by Hera August
She pauses. “Wh-What?"
He glances down at their physical connection and then back at her. His voice is so naked, so textured, so deep in honesty, that Belle believes she’s hallucinating. She’s never heard a human sound so ghostly. It makes goose-bumps pinch all over her body, even in places she never knew existed.
“Thank you."
There it is again. Unmistakable this time.
He lets go and a shaky breath escapes her trembling lips. She bites down on her teeth, irritated that she always shakes around this man. Both of their breaths pick up and neither rushes to say anything, neither rushes to look away. Her cheeks prickle, and oddly, her head begins to swim.
“You're comfortable?” Her voice sounds foreign to her own ears. It’s sweet but thick, like she has just caught a sudden case of laryngitis.
“I'm okay.” His whisper is hoarse and knotted in sincerity, something she’s not heard from him. “I'll be okay.” He lowers his eyes to stare at her more. They’re sharp but puzzled with a message she doesn’t quite know how to interpret.
“If you need anything…"
He finally breaks eye contact and sighs, closing his eyes. Belle swears that that’s the first breath he’s taken since he awoke. “The floor… I remember."
She backs away, not looking at anything but him. He returns her gaze, never looking away.
It’s like… he is taking her in. All of her in.
“Goodnight,” she says, when the doorknob taps her spine.
She doesn’t turn. She can’t. They’re locked into some kind of magnetic field and it’s pulling her to him.
“Goodnight, Isabelle." A frisson of nervous energy passes through her when his lips utter her name.
“Belle. Just Belle.”
“Goodnight, Belle.”
“Goodnight, Judas… Sweet dreams.”
The front door bangs underneath the floor, shaking the whole house. Her eyes shoot to his, and his are wide with question.
“Parents," she says. He nods his head, understanding falling between them. “I should go.”
Her parents are home. And he—an intruder—is here. In the same house as them. Under the same roof. There’s no chance for peace-of-mind as long as Judas hides in her house. She leaves the attic quietly, closing the door without any sound breaking the tensing air.
The attic, her hiding place, now shelters a man who has turned her world upside down.
HE CLOSES HIS EYES the minute she turns, and his head falls back to the pillow behind him.
Everything hurts; swallowing is no exception. His body feels robbed of any strength. His muscles, his bones, his skin—every piece of him is buried under six-feet of concrete. He can’t even move his hands to rub his aching eyes.
‘Goodnight, Judas… Sweet dreams...’
Judas holds on to the intoxicating sound and relaxes as it washes over him. Seconds—minutes—skip by, as he drifts on a cloud of nothingness. Part of him wants to fight the invading darkness, but he can’t. It’s too strong, like an undertow of unconsciousness grabbing at his ankles and pulling him under. He is powerless to struggle, but the voice follows along with him as his companion. He listens for it and it carries along with him, bathing him in peace through the impending unknown.
There are a million-and-one situations running through his head. He has no time to wait for his body to heal. But he has little choice. And fighting his recovery will only delay his job in the long run. But none of that is what holds his attention in this moment. His sole concentration is on the walking conundrum that’s taking care of him. He roughly wipes a hand over his face, looking back at the door and thinking about what’s behind it.
His apparent angel.
“Fuck."
He catches the slight creak of floorboards.
She hasn’t left... She’s still right outside the door.
Moments later, as though a mouse has been caught, he hears descending footfalls. He listens intently, and when they finally drift into nothingness, Judas uses his left hand—his good hand—and smacks the wall with an open fist.
He fucking hates complications.
BELLE WANTS TO DIE from embarrassment.
He must have heard me… And now he’s going to think I’ve got a crush on him… But… he wouldn’t be wrong if he did, would he…? This is insane. I’ve finally lost it... If I ever had it in the first place... How can I have a crush on someone who broke into my home? A criminal, for goodness sakes.
Descending the stairs, she steels herself. She can’t give anything away to her parents.
“Isabelle. You’re still awake, Pumpkin,” her father calls out.
