Escape From Paradise

by Gwendolyn Field

  “There is no normal for her right now, Mrs. Birch, with all due respect—”

  “With all due respect, of course there’s no normal when you’re stuck in a room with a shrink all day. I will not allow her to be questioned today.”

  “I’m simply doing my job.”

  “When your job interferes in my daughter’s healing and well-being, I take issue. We’re only talking about one day. You can come back tomorrow when Agent Douglas is back.”

  God, I loved the sound of that tough Texan accent. It filled my chest with pride.

  Agent MacDonald clearly wasn’t happy, but she left nonetheless and I wanted to clap.

  Mom’s face was pinched and angry when she rounded the corner, but she relaxed when she saw me. “Mornin’, baby.”

  “Mornin’,” I said.

  “I got stuff to make your favorite meals today.” She beamed. “Oven fried chicken. Mac and cheese. Sweet tea. We’re gonna have us a good day.”

  My mouth watered. I tried to smile, but I still felt like I didn’t deserve any of this. Mom took my hand, unperturbed by my wary attitude.

  “Come on. You can help me. I’ll even let you shred the cheese.”

  When our big, late lunch was ready I thought about Graham as Mom, Dad, and I prepared to sit.

  “Can I invite Mr. Douglas’s little brother?”

  “Of course,” Dad said, looking around. “Is he here?”

  “Yes. I think he sleeps during the day, but I’ll wake him up.”

  They looked like they didn’t know if that was a good idea, but I left to get him. When I hit the hall I had the urge to crawl, and I had to shake the thought away.

  No more crawling.

  I dragged Graham out of bed and presented the disheveled punk to my parents. To their credit they only batted surprised eyes for a second at his appearance before falling into hospitable mode, welcoming him to the table and asking him to eat as much as he could.

  “Sorry ‘bout my hair,” he said, trying to press it down with his palm.

  Mom waved off the comment and filled a plate for him.

  I stared around the table at everyone else beginning to eat. Mom smiled at me, and I picked up my fork, knowing that’s what she wanted.

  It was too much food. And so rich. I’d only cleared a quarter of my plate before I had to stop and clutch my stomach. Mom put a hand to my forearm.

  “It’s okay. Take your time, Angie. I gave you too much, but I couldn’t help myself. You’re just so thin.”

  My gut settled after a few minutes of not eating, and I was content to hear my parents chatting, and watch Graham finish his entire plate. This made Mom happy.

  “You can have mine if you want,” I told him, pushing it forward.

  He glanced at my parents, who both nodded, so he pulled my plate up and dug in. I wondered how long it’d been since he had a decent meal. Afterward he holed himself back in his room, and I had a strangely normal day with my parents. The three of us walked around the land behind the house, holding hands, then watched a movie. Then I beat Dad at a game of Gin-Rummy, though I’m certain he let me win.

  Agent Abernathy showed up for an hour to scout the property and check on us, a reminder that were were not just some regular family on vacay in Scotland.

  I felt myself holding back, afraid to be happy. I didn’t laugh or smile as much as the wonderful day warranted. I was so scared of my parents learning of the things I’d done and being disgusted with me, though they’d never admit it. And I couldn’t stop worrying about Mr. Douglas, and wondering about Josef and Perla.

  That night when everyone went to bed and the house was quiet, I tossed and turned for hours. When I heard footsteps going down the hall, I got up and tip-toed after them. I knocked on Graham’s door, and he opened it right away, still holding a brown paper sack in his hand. He looked refreshed, wearing a skull T-shirt.

  “Are you going out?” I asked.

  “Nae, coming in for the night. Join me if you’d like.”

  I did, and he closed the door behind me. He took a bottle of vodka out of the bag and drank directly from the open neck. When he held it out to me I shook my head.

  We sat on the gamer chairs, and talked. I watched as he progressed into a more relaxed, version of himself with the drink in his system. He even smiled, which made him incredibly good-looking. Was Mr. Douglas that breathtaking when he smiled?

