by Ally Vance
I follow Lillian up the stairs, and into what appears to be her room. She opens the door and flicks the light on, and we venture inside. Lillian goes over to her closet, and rummaging inside, she pulls out a long velvet skirt and a black, chiffon-style blouse before grabbing fresh underwear and socks from her chest of drawers and offering them all to me.
“Here, I hope these fit. I haven’t worn them in a while, not with this little one growing inside me,” she laughs.
“Thank you.” I take them from her.
“There are spare towels in the bathroom. It’s the room next door,” she tells me. “Then at the other end of the landing is the spare room where you can sleep.”
I turn to leave, but she continues to speak. “So, I saw you with Quinlan earlier, heading into your house…” She pauses, presumably waiting for me to confirm and elaborate.
My heart stutters erratically, and I have no idea what to say. How could I possibly explain what’s happened? The truth is beyond insane.
“It was…a misunderstanding,” I reply finally.
“Okay,” Lillian responds, her expression is thoughtful and I suspect she doesn’t believe me, but to my surprise she doesn’t push it.
“Let me know if you need anything. I’m pregnant, not helpless, so please don’t feel like you can’t ask,” she says, and I have to stop myself from laughing at how motherly she sounds.
“How old are you?” I ask her, unable to hold back my curiosity.
“Eighteen, and don’t you dare judge me for being pregnant. I get enough of that from the others in town,” she snaps, and I smile.
“I wasn’t about to. I was just thinking you sound older than you look.”
“Oh! Sorry. It’s just I get criticised a lot for being young, unmarried, and knocked up,” she explains apologetically.
“It’s fine. I totally get how judgmental people can be,” I reply, and she smiles back at me.
I swiftly leave the room before I can spill my guts to this girl, who’s a complete stranger to me. I have the strangest feeling, though, I’m not the only one holding something back. If I stick around here, then I may try to get to know her. It seems to me she's almost as much of an outcast in this place as I am, and I could do with a friend. My last friendship didn’t exactly end well, I muse, recalling the situation with Quinlan. The main problem I have when I think about Quinlan and everything he’s done is that I invariably end up dwelling on his uncle as well. I shouldn’t feel so drawn to either of them after all that’s happened, yet I can’t seem to prevent it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Frollo
It’s been two days since the fire at Esme’s house. Two days since she slipped through our fingers. I’m furious, and not only at myself, but Quinlan too. If he hadn’t tried to swoop in and take her for himself, then we wouldn’t be in this predicament. God knows where she's gone and who she's spoken to by now. I only hope that if she’s told anyone, they simply think she's telling outlandish lies. I don’t want to think about how humiliating it would be for me, a respected pastor of the church who’s looked up to by his congregation, to have my integrity ripped apart.
It’s not my fault. Esme was a test, and one that proved too hard to resist, but I haven’t failed entirely. My status in this town still holds sway. If she'd told someone or alerted the authorities, I’m sure they’d have been knocking on my door by now. Given the fact we haven’t discovered her whereabouts, it’s probably safe to assume she's left Stonewood. However, fear for her wellbeing settles uncomfortably in my stomach. My concern for her is the only reason I’d risk this secret getting out, and I can’t put off taking action any longer. I pick up the phone.
Within fifteen minutes of making the call, a couple of our local police officers are sitting at my kitchen table.
“So, when did you last see Miss Esme…er…?” Officer Brown asks, trailing off.
“Byrne,” Quinlan interrupts before I can answer, and I turn to see him leaning against the kitchen door, watching the three of us.
“Quinlan!” Officer Maxwell exclaims, beaming at him.
“Long time no see.” My nephew grins. “Sorry for interrupting.”
Quinlan throws a smug look in my direction because he’s aware that despite all the time I've spent with Esme, desperately craving her, I didn’t know her surname. She never said, and I never asked.
“So when did you last see her, Pastor?” Officer Brown asks, and I turn back to him.
