The Dark Side of the Rainbow

by Rita Hogan

  To compensate, every free moment of her time was spent studying and practicing the art. All the electives she chose had to do with photo taking, processing, and finishing.

  Four years later, Olivia graduated and returned home. Her first week back in Portland was spent visiting with her family. Seven days later, she made her way to British Columbia, Canada with her personal effects including her laptop, CPA test books, and her camera equipment. She spent the next six weeks studying for her exam and photographing the Johnstone Strait and the surrounding islands.

  On her way back to Portland, Olivia made a three-day stop in Kalispell, Montana. Strolling through the main cemetery, she found the person from whom she would borrow her identity. Before leaving the sparsely populated northern town, she purchased a burner cell phone and paid rent on a post office box, all in the name of Brooke Johnson.

  Two weeks after returning home, she passed her CPA test. Having successfully accomplished her first significant goal marker, Olivia then printed her photos and sent them along with her bio to National Geographic. As she typed her personal information, instead of listing herself as Olivia Nelson, she used her pseudonym.

  Six weeks later she landed her first job with Walter and Fitz, a CPA firm, making sixty-five thousand dollars a year. Several months after beginning her career as an accountant, Olivia received a call from National Geographic expressing interest in her photos of The Johnstone Strait. They were unable to use them for their magazine but wanted to include them in a coffee table photo book they were publishing. Olivia had been ecstatic. It was the first genuine moment of joy she had felt in a long time.

  On the weekends, when Olivia wasn’t spending time with her father and extended family, she traveled the Pacific Northwest corner of America and Canada photographing all the wonders of creation, making a small name for herself in the photography industry.

  During the week, she spent her days and some nights working her way up the corporate ladder at Walter and Fitz. It had taken Olivia four years to make senior accountant, the position she had held for the last two years.

  Four weeks ago, when she handed in her resignation, her boss countered with an increase in pay that was nearly twenty percent more than her current salary. Olivia had been flattered and pleased by the offer, but explained that her new opportunity was something she couldn’t refuse. They would never know it was not a new job she was leaving the company for but a destination.

  Before her departure to Patagonia, Argentina, she spent every minute preparing for the trip that would change her life. During that time, there were no friends to say goodbye to, for Olivia had none. All of her hard work and focus had made it impossible to reconnect with her high school friends who had drifted back to Portland after college, or to make new ones. She had also known that in order to carry out her revenge, it was essential for Olivia to remain as unattached as possible; the fewer people who knew about her current life, the better.

  Six months before her trip, she had finally secured the most critical piece of her fake identity: a passport under the name of Brooke Johnson. It had taken her nearly half a year to acquire the false documents, including a driver’s license and social security card.

  During the trying and life-threatening process, Olivia learned two very paramount truths about life: enough money really could buy a person most anything, and diamonds weren’t always a girl’s best friend. In her case, it had been self-defense classes and her Sig Sauer P238 rainbow handgun. Olivia had chosen the aptly named weapon as a reminder of all that she had lost.

  While in the dark underbelly of Chicago, the sleek semi-automatic had saved her life during her quest for Brooke’s official identity. As the young photographer left a forger’s dingy, dimly-lit place of business, two men had approached her. Their sickening lustful voices taunted Olivia while their vacant eyes molested her. Without a thought, the young woman removed the loaded gun from her coat pocket and pointed it at the two horrid men with a steady hand. Quelling her nerves, she lifted her chin and told them if they didn’t turn around and leave she wouldn’t kill them, but she would damage them so badly they’d wish they were dead. With one last disgusting taunt the men retreated.

  Sadly, the Sig, which was registered under her real name, would be staying behind in Portland.

