by Fiona Keane
I waited, silently observing the pair as he blabbed on and her graying eyes suggested nothing but loss. Shit. I told her what I knew weeks ago. Then why is she still here with him? My palms twitched at my side, my muscles fighting the urge to take the gun from my back and end his life. And rescue her. Her laugh tore me from the delusion, my body floating toward the sound as though completely out of my control. The sound of a Siren, a song dissolving all hate, pain, and evil from my soul with her simple giggle. I need her. I need her mouth.
The space filled while my feet anchored. What the hell do I say? How do I start? I need her. I tried to move, but only my eyes were forgiving, consuming the vision across from me. I was too damn strong for the silence and paralysis with which my body taunted me, and she was entirely my weakness.
She laughed once more at something he said, her body slinking further into the light. Where it belongs. Holy fu—Her eyes locked on mine, and the world stopped. All of it. Everything. Silent, but for the pulse of my heart raging in my skull. It was two seconds. Two beautiful seconds in which my soul willed hers to acknowledge mine, waiting for her to permit me to run across the shop and consume her. Two seconds observing the passive nature in which her gaze fell from mine and she returned to him. I stepped forward, my heart aching. She stood at the bakery case, responding to questions from patrons. I heard her voice over all others, the sound piercing my soul while its song fastened my heart. Her gaze met mine once more. Nothing.
I occupied a table near the window, hidden behind patrons and wooden crates, hoping the moment would come. It never did. And damn myself, the pathetic pompous bastard who let her go, let her slip away into the routine of her life and give her reason to truly believe our love failed. I ruined her. I was the reason she ignored me, the reason her vacant eyes expressed nothing to me of our history.
I returned three more times, my soul solidifying with its pernicious punishment. Our gazes refused to meet, while mine adhered to hers with curious observation as I contemplated every disastrous way I could isolate her in that space and take her home. It was during my fifth visit, the one my heart prepared its speech and promise to her, that Elliott confirmed my desire to kill him. He bubbled with artificial life, a destructive consequence of his addiction, while informing me he was working alone at the shop. His best friend was ill, placed back into the care of her physician because of her migraines. She was in too much pain; she wasn’t remembering routine things. She couldn’t remember. He spoke of her health, her shattered mind, too casually for our business relationship, and followed up with a question of which coffee I wanted on the house. I am the god damned house.
I pounded on Doctor Monroe’s intercom, slamming everyone’s doorbell in my hysteria, while the frozen rain poured onto me. I deserved it. All of it. I deserved to freeze to death. I deserved to be forgotten. She did not deserve this. Any of it.
“Julian?” He approached from behind, his eyes squinting with confusion. “What’s wrong?”
“When Liam and I came to you…when she went missing…” I couldn’t speak. My lungs and throat battled for precedence, stubbornly outdoing the other. “She’s…the nurses…”
Monroe’s palm lifted to my shoulder, but I shoved away his touch, unable to accept affection or calm. She doesn’t deserve this. He walked around me and opened the door to his building, ushering me inside. We were silent in the elevator, the hallway, and mute but for my panting breaths until he closed us off from his family in his study. He has a daughter. Keep it together.
“They’re at piano lessons until six.” He read my mind. “We have some time. It’s about her? Your friend?”
“Yes.” She is so much more. She is my heart, my soul, my fucking oxygen. God! I am going to rip the throats from whoever took her, did this to her, threatened us…take a breath.
“She’s with a doctor. Somewhere. I don’t know who it is. When Liam and I came to you that night she was taken—”
“I remember. We considered something bigger at play with your friend. The nurses, they couldn’t remember anything or were paid off to tell you they didn’t know. Right. I advised you of my history with patients experiencing traumatic brain injuries and memory loss and, while difficult, it isn’t impossible for memories to return.”
I looked at him, watching his wrinkled forehead curve and straighten while processing. “I went to see her, Monroe. I found her.”
“Liam told me.” God damned snitch.