“I was waiting—”
The doorbell cuts her off.
Her father looks to her mother first and then the door. Who would be calling this late? It’s nearly midnight.
It’s probably just a neighbor who needs something. Judy is always coming over for something.
“I’ll get it then,” Belle says, heading for the front door.
“No!” her mother yells in a fierce whisper.
But it’s too late. The door opens slightly in her hands.
“What’s wrong with you both?” Belle whispers, whipping her head back. “It could be important.” The door opens halfway, revealing their uninvited guest.
Belle doesn’t recognize the face that greets her. A middle-aged man, who looks to be in a very expensive suit underneath a long black coat, takes off his black hat, and grins like the Cheshire Cat.
This isn’t Judy… or anyone’s neighbor to be more precise. He definitely doesn’t belong in Wentworth Creek…
“Hello, sweetheart. Sorry to disturb you so late but I’m here to see Mr. Dela Cruz. Is he in?” His voice is silky smooth and his presence is thick with charm. She notices a super-expensive black Bentley parked outside their house.
“Uh, whom may I say is here to see him?”
He strokes the edge of his thick black moustache, his grin widening even further. “Mr. Kulich. I’m his boss.”
Chapter Nine
THOU SHALL NOT LIE.
Belle doesn’t know why, but her gut-instinct is screaming to tell Mr. Kulich a white lie; to commit a deadly sin.
This doesn’t feel right at all. Why would Dad’s boss need to visit so late at night, and, at our home of all places? Surely work matters are conducted at... well, work.
“Um, actually he’s not—” Before she can utter her lie, her father comes to the door to welcome the mysterious man himself. Her dad pushes her behind him, but she doesn’t miss the color drain from her father’s face.
“Mr. Kulich. I-I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Yeah, I know. Can I come in?”
“Of course.” Her father steps back. “Please, come in.” Mr. Kulich enters their humble home, his shiny black shoes clicking on the floor as he takes a seat on the sofa in the living-room. She notices her parents never take their eyes off of him as they take a seat opposite. Standing by the phone table, Belle finds it very strange how her mother hasn’t even checked on Toby yet, like she’s being hypnotized by Mr. Kulich to stay exactly where she is. In sight.
“I would have prepared some food if I had known you were visiting," her father says. “Isabelle, go and get Mr. Kulich—”
“Please, there’s no need. I won’t be staying long.” Mr. Kulich’s voice trails smoothly through the air, cutting the nervous tension Belle can sense. She has a strong feeling her father had been trying to remove her from the room. Away from Mr. Kulich.
“I just wanted to see how you’re doing. The burglary. I heard they did a number on your office. You all right?"
“I'm fine, Mr. Kulich. It’s very thoughtful of you to show so much concern. But it isn’t necessary to come all the way to my house just—"
“What makes you think you're the reason I'm here in Wentworth Creek,” Mr. Kulich cuts through.
“I assumed—"
“Never assume, Mr. Dela Cruz,” Mr. Kulich interrupts for a
second time. “That's a dangerous game you should never play."
“Of course, sir.” He gulps loudly, tightening his tie. “Isabelle, why don’t you check on Toby."
"Isabelle, is it?" Mr. Kulich asks, looking straight at her. She doesn't like the glint she sees in his eyes, and a tendril of fear strokes her spine.
"Uh, yes..."
"Oh, don't look so worried, sweetheart. I'm here to make sure you and your family are all safe. And if there’s anything I can do for you—your father is very important to us. Isn't that right, Mr. Dela Cruz?"
"Yes," her dad replies, succinct.
Whatever is going on, it isn’t good. She looks at the house phone next to her. It’s only a few inches away from her hands…
“How's your family?” he asks her father again, but his eyes never stray away from Belle. He’s watching her every move. Closely.
“Fine.” Her father’s answer is stiff, along with the rest of his posture. She doesn't like the way Mr. Kulich is... watching her.