  Everything about her true person would remain in Portland. Seated in first class on United Airlines Flight 879 to Buenos Aires, Argentina was Brooke Johnson. For the next six months, the life of Olivia Nelson would lie as still as her brother’s lifeless form had twelve years ago on the causeway. The only thing she regretted about her plans was the extravagant lies she had told her aunt, who believed she was on her way to the Antarctic’s “warmer” season to photograph wildlife and ice formations. “It was an opportunity of a lifetime,” she had commented to her surrogate mother when she first told her about the project.

  Olivia took a drink of the ginger ale the flight attendant had served her, cringing as she recalled the depth of her deception, specifically the part about being unreachable while on her trip. She had told her Aunt Sarah that there would possibly be a break half way into the project where the team would have a quiet reprieve in South America, somewhere on the warm beaches. Olivia would try to contact her then, but there was no guarantee.

  To add believability to her tale of deceit, she added that the group would consist mainly of young, unmarried photographers who were not emotionally attached to wives, husbands, or children. Sarah had been thrilled at the idea, telling her niece that she might finally meet the man of her dreams.

  When Olivia’s aunt asked her to provide at least a number where she could be reached in case of an emergency, she was given the number of a burner cell phone that Olivia had acquired during her weeks of preparation. If called, the prerecorded voicemail would greet her aunt in a practiced and carefully disguised British accent, announcing that she had reached Melissa Clark, leader of the Ice Project. The message would direct her aunt to leave a message with no promise of a return phone call.

  The burner phone had nearly a year of pre-paid time under the name of the project leader. It would never be turned on and would remain tucked away in the bag Olivia held in her lap.

  Pulling the medium sized leather bag closer to her, Olivia locked her arms around the carry-on, trying not to worry about it remaining secure in her arms. Everything she needed to execute her grand design was contained in the black Kate Spade tote. It would be impossible for her to stay awake during the eighteen hour flight to Buenos Aires, so having it in her arms would add a modicum of protection.

  Soon the humming of the jet engines relaxed her, causing her mind to drift off toward unbidden memories.

  PORTLAND, OREGON

  TWELVE YEARS AGO

  There were no words to speak as Olivia and her father sat in a black Lincoln Town Car, headed toward the church. There had been very few words spoken between them since the night of the accident.

  Josh Nelson had arrived at the hospital as quickly as his car and traffic would allow. Somehow in the haze of her anguish, Olivia had managed to give the police officers her father’s office number. Despite her desperate protests, they had carted her off to the nearest hospital.

  The last thing she remembered seeing while in the back of the ambulance was Landon Gray being cuffed. He had made eye contact with her on his way to the police car. The tortured look on his handsome face had been unexpected. The surprise she felt had been quickly replaced by the dark seething rage already staking its claim upon her heart.

  Later at the hospital, when she saw her father rushing in behind the curtain that was used to quarter her off from the rest of the patients in the emergency room, her grief-stricken face momentarily filled with relief at the sight of him.

  “Daddy!” she nearly shouted as she threw herself into his arms.

  Expecting to see Jacob with his daughter, Josh Nelson asked with fear in his voice, “Honey, are you all right? Where is Jacob?” He had only been told there was an acci
dent. Thinking his son might be in surgery, his heart collapsed when he saw the look on his daughter’s face. “No, no, where is he, Olivia? Where is Jacob?” he cried.

  The nurses must have heard his raised voice and quickly entered the partitioned area.

  Josh looked at the nurses, demanding, “Where is my son? I want to see Jacob, now.”

  In the background, he could hear the hysterical cries of his daughter, testifying to what his mind was desperately trying to deny.

  “Mr. Nelson, we will take you to your son as soon as he arrives. There was an accident. I’m sorry to tell you, he did not survive.”

  The same agony with which Olivia had cried out on the causeway escaped from Josh Nelson’s tortured soul.

  “Jacob, Jacob!” the broken father cried over and over.

  Josh Nelson saw his son for the last time the day of his funeral. The closing of the casket lid was like a solid oak door shutting firmly over the father’s life. He wanted to get up in front of a standing room only crowd and shout, “It shouldn’t be this way. I shouldn’t be alive while my son is lying here dead.”

