“Is that so?” I’m about to say something else when Shirley comes in.
“Did I just hear someone laughing?” Shirley walks into the room holding a tray in her hand, looking at me and then Willow, who has a smile on her face. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before.”
“I don’t usually have anything to laugh about,” Willow says, looking over at her. “Is that my breakfast?”
“It is.” Shirley sets the hospital tray down on the table. “Now, don’t get your hopes up too high,” Shirley says. “We have to wean you into solid foods.”
“I know,” she says. “Besides, I had two bites of blueberry pie.”
“Did you now?” She smiles at her. “Well, eat up because I have to draw your blood, and then we have a CT scan and an MRI.”
“Why?” she asks.
“We want to make sure that the swelling in your brain went down,” Shirley says. “Make sure you are healing. They are totally normal.”
“Okay,” she answers softly, her head going back on the pillow as she closes her eyes.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, and she shakes her head.
“Not really.” She closes her eyes a touch more.
“Rest, sweet girl,” Shirley says, and Willow’s eyes close and don’t open again. Shirley motions with her head for me to follow her out of the room.
“Is she okay?” I ask, worried. Looking over my shoulder, I make sure she is still sleeping.
“She is fine,” she says. “Does she know about this afternoon?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t told her yet,” I say, running my hand through my hair. “She was light and laughing, and I didn’t want to.”
“You better get your balls ready because in less than five hours, that woman is going to be raked over the coals.” She points at the room. “And there is nothing that anyone can do about it.”
She turns to walk away, leaving me with a nagging feeling in my stomach. The burning takes over, and it moves up my neck, my mouth getting drier. My legs feel like I have concrete in my shoes as I walk back into the room and sit in the chair by her bed.
Her face has gained color in the past couple of days, and the circles around her eyes have gotten lighter. The swelling on one side has gone down just a touch. The sound of her laughter echoes in my ears, and I want to hear it again. Over and over again.
I take my phone out and send my father a text.
Me: What time is everyone coming?
I watch as the bubble with three dots comes up and see that it’s just after seven. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s awake. My father might sit behind a desk most of the day, but he always starts his day at five thirty with a walk to the barn.
Dad: We are going to be there at one.
Me: Can you bring blueberry pie?
Dad: Yeah, I’ll get one on my way there. Are you okay?
Me: No. Not even close.
Dad: It’ll be fine. Have faith.
I put the phone down and roll my eyes. My phone beeps again.
Dad: Don’t roll your eyes at me. I can still kick your ass.
I laugh, and it wakes her up. She jumps, gasping out for air. “It’s fine,” I say, grabbing her hand that is shaking in mine. “It’s fine.” Her chest rises and falls, and the machine shows her heart going higher than before but coming down just a touch. “It was a nightmare.” I rub my thumb over the top of her hand. “It’s just a nightmare.”
“Sometimes, your nightmares are reality,” she says, licking her lips. “I’ve found that out way too many times.”
“Not anymore.” I wait for her to look at me. “Nothing will ever hurt you again.”
Her eyes drop to look at our hands, and I can feel her trying to come up with something else. “Willow, look at me.” Her eyes come back to me. “You never ever have to feel fear again.” My thumb rubs across her hand softly. Her eyes go from my eyes to my hand on her and then up to the ceiling, and I know I have to tell her. “Um,” I start to say, and she looks at me. “I’m sorry to have to do this to you.” Her eyes never leave mine. “But they need to come and get a statement.” I swallow. “I tried to push it off as long as I could, but …”
“It’s fine,” she says, moving her hand away from mine. “It’s been long enough.”
“Do you want me to get a lawyer for you?” I ask, and I hold my breath.
“No,” she says. “I did nothing wrong.”
“I’ll be here the whole time,” I tell her, and Shirley enters.
“Okay, you ready to go?” she asks Willow, who avoids our eyes by closing hers. “It should be a couple of hours.” She looks at me, and I just nod.
I walk over to the window and look outside at the sun slowly waking up. I stand here looking out for I don’t know how long, until Shirley comes back with her, and Willow has her eyes closed.
“She had a headache,” Shirley says. “She couldn’t open her eyes without having sharp pain, so we gave her something.”
“How long will she be out?” I ask as she locks her bed wheels.
“Shouldn’t be long,” she says. “But she was very quiet.” I nod at her, and she walks out of the room.
I sit in the chair and watch her sleep. Her head moves side to side, and then her eyes fly open, and she closes them right away. I get up, going over to the blinds, and close them. “See if this is better.”
She opens her eyes slowly, nodding her head. I don’t have time to tell her anything because there is a knock on the door.
I look over and see my father standing there, wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves. “Hi,” he says, and I look over at Willow, who looks at my father and then at me.
“Willow, this is my father, Casey,” I say, and my father walks over to her and smiles.
“Willow, good to meet you,” he says.
There is another knock on the door, and I look up to see my uncle Jacob and uncle Beau. “Hey,” they both say, coming into the room. Willow’s eyes go from one to the other as she tries to figure out who everyone is.
“This is my uncle Jacob,” I say, pointing at my uncle, and I see in her eyes that she recognizes the name. “Then my uncle Beau.”
