by Christina OW
Damien’s gaze dropped to her lap, where her hands lay—the right one palm to palm with Dale’s and the left sitting atop the joined ones, two rings on her third finger, the diamonds glittering against the sun rays coming through the window behind him. It irked him seeing his cousin’s mark of possession on her hand, but he wouldn’t dwell on that. He stared at her face again and noticed her hair, though still in curls, was short, reaching right above her shoulders.
With a shaky smile he said, “You cut your hair.”
She exchanged a frightened look with Dale before she nodded slowly. “Yes. It’s much easier to handle with two toddlers.”
His body went rigid and he bit down on his jaw in an effort to calm himself. Exploding in a jealous rage would be the wrong way to handle this situation. He needed to be patient. To get her alone and… and what? He hadn’t really thought past finding her and now that he had her right in front of him… He sat up straight with a new resolve. Now that he had her he was determined to have her back in his arms. She was his first!
He caught Dale’s eyes, narrowed in warning. Damien could practically feel his rage radiate off him in large waves toward him, but he didn’t care. He’d searched for so long, lost so much along the way, including part of his sanity, to just wish them a happy life and walk away.
Turning fully to Ellie, he asked, “How old are they?”
Swiping her lips twice with her tongue—another new nervous habit—she answered, “Stacey-Ann is two and a half and Third—Dale James—is one and a half. Their birthdays are two weeks apart.”
Though she was smiling, Damien caught a spark of hurt in her eyes. Why would the dates of their birth cause her pain? Dale, too, had that look for only a second before he drew his wife closer for a comforting hug. It took all that was inside Damien not to rip them apart.
“Ellie, could I speak to you for a minute—in private?” Damien stressed the last part.
Dale slowly pulled away from her and rose off the couch, seething. “No way in hell is that happening!”
Damien stood too, his anger getting the best of him. “What’s the matter Little D? Scared she’ll come back to me?”
“I was never with you,” her voice, though soft, was strong. She stood, taking Dale’s hand in hers in a show of solidarity as she stared at him with pity in her eyes. “I’m sorry but I think you have me confused with someone else.”
He slashed his hand through the air. “No, I’m not confusing you with anyone else!”
With sad eyes, Ellie looked up at Dale before turning back to him. “I do have an identical twin sister. People were confusing us for each other all the time. You’re probably—probably thinking about Ellsa.”
“Hell no! I’ve heard what Ellsa is like and she’s definitely not my Victoria Secret. But you are. I know I’m not wrong!”
He took a desperate step towards her, but Dale quickly shifted her behind him, shielding her with his body. He then held his hand up to Damien to keep him from moving any closer.
“Listen Middle D, we’ve already gone through and survived one psycho relative and it’s not an experience I’m willing to repeat. Nor is it one I’m willing to permit my family to endure again. Do you understand me?”
Damien stared down his cousin, the threat and the outstretched arm the only things keeping him where he stood. He understood alright and he couldn’t say he blamed Dale. If it were his family, he would do the same, but…
“She’s mine—”
“No, she’s not!” Dale cut him off sternly. Then gently, without taking his eyes off Damien, he said, “Honey, when was the last time you were in Miami?”
Ellie didn’t bother stepping out from behind Dale when she answered, “Right before college graduation, we both went, including Kris—my best friend—and some of Ellsa’s girlfriends.”
“And six years ago?” Damien asked frantically.
“No. I was in Rome with my first art class that summer. The rest of the year I was here teaching.”
“Teaching?” Damien echoed. He thought she was an escort? “Have you ever worked as an escort?”
“What?” she stepped out then, clearly offended by the look on her face. Her fists on her hips, she exclaimed, “I am not a prostitute! Never have been one in my life. My parents left us enough money to stay on our feet until we could support ourselves. I still have some left.”