I shook my head, shelving plans to murder my brother. “Four times. Four, and she looked right through me. I know my girl, Monroe. She is one stubborn, lethal little thing, and there was nothing there. Her friend advised me her migraines sent her back to her doctor, and she couldn’t remember routine things. Monroe, I was a damn routine! Me! Us! Do you have any idea what hell this has been?”
“Yes. I take your vitals monthly, Julian. You’re about to have a stroke or heart attack.” He nestled onto the corner of his desk, arms crossed along his chest while waiting for me to stop talking or die.
“I wish I would. If I wasn’t here, if she hadn’t met me…”
“You wouldn’t have met her,” he whispered. “I’ll look into who may be her doctor, but Julian?” I stopped staring at the window, my glare snapping straight into the eyes of my family’s physician. “Headaches. Forgetting routine things. Appearing to not want to talk with you…after whatever she went through…”
“It isn’t her. She would be the first voice to scream at me, the first fist to fly against me. She’s too stubborn. That woman, that shell of my love…there’s something else. It’s like she forgot. Or wanted to. Nobody could forget what we felt, what we shared. Doc?”
“Forced amnesia. Julian—” He paused while moving around his desk to search through a series of folders on a heavy shelf. “I told you it’s not impossible. It is difficult for memories to return, Julian, but not impossible. Of course, it depends on the type of injury—whether the injury is physical and irreparable, or damage to the psyche that can be repaired through intense therapeutic efforts. If, in fact, whoever held her captive had the means, it is possible to force memories from one’s mind.” No. Who. The. Fuck. I was sick, my stomach churning into my throat. My skin was melting, the heat fanning behind my eyes, blurring my vision. Someone took her, they took us. And then it hit me—she knew this was happening.
“She told me.” I paused to catch my breath. I knew the entire time and was too blinded by desperation to find her that I missed it. “She knew someone was doing this to her. She knew, Monroe. In the hospital, she told me she stopped taking their medication. They were trying to take her from me. She knew, and I let it happen. I promised her I wouldn’t let it happen.”
“You can get them back, get her back. She won’t be the same, and neither will you, and there’s a chance she may not remember.”
I turned from the window, my arms so tightly bound across my chest that my lungs ached. “How do I do it?”
Monroe scanned through his files, pulling scraps and anecdotes into a pile for our review. It was a bounty of research, jargon beyond my capacity in that moment because I wanted to die. I deserved it. Torture, pain, all of it.
“Are you hearing what I’m telling you, Julian?” His palm was on my shoulder again, but I didn’t jump that time. In fact, I barely recognized him at my side, us in that room. I had only the thought of her in my mind and missed all of what he told me. It was his summary that confirmed the possibility.
“Only you can do it,” he informed me. “If she knew something was amiss, you’re one step ahead of them. There is research out there to suggest you could, in other words, jolt something in her mind. If you’re determined, even intimidating, it may help. You’re privileged, and whether or not she remembers the truth of your family, there is plenty of reason to suspect. Be who she would assume you to be, be extreme, and it might wriggle free something within her memory.”
“Her mind is incredible, Monroe.”
“Then it won’t take yo
u too long to get her back, Julian. But you need to be strong. Your methods need to be strong. Here.” He handed me the pile of documents. “Read these. Now. The only way you’ll get her mind to switch, to get her back, is to be strong.”
To get her back, I needed to be the one person I always hated the most. Julian Patrick Molloy.
Chapter Three
Aideen
The hissing espresso machine drilled into my already throbbing brain, piercing the tissue damaged by my chronic migraine. I wiped the nozzle and poured steamed milk into the large red mug, my trembling hand unable to decorate the foam.
“That looks like bird shit,” Elliott mumbled as he passed by, carrying a platter of baked goods toward the glass case at the front of our shop. That’s appropriate because that’s how I feel.
“At least it tastes okay.” I groaned beneath my shaking breath. Dropping the damp cloth against the counter, I followed Elliott to the case. He was meticulously placing baked goods, creating intricate patterns and designs that would be erased within an hour after the morning rush.
