Breathing Black

by Piper Payne

  Nancy clothed herself and sat down cowering in a Victorian chair, wiping the tears from her eyes and blood from her lip. I could see the betrayal and hurt on Patrick’s face; he stood there trying to decide how he should move his pawn: help the queen or take out the king. Franklin decided for him. What began as confrontational yelling turned physical between father and son. I could see Patrick releasing the anger he’d been holding onto, years of festering pain boiling over into one deep cut. I wanted my mom to get up and do something, anything, to make them stop! Wrestling out of Franklin’s grip, Patrick stood there, clothes askew, sweaty and frantic, pulling out his phone. That moment changed everything. I should’ve hit the stop button, walking away so the last thing in my memory was Patrick’s familiar eyes, square teeth, and worn Stanford College sweatshirt. Franklin grabbed his son, both hands clenched around his throat, lifting him off of the ground while Patrick tried to pry himself free, his feet dangling and kicking. Both of my hands were now grabbing the screen as I watched. Nancy even rose from the chair; the look on her face was exactly how I felt. Terrified.

  Franklin let go of Patrick’s throat, flinging him to the ground, assaulting him with his drunken words. I could feel Patrick recoil, insults poked and prodded into him like a searing hot fire iron. The moment Franklin turned around to walk away, Patrick charged, like a bull after a red cloth, wrapping his arms around his neck, dangling from Franklin’s back. They were unevenly matched in height and weight. Franklin scrambled backwards crashing into the wall with Patrick’s back and skull smashing into a massive framed piece of photography. I could see my mother flinch as Patrick’s body connected shattering the glass. It was the same piece I saw hanging in Landon’s office, the black and white photograph of the Rocky Mountains by Ansel Adams. As Franklin pulled away, blood covered the cracked spider web ring of broken shards as they crumbled to the floor. From there it was as if I watched everything in slow motion. I could see the rage on Franklin’s face as he held his son’s arms tightly, dragging him to the indoor balcony banister. Patrick’s eyes were filled with hatred and fear as his father pressed his back against the wood, his feet leaving the floor. He screamed frantically as he clung to Franklin’s tuxedo jacket, trying to wrap his legs around his waist. The only thing that kept Patrick from falling was his father’s grip. I hadn’t realized I’d been screaming until Max, Austin, and June came rushing in the room and stood beside me. Their eyes transfixed onto the screen. For a moment we saw Franklin stagger forward—a flicker of morality—but it was when Patrick leaned in and whispered something into Franklin’s ear that he ripped Patrick’s hands off of him and let go. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. We watched as Patrick fell from the upper left hand of the screen to the bottom, slamming into the granite floor. My body flinched even though there was silence as his body landed. Franklin and my mother looked over the railing in shock at the horror that lay below them. I could see blood start to pool under Patrick’s contorted body.

  I was yelling at him. “Get the fuck up! Get up, Patrick!” Max had me pinned in his arms, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen. Franklin grabbed my hysterical mother, leaning her over the railing, pushing her head, forcing her to look upon his son’s broken body. “Look what you made me do! Look what you made me do!” I pictured him screaming. Nancy’s tippy-toes scratched the floor trying to stay on the ground, her hands wrapped around the wood. We were watching in silence, no one breathing or moving, just waiting for Nancy to land on top of Patrick’s body hoping it would cushion the fall.

  Then as if rage was the only solution to calm the storm, he pulled her off of the railing and beat her. I watched EVERY. SINGLE. BLOW. Even though tears flowed from his eyes, he held no restraint for a man that had just killed his son. He’d snapped. Two agonizing minutes passed and finally he ceased. Nancy lay there broken but still alive as Franklin sat down in the chair to make a phone call. I went limp in Max’s arms as we stared in silence. I kept watching the bottom of the screen waiting for Patrick to move or for a flicker of life but there was nothing.

  What did a man do once he threw his son to his death? He prayed. Franklin hung up his phone, walked down the grand staircase, and got down on his knees before his son and prayed. It was almost like the tape paused; no one moved and nothing changed. My mom lay in the same spot and Franklin never left his son’s side.