“What wonderful big green eyes you have, Isabelle.” Mr. Kulich finally removes his line-of-sight away from her and locks it straight onto her father. “I see she doesn’t get them from you, Mr. Dela Cruz. Very trusting eyes, huh?"
“Yeah.” Her father quickly clears his throat.
Mr. Kulich nods, acting fully enthralled. He sweeps his thumb over the edge of his chin. “Maybe one day she can work for me. Don’t you think, Mr. Dela Cruz? In one of my clubs, maybe."
She notices her father's hand turns into a fist. “Isabelle has her own future set up," he says, his tone bitter.
“Oh no, Isabelle, are you going away to school?" Mr. Kulich meets her eyes and there is no mistaking the pure calculation arranged behind it.
“Uh… Yes… Stanford."
His eyes roam over her body and seem to still on her eyes. “Stunning. Absolutely stunning. Beautiful girls like you should never be wasted.” Mr. Kulich shakes his head leaning back on the sofa. Crossing his leg over the other, he folds his hands over each other and turns back to look at her father. “Don't take that for granted. Many do."
“Sir?” Her father attempts to mask his fear, but the wobble of his chin betrays him.
Mr. Kulich shrugs, his posture unthreatening, almost friendly, but his ebony eyes scorch a warning, blasting away the neat veil of cordiality. “Like I said, you seem to have a wonderful family. Healthy, happy. You've made a great life for yourself here in Wentworth Creek. It’ll be a shame if it doesn’t stay that way."
Belle can see the sweat building up on her mother’s brow from where she’s standing.
“Well, as long as you’re happy with my work, then I'm happy, sir."
“Pleased enough, Mr. Dela Cruz.” His next words may as well have icicles hanging from them. “But things change. Sometimes without warning. If you are ever to do something that will upset me or my business, I will have to rethink your position in my outfit."
“Mr. Kulich… I'm not sure what you are referring to."
Those words stir something dark in their uninvited guest, and Mr. Kulich’s voice rises, “Isabelle is an attractive young woman,” he says, his stare never leaving her father’s direction. “She has a great big future in front of her… It’ll be a shame if something happened… Someone so young should never have to suffer in any way."
What the hell…? He’s threatening us. Why?
Belle thinks back to how bizarre her mother had acted on the phone the night before.
‘If someone comes around asking about your father…’ What the hell has Dad done now?
Her father shoots up from the sofa. She can see anger and fear mixing to form a deadly combination of crazed panic in his eyes. Belle wishes with every fiber of her being that the man in black will leave soon. All of this tension is eating her up inside. And her mother looks like she is about to faint.
“Spencer, sit down, please,” her mother pleads. But her mother’s words are never heard.
Her father’s eyes narrow. “Would you like to take a look at the books?"
“No.” Mr. Kulich rises, straightening the invisible creases in his dark suit. “I trust you."
Her father nods. “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Kulich?" he asks, heading straight for the front door.
“I’m leaving tomorrow. Just wanted to check in. But things look good. Nestor gets the numbers on time each month. As long as he is happy, I am happy."
“Good,” her father replies, opening the door.
Mr. Kulich offers his hand and her dad receives it. “Mr. Kulich, if there’s anything I can do to be of service to you—"
“Mark my words you'll be the first to know if I need anything from you,” Mr. Kulich says with a sinister grin. “We'll be in touch. My regards to your family, Mr. Dela Cruz.”
It happens so fast that Belle isn’t sure if she imagines what she sees next. Mr. Kulich’s eyes seem to dart up at the stairs for a second as though he expects someone to be there.
Looking back at Belle, Mr. Kulich says, “It was wonderful to meet you Isabelle. We will meet again someday, I’m sure."
She forces herself to smile back her response, but inside she’s begging for Fate to never allow them to meet again. Her father’s menacing boss finally steps outside and heads for his Bentley. It feels like the Big Bad Wolf has just threatened to blow their house down.
Her father shuts the door quickly, a loud sigh escaping his lips. He looks at Belle. “Isabelle, we need to discuss something important.”
“You think?” she replies, shaking her head.
