Roman's Redemption: Roman: Book II (Roman's Trilogy)

by Kimber S. Dawn

  “Mouse, father and I are going to talk in my office. Keep Mother company for me?” Roman’s hands squeeze my shoulders as he kisses my temple, standing behind me.

  “Of course.” I turn, heading in to the house to find my mother in law, and just as always when I see Dolores carrying Ivy upstairs, I feel Mace begin to stir in the corner of my mind as her hackles rise.

  “Ms. Heather, while I was dressing Ms. Ivy this morning, I noticed how scuffed up her black patent leather shoes are, is it alright if she and I run to Baby & Co. downtown. I saw some there last weekend that would look precious on her.”

  Around Mace screaming and ramming her way into my conscious I somehow maintain control, “Yes, Dolores,” I smile at Ivy who’s eyes are lit up in utter delight, “Do you want to go with Nana D, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, mommy! So, so bery much!” She squeals.

  I nod, “Alright, alright. But behave, and mind Nana D, am I understood, little lady?” She grins, adamantly nodding. “Dolores, let me grab some money from my purse, I’ll be just a minute.” As I go to move around her, she stops me with a hand circling my wrists.

  “I’ve got it, Ms. Heather. Don’t worry about it, child, really, I love to give Ms. Ivy prizes for being such a good girl.”

  Mace is literally screaming bloody murder something I can’t comprehend, clawing at the matter in my brain to the point of a migraine fracturing my eyesight as I lean in to kiss Ivy goodbye and say our ‘I love you’s’.

  Thankfully as soon as Dolores and Ivy disappear out the front door, Mace stops fighting for control and slumps to the floor in the dark recesses of my mind, ebbing the migraine to a dull headache.

  “You stupid fucking cunt, what have you done?” Mace’s head lolls to the side wall of my brain and her eyes pierce mine through the curtain of her hair, “You don’t even know what you’ve done, do you?”

  Done what? What have I done?

  “I’m sorry, Mace, I understand why you’re apprehensive. Really I do, but it’s time you realize I’m surrounded by my life and the people I love, who in return love me and I trust. Mace, I can’t remember the things you were so brutally forced to endure, but I thank you all the same. You were and always will be my hero. Mace, what I’m trying to tell you is, you can go. I don’t, no…I won’t be needing you again.”

  She remains slumped against the wall, her eyes flashing from brown to hazel to gold, with bolts of lightning behind them. She doesn’t speak for the longest time.

  “Mac, I am no hero, so before you start honoring me with purple hearts and titles of well decorated ranks, I need you to understand someth—“

  “NO! No. Just get out of my face, go. I don’t need you anymore, Mace. GO! AWAY! Is my life perfect? No. But I accept the fact it never will be. Our perfect, imperfect chaos doesn’t weaken what I have with Roman nor does it make it any less, and it for damn sure will never lesson how much I completely love our little misfit family.”

  “Heather, darling, I understand the men have delegated us both to keep the other busy while they discuss ’Payne’ family and business matters.” Vivian, Roman’s mother’s voice pulls me from my inner conflict. Her frail arm hooks in the crook of my elbow before tugging me into the parlor off to the side of the foyer. “If I may, I would like to request some tea time while we chat. From what Roman has said, you haven’t had anyone replace the role your mother’s death left…”

  I halt dead center in the middle of the parlor, spin and narrow my eyes on my mother in law. Her posture goes visibly rigid and before I can process my thoughts of the accusations I read between the lines of her statement.

  Vivian shuffles from one foot to the other before turning and mixing a stiff drink, and then another, sliding it across the end table. When I glance up at her I see her warm eyes smiling down at me. “My darling daughter, I know more than anyone else in this world the ache a man leaves behind, alone…with nothing but the non-approximated lacerations across our heart, and as much as I want to lie, telling you how time heals all wounds,” Her voice cracks and the tears she tries to conceal and blink away spill over her lashes. “When the Payne men find something they want, they always get it. Are they perfect? No. Are they gentlemen? They can be. Will they stray, cheat, and lie? Yes, they will. Will they love you like you’ve never been loved, hold you like their life depends on holding you? Yes.”

