by Carys Jones
Aiden tried to find his voice but had been rendered speechless. Then the skin on Justin’s face began to melt away as easily as wax, revealing the network of muscles below. Aiden opened his mouth and screamed.
“Aid, are you okay?” Brandy was beside him, the whites of her wide eyes bright in the relative darkness of the bedroom.
Aiden was breathing heavily. When he turned to her he half expected to see Justin’s disfigured face. The sheets beneath him were soaked. As his breathing calmed, he realized it was from his own sweat.
“Did you have a nightmare?” Brandy whispered soothingly, her hands already rubbing his back.
“Yeah!” Aiden gasped. “I did.”
He heard Brandy anxiously explain: “Aiden, you were shouting.”
“Turn on the light,” Aiden requested gruffly, his voice hoarse. Brandy swiftly obliged, turning on her bedside light and Aiden was grateful for the yellow light which pushed back some of the shadows.
“Aiden, are you okay?” Brandy asked gently, a cool hand pressing tenderly against the base of his back.
“Yeah.” Aiden sighed as he ran his hands across his face, trying to push away the images from the nightmare.
“Is something troubling you?”
Aiden turned to glance at Brandy. She was so close he could smell her vanilla-scented skin, could see each individual eyelash which framed her dark eyes. He didn’t want to lie to her. Their relationship was still so new, so fragile, like a baby bird that still needed to learn to fly.
“Yes, something is troubling me,” Aiden admitted.
“What is it?” Brandy pressed, her tone soft and soothing, there was no pressure in her voice.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she added.
Clearing his throat, Aiden prepared to breathe life into his nightmare.
“Many years ago I lost somebody close to me, a friend,” Aiden explained, now feeling wide awake as the dust of sleep had been blown away by the intensity of his nightmare.
“I’m sorry. Do you want to tell me about him?” Brandy whispered.
“Can we…can we go back to sleep?” Aiden gestured towards the lamp.
“Sure.” Brandy nodded as she plunged the room back into darkness.
Only Aiden didn’t go back to sleep. He lay awake thinking about his old friend, Justin. An endless stream of questions floated through his mind ‒ why hadn’t he known Justin was in danger? How did he never think to question his death before? If his old high school friends from Greensburg hadn’t sought him out in Avalon, he’d have gone on thinking Justin had died in a motorcycle accident. Aiden had thought that searching for the truth might liberate his guilt, but it only gnawed within him with even more fervor. Because the question which troubled him most was: how could he bear the thought that Justin’s killer had been allowed to endure?
Chapter Two
The Chances You Take
The only sounds in the office were the gentle whirring of the air conditioning system and the distant tapping of Betty’s fingers maneuvering across her keyboard. In the relative silence Aiden stared at his computer screen. His inbox was unusually empty. It seemed that Clyde White had swiftly managed to spread the news of Brandy’s return to Avalon and now the town were keeping their distance from Aiden.
Groaning, he refreshed the page. He had enough open cases to keep him busy; some work updating wills and settling property disputes. But he’d feared that the work would suddenly dry up. It was as if overnight Avalon suddenly ceased to have legal issues.
To add to Aiden’s tension, Betty had been uncharacteristically late that morning. When he pulled up outside the office and stepped out into the bright morning sun he’d actually needed to do a double-take of the vacant entrance. Betty was nowhere to be seen. Aiden opened up, bought the usual breakfast order from across the street and then hid in the comfort of his own office. He was about to call Betty to check she was alright when he heard the soft chime of the main door announcing her entrance.
That had been forty minutes ago. Aiden had yet to venture in to the office and face Betty. He wasn’t sure he could handle the look of disappointment she’d doubtlessly be wearing when he addressed her.
But his plan to remain in his office was running out of fuel. With no incoming emails to respond to, he’d be forced to head out and attend to tasks around town. He had a pile of papers that needed dropping off at the town hall along with a couple of documents that required additional signatures.
