Everything Stolen

by Sophia Scarlet

  copyright © 2016 Sophia Scarlet

  All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or using any other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Trademark: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of all products referenced in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  cover design © Okay Creations

  v91016

  Chapter One

  Blaring white lights surround me. The hum of electricity crackles in my ears. I try to raise my arm. I need to shield my face so I can open my eyes. But my arm doesn’t move. I try to call for help, but I hear only a faint groan. I manage to force my eyes open, but everything is too hazy and too bright.

  Focusing on my arms I try to flex my fingers and after a few tries they tap on what must be sheets. I’m in a bed? I work to rotate my wrists and my knuckles graze cold metal. A bed with rails? Swallowing, I want to cough, but my mouth is cottony.

  I can breathe. I keep my breaths slow and steady as I wake my numb tingling appendages. When my arm works—well enough—I toss it over my face. Under the shelter of my heavy limb, I blink my eyes open again. The images are fuzzy—like I’m looking through a camera that’s out of focus—but I see hospital equipment. An IV shunt clings to my arm, wrapped with bandages. As soon as I see it, I feel the pain it’s pinching into my flesh.

  Digging my heels into the bed, I attempt to sit up. The tug at my groin forces me to grunt. Bad idea. I lie down again. There must be a catheter in addition to the IV maybe something else, too. I can feel wires and tubes at my feet. The room slowly comes into focus and I see empty chairs, silk flowers on the nightstand, and a closed wooden door.

  Reaching over my body, I force my hands to peel the bandage off my arm. My fingers barely work. They look normal but they feel enormous. My arm is like lead, I have to rest several times and start again before I can get the white mesh off.

  Finally, it’s done. I rip off the clear adhesive tape and yank out the needle. An alarm wails as my blood spurts out. An umber-skinned woman wearing floral scrubs rushes through the door.

  “Oh my God!” she calls out in a thick Latina accent. “He’s awake. Call the doctor!”

  Everything gets fuzzy again as she approaches my bed.

  “Where’s Sylvie?” I croak out, not recognizing the sound of my voice.

  “Everything is going to be okay,” she says as my senses begin to drift out of my control.

  I fall back into darkness, fighting to stay awake but knowing I will lose. In those last seconds as I cling to my awareness, I focus on her. Not the nurse, the woman I’m going to marry as soon as I get the fuck out of here.

  Chapter Two

  The wind rustles through the trees that line the long avenue. The autumn air is sweet and crisp. I walk past one large brick and plaster house and then a another and then another. The pristinely manicured gardens and the ostentatious elevations change, but each property lining the street is basically identical, just like mine.

  Oscar yanks on his leash and I give him enough slack to lead me to his favorite tree. I know that I’m supposed to reprimand him for jerking my arm; Silas would have given me that look, the silent lecture on being a responsible dog owner.

  “But he’s not here. Is he, boy?” I coo, squatting to give the beagle a snuggle.

  He licks my face and then returns to the tree to continue sniffing.

  Forty minutes later we return to the house and Paloma offers me a bright smile.

  “How was the walk, Mrs. Chambers?”

  “Great, thanks,” I answer, liberating Oscar from his leash.

  He bounds off and I wash my hands in the mud sink. I sit on a kitchen stool and watch Paloma chopping vegetables. The middle-aged woman steps onto a footstool to reach a glass bowl. At no more than five feet tall, she needs a step up to reach most things in the cabinet, but she never asks for help. She runs my house like a well-oiled machine and somehow always manages to make it look effortless.

  “Can I help?” I ask.

  Paloma laughs and her fuzzy salt and pepper curls bounce. The smile she casts leaves graceful wrinkles around her mouth and eyes and brings a warm hue into her pecan-colored cheeks.

  “I cannot let you into the kitchen, Mrs. Chambers. Mr. Chambers will be very very angry with me if you cut yourself again.”

  Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I exhale my indignation and place a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “Paloma, you’re not my babysitter, you’re the housekeeper.”

  I place another cutting board next to hers and take a bell pepper from the colander in the sink. Beads of water slide down its curves and I put my hand underneath to catch the water drops. The last thing Paloma needs is a wet floor. The knife whistles as I pull it from the block. Glancing at the pepper on her cutting board, I begin to dissect my pepper in the same way, casting off the seeds and dicing the flesh. She shoots me a nervous sideways glance but doesn’t say anything. The sounds of the knives chopping fill the spacious kitchen.

  “It’s just a few vegetables,” I chortle. “We don’t have to tell Silas.”

  She arches a brow but remains silent. I’m not irritated with her or with Silas. They care. As much as my husband’s determination to mollycoddle me grates at my nerves, his relentless care for my welfare is the reason I love him.

  Every time I want to challenge him for treating me like a child, I remember that he’s the first person to do so. My parents, whoever they might have been, were either unwilling or unable to cosset me, choosing instead to deposit me at the nearest emergency room. The series of foster ‘families’ that followed were so busy with the charges who needed extra care that the quiet, studious girl who never made trouble was the least of their concerns. Silas and Paloma are the only people to ever baby me and I can’t resent them for it. But I still need to be… useful.