“There was a fire at her home during a power-cut, a few nights ago, caused by a fallen candle. I saw her in the street shortly before the fire crew arrived to extinguish it. I was the one who called the emergency services, so I stayed on the scene in case they needed any information from me. One moment she was there, and the next, she’d left without a word. I’m not sure what happened. I only looked away for a moment,” I explain.
Officer Maxwell scribbles in her pad, making a note of the date and approximate time I’d last set eyes on Esme Byrne.
“I can phone the fire station and have them send the details of the fire over to us,” she says to Officer Maxwell, who nods at her.
“What was your relationship to Miss Byrne?” he questions, and I falter.
What on earth am I going to tell him? I hesitate too long in answering.
“She's my girlfriend, and his friend,” Quinlan cuts across again. The smug little shit.
How can I counter that without sounding like a psycho and a creep? Officer Maxwell’s smile drops slightly, and I can’t help but notice the way her eyes flicker towards Quinlan. I suppress a laugh. He’s always been such a charmer, and I recall he grew close to Evelyn Maxwell one summer he spent here, a few years ago. It’s a shame he moved on. If he was still with her, he might never have pursued the very same woman I crave so emphatically.
Officer Brown asks a few more questions, and Officer Maxwell continues to take notes.
“We’ll ask around to see if anyone has seen her, but she may just have just gone to stay with a friend. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. But as it’s been a couple of days now, we will certainly investigate. We’ll call you if we find anything,” Officer Brown says, getting to his feet.
“I’ll see you both out,” I offer, walking them to the front door.
Once they’ve gone, I storm back into the house in search of my no-good, interfering nephew. It doesn’t take me long to locate him; he’s still in the kitchen, leaning against the table and smirking like the cat who ate the canary.
“I swear I’m going to wring your damn neck!” I growl angrily at him, but my threat only makes his smile grow wider.
Looking at him more closely, I see the dark rings under his eyes, matching my own. I haven’t got the energy to argue with him right now. I’m bruised and still very sore from jumping out of Esme’s window, and I’m exhausted from the near-constant fighting going on between Quinlan and me over her. I spin on my heel, heading for the front door. I need some fresh air and some peace. I grab my keys from the hook on the way out.
“You can’t stop me wanting her, and that’s what’s driving you crazy right now,” he taunts, and I clench my fists at my sides, feeling the keys cutting into my left palm.
Forcing myself to hold onto the last fragments of calm, I leave the house. I take a slow walk down the driveway, and veering right, I walk up the roughly hewn stone steps that lead to the graveyard. I rarely find peace in the sanctum of my church anymore, and right now I've no wish to face my parishioners. More often than not, the graveyard is deserted, and an absence of life and prying eyes is what I need at the moment. The dead don’t talk, and their silent company will be more than enough to offer me comfort.
I enter through the kissing gate. It squeaks noisily as I push it open, and I make a note to lubricate the hinges next time I come here.
I walk around the perimeter of the graveyard, keeping close to the wall enclosing it. I slowly make my way to the small stone bench located beneath a tree at the far side where
the older headstones and graves are.
The sound of my name pulls me from my thoughts as a sweet, familiar voice calls out to me. “Pastor Frollo!”
I turn in the direction it came from and see Lillian slowly making her way towards me, clutching her round bump. Her cheeks are flushed, and strands of her hair are blowing around her face in the light breeze. The bench I was aiming for is only a few feet away from me, so I wait for her to reach me, and guiding her over to it, she sinks down with a soft groan.
“I’m getting too big for this,” she says with a smile, “and my feet are killing me.”
“Should you be walking this far by yourself now? What are you doing here?” I question, and she laughs softly.
“Visiting my mum,” Lillian points to a white marble headstone a few rows away from where we’re sitting, and then rubs her bump affectionately. “I miss her, especially now with the baby so close to arriving.”
We sit for a while, idly chatting until she checks her phone.
