Echo

by E. K. Blair

  “I love you! Not Bennett. Not Pike. You!”

  “Wait.” He pauses for a moment, and then continues, “That name. That guy . . . I went to see him. Found his name in the file your husband had on you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “This shit is so fucked up. I can’t even get my thoughts straight.”

  “Pike’s my brother,” I reveal.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “My foster bother,” I clarify in a rush. “He’s my foster brother.”

  “The same guy that was beating you?”

  I nod.

  “Do you know how sick this is? How sick you are? Fucking three men?”

  Wiping my eyes, I move to sit on my knees. “I’m so sorry. I know it sounds messed up.”

  “Sounds? No, Nina, it is messed up. You need serious help, you know that?”

  I don’t bother correcting him when he calls me Nina.

  He stands up, looking down on me in fury. “I can’t believe I fell for something as disgusting as you.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” I say in a panic. “I didn’t like him like that. There were no feelings attached. It was the opposite of what you’re thinking. I used him so I didn’t have to feel. He was a vice. That’s all sex was with him. A vice to numb me.”

  “Numb you from what, Nina?”

  “From life!” I cry out. “From everything!”

  “Everything? Even me?”

  “No. Not you. Once I realized how I felt for you, I never touched him again. I couldn’t, because your hands were the only ones I wanted to be touched by. But I was already pregnant; I just didn’t know it.”

  He paces the room, enraged.

  “Declan, there’s so much you don’t know. So much I never told you because I couldn’t.”

  “You could, you were just too selfish.”

  “Okay, yes. You’re right. I was selfish. Selfish and scared. But you loved me, right?”

  “I don’t know who the fuck you are! Tell me. Tell me who you are because I’m so goddamn confused right now!”

  “I don’t know,” I whimper and then stand with him.

  “You do know.”

  “I don’t. I want to know. I’m trying.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “I don’t know!”

  Pacing a couple more times in determined strides, he finally gives up and walks to the door.

  “I can’t do this shit anymore.”

  And then he walks out, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

  Sobs explode out of me—loud and vulgar. I don’t expect him to understand or to even want to. I’m sick; I know that. I knew I’d never have him again, but it doesn’t make the pain any less awful when he walks away from me.

  “Elizabeth!” Isla calls out in urgency as she rushes into my room.

  I instantly catch myself, swallowing back my sobs and wiping my face. “I’m fine. I’m so sorry for the disruption,” I say thickly as I weakly feign composure.

  “Stop that!” she scolds as she takes my hand and walks me over to sit on the bed. “Are you okay, lassie?”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  And with the pitying look on her face, I know she isn’t the slightest bit convinced.

  “What was the McKinnon boy doing here? You never mentioned knowing him when we were discussing him the other morning.”

  “I’m sorry, Isla,” I state calmly now that my breathing is steadying.

  “Sorry?”

  “I do know Declan, I just didn’t want anyone to know.”

  Her thumb strokes the top of my hand, looking over me, and finally concludes, “It was him. He’s the love you lost.” She doesn’t question, only states what she’s figured out.

  I nod and apologize once more for pretending to not know who he was the other day.

  “I’m confused though. I thought you told me he died?”

  And now I must lie, because I can’t possibly tell her the truth.

  “I guess it was easier to pretend him dead. The thought of living in a world where he existed without me was much too painful.”

  With a tilt of her head, her brows tug in sorrow for me.

  “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

  Shaking her head, she affirms, “Don’t be. You’re heartbroken; it’s understandable.”

  “But it’s not excusable.”

  “It is, dear.”

  We sit for a while as she continues to hold my hands before adding, “He seemed quite angry.”

  “He is. But if it’s all right with you, I’d rather not discuss it.”

  “Of course not,” she responds. “Is there anything I can do? Anything I can get you?”

  “Thank you, but I’m fine.”

  “Okay then. Well, I’ll leave you be. Good night.”

