by Lorenzo, DD
Her face lit up like sunshine, and her tongue slithered over her lips as the words slipped out like poison.
“Why, Mr. Dietz. I believe this will be a winning arrangement for us both. I’ve chosen something that has personal meaning to me…The Vencedor Corporation…”
The throbbing began around the same time every day, relentless in reinforcing that he was no longer the same man. The pain was a bitter reminder in the message it delivered to his brain—loss.
The effects of the whiskey continued to accelerate the medication’s mission, and the dark questions began to eat at his brain as they tortured him with the pain.
What was harder to lose? The love of a lifetime, or the use of a limb?
The question whipped his brain as effectively as the slicing sting of leather, inflicting pain with no constructive redemption. Day after day, he attempted eviscerating the pain of letting go of the woman he loved, but the void she left in his heart persisted and grew.
As time carried on, he continued to make physical progress, returning to normal business activities. Photo shoots were offered, and he gratefully took the work—more as a diversion than for the income as The Studio was doing well financially. Clients did note that his look had changed. He was no longer the carefree poster child of the rich and famous. Not giving the appearance of a carefree summer in the Hamptons, he now wore the mask of a hardened, ruthless son of a bitch. It worked to his advantage, for as in the beginning of his career, the industry was seeking a look that was different. More and more physically impaired men were showing up in the pages of magazines, and the popularity of men such as Alex Minsky, made his job easier. At least he could be thankful that times had changed and people wanted variety in their advertising. If Aria hadn’t pushed him into making his dream, The Studio, a reality—well…what would he have done if he hadn’t met Aria—the thought was almost laughable. He’d still be a self-absorbed, narcissistic playboy in New York screwing every woman he wanted, and he’d never have been in an accident…and he’d never have known the truth of what it felt like to have someone who truly, wholly loved you.
Closing his eyes afforded him the luxury of seeing her in his head, and the images arrived like a special gift as he ingested more of the hot liquid. It eroded his resistance as his beautiful girl came rushing into his mind’s eye like crashing waves. The sense of emptiness he felt without her was more overwhelming than he had originally anticipated. Thinking it would be easier for them both, he cut her out of his life. Now, all he felt was the vindictive repercussion of vulnerability.
As Marisol fed more fabricated lies throughout his recovery, he foolishly thought he could live without Aria, yet the more his own memories returned, he realized that, for him, living without Aria was becoming as painful as living without air. With each day that passed, the desperation he felt threatened to engulf him, but he was a helpless victim of his own circumstance. He was the one who sent her away, and suffering was the price he was paying for it.
As he downed another burning shot, his office door opened. Shoving the bottle and glass into the small drawer of the desk beside him, he reached for the tin of Altoids, popping two in his mouth. He raked his hands through his hair to compose himself, and turned with evil eyes to see who had intruded on his pleasant visualization.
“You couldn’t knock?” he said harshly to his brother.
The concern surfaced in Carter immediately upon seeing his brother. Carter could tell he’d been drinking.
“Are you all right?” Carter asked.
“I’m fine!” Declan barked at him. “My leg’s being a pain in the ass today, that’s all. What do you want?”
Carter took a seat in front of the desk and dismissed Declan’s ill humor, becoming engrossed in his own thoughts. Right now, he was in need of a bit of support.
“You got a few minutes? I really need to bounce something off of you…”
NEED.
His brother needed him…
Immediately, something snapped inside of Declan. No one had needed him for months, and a memory resurfaced of the relationship he and Carter shared. The fundamental act of being useful sparked a chord, and it instantly stroked his faltering ego. He was subconsciously sick of the coddling. The protector in him jumped front and center, and it instantaneously changed his demeanor. If Carter would have been looking up, he would even have noticed a slight change in his brother’s posture as his dignity forged his spine into a more upright position.
“Yeah, I got a few minutes,” he said, completely softening his tone at the opportunity to be useful. “What’s up?”
Leaning back in the chair, Carter sucked in a labored deep breath. Not knowing exactly where to start, he took his rough hand and ran it over his face, pushing at the invisible distress.
Finally, after a few minutes, he set an anxiously confused look toward Declan, trying to put his comments in order.
“I’m going to have a benefit thing in Lacey’s memory. You know, to memorialize her. It’ll be for a scholarship fund. It’s something I want to do every year.”
At the invocation of Lacey’s name, Declan softened even more. It was the common ground where both men had a tender spot. The lines around his mouth eased, and as the headache faded away with his sour attitude, so did the tension he had held in his eyes.
“Tell me why you want to do this,” he prodded.
“I don’t know…to keep her alive, I guess,” Carter said. “She was always doing nice things for everybody whenever she could. I just thought that she’d like it if a kid could go to school in her name…” Carter’s voice grew raspy and broken when he spoke of Lacey.
It was apparent that emotions associated with her passing were punctual for him with just a thought. The pain affiliated with her loss was still there, fresh on the surface. It reminded Declan of exactly how much his brother must love him. Carter was still ruminating in his own grief, yet dropped everything to come here and assist him in his recovery and with the business. He felt honored and obligated to reciprocate in any way he could.