“That’s pointless,” I teased, pressing my palm against my aching forehead. Elliott didn’t look up at me as he spoke, his fingers hovering over a platter of tiered chocolate ganache mousse cups.
“If it looks good, people will want it. When people want it, we make money. When we make money, you and I can finally get the hell out of here.”
“Someday.” I leaned my elbows against the counter. Elliott straightened, a hand on his hip. I saw him staring at me in my periphery, but I didn’t have the energy to turn.
“Someday we are getting out of here. I’m going to rescue you.” His hand pressed against my back, lightly moving in circles. “There! Beautiful. Look at this, Aid.”
I glanced at the display, smiling at his effort. “Beautiful. I’ll be in the back. I need to take something for my head.”
“Another headache?” I knew Elliott was trying not to reprimand with his tone, but I felt his judgment before the question fell from his lips.
The brass bell clunked at the door, breaking Elliott’s pitiful glare while I walked away from him. I closed the office door behind me, reveling in the momentary silence. Closing my eyes only increased the throbbing, so relaxing wasn’t an option. I pulled open a desk drawer, sorting through some notes and capless pens in search of a painkiller. There was a small bottle of ibuprofen that expired a century ago, but I greedily swallowed the remaining two pills and stepped out of the office. I overheard Elliott’s buzzing voice, intrigued by the heightened inflection in his tone. Cautiously peering around the corner, I noticed he was deep in dialogue with a man and woman. I struggled to recognize them through my hazy vision, unable to place them in my mind as it battled with pain.
“There she is.” Elliott stepped from the counter when he saw me peek at him. He pulled on my arm, dragging me out to meet his companions.
“Ah.” The woman smiled at me, extending a hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Leary.” I looked at Elliott, curious as to why he so casually told them my name.
“Yes.” I politely returned her gesture. “Did you two need some coffee? We don’t actually open for another half an hour, but—”
Elliott’s throat cleared, interrupting me. “This is Julian and Maureen.” Elliott spoke as though I should know them like the back of my eyelids. “They come every week and nearly buy out our inventory for a month. They’re like the reason we’re in business, Aid. We practically owe them our lives.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” The man smiled, waving his hands. “Not yet.”
I studied Julian and Maureen, feeling entirely beneath them in faded jeans, a Suffolk sweatshirt, and my hair in a messy pile, while they stood in thick wool and fur. Maureen’s enormous pearl earrings weighed so heavily on her earlobes that they dropped onto the high collar of her dark fur coat. I didn’t know anyone actually wore fur anymore. I assumed PETA eradicated that trend long ago. Beneath the open collar of Julian’s wool coat, I saw the knot of a tie. They were fancy people. Elliott and I were not fancy people. When I finally lifted my eyes from examining the intricacies of their attire, Elliott was staring at me expectantly.
“I’m sorry?”
“You’ll have to forgive her.” He blushed, placing an arm around my shoulders. “My partner’s a bit under the weather today. Anyway, I’ll fill your next order and send another invoice by Tuesday.”
“Sounds great.” Maureen’s bright teeth sparkled between perfectly red lips. “We’ll see you before then, I’m sure. Goodbye, Elliott. Nice to meet you, Miss Leary.”
“You too,” I muttered, leaning my elbows on the counter. “Officially.”
Julian shook Elliott’s hand once Elliott finished running his card, returning it to Julian’s manicured grasp. I waited for the bell to jingle, signaling their departure, before turning to Elliott. He anticipated my reaction, a knowing grin spread along his lips.
“Damn. They left their copy of the invoice. You need to be nice to our customers.” He playfully tapped the order form on my head. “Julian and Maureen are Molloys.”
“So?”
“Gordon Molloy.”
I lifted my head, silently questioning his expectation that I knew who Gordon Molloy was.
“The state senator,” he groaned. “That’s their grandfather.”
“So what? Why are you so hot over that?” I stuffed my hands in the front pocket of my sweatshirt and turned to lean against the counter.