That also didn’t make any sense. VS was an escort—not the prostitute type, she made that clear—for money. None of this made any sense. Even her eyes didn’t have that spark when she was angry. Yes, it was there just not the same as VS. Then this dread filled him as he stared at Ellie and he suddenly began to see the little differences between her and VS.
“Your—your sister, what exactly did she do before—before—”
Ellis shrugged slightly. “She was a stylist of some sort. She travelled all over the world buying clothes for the boutiques here in the States and also for some wealthy women who she referred to as having the money but no sense of style. And that it was a good thing they could afford someone who had it aplenty,” she smiled sadly as her eyes flooded. “She always got herself, me and even Kris clothes on her clients.”
“Did she ever tell you where she went?”
She shook her head. “No. But she always called or texted right before she jetted off, then dropped by when she came back. She would be gone weeks, even months at a time. Once she was gone a full year, I missed her. I miss her now.” A tear rolled down her cheek unchecked and Dale quickly gathered her to him in a fierce hug—exactly what Damien wanted to do.
Clenching his fists at his side Damien stared at them and admitted; whether or not she was VS, she wasn’t his anymore. That hurt more than he ever thought possible.
Could it be that he really had fallen for VS? Did he really love her? Was love what drove him to find her all these years, or was it just his obsession to protect her? Either way, he needed to leave, he couldn’t stay here being haunted by her face and not be able to touch or kiss her like he wanted to.
“I need to leave,” he blurted out, turning around the room and looking for his travel bag.
“Damien, you don’t have to.”
He heard the worry in Dale’s voice and turned to them. They were still clutched in each other’s arms and he knew for sure he needed to leave or Ellsa wouldn’t be the only relative who went psycho.
“Where is my bag?”
“Still in the car,” Dale answered, disentangling himself from Ellie.
“Good, drop me off at the train station. I need to leave, I need to—” Find VS. He hoped that she was still out there because he was sure he wouldn’t be able to handle it if Ellie was lying about who she really was.
“Damien, listen. If Ellsa is your Victoria Secret, then nothing has changed except that we’re looking for the same woman now. We need to find her for all our sakes and soon.”
Damien scoffed. “There is no way finding her would benefit me. I’ve wasted enough time, I need—”
“To find VS,” Dale finished, “What if Ellsa is VS? You need to find out and once we find her, you can decide what to do next. You need to put this obsession to rest, Damien, it’s ruining you. You need to go back to your normal life, to who you used to be before VS happened to you.”
To go back to his normal life? To his only concern being himself? He couldn’t remember what that was like. VS had commanded everything in his life for the last five years. It had been all about her. He stared at Ellie for a long while. Her eyelashes were wet with tears, dread etched in her face, her arms wrapped around herself. If VS was psycho Ellsa, yeah it was about time he put her hold on his life to rest.
****
Ellsa sat at the bar, licking her wounds with the help of a few tequilas after getting thrown out of her sister’s home. This person wasn’t her. She didn’t go to dingy places, drink cheap liquor and feel sorry for herself. She was better than this and yet she couldn’t help but wallow in the gutter.
H
ow dare they humiliate her like that? And worst of all, in front of Kris and Audrey? Ellie might be her sister, but she was going to regret what she did. And Carson, he had no idea what he’d just started.
She drove so far just to get away from the humiliation. She didn’t even know the name of the stupid town.
A man sat on the stool next to her, ogling at her like he was seeing a woman for the first time. “Hi honey, how you doing tonight?”
“Get away from me,” Ellsa uttered with disgust.
He held a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “What’s wrong? I was just trying to be nice.”
Ellsa pulled away. “Don’t touch me.”
The man sneered. “What, you think you are so special?”
“Yes, I am. The hands that touch me earn a million dollars as an annual income. How much do you make a month, or should I have said a day?”
The man got right into her face. “You are a high priced whore! It doesn’t change the fact that you sell your body for money. How much do you earn a day?”
“Do I look like a prostitute to you?”
He winked at her. “I saw what you have under that coat. Trust me; I’m going to be worth your while. It will be so good, you’ll be paying me.”