  “Good night,” I say as she walks out of the room and closes the door behind her.

  I remain on the bed, unmoving, and alone with my thoughts. Exhaustion presses down on me as I turn my head to the side and eye my luggage.

  Maybe I could stay a little longer.

  I know I shouldn’t. I know I need to need go and erase myself from Declan’s life so he can move on and heal. It’s a lost cause trying to explain all of this to him. But maybe it doesn’t even matter, because in the end, he’s right. I’m fucked up and none of this makes any sense.

  “WHAT ARE YOU doing here?” I ask when I pull up beside Lachlan’s car sitting outside the gates to my house.

  Holding up a file, he calls out, “Property closing. I need you to sign.”

  Christ, all I want is to be alone with a bottle of Aberfeldy. To try my best to relax and calm the nerves that Nina has so intensely provoked.

  Lachlan pulls in behind me and follows me up to the house. I’m on edge, still unable to even think about what just happened and the things she told me. If I allow myself to go to that place in my head right now, I’ll completely lose my shit. So when I get out of the car, I exert control and compose myself.

  “You couldn’t have emailed this to me?” I complain as we walk inside.

  “They won’t accept an electronic signature.”

  Flipping on the lights, I head back to the library to go over the final contract on the property in London I’ve been contending to acquire.

  “You have any plans on selling this place?” Lachlan asks, and when I take a seat on the couch, he sits opposite me in one of the chairs.

  “Why?”

  “It’s pretentious.”

  “Fucking dobber,” I breathe under my breath.

  “I heard that, you bastard.”

  “Good.”

  I’ve known Lachlan since our college days. He was working on his PhD while I was working on my master’s at Saint Andrews. We were both a part of the OxFam Society and worked on many campaigns together. We’ve remained linked because of his relationship with my father. When Lachlan was my age, he worked in wealth management at one of the top firms in London, where my dad keeps his investments. Lachlan was his advisor for many years before he opted for a less demanding position and started advising small companies independently.

  While I was still living in Chicago, I knew I’d soon be back here. Since I was already involved with purchasing the property in London, my father put in a call, and now Lachlan works solely for me. He handles my business finances and also a children’s education foundation I’ve had for many years now.

  “Everything should be as we discussed with the bank,” he tells me as I read through the document.

  “Looks good.” I sign the papers and slip them back in the file. Handing it over to Lachlan, I say, “Life’s about to get busy.”

  “Good thing?”

  “Very. After Chicago, I’m ready to dive into this project.”

  “You ever gonna tell me what the hell happened?”

  Standing up, I don’t respond. Instead, I walk across the room to the liquor cart, pull the crystal stopper from the decanter, and begin pouring
myself a glass of Scotch.

  “Declan?”

  “Drink?”

  “No,” he responds. “So, tell me. What happened?”

  “Nothing to tell.”

  I take a sip, relishing the twenty-one-year-old single malt. I allow the smooth smoke of the Scotch to settle on my tongue before swallowing. I appreciate its offering as it makes its way down, heat spreading through my chest.

  “She leaves tomorrow, you know?”

  “And your point?”

  The boyish, smug look on his face grates me, along with the way he relaxes himself into the chair.

  “She’s stunning.”

  Tossing back the glass of whiskey, my face pinching against the burn, I set the glass down, and the clank of crystal against glass reveals my frustration.

  “Remind me again why I’m friends with you.”

  “Look, it’s apparent there are hurt feelings between the two—”

  I stop him mid-sentence, snapping, “What are you, my fucking therapist? Don’t pretend to have insight into something you clearly know nothing about.”

  “I spent the afternoon with her. She’s easy to read.”

  I laugh as I walk back over to the couch. “That woman is anything but easy to read. Trust me. Don’t let her fool you. And what the hell are you doing talking to her? I told you to watch her, not befriend her.”