  Managing to suppress the urge to rail at the injustice and the pain, he looked over at his daughter, who sat staring forward, tears streaming down her face. I have to pull myself together for Olivia, he had thought wildly. He may have lost his son, but he still had his baby girl and she needed him. More than ever before, she would depend on his strength and courage to get them through this dark time. Later, as they stood by the gravesite, Josh Nelson’s resolve would be put to the test.

  The minister looked up toward the heavens. “Lord, we commend into your loving hands the precious spirit of Jacob Nelson. Keep him safely within your grasp until the time comes when we will see him once again.”

  The moment the first flower was laid to rest on top of the casket, something snapped inside Olivia. Flinging herself on top of her brother’s casket she wailed, “Jacob, why did you leave me? Why? How am I supposed to live without you?” Not caring about anyone around her, she grabbed hold of the casket, pressing her cheek against the hard glossy cherry wood. “Jacob, please come back. Please come back. I can’t do this without you. Please!” she begged over and over. The sister’s gut-wrenching sobs ripped apart the heart of every soul in attendance.

  Josh reached down for his daughter, intending to pull her away from the casket but instead laid his arms around her, lying with her across the hard wood of the coffin, combining his cries with hers.

  Too tragic and personal to watch, the crowd, who had gathered to pay their last respects, quietly turned to leave father and daughter alone in their grief.

  The shared moment at their beloved’s graveside was the first of many events that would begin tearing down the wall that had built its way around the hearts of the devastated pair. Almost all of the hard stone would be removed from Olivia’s soul, except for one small section. It was the part of her pain she would never let go of, for it guarded the searing hatred she felt for the young man who had taken away the person she loved most in life.

  When the devastated sister heard that Landon Gray had only received three months of house arrest for the charges of reckless endangerment, the barricade grew stronger and more impenetrable. Long after the billionaire’s son fled to South America, the anger marched onward.

  * * *

  It had been years since Olivia had seen Landon Gray in person, but in a few short hours she would lay eyes on him again for the first time. When the moment came, she would have to find a way to look him in the face without allowing even a glimmer of her wrath to seep through the cracks of the wall. All of her expectations hinged on her ability to embrace and charm the man who had given her every reason to hate.

  CHAPTER THREE

  PATAGONIA, ARGENTINA

  NOVEMBER—PRESENT DAY

  Landon shifted the Cadillac Escalade into a lower gear, navigating it down the mountainside while keeping the old familiar thoughts of suicide at bay. It had been a long time since he last envisioned himself driving through the rails that kept vehicles from toppling over the side of the steep terrain. When he first arrived in Patagonia, fighting the suicidal thoughts had been a minute-by-minute struggle. After a short while, the young man had nearly lost the battle forever.

  The week before Landon’s house arrest ended, his sister Natasha had arrived from South America to collect her brother. Eight years his senior, the older woman had arranged to take him with her back to Patagonia. Their parents agreed that leaving Portland would be best for their son. All these years later, Landon could see the wisdom in their decision; but he hadn’t been able to at the time.

  When he was delivered to the police station the day of the accident, Landon was read his rights to have an attorney, which he waived. He pleaded guilty to the charges of reckless endangerment. An hour after his questioning, his parents and one of their many attorneys arrived to have him released. Refusing to leave, Landon demanded to remain in custody. Because of the nature of the teenager’s charges and the lack of space in the juvenile detention center, to his dismay he was released on his own recognizance.

  That evening, alone in his dark room, the first thoughts of suicide had made themselves known. He knew that his death would be better than seeing over and over in his mind the lifeless body of Jacob Nelson.

  Landon had not seen the exact moment of the accident. One quick look into the review mirror to see how far he had outpaced Jacob and his Mustang caused his adrenaline rush to careen when he saw the overturned car, yards behind his. Slamming on his brakes, Landon turned his Chevy around and sped to the place where Jacob’s body lay. The sight of Olivia pulling at her hair while screaming out her brother’s name made the cut into the film sequence which played non-stop in his mind.