  Austin fast-forwarded the tape; ten minutes went by on the time stamp until a man showed up at the front door in a hat and glasses at night, unrecognizable until I heard June gasp.

  “Oh my God, it’s Robert.”

  Landon’s voice about Franklin being business partners with June’s family rang through my head. I squinted my eyes trying to recognize him, his pathetic disguise worked. He entered the home unfazed by the dead body that lay before him. Franklin followed him into a room on the left, and then the tape went blank.

  I could feel my pulse pounding in my neck. I now knew without a shadow of a doubt Franklin Black would do anything to get this tape back, and I mean anything.

  My thoughts suddenly went to Landon and my heart ached. He didn’t know. He had no clue what was on this tape or of his father’s deceit. He loved Patrick; I could feel it when he talked about him.

  “What do we do?” My voice broke into a strangled sob. None of this made any sense.

  “We need to go to the police,” Austin said, like it was a no-fucking-brainer. “Who the hell was that on the tape?” He paced back and forth running his hands through his ink-colored hair.

  “That was my mom, Landon’s father, Franklin Black, and his brother Patrick. The man that walked in at the end was Robert, June’s uncle.” I sighed.

  “Oh, shit.” Yeah, oh shit is right.

  “There has to be more to this,” I mumbled. My eyes searched back and forth, low and squinting, sorting through the crashing thoughts in my brain. “Landon thinks his brother is alive. He has no idea any of this happened. Franklin has played his son’s death as if Patrick just took his inheritance and left town.”

  “You don’t know that, Larkin,” Max blurted. “Why would Franklin have Landon trying to find the tape if he doesn’t know? It’s completely incriminating.”

  “Ah! I don’t know! If he killed Patrick, what about my mom? Did she walk away from this? What about June’s uncle?” I said, pacing, clenching my hair with both hands at the scalp. “The time stamp was only days before I found Nancy dead.”

  “Who cares. Let’s turn this into the police and have the bastards arrested,” Austin exclaimed. “They’ll figure the rest out!”

  “No!” June blurted loudly, breaking her silence. She had her arms wrapped around herself, still staring at the black and white snow on the television screen. “We can’t. Larkin and I tried to get the police to look over Nancy’s case before we left Aspen.” She turned around catatonic; seeing her uncle on the screen had already done damage. “We even tried a second time when Larkin finished her first year in law school but the police and coroner records seemed to disappear into thin air. Now we know why. They’re all working for the Blacks, and if my uncle was involved in this, it means we are fucked unless we come up with a plan. He’s got everyone from the FBI to Catholic priests in his pocket. If we even talk to the wrong person we will have triggered our own demise. People talk. Especially people who have money tied into Franklin and Robert’s businesses. They both own everyone and everything in and out of Aspen through market shares and investments. If we turn in that tape it will disappear. We can’t trust anyone. We need to figure out a way that will put them behind bars without getting ourselves hurt.” She started to pace, frantically spewing out the words she was instantly thinking. “This is our chance and we have to be smart. We could link them all to Patrick’s and Nancy’s deaths and get them all put away for good!”

  “Are you crazy? Don’t you think this is good enough? We’ll find the right people to talk to. With a tape like that they’ll have to be arrested!” yelled Austin.

  Austin
was right and wrong. Franklin Black had years to prepare himself if someone found this tape. He was running for governor. There was no way he’d let this tape see the light of day. In fact, I’d bet three million dollars we’d end up seriously regretting trying to play by the rules. Max seemed to agree as he walked over to the tape player and started hooking up another machine.

  “I’m making more copies before we leave this building. There is no way I am risking having that tape destroyed. It may be our only leverage.”

  I understood June’s vendetta. Making sure to tie her uncle to the involvement of Patrick’s death was the only way for her to have retribution for what he’d done to her. There was no proof to what he was truly guilty for. She deserved that much. She deserved at least a chance to set things right. I had to do this for her. I had to do this for all of them. June, Nancy, Patrick, and Landon. By now Franklin had to have to known I had what he wanted. I could no longer play ignorant for my safety or the safety of those I loved. We had to come up with a plan.