They smile at her, and then another knock makes us look at the door. I look over at the same time as Willow, and then she screams.
My head turns in slow motion. Everyone in the room turns to look at Willow, who is shaking in the middle of the bed. “Oh my God,” she says, trying to move out of the bed. I get to the side of the bed as she tries to get as far away as she can. “He’s here.”
Chapter 12
Willow
My body shakes, and I can’t even stop it, the sound of my heart pounding out of my chest. I try to turn and escape off the bed when Quinn puts his hands around me. “It’s okay.” His heat from his hand soaks right through my hospital gown, and I look up at him. His soft blue eyes calm something inside me. “Promise.” I don’t know why, but something in the way he says those words, I believe him.
“I’m not my father.” The man speaks, and I turn to look at him, finally taking in his appearance. His body is much bigger than his father’s, his eyes just a touch lighter. His face not sunken in and filled with hatred.
“I’m Mayson,” he says, and I let go just a bit and sink back into the bed.
I look at Quinn, who just nods his head, telling me that what this man is saying is the truth. “What are you all doing here?” I ask, my voice trembling as I look at all the men standing in my room.
“We have questions for you,” Quinn’s father, Casey, says. They look the same and could be brothers. His father has a bit of white at his temples, and Quinn is a bit wider than his father, but everything down to their eyes is the same.
“I thought I was talking to the sheriff,” I say, looking at Jacob. Sitting in the middle of the bed, I feel my mouth suddenly dry as my hands shake. I sink back into the warmth of the bed, hoping that it spreads through my body.
“You will be,�
�� Jacob says, and Quinn walks over to the table. I want to yell at him not to leave me. I want to tell him that I want him beside me, but I just let him go. “The investigation has been ongoing, and lots of people have been working on it. I hope this is okay?” Quinn grabs the white cup and brings it over to me.
I ignore the cup of water that Quinn holds in his hand, refusing to give them any leverage over me. “What do you want to know?” I look at all of them, and my eyes go to Mayson as he stares at me. I wonder if he knows what I went through. I wonder if he can tell the hell I’ve lived in. I wonder if he knew all this time and ignored it.
“Who are you?” Mayson asks before anyone else.
“My name is Rosemary Davis.” I give them my full legal name. I look at their faces and see that they have never heard of me, which means I covered my tracks. “But I was always crying as a child, so they called me weeping Willow instead.”
“When did you meet my father?” Mayson asks.
“Lucifer?” I say the name that I gave him, and Mayson just smirks at me. “I met him eight years ago.”
“How?” Jacob asks, watching my every move.
“My mother was married to him,” I admit, and I see the surprise on their faces. “He was her fifth husband. She really did save the best for last.”
“That’s impossible,” Casey says. “We would have found that Rosalie had a child in her background check. There were no family members, just a mother.”
I laugh bitterly. “She had me when she was fifteen years old. She was trouble even then. I have no idea who my father is. I don’t think she knew either. Needless to say, she didn’t want me. She was too young to take care of herself, let alone have a child.” I fill them in. “My grandmother, Louise, she put her name on my birth certificate as my mother.” I swallow the lump in my throat as I remember her gentle smile. If I close my eyes tight enough, I can still hear her voice very far away.
“Rosalie had me at home, so there was no one to say otherwise. But who knows if any of that is true. When I was seven, my grandmother, who was my mother in everyway, was killed in a car accident driving home from the grocery store while I was at school. I was placed with child protective services." I wipe the tear off my face. “Until Rosalie showed up at the funeral. She was half stoned out of her mind and let everyone know she was my real mother." The white cup in Quinn’s hand is crushed, and I look over at him as he puts his head down. He probably is disgusted by me, I think, ignoring how the pain in my chest comes on full force. “We had no other family members, so Rosalie had no one to fight to keep me." I tap my finger on the bed. "She didn’t want me. She wanted the inheritance I came with." I look at them. “And then when she died two years ago, I was stuck with Benjamin." I say his real name, and the bile comes up in my throat.
"How did you live with them and no one ever heard of you?" Casey asks. “We interviewed them."
I laugh. “Those people wouldn’t know the queen if she stayed with us." I look down. “The longest we stayed in one place was four months. My mother followed her ‘one true love.’" I use my hands to make quotation marks around the saying she used to always use. "Then we met Benjamin, and I wasn’t really allowed out." I don’t give any more information than I need to.
"What does that mean?" Quinn asks.
"I was a pawn in their game," I finally say. It’s the only thing I can say truthfully.
"What does that mean?" Mayson asks.
"It means that if I didn’t do what one person wanted, they would get the other person to persuade me to do it. No matter what it took." It’s the easiest way I can explain it at this point. I don’t tell them just how far they took it. I don’t tell them that the longest I went without eating was twelve days. They would hydrate me but use food as leverage. I don’t tell them any of the bad stories. That is my nightmare to live with. "All that changed when Rosalie died. Then I was his to do what he pleased with. There were no more games." I look at Mayson. “When he found you, it was like he climbed Everest, and nothing was going to stop him from making sure you paid for what you did to him."