  Vivian’s hand comes up to my face and tucks the loose strands of my hair behind my ears, “There isn’t a single thing about loving a Payne man that’s easy. It’s a passionate, raw, no holds bar kind of love that leaves you weak at the knees, and you feel the muscles attached to your bones begin to tremble. Their love is a naturally intense and possessive love. My mother compared it best on my wedding day when she said, “Viv, all I ever wanted for you was to find a man you liked, but would grow and learn to love. Now, in this moment, I’m as frightened for you as I am envious of you. I’m also proud of you. While you could have easily chosen an average husband, you went out into the world and found your something better.”

  “Heather, do you understand what I’m saying?” My eyes jerk back to Roman’s mother’s.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I toss back the contents of my glass before smiling at Vivian, “I can’t tell you how much this conversation helped, Mrs. Payne. Thank you, so, so very much.” I kiss her cheek. “Would you let Roman know I went to lie down for an afternoon nap, please?”

  “Of course, love. Thank you for patiently listening to an old woman’s prattle.”

  After I’ve changed into a silk cami and dark gray flannel lounge pants I peel back the covers of our bed before slipping between the sheets and down comforter.

  I don’t know if it was today’s events and company, or a consequence of Roman keeping me awake as we continued to build one another up to catch each other as we fall, but I’m constantly tired and drained of energy.

  It echoes like a dream, it feels like a dream, I’m relaxed to the point of stasis between reality and dream. However, when Mace’s voice ricochets through my subconscious mind like the ear curdling sound of an off tuned instrument making her words almost undiscernible, I regretfully hear and allow every one of her words to slam against me like a wrecking ball.

  Still slouched against the barren wall, Mace’s flashing eyes study mine, “Congratulations. You’ve finally done it. You’ll never see your daughter again. Never. As Dr. Kylie Sharp would say, how does it make you feel, knowing the world would actually be a better place if you just gave in? Just give up, accept your loss in this game of life. Kill yourself at your next opportunity.

  And as the last liters turn to quarts, and quarts turn to cups, and those turn to ounces, turn to tablespoons, pray there is reincarnation. Hope, wish, and pray. We both know you’re already dead, you just haven’t stopped living yet.”

  Chapter 23

  “My flight leaves in two hours.” I honestly wasn’t ready for this plan to be set in motion, I mean I made sure everything was in order, made sure Lizbeth cleaned and furnished Mother’s old family sugar cane plantation, Le Angelina in Orleans Parish, Louisiana, at Mother’s insistence, of course. But I can’t help but dread leaving this hecatomb where I am able to easily free the world of the wretched dregs and filth of humankind.

  After Armenia, I didn’t allow myself to remain in one country for more than a night. I can hardly remember the last few countries I visited. Prague was one, Krakow another, I think I remember being in Budapest, but I can’t be certain. Currently I’m in an underground hostel somewhere in the Ukraine, Kiev, from what I was able to translate the inn keeper saying last night.

  “Child, this is your project, not mine. I’ll get che’re bebe, Ivy to the house and get her settled in, but I can’t be too much into it. You do understand, son, don’t you?”

  “I’m not quite sure where else you have to be, or what else there is for you to do for your precious Roman, Mother, but I can promise you this, he isn’t going to have any need for you after his sweet Ivy is gone and
his dear Heather’s mind has finally and completely fractured.” As I speak those words my fury, rage, hatred, all pulse into my blood stream.

  I’ve known Mother’s demise was nearing, I’ve also known it would be by my hand, but until this moment, it’s been a burden I haven’t wanted to accept.

  However, when it dawns on me Mother still favors Roman and his happiness over mine, excitement fills me at the idea of being her executioner.

  “We’ll discuss this when we meet tomorrow. I only contacted you to let you know your request has been carried out, to make sure Lizbeth found Plantation Le Angelina in suitable living conditions for you, her and Ivy, as well as notify you that the wheels of your plan have been set in motion. Our plane is boarding now, I have to let you go, child. I love you. Goodbye.”