“Damn, is that the time! I’d best be getting back,” she exclaims, and I offer her my hand and help her stand when she tries to push herself up from the seat.
I escort her back through the graveyard and down the pathway to the main road.
“Thank you, I can manage from here. See you on Sunday,” she says, turning away from me.
“Wait, I’ll drive you home. You’re exhausted, and it'll be much quicker,” I offer.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be any trouble,” Lillian replies, looking hesitant, but I can see the small hint of gratitude in her eyes.
“Of course. I won’t be long.”
I take my keys from my jacket pocket and hurry back up the driveway to unlock my car. Hopping in, I reverse onto the road, and pulling up beside Lillian, she gets in the front passenger-side, and I drive her home.
When we reach her father’s house, I park the car outside and switch off the engine.
“Thanks again, Pastor,” Lillian says as she opens the passenger side door and prepares to get out.
“I was wondering if I could come in and see your dad,” I ask, and for a fleeting moment, she looks nervous, but then it’s gone as quickly as it came.
“Sure, come on in,” she says.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Esme
I’m making tea in the kitchen when I hear the front door open and Lillian’s voice. A familiar deep tone then reaches my ears, and my veins flood with ice. I’d ask what he’s doing here, but he’s the town pastor, and home-visits aren’t going to be uncommon. In a small town like this, everyone is friends with everyone else. Why did he have to come today, though, while I’m here?
I haven’t managed to arrange alternative accommodation yet, but Kellen and Lillian have been very welcoming. There’s something about Kellen, though, that rubs me the wrong way, and I can’t put my finger on what it is. Lillian behaves totally different when he’s in the room…timid, smaller somehow. It’s as if she's trying to be invisible, which is an impossible feat at the moment. It makes me uncomfortable, but so far, she brushes me off whenever I tentatively mention it.
Honestly, I don’t expect her to tell me unless she wants, and I’m aware I'm keeping secrets from her too. We’ve only known each other for a few days, but we’ve already become close. It’s been good making a new friend and having someone to talk to. I stay in the kitchen, holding my breath as I wait for the inevitable discovery, but the voices fade as I hear them go into the living room.
I go back to making the tea. Suddenly, the kitchen door swings open, and letting out a shriek, I drop the mug I’m holding, which shatters on the floor.
“Are you okay?” Lillian asks, taking in my flustered appearance and the remains of the mug now lying in pieces at my feet.
“Yes, I’m fine, you made me jump is all,” I giggle nervously as I bend down to pick up the china fragments.
After tossing them in the bin, I reluctantly turn to face my friend.
She gives me a sceptical look, and I know I haven’t managed to convince her I’m actually fine.
“Finish what you’re doing, then come upstairs to my room, and you can tell me what’s wrong,” she orders, and even though she's several years younger than me, she has the mum voice nailed already.
Tea in hand, I slowly make my way up the stairs to Lillian’s bedroom, dread unfolding in the pit of my stomach. She wants to know what’s bothering me, but the simple truth is, it’s everything.
“You haven’t been this jumpy since the night I met you, what’s wrong?” Lillian asks as soon as I've settled down on the chair beside her desk.
She's sitting on her bed, leaning against the headboard with her legs stretched out in front of her. I take a deep breath and then hesitate…I’m unsure whether to confide in her or continue to let this secret eat away at me.
“I… I don’t know what to do about something,” I say.
Lillian frowns. “What do you mean? Is it a decision you have to make?”
“Something like that,” I admit, “But it’s complicated,”
Lillian smiles understandingly. “When isn’t it complicated?”
“That’s true,” I laugh.
She gets a faraway look in her eyes and rubs her bump absentmindedly before refocusing on me.
“So what’s complicated about it? Maybe I can help?” she asks, looking doubtful but interested.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I resign myself to giving her a few details and start my confession.
“Well, I guess it all started when I met Pastor Frollo.”
Lillian’s mouth drops. “Pastor Frollo!”