“Come on,” Aiden refreshed his inbox again, willing someone, anyone to contact him. He was about to accept defeat and go out to see Betty when his cell phone began to whir upon the desk, spinning itself in circles.
Aiden grabbed the device with a sense of relief but bristled when he noticed that the incoming call was from a blocked number.
“Aiden Connelly speaking,” he greeted the unknown caller with slight trepidation in his voice. What if it was a crank call from a disgruntled resident? Was he now going to be subjected to harassment by those still loyal to Brandon who continued to wrongly blame Brandy for his death?
“Aiden, hey, it’s Guy.”
Aiden froze in surprise.
“Guy Chambers,” Guy declared confidently. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already?” His tone was jovial, friendly even.
Aiden shook himself out of his startled stupor and cleared his throat.
“No, course not,” he replied politely. “I just didn’t expect to hear from you again. How are things?”
“Things are good!” And from the sound of his voice they truly were. Aiden could almost feel the heat radiating from the smile Guy was wearing coming down the line and bursting out into the office.
“I’m glad.” Aiden repositioned himself in his chair so that he was sitting straighter.
“Listen, Connelly, I’m going to get straight to it.” Typical Guy, not wanting to waste time on small talk.
“Okay…” Aiden nodded, feeling his shoulders tighten in apprehension. What exactly were they getting to? Why had Guy even called him?
“Last time we spoke, you asked me for more information on your friend Justin’s case.”
“Which you said you couldn’t give,” Aiden replied bluntly.
“Right.” On the other end of the line Guy cleared his throat. Was he nervous? “But say something fell in to my lap and I wanted to throw you a bone?”
“I’m not a dog.” Aiden ran a hand through his hair and glanced briefly at his inbox. Still no emails.
“Jeeze, Connelly, I’m trying to do you a solid here,” Guy’s voice boomed in to his ear. “Quit always being so tightly wound! I have a name and a location, you want it?”
“Why would you give me this?” Aiden wondered suspiciously. “Previously you told me you’d already said too much. Now you want to give me names? What’s changed?”
“The case has been tabled,” Guy said quickly, the words almost blended into one another.
“It has? But it had been open for ten years, why table it now?”
“The Bureau doesn’t have the manpower to keep chasing ghosts,” Guy said flippantly. “But I figured what is old news to us might be useful to you.”
“And you won’t lose your job by telling me this?”
“No!” Guy snapped a little too harshly. Aiden pulled a pen and paper towards him. In his mind he could still see Justin’s disfigured face from his nightmare staring at him, pleading with him. Whatever information Guy had, Aiden would willingly take it.
“So what do you know?” Aiden picked up the pen, poised to write with it.
“Your friend Justin was killed by a cartel run by the Caulerone Brothers. They operate out of San Migeno in Mexcio. Real nasty pair. But we’ve been liaising with a guy down there, a local cop keeping tabs on them for us. His name is Javier Santo. He should be able to at least tell you why they killed your friend. Because that’s what you wanted, right? Answers?”
Aiden was frantically scribbling all the information down.
> “Um, yeah,” he agreed. “I wanted some answers.”
“Good, well that should help.”
“Thanks.” Aiden felt bewildered by the entire conversation. He looked down at the piece of paper which could lead him to Justin’s killer. Aiden ripped the note from its pad and held it between his fingers. It felt like holding a loaded gun; an object of frightening power – he just had to decide what he was going to do with it.
“So now you owe me one,” Guy declared smugly.
“Owe you one?” Aiden almost laughed at the absurdity of the notion. “What could you ever want from me, Guy? You work for the FBI, you’re much better connected than I could ever dream of being.”
“Hey, you never know,” Guy replied. Then his tone abruptly hardened. “Look, I’ve got to go. Think about what I said. I know you, Connelly. You’re the kind of guy who always does the right thing. Don’t go changing.”