  Around midnight I walked into the high-rise I’d been staring at for the past few hours. I’d been sitting at the bar across the street waiting for my flight instinct to kick in but it never came. Earlier Max dropped me off at the bank where I put the original tape into the safety deposit box, safe and sound. I lied my way out of having him escort me back to Jesse’s, and now here I was, on the verge of mental insanity.

  I snuck past the doorman and security officer, into the elevators. For a moment I looked at the buttons realizing I didn’t know where I was going since I’d never been here before, but smirked as I pressed the fifteenth floor, which had to be the penthouse suite. As the elevator rose I got more and more nervous. The last time I surprised him I ended up facedown on his bathroom floor wishing for a faster, less painful death. I was scared I would walk into the same situation.

  The elevator dinged letting me out into a tiny private entryway. It had black slate tiles and large double metal doors. I walked quietly over to them, touching the cold steel frames with my fingers. Could I do this? Did I have enough strength to walk away if I did? I took the kit from my purse and quickly began to maneuver the lock; in less than a minute I had it picked. My heart raced when I placed my hand on the door handle. I convinced myself that no matter what happened I needed this, and so did he.

  I opened and closed the door, quietly slipping inside. The lights were off but his penthouse was illuminated with decorative blue lighting that made the mood feel sexy and dangerous. Or maybe that was just how I felt. I took off my coat, slowly walking through his condo, taking my time observing Landon’s home knowing that I would never be here again. His living room was open with walls of windows and a large metallic and glass fireplace that grew into the high vaulted ceiling. He had modern black leather couches that wrapped around creating a barrier between the living room and kitchen. Even though it was beautiful with its dark and cool tones, it felt sterile and empty. There were no pictures, no belongings other than furniture. It was like a museum. I walked past the industrial style kitchen to the balcony to look at the view. God, he was right. I loved that view. It was breathtaking. I could picture us standing here, wrapped in each other’s arms as the sun crept over the mountains, slowly soaking into the room. I closed my eyes almost feeling the warmth but then shook my head knowing it was only going to hurt more thinking about the future. I was only allowed to think about tonight.

  In the kitchen was an empty glass sitting on the counter next to an expensive gold-embossed invitation addressed to Landon from his father. I opened the folds. Inside, in royal script, were the words: Black Enterprises 4th Annual Charity Art Gala and Auction. Friday, February 16th 2013 at The Manor Hotel. The counter was sticky, everything surrounding me smelled like bourbon. It reminded me of Landon’s tongue—a scent and taste I’d grown fond of when it lingered on my lips after kissing him. I picked up the crystal decanter that was next to me and poured myself a drink in his empty glass. The minute the amber liquid hit my throat I welcomed the burn as it instantly warmed its way to my empty stomach. I set the glass down and tucked the invitation in my purse, continuing my journey.

  I slowly traced my hands along the counter, stepping quietly, trying to calm my chaotic heartbeat as I left the kitchen. Like a waking limb, I could feel its trepidation as I took air in through my nose and released it from my mouth. Once I reached the hallway, desire and sorrow gripped my core. I could see the double doors to the master bedroom, a familiar, persistent and painful need to be with Landon moved me forward. I slowly slipped off my boots and socks, tiptoeing quietly with one foot in front of the other down the dark hallway. I undressed, rhythmic and slow, chills covered each newly exposed area of skin. I passed Landon’s office but stepped back to look inside. He had boxes and files in disarray all over the room; it was as if in a fit of rage they’d been flung off his desk or thrown up against the wall. I picked up a picture frame that was lying by my feet on the floor. It was of Landon and Ashley. I held it up to the moonlight that shone through his office window. The bitterness of betrayal rose up in my throat like stomach acid, but I swallowed it back down. They looked pretentious and happy with their posed closeness and fake matching smiles. I set the photo back on his desk, perfectly placed among the chaos, a reminder of his soon to be happily ever after as he worked.