  “Come on,” Graham said. “Have a drink with me. Just one.”

  I chewed my lip. “I can’t drink a lot. And not straight like you’re doing.”

  He stood and went to a mini-fridge, pulling out a carton of orange juice and bottle of cranberry juice. In seconds he had a drink in my hand. I sipped it and let it warm my chest. It wasn’t too strong. I thanked him and he sat next to me again.

  We talked and talked. I asked him about Colin as a boy, and heard how Colin had always been the painter and partier while Graham was the drawer and gamer.

  “Do you still draw?” I asked.

  He shrugged, hiding his face behind his hair. “I mostly dick around with computer graphics and shite.”

  “Have you ever taken a class?”

  “Nae. Can’t keep much of a schedule. Though I sometimes dream of going to New York City and attending graphic design school.”

  My eyes widened. “You should! Graham, that would be wonderful for you!”

  He shook his head. “Nae, nae. Shouldn’t ha’ told you that. I could never do it. Be a responsible student and citizen and all that shite.”

  I disagreed, but the way he curled inward and chugged from the bottle told me he was finished with that aspect of the conversation.

  As the night progressed and tiredom set in, I drank through it, accepting my third. My tongue was loose. We shared disturbing things—the stuff that haunted us at nights and made us hate ourselves. Graham’s stories were so much more awful than mine. While I was often revered by men at the villa like a goddess, Graham’s experience was the opposite. He’d had four owners, each worse than the previous. He was reminded daily that he was despicable trash, a body barely worthy of their use. And he’d been so young.

  His eyes were red, when I pushed the hair from his face and made him look at me. He reminded me so much of Josef, his thin frame and pained past.

  “You’re a good person, Graham. They were monsters.”

  “Your master was a monster, as well, Angela. Though you speak of him fondly…”

  An image of Marco filled my mind. Was he a monster?

  Yes.

  I shuddered. Without a doubt Fernando was a beast of nightmares. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. And right now Colin Douglas was out there chasing my monster.

  My thoughts of fear and gratitude were interrupted when Graham moved closer, on his knees in front of me. I smelled the warmth of alcohol on his breath, and saw the way his tentative gray eyes searched me for something. With an impulsive move he took my face and pressed his firm lips to mine. His lip ring was cool in contrast to the heat of his mouth.

  Never tell a patron no. Allow him to do whatever he wishes…

  Unease ratcheted through me.

  No. No. Not a patron. This was Mr. Douglas’s brother. He was only trying to thank me in the only way he knew how. To reward my kindness physically. I couldn’t let this happen.

  Going against every instinct I’d learned at the villa, I pulled back, turning my head to the side. He stayed close and I felt his breaths on my cheek.

  “Jaysus…” Graham thrust his fingers into his hair. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I whispered, not wanting him to feel bad.

  A shuffle sounded by the door and a deep voice rang out. “What…the fuck?”

  I didn’t even have to look up. At the sound of my master’s voice I fell to my knees. His footsteps pounded toward us and Graham curled into a ball on the floor as Mr. Douglas reached over him, grabbing the bottle.

  “You’re giving her alcohol? Of all the stupid shit, Graham! What
the fuck are you thinking?” He launched the nearly empty bottle toward the trash can across the room and it hit the wall with a bang before falling into the canister. “Angela…please. For the love of God, don’t kneel. Graham, Christ, I’m not going to hit you. Fuck!” He stood and kicked one of the gamer chairs. It flew into the bed and I started to shake.

  “Come on, lassie.” Mr. Douglas’s voice lowered, as if he were forcing himself not to be angry, and he helped me to my feet. Then he grasped Graham by the arm and lifted him, leading him to the bed where he fell in a drunken heap.

  Graham quietly murmured, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

  Mr. Douglas took his brother’s face in his hand, making him look at him. “I shouldn’t have yelled. All right? Sleep it off. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  His face was stern and full of regret when he placed his wide palm on my back and led me out of the room, down the hall to my own room. Inside, I climbed into bed, but grabbed his arm when he turned to leave.

