BEAST (Twisted Ever After Book 1)

by A. Zavarelli

  Death.

  The word punches me in the gut all over again. I want to tell her to shut up. I want to tell her that he isn't dead. But he is.

  He's right here beside me. And I'll never hold him again. I squeeze my eyes shut, and the only thing I can see is that look on his face.

  The betrayal.

  It's the only thing I see. Day and night. Every other memory has vanished, and this is all that remains. The haunting final moments when he was there, and then he wasn’t.

  "He thought I did it," I whisper. "He thought it was me. It was the last thing he thought."

  Tears leak from my eyes and I feel weak for crying all the time.

  The therapist doesn't say anything. She lets me cry. She lets me feel. And it hurts so much. I wish she would just give me some pills. To numb everything. To make it go away. But she hasn't given me any.

  I ask her why, and she reaches for her pen again, tapping it against the corner of the desk.

  "I can't give you any pills, Isabella.”

  "But why?" I ask her again. "Isn't that the whole point? The whole point of me being here?"

  "The whole point of you being here is to rest," she replies. "To be well."

  I ignore her and go back to tracing over the roses. She watches me. She is silent for a long time before she speaks again.

  "I think you are strong, Isabella. I think you are brave. And I think Javi would want you to be well too. He would want you to be at peace."

  "How can I be at peace?" I demand. "When he isn't here?"

  She is quiet again. Her brow furrowed.

  "What if I told you that a part of him was? What if I told you that you had another reason to be strong?"

  Her words capture me. She knows it. But she does not explain right away. She watches me closely, gauging my reactions. And then when she has determined that I am ready to hear it, she goes on.

  "Do you remember when your father brought you here? Do you remember the tests we ran that first day, Isabella?"

  I nod. I was despondent then. I wouldn't answer their questions. I didn't need to. They took their answers from my father. From blood tests and eye tests and reflexes and other things that were supposed to measure how sick I was in the head.

  The answers to those tests are in my chart. The chart she carries with her now. She opens it up and reaches inside, flipping through to the back. And then she pulls out a piece of paper, sliding it across the desk towards me.

  "Isabella, the reason Javi still lives on is because he is here with you right now. Inside of you. You are pregnant with his child."

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Moldavia is the same as it always was.

  Shadowy. Secluded. Mysterious. But somehow, everything has changed.

  Inside is dusty. Stagnant. A time capsule of our last moments together. Javi's bed is still unmade, where we slept together that night. The bandages remain on the bedside table, from when he mended me after I tried to escape. And the glass he brought me to take my pills remains, empty.

  It is an ache unlike any other when I walk around this house. When I don't feel him here. I try to be strong. I try to remember everything I learned from my therapy. I want to hold on to the good memories and push forward. But it's hard when everything is so desolate around me.

  It's hard when every time I have to breathe, it hurts.

  His child grows inside of my belly. And I have to do this on my own. It cracks me open and makes me bleed all over again. But the worst pain comes when I visit the conservatory. When I see the roses have withered and died in his absence.

  The once familiar scent that used to surround us no longer lives.

  Even the house is in mourning. I can’t feel him here. I don't feel him here at all. I have to see him one more time. In the only way I can.

  I walk to the bathroom, and I find the makeup case. The one where I stashed the tapes. The tapes that have haunted me for so long.

  I don't know what's on these.

  I don't know why they were hidden away from the others. But I have nothing left to lose now. I have nothing left to fear. The worst has already happened. There can be nothing on these tapes that’s worse than what I've already witnessed. That's what I tell myself as I walk to the projector.

  They are numbered, so I start with the first. The projector sputters to life, but nothing plays on the screen. I try the next tape. And the next. And the next. They are all blank.

  All along, they meant nothing.

  There was nothing here. It doesn’t make sense. Why were they locked away?I can’t think about it anymore. I can’t focus.

  I put on one of his tee shirts, and I cry. But only for an hour. That's all I will allow myself. Because I have to keep moving forward. I have to, for my baby. For our baby.

  I have to make a home. I have to play my music. I have to stay busy. And most importantly...

  I have to plan a funeral.

  My father comes to the door in the afternoon, his shoulders falling in relief when I answer it.

  "Isa, I was so worried. You should not have run off like that."

  "I’m an adult," I answer. "And I was free to go. I did not need your permission."

  His eyes are sad when he looks at me. I am sad too. I don't know how it came to this. I don't know who this man is.

  "I know what you did," I tell him.

  "I did not kill him, Isa," he insists. "I know you find this difficult to understand, but I cared for Javi. I cared for him like a son. And I am mourning his death too..."

  "I'm not talking about that.”

  Guilt washes over his face. He tugs at his collar, his mind silently formulating the next untruth.

  "Don't lie to me," I bluff. "I've seen the tapes."

  His reaction is small. But it’s there. The slightest flash of worry darkens his eyes before he masks it again.

  “Isa, I do not know what you are speaking of.”

  "Yes, you do. He was tortured. Because of you. You took him from one hell and sent him to another. He loved you. How could you do that to him?"

  "I had no choice. Isa, you don't understand."