  I swallowed my pride and continued back down the hallway leaving a continuous trail of clothes. Pulling my white shirt up over my head, I let it drop from my fingers as I got to his bedroom doors. I stood there in my lace bra and underwear with my hands on the door handles staring at the warm light shining through the cracks trying to gather up my bravery. It had to have been the bourbon that helped me slowly open both doors and walk inside.

  My eyes instantly went to the bed where Landon lay sleeping. He looked exhausted and unkempt in a crumpled suit and scruff covered face. The light from his nightstand shadowed the worry lines etched above his brows. In one week his whole life would come crashing down around him, a fate dealt with his own hand of cards. The truth will be painful and raw. The devastating loss of his brother he was misled to resent for years, and a father, the puppeteer, with blood on his hands. I would never forgive Landon for what he had done to me and I would never forget, but tonight I’d try. I wouldn’t be able to express with words how much I wished things were different but I hoped he’d be able to feel it.

  This will be my goodbye.

  I walked to the foot of the bed and could see my reflection in a full-length mirror on the wall. My long, wavy, dark hair hung softly down my back, the swells of my breasts covered in lace moved up and down with my uneven breathing. Knowing the pain he’d soon go through compelled me to comfort him. I’d let him use me like all the times before, but this time I was a willing victim.

  Looking back at Landon, I smiled as he began to stir, a fog lifting as he slowly opened his eyes and connected them with mine. Before he could speak or question or doubt, I crawled up the bed until my lips touched his. He held back at first, pulling away with my face in his hands, looking at me to see if I was real. He began to speak, but I covered his lips with my finger. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

  He wasn’t dreaming—a realization he made as my skin touched his. I heard an intake of air fill his lungs and watched his pupils dilate. I closed my eyes and melted into him as we kissed, savoring every moment of this night because I knew it would be our last. His tongue glided with mine, hungry and rough. My hands moved into his hair, bringing him closer. I wanted him inside me; I needed him to feel how much I wished I could love him.

  He pulled away from me, looking back and forth into my eyes. “How? When? Larkin, God I need you. I feel like if I blink, you’re going to disappear.”

  I would only say three words to him tonight and nothing more. Everything else I wanted to say would only hurt him. I brushed my fingertips over his concerned brow. “Help me remember,” I whispered, looking at him with want and adoration, the way I would’ve looked at him every day for
the rest of my life had he not destroyed me. Help me remember why I’ve thought I’ve loved you since I was sixteen years old.

  He started to pull off his tie, but I reached down and paused his trembling hands. I wanted to undress him slowly, taking my time to admire what would no longer be mine. Was he ever mine? I brought Landon with me until I stood with the back of my knees against the mattress, watching the growing hunger burn in his blue eyes as I took off his clothes.

  I sat on the edge of the bed as Landon knelt naked between my legs, his head near my heart. I knew he could hear it beating wildly. He held onto me like he never wanted to let go. I could feel our war of emotions. I was saying goodbye and he was begging me to stay. I wondered if he could feel it too. Could I do this even though her lips were here days before? When he used me and lied to me? Am I that desperate to have this closure with him, to comfort him? Unsure if I could go on, he kissed me and I had my answer. Everything we were feeling in this moment was real. I wanted to make him forget she ever existed. I wanted to erase her from his life. I wanted to make it so no other woman would EVER compare to me, right here and right now. No one would ever make him feel the way I do.

  He took the lace covering my breasts, pulling the fabric down letting me spill into his hands. The heat of his mouth making my head lull back, the softest moans leaving my lips. I’d let him worship my body. I’d let him take what he can while he still could.

  Eventually I found myself in the center of the bed, his hands sliding, pleasuring, and exploring. He brought my arms above my head. I felt the silk fabric of his necktie wrap and tighten against my skin.

  “I’d blindfold you but I want to see those gray eyes,” he said while securing my wrists together and spreading my knees apart. I wanted nothing more than for him to tie me to his bed. It meant I couldn’t change my mind. It meant I couldn’t run. He hooked my wrists to his headboard; I lay there more vulnerable and open than I’ve ever been to anyone before.