  The phone clicks dead in silence and a split second later my cellphone shatters against the cement wall above the mattress where Anna’s lifeless, carved corpse remains from sometime last night or early this morning.

  I haven’t tasted happiness since living with Mac those first few weeks after Ivy’s birth, and again for only a short period after bringing Mac to the ranch. Even though I allow myself to indulge in the sight of the whores’ blood and their split skin over and over, nothing suffices or quenches my thirst for this new found need of revenge. The darkness inside me only grows as my sanity slips alongside the last fragments of my happiness and contentment.

  I pray when the down fall of my mother is finally executed and the younger version of Mac is at last under my roof, I will once again feel the happiness I’ve so eagerly chased for more than two years.

  I’m afraid if this doesn’t work, nothing will, and that is what scares the living hell out of me—never finding true happiness again. It is something I would rather die than live without.

  In only a few more days, I will finally get my sweet darlin’, Winter back.

  Lizbeth is putting my things away while Mother and I sit on the front porch watching Ivy play in the sprawling, rich green grounds surrounding the plantation. Contentment settles around me and for the first time in a long time I feel as though I can finally, blessedly breathe.

  “I knew you’d like it here.” Mother’s voice stirs me from my internal musings. “You were born here, child, I know you only remember the ranch growing up, but we lived here with my momma and her sisters until you turned one. Sittin’ out here watching Ivy play brings back so many of those memories.”

  From the corner of my eye I watch my mother’s hand come up and wipe away a stray tear before continuing to speak with a cracked voice, “I…Sebastian, I know I wasn’t the best Momma in the world. I know you’re angry at me, and if there was anything I could do to take back time and fix the things my actions broke, I promise, child, I would.”

  “You would?” I ask narrowing my eyes on hers as she nods. “And what about the things your actions are breaking now, you gonna fix those too, or wait thirty more years before you let the guilt of them reach your soul?”

  She gasps as if I’ve struck her, as if the words I speak are sins committed in the middle of the church aisle before the entire congregation.

  My chuckle causes her to recoil, sinking back into her seat and turning herself away from me.

  “Mother, your job is done here, go,” I nod towards the road. “Go back to your beloved Roman. I think Lizbeth, Ivy, and I will manage just fine without you.” I stand from the porch swing and jog down the steps and out into the yard over to where Ivy is kneeled in the grass watching as two ladybugs crawl up each of her chubby fingers and around her wrist.

  “Hey, Winter Ivy, whatcha got there?” She flicks both ladybugs off her hand and looks away. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Can I get you something?”

  After she stands up she brushes her hands down the backside of her skirt and runs towards the house calling out over her shoulder, “Yeah. You can get me my shoes and take me back to my momma and daddy!”

  When she slams the front door behind her my eyes drift over to where Mother is standing on the edge of the porch. It strikes me how much she looks like royalty, her green chiffon dress is blowing in the warm, humid wind. Her dark dress contrasts against the white house with seven massive pillars holding up the two hundred year old house.

  When our eyes lock her eyebrow raises and she smirks before turning and following Ivy into the house.

  It takes time. Patience. Love. As well as the desperate need to succeed in order to obtain something you truly want. Winter was much harder to break and remold than I originally thought she would be. We had our squabbles, our disagreements, which I guess is all a part of breaking down a spoiled child and making sure she is taught her place. Luckily for her, she is a quick learner. Ask questions, you go in the box. Disobey, you go in the box. Talk back, disrespect, ask for your parents, fail to eat your dinner, defy me in any way, you go in the box. The first few times I was concerned, but before I changed my strategy little miss Winter’s screams began to become quieter, her fingers, once bloody nubs from clawing at the raw wood of the box started healing, and her time spent in the box lessened fairly quickly. And when I saw the last of that obstinate fire in her eyes, the last of her will being snuffed from her young soul, I knew I’d finally succeeded. I’d finally won.

  I didn’t like the amount of weight she’d lost because of her misbehavior, but sometimes a parent has to accept there are some things even we cannot control.