“What can I do to help?” he obligingly asked.
Carter, blindsided, sat straight. For a moment, he thought Declan sounded like he did before the accident, but he was sure it was just his muddled thoughts.
“If you really want to help…” he tested, “I’d like to use your place, here, to hold it in.”
Declan held a gratified tone, grateful he could offer something back. “We can arrange that,” he said, nodding in placated agreement.
Carter kept on going since his brother was in such a hospitable mood.
“…and Katherine and Aimee have already been helping me…but,” he was quick to add, “they’ve been doing it on their own time.” He held his hands up before his brother had a chance to even think that he was monopolizing his paid staff.
Declan sat back in his chair, amusement showing in a half raised lip.
“That’s fine, Carter,” he chuckled low in his voice, “they can help you. I have no problem with that. In fact, I’ll tell them that it’s okay.”
Cater grew more perplexed by the minute, but he figured he’d forge through all that was on his mind.
“One more thing…” he said.
Declan was enjoying this. He liked a party, and entertaining was something he hadn’t done in a long time. He could tell that his brother was perplexed by the change in his mood, so he played along.
“What’s that?” he asked, sounding more lighthearted.
“…I want to invite Aria.”
The emotional brakes slammed, screeching as they stiffened his entire body.
Declan’s eyes went a bit dark, something Carter noticed the moment he mentioned Aria’s name, but his brother maintained his composure. He knew it was inevitable that this was going to happen at some point. They already had two chance encounters around the holidays; one pleasant, one not so much. At least this would be a planned social interaction. He’d be able to mentally prepare himself in advance to see
her—Hell, they had friends in common. They had to do it. What better way than for a cause that they both would support, surrounded by people that cared for them, and in public where Carter was sure they’d behave appropriately. There was also the possibility that she might not accept the invitation, but knowing Aria, that was unlikely.
“That’s fine with me, Carter.”
Declan said the words, but Carter could tell he was weighing them carefully.
“Aria loved—no, she adored—Lacey. I think she’d want to attend, or at the very least, be given the invitation with the option to attend or not.”
Suspicion filled Carter.
What the hell had happened in the two days he was gone?
He suddenly didn’t trust his brother, and his eyes narrowed as he mocked, “That’s fine? Really? Where is Declan and what have you done with him? I don’t know if I believe what I’m hearing from you! For months, you’ve said that you didn’t want to see her—that it was for her own good. Now, all of the sudden, you’re agreeing that she should be able to make her own choices? Like…what the hell happened? What epiphany did you have while I was away? It isn’t like you to go along with me so easily…”
Declan walked over to the window and with his back to Carter, he shrugged. He waited a moment before he spoke.
“We would’ve had to do this eventually,” he said. “Isn’t it better to do it at an event for something we both believe in—for someone we both cared about?”
Declan turned to face him and Carter saw reasoning there. Declan seemed to have lost the angered, edgy persona and was looking to his brother for advice.
“It’ll make it easier, don’t you think?”
For several minutes, both men just let the silence sit in the room as they accepted what had just happened and what was to be. Carter had just gotten his brother back—and Declan had not only begun his journey back to himself, but was opening himself to Aria. They each had an understanding of their particular personalities, and they accepted the differences—both flaws and attributes.
Finally, it was Carter who changed the topic, knowing that from this point forward, he had his brother back, and they’d stick together—no matter what.
“I have something else I want to talk to you about,” he said.
Declan turned back toward his desk, making his way to the chair to continue their conversation.
“I went to the Barracks while I was up in the mountains,” Carter continued, “you know, to visit the Troopers.” He raised his eyebrows, giving Declan a disbelieving look. “It seems that Captain Jax had a small lead in Lacey’s case.”
Surprise and shock simultaneously were evident on Declan’s face.
“Yeah, I know,” Carter said. “I felt the same way when he told me. It seems they have a picture from a security camera at the car rental place. It wasn’t the best equipment in town, so the picture isn’t the best quality.”
“So, do they know who it is?” Declan asked.
Carter shook his head. “No, but I think the person’s recognizable—and I think I’ve seen them before…”
Carter paused, holding back the news he was about to share with his brother.
“Really?” Declan asked. “So why aren’t you, or they, out there arresting them?”
“I wish it were as easy as that,” Carter answered. “There has to be more evidence, but it’s a start.”
Carter put his right foot up on his left knee, pensively sitting in his chair. He wondered how Declan would react with his suspicions and warred for a moment with his decision to share them.
Hesitating, he pulled a folded piece of paper out of the side pocket of his jeans. He then held the paper toward his brother in an outstretched hand, hoping for a favorable response.
“Dec, take a look at this,” he said.
Declan studied Carter’s face, noting his reluctance, and reached for the paper.
As he looked over the contents, recognition registered, but clarity evaded.
“What is this?” he asked stiffly.
Carter braced himself. “I think it’s someone we both know.”