  The mere idea of Lachlan spending time with her and not knowing what’s being said or what their interactions are like rubs a raw spot in me. To not know, and the fact that it bothers me so much, it’s infuriating. It’s the way she was able to claw her way inside of me and burrow into the one vacant spot no one has ever been able to find makes me hate her even more. She’s a cherub of martyrdom, and I, her willing victim. Willing because, as much as I want to, I can’t let the red-headed sadist go. I doubt I’ll ever be able to because of the mark she’s left on me. I’m the unhealed remnant left in her destructive wake.

  “She wants me to find her mother,” he eventually tells me, cutting the silence.

  My eyes dart to his. “What?”

  “I offered.”

  Why the fuck is she giving parts of her truth to him that she hasn’t given me?

  “Isn’t that fantastic!” My cynical words come out loudly. “Do me a favor, try obeying my orders next time. Follow her and cut the friendly shit.”

  “No need to follow. Like I said, she leaves tomorrow,” he informs as he pushes himself off from the chair. Standing in front of me, he shrugs on his coat and grabs the file. “I’ll deliver the documents.”

  Leaning forward, I prop my elbows on my knees as I listen to his loafers echo down the foyer.

  “I want to know when you find her mother!” I holler.

  “Will do,” he calls back before the sound of the door closing grants me much needed isolation.

  Slumping down into the couch, I rest my head and stare up at the ceiling, replaying the evening. Everything about it is a Gordian knot. And not just the words that were spoken, but the wound I gave her that she’s successfully mutilated. I remember ripping the hair from her scalp and the pleasure it gave me to punish her. But her reaction was not what I expected. She didn’t as much as yelp at what must have been blisteringly painful. She simply stood there as tears dripped down her face, yet she wasn’t crying, not like you would think.

  But tonight, when I walked in on her and saw the blood, my only reaction was to help her. Taking care of her and cleaning her up makes me sick, now that I think about it, but in the moment, all the turmoil faded. It was when she started to speak that it all came crashing back. It flooded the room, drowning me in its weight when she told me she didn’t know if the baby was mine.

  That fucking baby.

  All I wanted was that baby. I never knew I wanted one so badly until she told me she was pregnant. Instantly, my soul split and begged to have a son or daughter fill me. I would close my eyes and dream about it.

  The news birthed a surge of overwhelming protectiveness inside of me, and I would have done anything for the two of them the moment she told me she lost the baby.

  And I did.

  It happened all too fast.

  Walking away from Nina as she fought the nurse’s restraints . . . Speeding through the traffic . . . Grabbing my pistol from the car’s console . . . The chill of the metal against my back as I tucked it in my pants . . . Pulling into The Legacy’s garage . . . Back entrance . . . Elevator . . . Fury running thick through my veins.

  Doors open, I walk.

  Foyer, living room, hallway.

  Door.

  Head and heart pound. Ears ring. Blood boils.

  One hand on gun, the other on door.

  Open . . . Aim . . . BANG.

  I can still smell the gunpowder, see the look of fear in Bennett’s eyes, hear him gurgling and choking on his own blood. I killed a man—an innocent man—point-blank. His last words, a plea for me to not do it, still haunt me. But I did it anyway because I thought him to be the man Nina manipulated to me. I believed he killed my baby, and for that, he would die.

  But it was a lie.

  I shake the visions from my head and walk over to pour myself another glass of Scotch. It’s my pathetic attempt to quiet the demons in me.

  The conundrum I battle with is the idea that Nina is the vile one, and that somehow I’m good. But I’m not. I’m a killer. She didn’t pull that trigger—I did. I don’t want to bathe in the same evil as she, but I do.

  It was her that screwed with my head, twisting truth with lies, creating me into this monster. But a monster I am, just as she, and I allowed. Whether I intended to or not—I still allowed it.

  But it isn’t just what I did, it’s what she did—or didn’t do. Leaving me to die. Not doing anything to help me. Yet tonight, she vowed she loves me and wants to do everything to save me from the path she put me on. How could she say that when she left me with two bullets in my chest, bleeding out on the floor of my loft—bullets fired by her brother?