  It’s been almost a week since Winter has been punished and sent to the box, she’s set her own little record and I doubt I could be more proud. Well, at least until the first time I saw her in her preschool uniform.

  My dear sweet Winter, pretty as a flower. Lizbeth french braided her hair into pigtails. She wore her white cap sleeved button up shirt tucked into her blue plaid skirt, with knee high socks and her shiny black patent leather shoes. Pretty as a flower.

  “We’re all ready, aren’t we Winter?” Lizbeth smiles while helping Winter with her backpack.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Remember the rules?” I ask her walking from the shadows of the room.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lizbeth hands her a lunch box.

  “Most important?”

  She sighs before straightening her back and correcting her posture, “My name is Winter Angelina and I moved here from up in New…” Her brows furrow, “New Yolk. You is my dad,” Her chin quivers and her eyes water for a split second, causing me to almost kibosh this entire absurd plan. Then she looks at Lizbeth, smiles and whispers, “You is my mommy.”

  I stare at her, dead pan, “New York. Upstate New York. I guess it’ll be fine. Surely they’ll blame your ignorance on your young age.”

  I see her mother’s attitude glaring at me from her blue eyes before she’s able to hide it. When I step forward and raise my hand prepared to slap her across her bratty face, Lizbeth steps forward.

  “You did very good, sweetie. Let’s get going, you don’t want to be late to school on your first day.” Lizbeth grabs her keys and smiles over her shoulder at me, leaving she mouths ‘goodbye.’

  Damn spoiled little bitch.

  Oh little miss Winter will be spending the night in the outhouse out back, also known as the box for her little display of misbehavior.

  She may have been easier than her mother to break, but I have a distinct feeling my problem with her will be a continuous fight between me and the innate will and strength she inherited from both Roman and Mac.

  Chapter 24

  When the authorities found Dolores’ car abandoned on the side of the interstate ten hours after she and Ivy left to go to the shoe store only thirty minutes away, my whole world fucking exploded. From the moment Heather was found, Andrew has been working nonstop trying to find Sebastian, as far as the underworld knows, there’s a million dollar bounty on his head. I want him dead or alive. Hell, I’ll take just his head at this point. The authorities are ‘doing everything they can.’ But still everyone is coming up short.

/>   Everyone except my father, that is. Apparently he’s been funding the bastard’s extravagant lifestyle for almost a year.

  While Dolores spoke to Heather, asking to take Ivy to get her some new shoes, and Heather agreed- she then kissed our baby girl for possibly the last time, my father laid out what looked like eight by ten crime scene photos. And there were more than enough of them.

  Sebastian has been planning this game much longer than I anticipated. After the photos of my sins were laid out across my desk, more photos were laid out on top. These photos were of the different samples he’d collected. Semen, pubic hair, swabs of god only knows what, murder weapons, cut cable ties, up close pictures of pre and post mortem inflicted wounds, abrasions, and ligature marks.

  It is an extensive list of items for an expert serial killer/rapist starter kit. Practically a ‘how to guide’ for any novice looking to sharpen his skills.

  With judgment staring back at me from my father’s eyes, he promised to defend me and remain at my side. He promised we would overcome these trying times and, as a whole family, we would always make it out of every hard time. Even be strengthened from it.

  We aren’t a whole family any longer.

  And I don’t see us coming out of this stronger than before. I have half a wife and a missing daughter. Things like wholeness, strength, and family died the day Ivy went missing. Honestly I don’t believe things will ever be whole again, not until my baby girl is returned.

  There are so many questions and absolutely no answers.

  Why did Sebastian go to my father for the money when it was my debts needing to be paid? Who took Ivy? Did Sebastian? And if so, why? To hurt my wife? Or to hurt me? Where is Dolores? Was she also kidnapped? Was she murdered? Was Ivy…I can’t even finish the last thought without standing from behind my desk with such force my chair slams into the wall and I begin pacing the length of the wall made of floor to ceiling windows in my office, raking my hands through my hair.