The call ended and Aiden focused his attention on the piece of paper in his hand. He felt dizzy imagining Justin being connected with the Caulerone brothers, whoever they were. Had he gone down to San Migeno? If he had, he’d never mentioned it to his friends. After a few more seconds’ deliberation, Aiden folded the paper in half, shoved it into his pocket and then refreshed his inbox yet again.
*
Brandy had always liked Monday mornings. The prospect of starting a fresh new week excited her, or at least it had in Chicago. When she woke up there she would wonder where her week would take her. There was so much to see and do within the city that she wondered if she’d ever find the time to be able to take it all in. But it was very different in Avalon.
The kettle boiled and Brandy idly made herself a hot chocolate despite the searing heat outside. She needed the comfort of its sweet warmth. The visit to Home Depot over the weekend had rattled her, even though she kept insisting to Aiden that she was fine. Cupping her mug with both hands, Brandy walked slowly through to the living room. Even with the new drapes and cushions, the room still didn’t feel like home. She still felt like a stranger there.
The sharp shrill of the house phone ringing in the hallway made Brandy physically jump. For a moment she just listened to the sound as it methodically blared out. She wondered who could be calling and for a second she feared it was Aiden’s estranged wife, Isla. With trembling hands Brandy placed her drink down and walked over to the phone. She watched it ring for a few more seconds and then took a deep breath and lifted the receiver.
“Hello?” She willed herself to sound confident instead of meek and lost. She prayed that Isla Connelly wasn’t on the other end of the line; she didn’t have the strength for yet another confrontation.
“Brandy, is that you?” Carol Cotton demanded.
“Aunt Carol!” Brandy exhaled with relief and slumped against a nearby wall.
“You told me you’d call to check in and I’ve not heard from you in weeks! I started to get worried!” Carol sounded more angry than worried. Brandy could imagine her standing boldly in Chez Vous, the phone nudged up to her ear but hidden beneath her overly coiffed hair as she drummed her long false nails angrily against the sleek reception counter.
“I’m sorry, time sort of ran away from me.”
“Uh-huh.” Carol’s flat tone told Brandy how unimpressed she was with the excuse she had given.
“You’re too busy lying under that man instead of looking out for yourself!”
“Aunt Carol!” Brandy felt her cheeks begin to burn like fire.
“Why would you ever go back there?” Carol lamented. “To that awful town where you are treated like a pariah? You should be here, in the city.”
Brandy squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push her feeling of guilt down towards her toes.
“I’m so worried about you being there,” Carol continued. “I had Rhonda do a Tarot reading for you.”
“Aunt Carol—” Brandy wanted to object, but the old woman briskly interrupted her.
“And do you know what came up?” Carol demanded. Brandy shrugged as she leaned against the wall. She had no idea what had come up in the reading. She didn’t trust the cards. Her mother had believed in them but only when they served her purpose. Carol’s loyalty to the cards was a remnant of her old life down south that she’d been unable to shake despite her years of city living.
“The death card,” Carol uttered fearfully. Despite her lack of enthusiasm, Brandy felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.
“She pulled the death card,” Carol repeated. “You need to leave that place ‒ it’s not safe for you! You need to come back to Chicago, you can have your old apartment, you’ve still got a job here at Chez Vous waiting for you.”
“Aunt Carol.” Brandy began to nervously play with a loose strand of her long blonde hair. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me. Truly I do. But Aiden is my destiny.”
“No one woman is meant to be with any one man,” Carol’s voice was stern. “Disney sold you a fairy tale long ago that is nothing but lies. Now, you listen to me and you listen good, Brandy Cotton! You are better than this! Going back to the town that vilified you to be some married man’s mistress?”
Tears gathered in Brandy’s eyes and began to silently tumble down her cheeks.
“Have your fun, play out your little fantasy of being his woman in his little house but that won’t be enough for you and you know it. I’ll be here for you when you come crawling back. You are always welcome here, Brandy. Because that’s what family do, we love each other through the good times and the bad.”