Ellsa slapped him across the face and threw the tequila in his eyes. “Touch me again and I’ll kill you!”
He grabbed her and roughly pulled her off the stool. “You little bitch!” he hissed. “I’m going to teach you a lesson!” He dragged her out into the alley and pinned her against the wall. He felt her up as she struggled to push him off her.
She stopped fighting when something in her mind clicked. “Okay! I’ll do what you want. You don’t have to force yourself on me.”
The man looked at her with a glimmer in his eye. “You are not going to run, or blind me with your pepper spray?”
She tilted her head and looked at him. She then ran her fingers over his lips. “Of course not. I’m going to do you a favor.”
The man moaned, closing his eyes. “What?”
“Stop your life from getting even more pathetic.”
“Please do.”
Ellsa pushed him down a few inches to reach his ear, one hand on his chin the other stroking the back of his neck. “You asked for it,” she whispered. And with one swift quick move, she snapped his neck. The man’s body fell to the ground with a loud thud.
****
She startled awake, vaulting to a sitting position, gasping for air. She’d been having these nightmares for months, waking up in cold sweats and looking around her surroundings in sheer panic. Before, the images were hazy, sometimes just voices in the darkness, but this one, she stared right into the man’s face before he died and that scared her. She’d never seen the woman’s face, but… with this new development… did it mean that she was the murderous woman?
She took the already wet sheet and wiped away the streams of sweat running down her face from her forehead. Her nightgown clung to her perspiring body. This had truly been a bad one to make her look like someone had thrown water at her whilst she was in bed.
Her mind was plagued by the same questions again. Who were those people and why did they plague her sleep? Who is Ellsa and why does she hate these people so much?
She should tell Tom, but no, she couldn’t. She didn’t have it in her for another fight this early in the morning. The lurid dream had drained her. The first time she’d told her husband about them, he’d been concerned and so sweet about it. Then as the months went by and the nightmares came periodically, but more vivid than the one before, he just seemed to get more annoyed and angrier with each one. She thought it was his bruised ego that made him such a bear—a psychologist who couldn’t help his own wife. But now she didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. His erratic mood swings were getting on her last nerve.
Still shaking from the ordeal, she slowly placed her feet on the carpeted floor and reached for her dressing gown. She jumped when she heard something crash and break, then sighed tiredly when the shouts soon followed.
Could they not for one morning have breakfast without it turning into a shouting match? She debated on whether or not she should just stay in her room until the front door banged, signaling Tom’s departure. It was easier than trying to play referee.
“You’re not my daddy!”
Time to get up.
She quickly shrugged on her dressing gown and ran out of the room and down the steps as she tied the belt around her waist. She found them in the kitchen yelling at each other, milk, cereal and a broken bowl sat between them at their feet. It was a good thing she’d put on her house sandals on her way out of her room. She rushed to DJ and picked him up off the floor, placing him on her hip before she began checking his bare feet for cuts.
“Tom, the least you could have done, was move him away from the broken bowl before you began your shouting match. He could have cut his foot.”
He scoffed, throwing his hands up, “Of course you’re going to take his side, you always do!”
She refrained from rolling her eyes and telling him how ridiculous he sounded. As silly as he looked: a forty-three-year-old man having a shouting match with a five-year-old boy. Hell, he was worse than DJ!
She grabbed her son’s chin and turned his head to face her. “You okay? Did you get hurt?”
He tried to turn his head to keep glaring at Tom, but she held onto his chin firmly.
“No,” he grumbled. “Why does Mr. Tanner always pick on me, Momma?”
Stealing a side glance at Tom and watching his face gain a deeper shade of red as his ire increased, she wondered the same thing. How she wished she knew.
“Maybe because you call him Mr. Tanner instead of Daddy,” she chastised gently.
His brows furrowed and his lips took a harsh line. Like every time she stared into her son’s little face, she was hit with a sense of familiarity, but as always, she could never put her finger on it.
