by Shayne Ford
Could it be my phone?
Wait.
No. The range goes way beyond this room.
It must be on me.
I look down at my pajama and my slippers. I rub my earlobes absently, my mind playing with an idea. I wear no earrings, no jewelry, except for...
Oh, my God.
My fingers crawl behind my neck, unfastening my necklace. The delicate jewelry made of platinum sits in my palm, a key pendant dangling from it. Its intricate pattern with matching, sparkling stones, steals my attention for a moment before it dawns on me.
This is it.
This is how he knew where I was the day Jacqueline died.
He gave it to me the night he took me to his mother’s house.
I lift the necklace to my lips and spend a moment or two before I utter the words.
“I’ll come to you... But you better have some answers for me,” I say before I set everything on the table.
And then it dawns on me.
I need to leave soon.
17
TESS
It’s a small place with two large windows and wood blinds painted blue like the azure sea. The room I’ve rented has a bed, a tiny table in the corner that I use as a desk, a few shelves and a bathroom attached to it.
I shed my clothes and take a shower before I change into a summer dress. My hair tumbles down my back as I look in the mirror and brush it with my fingers.
I slip on a pair of flips flops and twirl, the skirt lifting before it falls, hitting right above my knees.
I grab my phone and my wallet, walk out of the place and lock the door. The woman who owns the guest house smiles at me as I stroll across the hallway before I take a few steps onto the narrow street.
It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. The town is sleepy, the sidewalks empty, the shutters and the doors closed. Orange and gray tabby cats lie on the white steps, napping or soaking up the sun. I unfold the little map that I retrieve from my pocketbook and follow the signs.
A few moments later, I reach a small square with a few tavernas and a terrace where people drink coffee. I find a free table and take a seat.
The waiter shows up quickly.
At his suggestion, I order a Greek coffee and baklava.
The man brings my order along with a glass of water. I thank him before he smoothly pulls away. Drenched in a honey syrup and stuffed with walnuts, the pastry dessert fills my mouth with its sweetness and aroma. I take a sip of coffee, smiling contently as I furtively glance around.
There’s one other table occupied by an older gentleman who reads a book not far from me. I swivel my head and sweep the place with my gaze, looking for the waiter.
He notices me and dashes to me.
“How may I help you, Miss?”
“I’m looking for a man,” I say. “An American…”
The man tosses me a questioning look.
He has dark hair and green eyes. I was wondering if you’ve seen anyone like that by any chance.”
The man looks at me and shrugs.
“I’m new here, Miss,” he says, speaking with a heavy accent. “I wouldn’t know him, but I can ask someone else inside.” he offers.
“No, no. It’s okay.”
He pulls away while I take another sip of coffee when the man sitting at the nearby table tips his reading glasses down on the bridge of his nose and looks at me.
“Are you looking for Mr. Sebastien,” he says, his English bearing an Italian accent.
“Yes,” I say, nodding.
“He comes here every afternoon. He’s late today,” he says, checking his watch.
“Oh...” I murmur, disappointed.
“Perhaps he shows up later on. He usually brings his book and reads while he enjoys his coffee. A charming man,” he concludes as he pushes out of the chair.
“Thank you,” I say.
I’d like to ask him something else, yet he already waves me goodbye and walks away.
I decide to linger a few more minutes, spending my time taking pictures of my surroundings and drinking coffee. My eyes shift to the novelty map when the shadow of a man slides over the table.
I flick my eyes up and squint. The sun explodes with light behind his back.
His white shirt and pants make his tanned skin look even darker. Eyes flooded with light study me through thick lashes, their color lighter, but still looking like two shards of jade.
A small smile tugs at his lips.
“May I sit?” he asks, motioning at the chair across from me.
I slightly tip my chin down without a word.
He sets his book and phone on the table. I watch him as he lowers himself into his seat.
The waiter nears the table and takes his order.
I can’t stop myself from gaping.
“How come you always bring me to the exact spot where you want me to be?” I quietly ask as the man pulls away.
He tips his gaze down, his lips curving into a soft grin.
“I wouldn’t be able to do it if you wouldn’t want to come to me.”
His eyes shift down.
“How do you like the book?” he asks.
“How do you know that I bought the book?” I ask, grinning.
He gives me a quick glance and a small smile but stays quiet.
“If you know that I bought it then you must also know that the only reason I am here is to get some answers,” I say, no longer smiling.
“I know,” he admits, to my surprise.
The waiter edges to the table and sets his coffee down. Sebastien looks at me.
“Do you want anything else?” he asks me.
“No. I’m good.”
He motions to the waiter who smoothly walks away.
A few more moments of silence slip by before he shifts his eyes to me and runs his gaze down.
“You look beautiful,” he says, a soft smile brushing his eyes.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
I study him as well.