  "I understand that you betrayed him. All those years, you told me I could never meet him. That he was dangerous. But in reality, he was only the monster you created."

  "I was following orders," he says. "You don't understand how the agency works. If I had not followed those orders, I would be dead. And then what would become of you?"

  "Then I would have at least known that my father was an honorable man."

  My words cut him, and I can't hold back the emotion in my voice. The shame. The anger. The grief.

  I want to take the words back as soon as I say them. I hate this. I hate being so conflicted. Living between love and hate. First with Javi. And now with my father.

  "Isa," he pleads. "Forgive me. I'm so sorry."

  He pulls me into his arms, and I don't fight this time. It hurts so much. I want to forgive him, but I don't know how I can. How can I when I still don't know the truth about Javi's death.

  "Have you heard anything more about River?" I ask.

  My father’s arms stiffen around me, and I pull away.

  "Tell me," I demand. "You have to tell me."

  "Let me come inside," he implores.

  I let him into the parlor and shut the door behind him. He gestures to the kitchen, and we take a seat at the counter. I don't offer him a drink. The time for pleasantries is over.

  "There is much more to River than I knew," my father begins.

  "Javi trusted him," I say. "He trusted him with his life. With my life. He thought he was his friend."

  "I trusted him too," my father answers. "I didn't realize how deep this went."

  "What do you mean?"

  "River is employed by the agency."

  I shake my head. That can't be right. Javi would have known.

  "They've known each other since the sanitarium," I argue.

  "I know," my father replies. "That's why his cove
r worked so well. He is a handler of sorts. That was his role all along. He was inserted into Javi's life at a young age to build a relationship of trust."

  "But why?" I ask. "Why would they do that?"

  "Because Javi was a valuable asset," he answers. "One that, in the right hands, could have been a dangerous weapon. If he ever decided to act on his own, to work for another agency, it could have devastated the entire house of cards."

  "So, you're telling me the agency is behind his death? That doesn’t make sense. Why would they hurt him?"

  "I don't know.”

  I want to believe him, but I don’t know that I can.

  "I know River cared for him," my father tells me. "That wasn't a lie. I know he cared for him."

  His words make no difference now. What does it matter if he cared when he disappeared without an explanation?

  "I'm tired," I say. "I think I'm going to rest now."

  He shakes his head, his eyes pleading with me.

  "You can't stay here, Isa. It isn't safe. Not until we know what's going on."

  "Nowhere is safe," I reply. "Not when I have no idea who to trust. What difference does it make if I'm here or at home? At least here, nobody can get in from the outside. Not unless I let them."

  "You don't know that," my father argues.

  "I'm not leaving. This is my home now. Where Javi lived. That's where I will live too."

  He still wants to argue. But he doesn't. And I know my father well enough to know that he will probably have at least a few armed guards surrounding the place when he leaves here tonight.

  "Just think about it, Isa," he says. "Think about coming home."

  I walk him to the door.

  "The funeral is on Friday," I tell him. "If you want to come."

  Chapter Forty

  I thought that maybe this would help. Maybe it would give me some closure to bury Javi. To lay my torment to rest. But the only thing I have learned from this gloomy day is that nothing can lay those feelings to rest.

  He is so alone in this cemetery. And I worry that I am doing the wrong thing. Perhaps he should have remained at Moldavia instead.

  Only my father has come. Not even River made an appearance. This place feels so cold. So desolate.

  At the last minute, I lunge forward, desperate to stop them from laying dirt over him. Over my heart. My father halts me.

  "You are doing the right thing, Isa.”

  It doesn't feel that way. It feels like he is dying all over again. But I don't move. I don't fight. I remain paralyzed. Long after they have finished. Long after night has settled over the earth and into my bones.

  "Let me take you home," my father says.

  He means his home. But that isn't home to me anymore.

  "Take me to Moldavia," I tell him.

  He doesn't like it. But he does it anyway.

  Autumn creeps in slowly, and then all at once. It seems that overnight, everything has gone crisp.

  I have a routine now. The same routine every day. I work on the nursery. I write my music. I record. And I visit the cemetery.

  Each day, I lay a red rose on Javi's stone. And each day my belly grows. With it, my strength does too.

  I can feel him.

  I can feel him with me. In the air around me. In the scent of the wild roses that now bloom in the conservatory again. Moldavia is full of his energy. But oddly enough, this place isn't. And yet I come here every day. I read him my lyrics. And today is the last song that I have to read him.

  When I close the pages of the journal, I know that it is time. I am ready. I drive into the city. Straight to Luke's office. I know he's here because the stench of his alcohol hits me before I even step foot inside. I knock twice, and he answers, more haggard than I've ever seen him.

  "You," he growls. "What do you want?"

  "I'm ready to come back," I tell him.

  He laughs. Shakes his head. And tries to shut the door in my face. I use my foot to intercept him.

  "Your contract has been paid off." He makes a wild gesture with his hands. "It’s over. You’re finished."

  "Paid off?"

  He looks at me like I'm an idiot, and then his eyes wander to my belly.