  “I really don’t know what to do with myself,” I start, not that Paloma had asked, “I’ve been so busy with Levi for the last three years… Now that he’s started school… I think I need to get a job.”

  “What would you do?”

  “Well, before I married Silas I was copyediting for a local paper. I think it shut down. But there are other papers. Or maybe I could go freelance? Only, I don’t really know how to get writers to hire me. Maybe… Ouch!”

  A thin line of blood appears on my finger and Paloma puts her knife down.

  “This,” she says, taking my knife away with a scowl, “is exactly why Mr. Chambers and I do not allow you into the kitchen. Your hands are not steady.”

  I open my mouth but then close it again, allowing my guilty silence to linger as Paloma leads me to the sink where I wash my bloody finger. Feeling every bit the nuisance that I’ve made myself, I vow to find something useful to do—outside of the kitchen. A thud startles me as Paloma drops a box of bandages on the counter. She dries my cut with sterile gauze and bandages it with a stern look. She returns to her chopping as I inspect her flawless work.

  “Sorry,” I mutter as I leave the kitchen.

  “I appreciat
e your intentions, Mrs. Chambers. Don’t worry, you’ll find something to do. It’s just the first week of school. Maybe you should read a book until it’s time to get your son?”

  “Yeah,” I breathe.

  Walking down the hallway to the library, I pass the large closet I’d cleaned out yesterday and the laundry room I’d reorganized the day before. I pause at the last door at the end of the hallway. I’ve been ignoring it all week. I told Silas I’d get to it this week. But I haven’t managed so much as opening the door.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you’re up to it, baby?” he asked. “I can have my parents watch Levi on Saturday, so we can go through it all then. We can pack up his stuff together. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

  He squeezed my hand, pinning me with his eyes, urging me to say yes. He wanted to help, but I didn’t want him to see me crying over another man. He’d understand, but I never want him to know how deeply rooted those feelings remain.

  “I’m sure,” I said, turning away.

  I couldn’t look into his eyes anymore. I felt the heat of his gaze as I walked away.

  * * *

  It’s Thursday and I’ve run out of other projects. There are no more excuses. I turn the knob and push the door open. Towers of boxes crowd what is meant to be a library. I haven’t needed the space, but if I want to start editing again, I will. My wandering eyes land on a pair of hiking boots, his boots, and a tear streams down my face. I step out of the room and close the door.

  Leaning backwards, I calm my racing heart with slow, deep breaths. Oscar scratches at my legs.

  “I’ll try again tomorrow, boy.”

  He barks and I squat down to wiggle his long ears before I head for the bedroom. I only make it a few steps before the chime halts my movements. Moving to the front door, I see a familiar outline in the ornamental glass doors. When I swing them open, he smiles—a smile so similar to the one that haunts my dreams.

  “Hey, Sylvie, how about a little sugar for your almost brother.”

  Laughing, I wrap my arms around his middle and his long body bends around me. Oscar growls and bares his little teeth.

  “Oscar,” I scold. “Go play.”

  With a few more yips the beagle scampers off and I return my attention to my guest.

  “It’s good to see you, Noah.”

  “Yeah, well, when I saw the date…”

  He rubs the back of his neck and that guilty-sad look he gets whenever the subject arises makes me want to give him a hug. I don’t. I offer an understanding smile and an empathetic nod instead.

  “I can’t believe it’s been four years. I just walked into the room where I keep all his stuff. I’m supposed to organize it this week, you know since Levi started school…”

  “Hey, how is the little guy?” he cuts in, jumping on the change of subjects. “How’s he doing at the old stomping ground?”

  “So far so good. Everyone keeps telling me how much he looks like…”

  My voice breaks and I have to swallow before I finish. Shaking my head and forcing a smile, I take a deep breath.

  “I guess there are a lot of old teachers there,” I finish.

  Noah smiles tightly. He shifts from one foot to the other, the way he always does when we talk about Jeremy.

  “Well I guess it’s good that he does look so much like Jeremy, otherwise, Bruce and Sharon wouldn’t be paying for St. Pauls.”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s good that they want to… be involved. Better late than never, right?”

  My nervous laugh fails to hide the years of hurt I’m harboring. Noah strokes my arm.

  “Hey, they’re jerks. Always have been. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive them for how they treated you after…”

  “You know what?” I interrupt. “I don’t want to talk about it. They apologized years ago… sort-of. And truthfully, Silas and I could have afforded to send him to St. Pauls without their help anyway.”

  There is more than a touch of defensiveness in my voice. I’d grown tired of the Bradfords treating me like a pity case long before Levi was conceived. Noah was always the exception. We were instant friends when Jeremy introduced us. And after his brother disappeared, Noah did everything he could to support me as we grieved our mutual loss together. My dear friend’s hand falls away and he nods. Dropping his head, he takes a few breaths before he speaks again.