He looks just like the man in my daydream.
I stretch my grin as I relive the memory.
He notices it.
“Why are you smiling?” he asks before he brings the small cup of coffee to his lips.
I grin, still wrapped in melancholy.
“It’s a crazy thing...” I say.
“I like crazy things,” he says humorously.
“Okay... You can say that it’s a coincidence, but the image of this place and you surfaced in my mind way before I got the chance to meet you.”
He smiles and looks down.
“Life has an interesting way of doing things,” he says.
“Life or you?”
His eyes fill with a grin.
“Both, perhaps…” he says teasingly.
“I suspect you lived in my mind way before we crossed paths in real life,” I say.
He breathes out a soft chuckle.
“Possibly.”
My smile dies out as the silence grows again.
I steal a glance at him.
“Was everything a game to you?”
He tips his gaze up.
“I’ve never played with what was important to me.”
“And yet, you did.”
“It might have seemed that way, but I haven’t.”
“You knew exactly what happened the night Jacqueline died,” I say, my voice barely rolling off my lips.
He tilts his head down, setting his eyes on his cup of coffee.
“Yes, I did.”
“You could’ve stopped it.”
He looks down again, a faint smile brushing his lips.
“No, I couldn’t.”
“You had her place under surveillance.”
He looks up and briefly locks my eyes before he pulls his gaze away and takes a sip of coffee.
My eyes linger on his lips.
“Yes, I did,” he finally says, sliding the cup onto the table. “But I didn’t record all their meetings. It got boring after a
while. I had enough documentation. More than I needed.”
“Don’t you feel guilty for what happened to her?”
He slants his gaze at me.
“It was an accident.”
“An accident that served you well.”
“It wasn’t my plan for her to end that way. I already told you that,” he says, a shadow sliding over his face.
“What was your plan?”
He slides the cup of coffee a little further from him and sets his elbows on the table.
He looks down as he gathers his thoughts, and for a moment I get trapped in the harmony of his features.
He pulls me out of my reverie when he speaks again.
“I was locked in my marriage by my father’s will,” he says, his eyes connecting with mine.
I get washed with surprise.
He looks down again, his stare blank, pointed to his hands.
“I was two years into my marriage when he passed away. We never had a good relationship, but I never thought that he’d do something like that to me. I was in denial for a long time. It was hard to accept the fact that he hated me so much.”
“Why would he hate you?”
He looks at me, a soft, nostalgic smile sleeping on his lips.
“He hated my mother first. And then I hated him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My mother would be still alive if it weren’t for him.”
“You said it was an accident.”
“Yes, it was... One that he was responsible for.”
He leans back in his seat, his eye going vacant again as he recollects that time.
“She was very young when she met him. The age difference between them made her fall in love with him even harder. He knew how to make her lose her head, and she did. He got her pregnant and then proposed to her. It all seemed to work well for them, but soon enough he realized that his young bride was no longer focused on him entirely. She became a mother, and consequently, she was very attached to her son. She had little experience when it came to men, so when my father started acting out and chasing other women, she looked the other way. She didn’t want to file for divorce because she was still in love with him. She hoped that he would come around. He never did. Quite the opposite, in fact. He felt trapped, and his behavior got even worse. Their relationship hit a rocky patch, and they started to argue a lot. She accused him of cheating while he accused her that he wanted him shackled and forced into a relationship. He wanted to play the field and she and I became a liability. I got caught in their war, and I became a collateral damage. Despite my innocence, I got a taste of his wrath as well. The day of the accident, they came back from a party. A relative of mine told me later on–– when I was old enough to understand, that they had a fight that night at the party. She caught them arguing because of a woman he was cheating on my mother with. He was behind the wheel that night when they were returning home. They most likely kept arguing on their way back as well. The car spun out of control in the middle of the road and slammed into a tree, crashing my mom’s side. She was dead on the spot. The weather was clear, and there was no other traffic to speak of, or pedestrians. He never admitted it, but I knew how to read guilt, early on. When she died, my life changed completely. I no longer had her warmth and affection. I had his rules, coldness, and a lot of loneliness. Liberated from his matrimonial obligations, my father got to live the life that he wanted. After my mom died, there were lots of other women, and parties. He never remarried, but in spite of getting what he wanted, he never changed the way he felt for me. I reminded him of her in so many ways, it was impossible not to fuel his guilt. I was his curse, in a way. So he decided to be mine in return.”
He pauses for a moment, looking down at his hands again.
“I started working in the company early on, and all my way through the college. He never denied me anything, but he never wanted me to have full control of my money either. He kept saying that all would be mine one day, anyway. He even showed me his will. I had no reason not to believe him. As he got older and I became an adult, we learned how to tolerate each other better. I got married at twenty-five. Things seemed to get even smoother after a while. He loved Jacqueline, and she knew how to get under his skin, so much so that he changed his will a few weeks before his death without my knowledge.”