  God, her brother. The brother she was fucking.

  All he had to say was Go and she went, never coming back for me. I’ve been lied to and manipulated by many, but her betrayal has debilitated me, ripped my heart out, riven to obliteration. Raping the soul entirely. Who knew her hands could hold so much turpitude?

  Everything combined is impossible to digest. The contradictions she throws out do nothing but spur confusion and animosity. My mind craves clarity on the situation, but I doubt I’ll ever get that because I doubt her sanity. Yet, the mere mention of her leaving tomorrow evokes a thrum in my chest, and that shit bedevils me the most.

  I’VE BEEN TRYING my best to play the part, cooperate with the authorities, and feign my innocence, but shit is looking bad. Cal’s been sitting in jail, and it’s only a matter of time before they come after me. I can trust that Cal is keeping a tight lip, otherwise, I would’ve already been arrested. But he knows firsthand what can happen if his loyalty is compromised.

  Needless to say, with everything I stand to lose, if they uncovered my involvement in the gun trafficking and my other crimes, they’d fry me. I’m a dead man walking at this point, but I’m not a man who’s going to sit back and watch his dynasty collapse. Pawns are beginning to fall, so I need to move fast.

  The private charter is set to leave at 3:00am; everyone has been paid off and given the run-down. They know I own their tongues. My new identity is packed in my briefcase, bags are ready to go, and the car should be here shortly.

  With a stomach filled with boulders of anxiety, I walk through the dark house to my bedroom where my unknowing wife sleeps. Eeriness looms as I walk into the room. She lies there, peaceful, completely unaware of the world she walks around in daily. Unaware about who I really am. What I really do. But if I’m going to do this, I need my family. There’s no other option because they mean everything to me. So with that, I risk it all—because they’re worth it—when I sit on the edge of the bed and gently nudge her awake.

&n
bsp; She stirs, and when she begins to open her eyes, I take her face in my hands and kiss her. There’s no preparing for this life, the one I’ve chosen to live for nearly thirty years. But never in those thirty years have I been under surveillance like I am now.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” she questions, pulling away from this uncharacteristic affection.

  Remaining as calm, clear, and concise as possible so that she doesn’t freak out on me, I say, “I need you to sit up and listen to me very carefully.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “Don’t be scared. Everything is going to be okay, but I need you to listen closely because I don’t have much time.”

  She sits up and gives me a nod with fear-glazed eyes.

  I take her hands in mine. “I’m leaving the country,” I start when she interrupts me.

  “What?”

  When I place my fingers over her mouth, I stress, “I need you to not ask questions because I won’t be able to answer them. I’m begging you to trust me and know that I will do everything to keep our family together. I love you, but there’s a part of this business that isn’t legal. I’ve done some things, and now I run the risk of losing my life.” My words are partial truths, but mostly lies because there’s no point in laying it all out there. It would only put her in danger.

  Her eyes widen and her face creases in confusion as she slowly shakes her head.

  “This is what I need from you.”

  “I don’t . . . I-I . . . ”

  “Take a deep breath, hun,” I gently instruct. “You trust me?”

  Her nod comes instantly, soothing some of my worry.

  “Good. I need you to trust me. Never doubt me or my love, understand?”

  “Of course.”

  “If anyone asks about me, you tell them you don’t know where I am. You haven’t heard from me or seen me since we got into an argument over my commitment to this marriage. That if you had to guess, I’m simply hiding out in a hotel to avoid coming home.”

  “Why would I—”

  “Trust,” I say, cutting her off. “No questions because the more you know, the harder it is for me to protect you.”

  “Protection from what? F-From who?”

  Cupping her cheeks, I affirm, “No one will ever separate us, hurt us, destroy us. I need you to just stay put and lay low. Don’t talk to anyone unless you have to. But whatever you say, you do not know where I am.”