  "Yes, paid off. By your psychotic boyfriend. You're out. Done. I don't want anything else to do with you."

  "Javi?" I whisper.

  "Yes, Javi." He scowls and rubs his shoulder as though he's recalling a painful memory.

  "He paid you off?"

  "Yes." He blinks. "Are you hard of hearing, Isabella? I fucking said that already."

  "That's why you didn't come looking for me."

  He makes another gesture with his hand. "I'm done with you.”

  And it's obvious he really is. Whatever happened between him and Javi has left a sour taste in his mouth. There isn't an ounce of desire in his eyes when he looks at me now. But that only strengthens my resolve. I didn't want to play that card with Luke. I didn't want him to think that things would ever be the same between us. That we could go back to the way things were with me as his willing puppet and him pulling the strings.

  There is one other thing that Luke loves though. One other thing I know I can use to my advantage. So before he slams the door in my face a second time, I stop him with one simple question.

  "What if I said I could make you a lot of money?"

  He narrows his eyes at me. Laughs and shakes his head.

  "And how exactly do you think you're going to do that, princess?"

  "One final show," I propose. "You can have it all. The rights to the music. Just give me ten percent of the profits."

  He laughs again.

  "Oh, Isabella. You poor, naïve little country bumpkin. Don't you realize that the world has moved on? There were twenty pop princesses ready to take your place the day you walked out."

  He's lying, and I know he's lying. Because I can see the fire in his eyes. He's already thinking about how he can spin this.

  "Everyone loves a comeback," I tell him.

  "Do they?" he smirks. "I don't know if you could call it a comeback when you never really got started in the first place."

  I don't take part in his verbal jousting. This is just the way Luke is. And I know how to push his buttons, just as well as he knows how to push mine. He's all about the dramatic effects.

  I pull my foot from the door and meet his eyes.

  "Fine. I'll go somewhere else, then. I'm sure there are plenty of others who would be interested in what I'm offering."

  I turn to leave, and he grabs me by the arm.

  "What exactly are you offering?"

  He hates himself right now. Serves him right for putting me through hell.

  He doesn't want to need me. But I know as well as he does that his career is in the tank after canceling my tour and then losing Megan to another label.

  "One show," I tell him. "My way. No fireworks. No smoke. No backup dancers. Nothing but my music, my way."

  "So you want a day at the nursing home then?" he scoffs.

  I try to yank my arm away, and he stops me again.

  "Fine, fine," he grumbles. "I'm listening."

  "My piano," I tell him. "I'm going to play on the piano. And I'm going to sing. That's it. My songs. My choice. My control."

  "Then what do you even need me for?"

  "You get to publicize it. I know how much you love that media attention. I’m sure that hasn’t changed."

  "Why would you do this?" he asks. "Why even bother?"

  "Because, Luke. I know this may be a difficult concept for you to understand, but once upon a time, I loved music. I loved to sing. And then everything got messed up. I just want closure. One last show. A show where I can put it all out there. Then I can be done. I can move forward. For good."

  He mumbles under his breath again before releasing me.

  "I'll see what I can do."

  And in Luke speak that's a yes. I smile and pat him on the arm. He winces.

  "Your boyfriend won't be coming
around for this," he says.

  My eyes burn as I swallow and avoid his gaze.

  "Don't worry. He won't be."

  Chapter Forty-One

  Cold metal taps the base of my skull, stirring me from my delirious slumber.

  It is familiar, this feeling. The heaviness in my body. The barrel of a gun rapping against my head. But it is the smell of earth that I remember most.

  The urge to wretch is strong, and I am still hungover from whatever it is I ingested. When my eyes finally open, everything is blurred.

  The room is dark and small. Cold. Underground. I'm trying to piece it all together. Trying to make sense of it.

  I see Bella's face in my mind. Her screams. Her fear. A surge of adrenaline has me attempting to launch myself upright, but I am swiftly rejected by the confines of my restraints.

  "Easy there, tiger.”

  The voice is muffled, but familiar. The build of the man is too when he comes into view. And then I remember.

  Bella's father. His house. The whiskey. This man is the one. The one who took me from my Bella. I try to lunge at him. To kill him. But my movements are still sluggish. My body is still weak. And I am still chained.

  "There's no need for dramatics.”

  It’s his shoes that I notice first. The same shoes I have seen a hundred times before. Shoes that have graced my own home. Shoes that belong to the man I trusted with my life.

  With Bella's life.

  When he sees the stark conclusion on my face, he removes the mask and retrieves an apple from his pocket.

  "Sorry old pal," River says. "Just the way these things go sometimes, isn't it?"

  I look up at him. My oldest friend. My only friend. I thought I had known betrayal before. I thought that nothing could be worse than what Ray Rossi did to me.

  But I was wrong.

  I still can’t accept it. I want to be logical.

  River has taken issue with Isabella. He thinks me weak. Perhaps this is his way of trying to make me remember. To continue down the course of revenge that he helped me plan so meticulously.

  This is what I tell myself.

  “Release me,” I demand.

  He looks at me, apologetic, but does not move to help me.