"Were you there when he held me captive?" Mayson asks with his eyes on me.
"I was there,” I say, and he glares at me. "Tied and bound." His eyes soften. “I tried to get free and get you help," I inform him. "I waited for him to fall asleep one night. Fall into a stupor after drinking his whiskey. I waited until I knew he was passed out before I made my move. I was going to untie you, but when I was about to pull the door open, the floor creaked. I didn’t have time to look behind me to see that he was awake. In the darkness like the devil he was, he grabbed my hair, pulling it out, and rammed my head into the wall."
I look at Mayson. “When you escaped? God, that was a good day." I smile at him, not even feeling the tears streaming down my face. “I laughed at him." I shake my head. “Which, if you haven’t figured out, he doesn’t like too much. He backhanded me, and something in me snapped, and all I could do was laugh at him. I think it was hysteria. I don’t even know how long the beating lasted. I don’t know what happened after that because everything went black, and when I woke up, we were in the car, and it was two weeks later." I ignore the gasp that fills the room. "I was in and out for most of the time. I don’t really remember much. He had to keep a low profile, so we slept in the car."
"Were you there when he followed Chelsea?" Mayson asks me. "Outside the diner."
"I was." I look at Jacob. “I was in the getaway car, handcuffed to the steering wheel. He had the keys. He came running back, started the car, and told me to go." My finger taps the bed faster and faster. “I refused. I was done with it." I force myself not to cry. He will not get any more tears from me. "I didn’t care."
"But you drove away?" Jacob says.
"Yes, well, when you have a gun pointed at your head, you pretty much listen." I look down. “I didn’t actually. I told him no, and he pulled the trigger, then he laughed and said, ‘Let’s play Russian roulette.’" The same fear runs through me. “So I took off instead of finding out if I would be lucky again. The sound of the gun clicking right next to your ear is a sound you will never ever forget."
"How much longer is this going to take?" Quinn asks, and when I look back at him, I see the rage on his face. "Ask your questions, and let’s get this over with. She needs rest."
"I have a couple more questions," Jacob says. "Where were you when he kidnapped Chelsea?"
"I was unconscious under a bed," I tell them. “I tried to warn you again. I should have learned my lesson, but he was going to kill her. There was no mistake. He was obsessed with making sure Mayson suffered hell. You"—I look at Mayson—“were his kryptonite. For as long as I can remember, it was Mayson, the one who fucked him over. Mayson is the only one who was able to escape him and his wrath." I take another deep breath.
“I thought he was gone. I opened the door and took five steps before he stepped out and found me. I begged him to kill me. I said whatever I could to make him mad enough to give me the last final blow." My hands shake. “Called him a loser. Called him a misfit. Called him a sorry excuse of a man. What kind of man makes his son win. I said everything and anything I could in order for him to kill me. With each blow, I laughed in his face. His blows would get harder and harder until I was numb. Until I was just a corpse in the middle of that smelly cabin. I don’t remember anything until Quinn found me."
I look over at Quinn, whose face is white and ashen. “I’ll be back,” he says, turning and walking out of the room. I look at his father, who follows him out.
"I don’t know what else you need me to answer," I say to the men who are left in the room. My heart beats a mile a minute. "He killed my mother and kept me because I got a check every month. He didn’t keep me because he loved me or was taking care of me. I was living in hell, and he was the gatekeeper."
“No one wants you. You are nothing, a nobody. No one would care if you died or lived,” I hear echoed in my ears. I close my eyes, trying to drown out the laughing
that would come after that. I open my eyes and look out the window at Quinn, who has his back to me.
My heart feels this weird pressure in my chest, knowing what I said might have hurt him. I’ve never had anyone sit by my bed before and worry about me. I’ve never had anyone care that I was hurt. I’ve never had anyone give me even an ounce of what he gave me in the little time he’s known me. I don’t even know him, yet I know that if he’s here, I’ll be safe.
Chapter 13
Quinn
I walk out of the room, and my whole body shakes with rage. My stomach burns, and I have the sudden need to throw up. I listened to her tell her story, and I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. I knew it would be a hard one, but what I didn’t realize was that she spent her whole fucking life in hell.
"You need to rein it in," my father says from behind me. I know I can’t turn around because if I do, she will see my face and the horror on it. She will see the tears running down my face. She will see that, and then she will spin it to something else. I know her, in the short time, I know her.
"Dad,” I whisper or plead, even I don’t know. “I can’t." I swallow down the lump forming in my throat. My head is spinning around and around as I replay the words. “So many things make sense. The way she didn’t want to ask for a thing or admit she needed things, like fucking water."
"You need to,” he says and walks over to stand in front of me. “There are so many holes in her story it’s not funny. And frankly"—he shakes his head—“I’m not sure I want to know them. But for her, for right now, you need to be strong."
"I can tell you what isn’t in those stories." I look at him. “There is no one tucking her in at night and telling her good night. There is no one telling her that they love her. No one kissing her when she got hurt. No one protecting her. No one." My voice drops to a whisper. “She had none of that." My heart shatters when I get the full picture.
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