Elliott scoffed, shaking his head at me. “You’re clueless, Aideen. Don’t you read the news? Ever? I don’t understand how someone as smart as you…never mind, Aid. I’m sorry. The Molloys are the epitome of corruption.”
“And we do business with them. Wonderful.”
“It wasn’t like we had a choice. You were…” Elliott cringed before continuing. “You were in the hospital when Maureen first came in to buy a bulk order.”
“So while I was there, you made deals with the devil.” I shook my head, wishing my memory was intact.
“We didn’t have a choice. You’ve seen our financials.” He groaned. “They offered to buy for a period of time, over market price, by the way.”
“Absolutely not.” I shook my head, rattling my headache even more painfully. “You cannot sell to corrupt politicians.” The bell shook against the door once more, and I knew I appeared to be a gaping fool.
“I’m sorry.” Julian returned to our view while he collected a piece of paper from the counter in front of Elliott. “I forgot our copy of the invoice.”
“Have a good day, Mr. Molloy.” Elliott blushed in Julian’s presence. Julian simply nodded at Elliott, saving the grin of his blindingly white teeth for me before leaving.
“Something tells me you’ve already signed our deal with the devil, Elliott Daly.” He turned to me, his blue eyes wide with a frightening understanding that terrified me. I knew of the Molloys. I hadn’t lived under a rock, even after being forced to live like a recluse in the halls of Saint Mary’s Hospital. Their bright teeth and sparkling eyes were all over the local and national news. Everyone knew who the Molloys were.
“This is just peachy,” I groaned, shaking my pounding head. “I’m going to do inventory. You can open and just keep signing away our lives while selling some coffee. When Emma gets in, tell her I’m in the back.”
“Fine,” he grumbled remorsefully. Spinning on my heels, I tried my best to storm away from Elliott into the confines of our hidden storage area, hoping to block out the pain and nerves for at least half an hour. The door was ajar, probably my fault, as I slid into the back room and flipped on the lights.
“Jesus!” I screamed, clenching my heart. Julian’s hands lifted defensively, hovering between us as though I was a wild animal he could subdue.
“I’m sorry.” A smile flirted with his mouth, spreading over his bright teeth while he hesitantly approached my quivering form. My left hand was latched to the doorknob, unable to move, while my right wa
s glued to the light switch. I was posed in the least defensive posture; heck, I was practically inviting him to me. Swallow. Breathe. His overcoat was open, revealing his black suit coat and pants.
“My sister,” he began speaking again, “she can be rather intimidating. It doesn’t appear that Mr. Daly communicated our deal with you.” Damn you, Elliott. I hate you.
“I want to apologize. That wasn’t how I hoped to meet you, Miss Leary.”
“Ai—Aideen.” Oh, great. I can finally speak, and all I can do is give this creep my name. I should be screaming, but I offer my name. Lovely. His hands lowered, realizing he tamed the lioness, and lifted only slightly to touch the elbow of my arm grasping the life out of the door. The jolt burned through my body, beneath layers of sleeves, into my heart and resonated in my skull. The pain in my head subsided. He must be a wizard. I have to get out of here.
“As I was saying,” Julian continued, his face inches from mine, “I apologize for her intensity and for Mr. Daly not discussing more with you.”
“You could have done this in a more appropriate way.” I swallowed, feeling the heat from his body while he towered over me. When Julian’s hold fell from my elbow and his hands tucked into his pants pockets, I recognized the sparkle of silver against his hip. Shit.
“I could have.” He grinned. “But I like surprises.” Julian lowered his face toward mine and lifted my chin so I couldn’t break eye contact. I’d been through a lot; I feared death many times, but being isolated in a dark, lonely place with Julian Molloy and his gun brought an entirely new definition of fear into my veins.
“Do I frighten you, Miss Leary?”
Fuck, yes. “Aideen.”
“Do I frighten you, Aideen?”
Did you not just read my fucking mind? “No.”
He knew I was lying. I knew he knew. I heard the smile in his voice when he mocked me and used my name, lowering his head to the side of my face. I just need to remind myself to breathe and I will survive this moment.