  “Have you heard anything from the police recently?” he asks in a strained whisper.

  He doesn’t meet my eyes. I don’t know why he’s asking me. I was never family. Bruce and Sharon Bradford had made that eminently clear to everyone when Jeremy disappeared. I can only imagine that he would get word of any developments in his brother’s missing persons case before I did. Still, I can’t bring myself to voice the fact that I haven’t heard anything for years.

  Noah lifts his head to meet my gaze. The lateral motion of my head answers his question. And we stand there, in silence.

  “Do you want a drink or a snack or something?” I ask.

  “Nah,” he says, stepping closer. “I just came by to see you.”

  His hand rises to my cheek and cups my face. I take it between mine quickly and squeeze. Our eyes meet and I’m glad to see he’s sober. Noah’s on-again-off-again relationship with binge drinking is always in the back of my mind. But he’s been steady for years now. He looks down at our hands as I let go. Dragging a hand through his hair, he steps away from me and back over the threshold.

  “I’ll see you later, Sylvie,” he says as he continues down the front steps. He nudges away the kickstand and mounts his Ducati. His poised helmet hovers in the air as he turns back to me with that Bradford boy smile.

  “Take care of my nephew, sweetheart.”

  “Ride safe, Noah,” I call.

  He rides away and a twinge of nostalgia brings fresh tears to my eyes. I remember riding on the back of that bike with its previous owner. I remember the feel of the wind in my hair and my arms tight around him. I shiver as I remember everything.

  Wandering through the house, I find myself in my bedroom. I type in the code for the safe and I pull out the small leather box that sits in the darkest corner. I don’t open it often, but I’m already back there, grieving him, missing him. So I lift the lid. Inside is the six-carat champagne sapphire ring that Noah found in Jeremy’s desk when he cleaned out his office.

  * * *

  “Don’t let them know that I gave it to you,” he said as he placed the box in my palm.

  We both knew who he meant by ‘them,’ so I understood why he’d been so secretive about it. All of Jeremy’s valuable things were meant to be returned to the Bradfords. I was grateful to get the things from his apartment that were left after Sharon’s people went through it all. When I opened the box the first time, I passed out. Noah caught me and carried me to the bedroom. He watched over me until I woke up and then stayed with me until I stopped sobbing.

  “I didn’t know he was going to propose,” I croaked out through my grief.

  Noah turned my face to his and looked into my eyes.

  “My brother was an arrogant, selfish, ass, Sylvie, but he knew that he’d never meet anyone who could hold a candle to you. Only a fool wouldn’t have done everything he could to have you forever.”

  My head fell on his shoulder and he stroked my hair.

  “I promise I’ll always be here to take care of you,” he said, “but you could always sell it if things got rough. It’s worth a lot and I’ll make sure you get all the paperwork on it.”

  * * *

  I didn’t know that I was pregnant yet. I thought the sick, rundown feeling was grief. At first, the ring gave me hope that he would come back for me. I held tight to that fantasy as I searched for him. But when he didn’t return, when I couldn’t find him, I began to wonder if he’d changed his mind and left me. Four years later, I still struggle with the questions.

  I’ll never know why Jeremiah Bradfo
rd disappeared. I’ll never know if he truly wanted to marry me. But I’ve accepted the ambiguity. All I have left now are my fantasies and the precious treasures Jeremy left me: my son and this shimmering, beautiful rock.

  Slipping my wedding ring off and sliding the rare stone onto my finger, I know that I’m the fool. I gaze at the way the antique setting wraps around the stone. The fit is perfect. Jeremy knew my taste so well. The ring is beyond beautiful. It’s still the most magnificent piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen, and knowing that he had it custom made for me, makes it even more exquisite. I wipe away fresh tears as I nestle the ring into its box and tuck it behind the beautiful things my husband has given me over the years.

  “What kind of idiot wastes time fantasizing about a man who’s been gone for four years?”

  Shaking my head, I slide my wedding ring back onto my finger and seal the safe. I consider selling Jeremy’s ring. I’ve been considering it since the day Noah gave it to me. The paperwork is in our files. Selling the ring would have kept Levi and me in a comfortable lifestyle for long enough for me to reestablish my career after he was old enough for school. But I cling to this last ember of his love the same way I’ve clung to the boxes in the library.

  “Idiot,” I chide myself as I walk out to the bedroom.

  Chapter Three

  I’m trying to stand when the doctor shows up again.

  “I need to get out of here,” I tell him, rising to my full height.

  “I know you’re eager to go, Mr. Bradford. But you’ve just emerged from a four-year coma. We didn’t even know your name until you told us. You had no identification on you when you were found on the side of the street…”

  “Well, now you do know my name. So let me call my girlfriend and my family so I can get out of here.”

  “We called the numbers you gave us. Your father sent his personal physician to verify your identity.”

  “What about Sylvie? Did you call the other number? I told you to call her first. She’s probably been so desperate for news all these years.”