He turns quiet for a few moments, slowly shaking his head.
“The big surprise came after he passed away. He added a clause to his will. And those few words radically changed my life. He virtually gave her absolute control over my money. I couldn’t leave the marriage without losing the estate. And he made sure I wouldn’t be able to see someone else behind her back either, in case we started our own war, which we did. Had she caught me cheating and got proof, she could’ve had my inheritance free and clear after the divorce. She had all the power that she wanted over me. He left me the estate while taking it away from me at the same time. He wanted to have a big laugh from beyond his grave and also make a point, and he did. He wanted me to feel trapped the way he thought he had been with my mom. In the end, all he cared for was his bruised ego. He never understood life or human feelings, and it just happened that he found a great ally in my wife. That changed everything for me,” he says and goes quiet again.
My lips feel dry.
I take a sip of water, my eyes still rooted to him.
“I couldn’t look at my wife the same way after that day. She should’ve known better than make a pact with him. She loved the idea that she could control me. To her surprise, things started to crumble right after that. I asked her to reconsider and take the necessary legal steps to transfer my money back to me. She didn’t want to. We no longer shared the bedroom. She started to hook up with other men. It never got better from that point on. That’s where you found me. You know the rest... “ he says as a gust of wind rolls down my back.
Clouds start crossing the sky, a storm brewing in the distance.
“Are you cold?” he asks as I get swept by a shiver and hug myself.
I shake my head.
He pulls his wallet out and leaves a few bills on the table.
“Let’s go. I want to show you something,” he says, pushing out of his chair and taking my hand.
18
TESS
His place is a house built on a cliff not far from the beach. A narrow cobblestone road leads to the entrance. We walk the path all the way there.
He holds the door open as I walk in.
The doors to the patio are wide open, ushering in the view. The sun hides behind the clouds, and it starts to rain as soon as we walk in, the sea and the sky turning gray.
He motions me to the sofa as he turns a couple of lamps on.
I take a seat and glance around. Another door opens on the side, leading to his bedroom. I notice a large bed, minimal furniture and long sheer curtains framing the windows.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asks.
“No, thank you.”
He leaves me alone for a moment as he walks out of the living room. Moments later, he comes back. I expect to see a glass of scotch in his hand.
Instead, he places something on the table.
My breath gets clipped, and my lips part in surprise as my eyes tear away from the object and fly up to him.
“I think this is yours,” he says as he takes a seat next to me.
My eyes start darting back and forth.
It’s not as if I’ve never suspected that he has it, but seeing it now with my very own eyes has an effect on me.
“Um... How...? How did you get it? Where you there that night?” I ask, pointing to the memory stick.
“I didn’t have a choice,” he says. “One of my men flagged your presence in the proximity of her apartment earlier in the afternoon. I suspected that you were heading over there, and he confirmed it.”
We lock eyes for a moment.
“But it wasn’t only that,” he says. “I was on my way to the club when I got
an alert that something might have happened. None of my men had access to the apartment, so I had to go there and check it for myself. But I had to take my precautions first. All these months when we were seeing each other I was followed by Jacqueline’s private investigators. I always used decoy cars to make them lose my track. It was no different that night. For everyone, I was still in the club. I snuck out and went to that place. Jacqueline was always under the impression that because she owned it, she was safe. That’s how I got all the information about the men she slept with. That’s how I found out about your husband. She was open about the fact that she had people following me, and might’ve suspected that I was doing the same thing to her, but I never confirmed to her, and she never bothered to follow through with it and find out for sure. Stephan was outside when I arrived. He was distraught, waiting for the ambulance. I made sure he couldn’t see me. I used the back entrance. The building has cameras in place, but they mostly surveil the entrance. None of them were on the floors, or at the back exit. I took the stairs up and got into the apartment. The door was open when I walked in. She was already gone. He placed her on the bed, and she looked as if she was sleeping. I found the tablet on the table. The loop was still playing. I pulled the stick out, checked the tablet to see if it had been downloaded or saved in a different folder, wiped away my traces and seconds later I was out. The medical crew arrived seconds later.”
He looks down for a moment, musing over something.
“My initial plan was to confront Stephan,” he says. “I knew she was lying to him as much as she was lying to me. She wanted to keep him on the side and string him along while she would do everything in he power to bring me to the point where I’d give up on everything. It was her way of getting back at me for refusing to be her husband. The end was basically the same whether we reconciled or not. She wanted me out of the marriage and out of my money. There was no real reconciliation between us. She used him as much as she thought she was using me. She was very much like my father, and that’s why I think they got along so well. I set up the things in motion when I purposely offered her the proof that she needed.”
“Purposely?”