“Because he’s not my daddy. You don’t remember, but I do—”
“Tasha,” Tom interrupted harshly only for DJ to scream over his next words—“That’s not her name!”
Tasha caressed his cheek, holding him tighter against her when she felt his little body shake. “Hey kiddo, what’s the matter?”
He glared at Tom and Tom glared back. What the hell was going on?
“Do you want us to have that talk again?” Tom hissed through clenched teeth.
Stunned, Tasha stared at him. Did he just threaten my son?
DJ flinched as if he’d been hit then quickly wrapped his arms tightly around Tasha’s neck as he vigorously shook his head. She had to tug lightly on his arm to loosen the hold.
“Good,” he nodded smugly. He smoothed back his dark blond hair before reaching for his jacket and briefcase from the chair. “I’m off to work. Tasha, you need to learn how to home school him.”
“What? Why? He loves going to school, probably the only kid who does! Is this some sort of punishment for challenging you?” she exclaimed, barely containing her anger.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “Take it however you want to, I don’t care. He’s not going back. His IQ is attracting too much unwanted attention.” With that, he sauntered out of the kitchen, the front door echoing his departure.
Tasha soothingly rubbed DJ’s back. “Don’t listen to him, honey. You’re going to school and you are going to have fun learning all those new things—well, learning them again.”
She heard him sniff against her neck. It broke her heart knowing whatever threat was in Tom’s last words to him made him so scared he cried. Why couldn’t they just get along? What was so different this year than the other four?
These were the moments when she cursed that stupid accident that caused her amnesia.
DJ wiggled in her arms. “You can put me down now. I wanna go to my room and learn my triangles.”
Tasha smiled. Only her son would do fifth-grade algebra for fun. But it saddened her how deject
ed he sounded. She carried him to the staircase and placed him down on the bottom step.
“Alright, but I don’t know how long you’ll be able to work on your triangles. You’re leaving for school in half an hour.”
He frowned, his brows drawing together. “But Mr. Tanner said—”
She waved his concern away. “You’re going because your mommy said so and I’m the boss of you.”
His lips parted in the brightest smile that reached his brown eyes, making them sparkle. Again, so very familiar.
“Thanks, Momma!” he cheered, wrapping his arms around her neck and hugging her tight. She was glad the accident didn’t take this away from her. This feeling of love and accomplishment every time she made him smile. “I promise I won’t ask too many questions. I’ll help everyone else instead. Did you know there is a way of teaching math to active five-year-olds? I don’t know why Miss Blakely hasn’t found that out yet. She’s been teaching for a decade.”
Tasha rolled her lips in her mouth to hide her amusement. He says a decade when other kids would either hold up their ten fingers and say ‘this many’ or just say ten. Yup, she was proud of being the mother of a genius.
“Good thing you looked it up. Now you can help her.”
He nodded seriously. “You’re right Momma. As always. I’ll go get ready for school.” He turned around and ran up the stairs.
Tasha watched him until he disappeared. Then she sat down and let the worry consume her like it always did. Waking up from a coma with amnesia to find out she had a husband and a son had been scary. Realizing that said husband and son couldn’t stand each other was scarier. Especially when DJ insisted Tom wasn’t his father and Tom didn’t bother to correct him despite always assuring her that he was DJ’s father. Tom was exhausted of trying to explain to him how a white man could biologically have a black son. But what scared her the most was finding out her son had tested in the highs of a hundred and fifty-five and now they had to hide him because… she paused at that.
Why did they have to hide that?
She wasn’t embarrassed about her son’s high IQ. She was proud of that fact. But Tom wasn’t which was bizarre! The man had close to ten diplomas hanging on his wall attesting to how he valued knowledge—oh That’s right; DJ’s IQ was higher than his. So that’s why he had to stay a secret? The father didn’t want to be outshined by the son. Was he truly embarrassed that DJ was smarter than him? She snorted. Of all the conceited things!