Carol didn’t wait to hear her niece’s response. She ended the call, filling Brandy’s ears with the flat drone of the dialing tone. Still clutching the receiver, Brandy’s knees buckled and she slid down to the floor. Her stream of tears had become a waterfall. She dropped the phone with a clatter and buried her head in her hands.
It seemed it wasn’t just the residents of Avalon who thought she was wrong to be with Aiden. As Brandy sobbed, she pulled her knees up to her chest, condensing herself into a ball. She couldn’t stop wondering when love had stopped being enough? She was in love with Aiden, didn’t that justify them being together?
*
Aiden strained to listen for the distant tapping coming from Betty’s computer, but it had seemingly silenced. Deciding that this was his chance to sneak away from the office without encountering the old woman, he stood up quickly, sending his leather chair skittering across the polished wooden floor.
The paper with the details of the Mexican cartel burned in his pocket. He needed to get out and clear his head. Scooping up a waiting pile of papers, he decided he could drop them off at the town hall. The drive over would provide him some time to deliberate further on what to do with the lead Guy Chambers had suddenly given him.
Aiden’s mind was preoccupied by the call with Guy as he stepped out from his office into the main waiting area. He was about to walk straight towards the main door which led out onto the street when someone politely coughed behind him. Startled Aiden spun around and felt his heart sink when he saw Betty peering up expectantly at him from behind her desk, her glasses resting on the base of her nose.
“Betty, hey!” Aiden could feel the flames of shame starting to devour his cheeks.
“Aiden.” Betty nodded courteously at him. She was calling him by his first name, that had to be a good sign.
“I’m sorry for my tardiness this morning,” Betty continued, clasping her hands together before her on the desk in a neat ball. “My refrigerator started leaking in the night. I was forced to clean up everywhere before I could depart the house. I’m terribly sorry, it won’t happen again.”
“That’s fine, Betty, it’s not a problem, really.” Aiden took another step towards the main door.
“I had hoped to discuss it with you when I came in,” Betty added. “But you’d locked yourself away in your office and I got the distinct impression that you didn’t wish to be disturbed.”
Aiden’s cheeks burned more intensely as he slo
wly turned back around to face her, clutching the paperwork he was holding to his chest like a shield.
“I hope you’re not avoiding me.” Betty’s eyes sparkled with knowing intensity. She held Aiden tightly in her gaze, not caring how much he squirmed; she wouldn’t let him go.
“What, no? Of course not,” Aiden fumbled, unravelling beneath the interrogation. He felt like he was back at school, a naughty boy caught playing up in class and forced to answer to his strict headmistress.
“Because I was concerned that perhaps you’d locked yourself away to avoid facing me.” Betty continued to stare squarely at him.
“Betty…”
“Aiden, I know.” Betty sighed and her gaze softened. Aiden’s own shoulders automatically drooped in relief. “Clyde White has been the busiest of bees, buzzing all round town since your run in with him over the weekend.”
Aiden looked blankly at Betty, who remained poised and expectant. He didn’t know what to say. Was she mad at him? Did she want to cease working for him?
“I feel like I should explain,” Aiden lowered the paperwork, his voice soft.
“Nonsense!” Betty held up the palm of her hand towards Aiden, the taut blue veins visible beneath her thin skin.
“No explanation necessary. What you do in your own time is your business, Aiden. I just want to make it perfectly clear that it is not my place to judge you. I’m just here to work and honor Edmond’s legacy. It is imperative that we maintain an air of professionalism here.”
“But I thought you hated Brandy as much as the rest of Avalon does?” Aiden asked, bewildered by Betty’s logical response.
“Hate is such a strong word,” Betty raised her eyebrows at him. “And Miss White, Cotton, whatever she calls herself these days is actually an innocent woman. Many people here seem to forget that, but I don’t.”
“I appreciate your candor on the matter,” Aiden told her honestly.
“You’re most welcome.” Betty nodded stiffly. A slight smile began to pull on her lips as a kind glow softened her gaze.