  What kept him from going to his father’s gun cabinet that night was the idea that he would be better punished serving time. Killing himself would be an easy way out, which he didn’t deserve. Rotting away in a cell would be a much better penance.

  Because of Landon’s confession, there was no trial. When he faced the judge several days later and was remanded to three months of house arrest, the young boy wished he had taken hold of one of his father’s weapons.

  When Landon demanded that the judge sentence him to time in lock up, the judge refused, stating that he would not allow the teenager to throw his life way because of a foolish, immature act. The crime didn’t warrant the punishment the younger man was dictating.

  In a fit of desperation, Landon countered that if the judge did not put him in jail he would end his life, and his blood would be on the judge’s hands. The tactic worked, causing the head of the court to change his mind. Instead of house arrest, the young suicidal man was ordered to detention in a psychiatric ward at one of the local hospitals for treatment.

  Concerned about their son being institutionalized, the Gray’s told the judge they would retain Landon at home with a guard and around the clock psychiatric supervision. Afraid for their son’s life, they followed through with their promise, locking him away in a section of the sprawling house. The teenager was supervised and treated by one of the best psychiatrists money could buy. With a promise to continue his therapy, Natasha Gray came for her brother and left for Patagonia the day after his sentence had ended.

  Unwilling to let anything happen to Landon, the older sister continued the close psychiatric supervision and celebrated the progress her beloved brother had made. Constant mental care eventually gave way to daily visits and then weekly. After three months of weekly appointments, Natasha Gray believed Landon to be better. She felt the weight of his pain finally lifting from her.

  Able to breathe freely for the first time in months, one day she suggested they take their sailboat out onto Lake Nahuel Huapi. It was late fall and unusually warm. That evening Natasha had a gala to attend at the resort with several VIP investors who had expressed interest in NLG Property Group’s hospitality conglomerate in South America. At the time, Landon’s sister was the head o
f the company’s operations and had been in the role for the last five years. Before the important evening, they would have the day to bask in the beauty of their little piece of paradise.

  It had been a spectacular morning and afternoon. Landon was in the best spirits he had been in since the accident. He laughed more that day than he had in months. Later, that evening, he watched his sister take one more glance at her appearance in the foyer mirror before she left for the event. She asked him about his plans and if he was sure he didn’t want to join her at the resort.

  Shaking his head, Landon told her a shower and some television were on his agenda for the night. Natasha kissed him on the cheek before making her way toward the door, adding that she would be home early.

  Halfway to the resort, the young executive realized she had forgotten her cell phone. She had left the house with plenty of time to spare, so she turned around to retrieve it.

  Upon her return, the house was eerily silent. Natasha called for Landon. When she did not hear him respond, she made her way to his bedroom. His room was dark, but the light was on in the bathroom. She called again. When he didn’t answer, she forced herself toward the bathroom, her heart pounding.

  The sight of her brother lying in the bathtub filled with blood-stained water brought all of her nightmares since his suicidal episodes back to reality. Landon, who was conscious when she discovered him, removed his lethargic arm from the water and held it out to her. The blood and water dripping from the slit in his wrist splattered against the black and white checkered tiles below him.

  “I’m sorry, Natasha. I love you,” where the last words her brother spoke before losing consciousness.

  In her panicked state, his sister managed to apply tourniquets to both his forearms to stop the blood flow before calling for help.

  Hours later, while recovering in the hospital, Landon asked for Natasha. Knowing he would survive, the older sibling walked into her brother’s room carrying with her all the fear she had felt for the past several months. More than anguish, there was also a fury born of love that filled her to bursting. Natasha looked Landon in the eyes and raged at him for being a coward. How dare he take the easy way out, leaving her all alone to suffer a life without him?