“Come sit with your mother and me.” He looks worn out.
“What’s happened?” Belle asks, bracing her hand on the arm of the sofa.
This doesn’t sound too good.
“Come sit. We need to talk,” he says, his voice impatient. Belle sits on the opposite side of her parents and watches her father’s hands tremble in his lap. “Don’t get upset, Pumpkin, but we've run into a bit of a problem.”
“Dad, please, just say it.”
“Okay… Well, unfortunately... it looks like we have to move. Right away."
Belle waits, hoping he hasn’t finished. There has to be more. To just leave and without reason? Belle stares blankly, none of it making any sense.
“Dad, what's going on? What happened? I just—I don't understand any of this.” Her body is overheating from holding back the dam of adrenaline rushing forth. Now is not the time to break. She always holds it together so well. “Mom, why haven't you said anything?"
Her mother brushes back the honey-blonde hair from her eyes. A few strands still stick to her forehead. “Your father's right. It's the only choice we have."
“No,” Belle breathes out, “I'm not going anywhere until you explain this."
“Business… it's not going well,” her father admits, standing up and walking over to sit by Belle. “I've wanted to get out for a while... But the only way I can leave and not be connected to Mr. Kulich's organization, will be to leave the state. We can never come back… But our life will be fine—”
Belle feels the room shrinking as she cuts in, “Whoa, Dad. I… slow down. I don't understand anything you’re saying right now. Why do you need to leave the business? Didn’t this job save us from bankruptcy in the first place? I mean, when you lost your other job, this job is what you said saved us. That's what Mom told me anyway. And I've never heard you once complain about your job. You said your boss has always treated everyone fairly. You make good money—"
“It's not that simple, Isabelle,” he interrupts, his tone sharp. “There are things you don't know—won’t understand."
“Try me."
He levels her with a glare. “Be serious, Isabelle."
“Fine, then you be. Leaving should not be an option. This is our home. We can't just pack up—"
“We have to, Pumpkin… I'm sorry."
The tears behind her eyes sting. “Sure… What did you promise? You promised me that you were never goin
g to do this to us again."
“I meant it but sometimes you have to break some promises to survive."
“Survive?” she repeats, her voice screeching. He shushes her, placing his hand on her lap, but she pushes it aside. “What’re you saying? If we don't leave something bad is going to happen? What are you leaving out?"
“This business is dangerous…”
“You have never talked like this in the years you have worked—”
“You’re a child, Pumpkin.” He rubs his hand at the back of his neck. “Your mother and I didn’t want to worry you and we still don't. But we don't have a choice anymore."
Refusing to fall apart, almost sick with how many times she’s teetered on the brink in the past twenty-four hours, Belle clears her throat. “Are you saying we’re a target or something?"
“No,” he quickly interjects, “far from it. It's just, sometimes the risks aren't worth it anymore. Before, when I started working for Mr. Kulich's organization, it was much smaller than it is now and there wasn’t much publicity concerning his affairs so everything was pretty much low key—just the way we accountants like it.” He smiles but she doesn’t return the gesture. “Now his business has tripled, there’s not as much assurance that his nefarious activities won't bleed onto the legitimate side of his work. I'm not willing to take that chance anymore. I'm tired. Your mother doesn't want to deal with the headache of worry and Toby is still very young. We'd like some peace. Is that too much to ask?"
Shaking her head, stunned, Belle waits, but his explanation proves to do just the opposite of soothing her fears. “I don't… I don't understand why we have to leave, Dad. I'm supposed to be going to Stanford soon. Are you telling me I can't now?"
He stands up, pacing the length of the room a few times before stopping by Belle again. She continues to peer blankly at the wall-clock in front of her.
“Isabelle.” Her father's voice is meant to placate but it only pushes the anger out faster. He places his hand near hers, but she recoils and meets his eyes with her searing ones.
“Tell me the truth. If we're just going to pick up our lives and leave, I deserve to know why. I'm not leaving this room until you give me a reason."