  “Stay with me,” I pleaded.

  He froze, half turned, and shut his eyes.

  “Don’t ask that of me.”

  “I know you only did what you had to do in Spain, Mr. Douglas—”

  “Please—”

  “No, I understand. I do. I’m not mad at you. I’m grateful.”

  “You’re drunk.”

  “I’m…” Okay, the room was spinning a little, but slowly. I wasn’t plastered, just nicely buzzed. I let him go and looked up at him. “I know what I’m saying right now. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Nor do you.”

  “Yes, I do. I owe you so much. I want to give you everything.”

  He turned from me. “Well, I can’t accept it. I’ve been given all I’m owed. You’re free now, and…that in itself is reward enough.”

  My insides shivered at the sweetness of those words.

  “Is…is Fernando dead?”

  “Yes.”

  My insides galloped at that single word. I didn’t realize just how much old fear and angst had attached itself to the idea of Fernando until I could feel it dissipating and releasing. He’d never hurt another girl again. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “Believe me, it was my pleasure. Now, get some sleep.”

  I reached for his arm again as he moved away, but I was too slow this time.

  He was almost at the door when I whispered, “I love you.”

  The moment the truth slipped out, I felt lighter, and the room spun faster.

  He stopped, tense, never turning. “You’re drunk,” he said again. “And I wish you’d call me Colin.”

  With my sentiment ignored, he left me.

  I love you.

  Fucking Graham and his fucking vodka. He wanted to strangle his idiot of a brother. Colin’s chest constricted, like he couldn’t breathe when he remembered what he’d seen in that room—the two of them so close, their faces mere inches apart. And the bottle next to them.

  He wasn’t opposed to them talking. In fact, if they could help each other, he’d be fucking grateful, but how had they gotten so close in the couple days he’d been gone? He didn’t want them that close. And he sure as fuck didn’t want Angela turning to drugs and alcohol the way Graham had.

  I love you.

  He scraped at his scalp with his fingertips, pacing his room. God damn it!

  Some people said alcohol made the truth come out. But Colin knew from his own drunken stupors that alcohol also made you do and say things you’d never want to do or say in a sober state—things you didn’t mean at all. She’d been through so much. She was confused.

  She couldn’t have meant it, but it affected him just the same. He’d wanted to turn around and take himself back to her bed, to cover her skin with his, to bury himself deeper inside her than anyone ever had, and listen to her say those words over and over. To him.

  The best thing Colin could do for both of them would be to leave. He’d allowed things to go too far. But the selfish, masochistic part of him wanted to stay, wanted to see how things would play out, good or bad.

  Dawn broke, spreading a buttery light through his room. He wasn’t tired, having slept a bit on the plane. In fact, he felt wired as Angela’s words resounded in his head on replay.

  Soon, he could hear the Birches moving around in the kitchen and smell coffee brewing. It lured Colin from his room. Mrs. Birch brightened, beaming at him when he entered.

  “Coffee?” she asked, already grabbing a mug and pouring.

  “Please. Just black.”

  She handed it to him and picked up her own. They stood there staring at one another for an awkward moment before Colin said, “Thank you.”

  She held his eyes, all seriousness, and then verbally knocked him on his arse when she said quietly, “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

  Mr. Birch took that prime moment to bustle into the kitchen, sweeping a kiss across his wife’s cheek, and holding out a hand to Colin.

  “Ah, Agent Douglas. Good to see you back!” They shook hands, and Colin made one last moment of eye-contact with Mrs. Birch, whose gaze was soft and understanding.

  Colin sat at the table, rattled, while Mrs. Birch buttered toast and fried eggs, and her husband sat across from him wanting to discuss all things Scotland. Within minutes they were both devouring platefuls of breakfast. When they were finished Colin took the dishes up and rinsed them, despite Mrs. Birch’s attempts to do it.

  He heard a shuffle at the door, and he felt Angela’s presence before he saw her.

  “There’s my girl,” Mr. Birch said.