“I can see that,” Declan said, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t get what this has to do with what you just told me, and why you’re showing it to me.”
Carter’s civility eroded as the impact of his words plowed into Declan’s consciousness.
“Don’t act like an ass, Declan! You know what I’m implying! The State Police think this is their lead on who may have killed Lacey.”
As he watched Declan’s tough exterior begin to crumble, he could see the emotions that threatened like a turbulent storm. Shock, disbelief, and anger all fought for equal time to unleash, as evidenced by the look on his face.
Startling him, Declan’s fist found the wood top of his desk within a millisecond of his brother’s announcement and he pounded it so hard it thundered like it’d been split in two.
“She wasn’t in Deep Creek, damn it! How the hell could she have been responsible for Lacey’s death? It’s impossible!” Declan shouted.
Carter’s defense of his late wife went into overdrive, and he raised his voice at his brother.
“Why are you saying it’s not possible? Are you sure there’s no way she could have done this?! Do pictures lie, Dec?!”
Declan backed off. His love and loyalty for his sister-in-law was strong, despite her physical presence, and Carter deserved his say, not to mention his loyalty. He adopted a calmer demeanor to set the tone for his brother to do the same.
“No, no…I’m not saying that at all. Anything’s possible. I just would’ve known she was there because I was the only person she knew up there—and she never said ANYTHING to me. What other, possible reason would she have to go up there? There’s nothing up there that would interest her?”
As Carter’s heart rate returned to a more normal pace, his rationalization emerged.
“That hasn’t been determined, but I know she was there. She approached me and offered her condolences after the funeral—after you and I fought and Aria took you back to the luncheon…”
Declan was surprised.
“What? You never mentioned that.”
“I was pissed at you,” Carter said. “You were smothering me. I wanted to be alone with Lacey, but you wouldn’t leave me by myself. We started to fight, and then Aria pulled us apart. She took you to the luncheon while I stayed behind with one of my friends.”
Declan nodded his head. “I remember that.”
Carter leaned forward, forearms on his knees, his head dropping down as he continued talking.
“Marisol came up to me after you left, telling me she was a friend of yours and that she was sorry for my loss. I didn’t know who she was at the time.”
Declan stood, a murderous look on his face, and the chair pushed back against the wall. He needed to pace as his mind became tainted with black thoughts.
Posing a question as he paced, he tried to find something logical about the entire scenario.
“Do you think she just went up there for the funeral? Otherwise, why would she have gone up there, Carter? She’s a big city girl. There’s nothing in the mountains that would possibly attract her.”
“The photo puts her at the rental car place the morning of the accident,” he answered, biting back the bitterness. “Pictures don’t lie, Dec, and you’re right—there was nothing in the mountains to attract her… Nothing but you.”
Knowing his hypothesis would devastate his brother, Carter needed Declan to hear the truth, even though he looked like he’d been sucker punched.
“I believe that Marisol couldn’t accept you with Aria,” Carter hypothesized.
Declan gave him an uncomfortable look.
He continued, “She may have heard you were going to be there and went up just to be a bitch and intercept you, or Aria—or the both of you together—but who knows? Stranger things have happened in crimes of passion.”
“Really?” Declan said. “Crimes of passion?”
>
“Whatever the reason, Dec, the mountain roads are tricky to someone who isn’t familiar with them,” Carter said.
Shrugging his shoulders, he continued.
“I think she hit Lacey and kept on going. I don’t think she wanted to get caught.”
In disbelief, Declan questioned him, “Do you really think she wouldn’t have called 911?”
“I don’t know”—Carter looked his brother straight in the eye—“but you’ve told me she’s a cold bitch and there are hit and runs every day. Do you think she’s incapable of thinking of anyone but herself?”
Carter dared him with the question, asking Declan to examine the caliber of the women he had so closely worked with for years.
Declan backed down from the intensity of his brother. Thoughts threatened his composure, yet his brother deserved an answer to his question.
He cleared his throat. “The thought of someone we know being stone cold enough to leave someone dying in the road sickens me,” he began.
His eyes filled with tears at the violence of the accident, and his voice filled with vengeance and hate.
“The thought of Lacey lying there, all alone, without you—and that it could be Marisol’s fault—makes me want to hunt her down and find out the truth!”
He looked up at Carter, softening his tone.
“I can’t imagine how you feel.
Disintegration of logic filled Carter as he thirsted for retaliation, and he tried to hide it. As a law enforcement official, he was taught to be impersonal—to work with the facts—but this was different. He warred with the part of him that stayed on the right side of the law, and the vigilante who wanted his own form of justice. Declan could sense this in him, and he knew it was his obligation to do things the right way in the memory and honor of a woman he loved and adored more than his own life.
He made his way over to the seat beside Declan. Silence was something the Sinclair men did well. Carter could confirm that something had changed today. The coldness that had enveloped him since the accident was quickly melting. It was an uncomfortable vulnerability. He didn’t touch his brother—his battle for composure was evident, and today had been enough of a struggle.