“Shhh,” I whisper-yell, worried that her dad and Frollo may have heard her.
She mimes zipping her lips, and I giggle at her antics
“Is it me, or is there something strange about him?” I ask her more seriously.
She looks thoughtful.
“Well, he’s always been nice to me. He’s good friends with my dad, though, so I guess maybe that could be the reason. I can see why you might think he’s strange, but apart from church and some of the home visits, he keeps to himself. His nephew, Quinlan, is a lot more outgoing…” she pauses, and her next words make my heart jolt. “I need to tell you something. When I saw you the other night going into your house with Quinlan, it didn’t look like you really wanted to be there. It was dark, though, so I couldn’t be sure. I was worried enough to go and fetch the pastor. But when I saw Quinlan later and asked him about it, he assured me it was a misunderstanding, which is what you said. However, he also told me you’d gone to stay with a friend, which I guess is true now, but he was lying about that when he said it. I accepted both his explanation and yours at the time, but honestly, it didn’t seem like a misunderstanding to me.”
My chest feels tight, but I’m breathing normally, so I know it’s all in my head. She saw us? Unease settles heavily in my stomach, and I’m almost at a complete loss for words.
“It must have looked pretty bad,” I say slowly. “But the truth is, I fell and hit my head at the church, and I must have fallen unconscious because the next thing I knew I was being carried from a car by someone. I didn’t realise until he spoke that it was Quinlan, I couldn’t see his face clearly, so I freaked out.” I rush out the words, the lie tasting bitter.
I’m not sure why I’m even bothering to cover for him, but I do know revealing the truth would be far worse. How on earth could I tell this young, innocent woman about the captivity, the lies, the stalking and all the damnable secrets I’m keeping without traumatising her? It’s best that no one ever learns the truth.
Lillian looks uncertain, but she must see something in my expression because her face relaxes, and she lets out a sigh.
“Okay, well I can understand being afraid of a stranger in the dark. That must have been frightening.”
“Yes, it was terrifying,” I reply, thinking back to the first time I met Quinlan.
“Soooo, that doesn’t tell me why you’re asking ab
out Pastor Frollo. What’s going on with him?”
“Honestly, I don’t really know. I think he wants to be with me, but I’m not sure if he’s genuine or not. I’m attracted to him, but it’s complicated because I also know Quinlan is interested in being more than friends, and there’s the added issue of the fact they’re family.” A damn understatement, but if I’m going to keep up the lie that Quinlan and Frollo aren’t bad guys, then I might as well be thorough.
I feel sick. I hate what they did to me, and I’m afraid of what they’re both capable of doing when pushed, but the truth is I don’t hate either of them. I’m not sure why that revelation hits me now. Maybe it’s because I’m away from them, safe and comfortable here with Lillian, or maybe I've completely lost all sense.
“It does seem complicated. It sounds like you’re interested in Pastor Frollo, but are also unsure about your feelings for Quinlan. I’m not certain how a relationship would work with the pastor’s placement at the church. Can they even have relationships in their position?” Lillian observes, threading her fingers through the crocheted blanket covering her bed.
“I suppose. I hadn’t really thought about that,” I say, and we both fall silent as I dwell on all of the crazy thoughts flying through my brain.
It’s not what she said about Frollo that bothers me, it’s her observation that I seem unsure about Quinlan. Up until the shit hit the fan with Frollo, it seemed like Quinlan was becoming more than my friend. But when everything I thought I knew about him flipped on its head, I wasn’t sure what to think anymore.
When I try to look at recent events from an outsider’s perspective and ignore all the terrible things they’ve put me through, then Quinlan was the one who showed the most regard for me. Even though his behaviour was more extreme than his Uncle’s, he actually seemed to genuinely care about me and my feelings. Whereas, after our first meeting, whenever I encountered Frollo he was always very forward and made me feel nervous. On a subconscious level, I think I knew right from the start what he was capable of doing.