  “Mornin’ Daddy.” She sounded tired and wary, the second part Colin knew was probably because of him. “It smells good.”

  Mrs. Birch moved back to the stove. “Sit down, honey, and let me make you an egg.” She patted Colin’s arm and said, “You sit, too.” She inclined her head back to the table where Angela was pulling out a chair next to her dad.

  Colin’s instinct had been to leave and let the family have their time together, but he didn’t want to be rude. He took a seat across from Angela, who stared down at her hands in her lap. Her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, which Colin thought was incredibly cute, along with the pillow lines on her face from the couple hours of sleep she’d gotten.

  Mrs. Birch put a cup of coffee in front of her daughter. “Cream and sugar, just the way you like it.”

  “Thanks,” Angela whispered. She and Colin sipped their coffee, never making eye-contact, while her father rustled a newspaper. After a few minutes Mrs. Birch set a plate in front of Angela, and then sat next to Colin, sighing happily.

  Angela made no move for her fork. No move to eat, at all.

  “Aren’t you hungry, sweetie?” her mom asked.

  “Um.” She fingered the fork next to her plate. “Not really.”

  Her mom looked sad. “You should try to take a couple bites. Just to have something in your stomach. You did so well last night…”

  Angela sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, and Colin realized it was probably his presence hindering her from feeding herself. Part of him wanted to get up and leave, while another part of him wanted her to get past this hurdle, and be able to feel comfortable eating in front of him.

  “Angela,” he said quietly. “You can eat.”

  A breath left her, and she seemed to roll her shoulders inward, balling herself. Both her parents were watching her now, their eyes darting to Colin, as if trying to figure out the problem. He didn’t want to take drastic measures and be domineering, but he desperately wanted to see some sort of positive progress with her.

  “Look at me,” he whispered, his voice low.

  Her eyes lifted with hesitation.

  “It’s okay. Eat. Anytime you’re hungry, you can eat.”

  Finally, she picked up her toast with a shaking hand and took a tiny bite. Colin and her parents deflated of their tension, relaxing back into their seats. The Birches chatted about weather, while Colin watched An
gela eating, wanting so damn badly to reward her for being a good girl. He could think of several ways.

  He cleared his throat and stood. Thoughts like that were inappropriate as it was, but even more so in front of her parents. As he rinsed his coffee mug he heard a knock at the front door. He pulled out his gun from habit, although no criminal worth their salt would knock on the door.

  “Stay here,” he told the Birches, who watched him.

  At the door, he frowned when he saw Agent MacDonald, and begrudgingly let her in.

  “Agent Douglas,” she said, smiling. “You’re back. Good to see you.”

  “Mmhm.” He stowed his gun, then closed and locked the door.

  MacDonald stepped in his path, moving her chestnut waves from her shoulder. “We should really have our talk today.”

  “Sure. Later.” He moved around her, heading toward the kitchen with the other Agent on his heels. None of the Birches looked thrilled at the sight of her.

  “Good morning,” Agent MacDonald said with false cheeriness.

  Mrs. Birch offered her coffee without a smile.

  “No, thank you. I’ve had mine already.”

  “Well,” Mr. Birch said. “Before everyone gets started today, my wife, Lanie, and I would like to tell you our plan. We know we can’t stay here forever. We’ve discussed places in the world where we can start over with our new identities, and we’ve decided on The Netherlands. Angela knows a little of the Dutch language already.”

  Colin’s gut twisted. The thought of Angela moving far away grew a protective beast inside him. He would follow her wherever she went, unless the Birches requested otherwise. He wasn’t ready to let her go. He had to keep her safe.

  “That sounds like a good choice,” Agent MacDonald said. “Do you have your new identity paperwork yet?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Birch answered. “We received everything yesterday. We’d really prefer not to take Angela there until we’ve secured a place to live, so Lanie and I are leaving this afternoon to look for a home out there and get everything squared away. We’ll be back in a few days for Angela. Hopefully no longer than a week.”

  He reached down for his daughter’s hand and she smiled shyly up at him. “This okay with you, pumpkin?”