  By Friday, we seemed to have firmly established that our relationship wasn’t going to change. That afternoon, instead of going home, I hung around, prepared for the extra hours Ezra had asked me to work. I’d been outside with the kids playing on the trampoline when the Baldwins returned home from work, but I found Ezra waiting in the kitchen for us once we returned inside for a water break.

  “Bellamy, Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin are leaving for the evening, so I will be as well,” he said. “But first, they’d like to meet you.”

  I cringed at the thought of meeting my employers looking the way I did at present—hair piled into a messy, puffy ponytail on top of my head, glasses askew from jumping, a crop top displaying about two inches of stomach, jeans ripped down one leg, and tatty Converse. It hadn’t dawned on me when I got dressed that morning that the Baldwins might take exception to their babysitter wearing a belly-baring shirt around their kids. But considering the Georgia humidity, I hoped they wouldn’t hold it against me. God, I was a hot mess.

  Ezra smiled as if sensing my distress. “Don’t worry. They’ll love you.”

  Nodding, I gave my top a tug until it almost met the waistband of my jeans. Smoothing the edges of my hair, I followed Ezra to the foyer with the kids on my heels.

  Waiting for us near the front door stood the Baldwins, elegant in formal evening attire. Mr. Baldwin was helping his wife clasp a bracelet that glimmered in the light of the sun from the windows, casting prisms to the floor to mingle with those created by the chandelier.

  She spotted us first, glancing up with a wide smile. “Well, hello there. I’m Faith. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  Bracelet now clasped, Faith approached me and extended her hand. She wore a demure black gown, her blonde hair styled in a French twist with a few strands loose at her forehead and temple. Rubies matching the bracelet sparkled in her earlobes.

  “Hi, I’m Bellamy,” I replied, hoping I didn’t look as nervous as I felt. “It’s great to meet you, too.”

  Douglas Baldwin was far more reserved when he came forward to greet me, his mouth moving as if to smile when he clasped my
hand. Unfortunately, it came across as more of a grimace.

  “Miss McGuire,” he said, his voice clipped. “Ezra has been singing your praises all week.”

  “I meant every word,” Ezra added, giving me an encouraging smile. “Bellamy’s been great.”

  “So it would seem,” Faith said with a laugh. “Emma’s already so attached she wouldn’t leave me alone until we found a doll that looks just like you.”

  Emma beamed from beside me, one hand in mine, the other wrapped around her doll. Max simply stood by, his expression passive, gaze lowered to the floor.

  “We need to get going,” Douglas said, placing a hand at the small of his wife’s back.

  “Yes, we do,” she replied, picking up a small, black clutch from the nearby table. “Bellamy, we should be home no later than midnight. Make yourself at home, and thanks for staying so late.”

  “No problem,” I said.

  They paused to say good-bye to the kids—Faith hugging and kissing them both, and Douglas mumbling his good-byes. Then, they were leaving, him holding the door open to allow her to go out before him.

  The sun glared through the open door as they descended the front steps to their waiting car and driver. Ezra closed the door behind them, and then turned to face us.

  “I’ll be leaving shortly, as well. I took the liberty of ordering a few pizzas for dinner, since Hilda gets Friday evenings off. They should be here shortly, and are already paid for. Was your father okay with you being here so late?”

  I nodded. “He was fine with it as long as he could drop me off and pick me up. I don’t think he wants me coming and going alone so late.”

  “I agree, and I’m glad he’ll be picking you up. You three enjoy your night.” Giving Max a stern glance, he raised his eyebrows. “Behave yourselves.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emma replied.

  “Okay,” Max mumbled.

  Ezra returned to his office, and as the kids and I made our way back to the kitchen, I heard the low whir of his chair, then the opening and closing of a door, before silence fell over the house. Turning to the kids, I shoved my hands into my back pockets. It felt odd being here so late; usually by now, I would be on my way home.