by Portia Moore
“I wasn’t, but I figured you might need some help.” Her eyes survey me and her brows immediately knit together. “Are you okay?”
“Just nervous about tonight.” It’s a half-truth that I hope she accepts.
“Honey, I already see it coming together. It’s going to be a great night for you.”
“Raven, can you please make Lauren get out of here so she can get ready for tonight? We have this all under control,” Hillary says through clenched teeth.
“I really should get to my appointments,” I try to muster up some enthusiasm.
“Yes, you need to get out of here, I will step in, and whatever they need me to do I’m available."
“Okay. I’m going.” I grip the strap of my purse and maneuver my way through the sea of busy people working together to make my opening night perfect. When I reach outside, I let out a sigh of relief to get some alone time.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I’m surprised when I look up and see Dexter Jr. sitting inside a matte black Rolls Royce.
“Hi,” I say trying to keep the iciness out of my voice. He and I have been on the edge of cordial for awhile. We haven’t been friendly since I found out he lied to me about Cal.
“You’re a little early for the party.” I assumed that he and Helen were coming, but I am surprised to see him here so early. Looking at Dexter reminds me of the secrets and lies that have been tethered to my life.
“Where are you heading? Would you like a ride?” he asks, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“No thanks.” I turn and begin to walk away from him.
“I think we should talk Lauren,” he calls after me, the smugness erased from his tone.
“What on earth would we have to talk about?”
“Your husband.”
“Right… what would you tell me that Helen hasn’t?” I dare him.
“Helen is bound by certain ethical restrictions. I am not.”
I bite my lip. What could possibly go wrong from talking to Dexter? It’s not like this situation could get any worse. His driver comes around and opens the door for me before I’m even able to touch the handle.
“Thank you.” I get in and he closes the door behind me. I take in the softness of the leather, the decadence of the finishes—this car whispers wealth.
“First time in a Rolls?” he asks, and the awe must be written all over my face.
“So what do you want to talk about?” I ignore his question and get straight to the point.
“I know I was never exactly forthcoming with you, but please know, it was never because of who you are but because of who I am, and what was asked of me.”
“Did you know that he was your brother?” I ask bluntly. His answer to this question will let me know if this is a waste of my time and if he’s only here to ease his own conscience or if he is ready to be more honest with me.
“Not at first. But I am a Crestfield and the lengths my father encouraged me to go made me begin to wonder.”
“When did you find out?” I ask him as he pours himself a glass of brown liquid.
“Right before your wedding.” He brings the glass to his lips.
I let out a deep breath. “Why am I here, Dexter? You must have something important to tell me.”
“Has Cal talked to you about that night?”
“What night?” I ask confused.
“The night when he went to visit his relative from long ago.”
“No. After everything happened he was really broken up about it, and then Collin took over.”
His face sets into one of deep thought. “Actually no. Cal came back briefly a few days ago. I thought he was Chris, and he may have said something about it, but I was too intoxicated to remember what or if it happened at all.” I admit. “Why? Is it something important?” I ask him curiously.
“It could be very important,” he says more to himself than me. “I couldn’t be helpful to you initially because Cal had sworn me to secrecy,” he begins. “Now I’m not bound by that promise. One of my pharmacists disclosed that Collin requested Naltrexonel and Xanax,” he explains, and I feel my face scrunch up.
“I’m sorry, what is that?”
“Naltrexonel is usually given to those who are trying to overcome a drug addiction, but we found that it suppresses emotional urges, and combined with Xanax—”
“He doesn’t want to feel anything?” I ask him confused.
“As you know, switching occurs due to triggers. Collin usually doesn’t respond to those things because he’s the one who isn’t supposed to be affected by that, but things seem to have changed. Xanax can have different side effects including impaired memory. We think by him mixing them he believes─”
“He believes what?”
“We think that he may be trying to create a permanent block, similar to what we were once developing for Cal,” he explains, and my heart has started to race.
“But Collin’s supposed to be…” I let out a long sigh. “I made him this way,” I say feeling guilt gripping my entire body.
“No, he is who he is. If anything you’re what’s keeping them together.”
I don’t believe it though. “So what do I do? What do we do?” I am hoping that someone will give me the answer to all of this.
“If you confront him about it, he’ll explain. Or admit his intentions and if need be—we have him committed.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask in shock.
“He can’t self-prescribe medication, Lauren. It’s dangerous, and we’re not aware of how it would affect him.” He states plainly. “Helen and I will be at your party tonight. If you notice anything strange or out of the ordinary—if he seems to be a danger to himself or anyone else—we’ll have to act tonight. I hate to tell you this on your big night,” he says sounding genuine.
“No, it’s fine. I would rather know than be left in the dark.”
“Where were you heading?” he asks.
“Home.” The little voice in my head says my life is going to hell in a hand basket.
When I get home and open the door, I’m surprised to hear children playing. I’m even more stunned when I see Mr. and Mrs. Scott sitting on our couch watching television and a little blonde girl playing with Caylen and her toys.
“Hi Lauren,” he says, and the biggest headache of my life joins my already nauseous stomach.
“Hi, you’re pretty,” the little girl giggles, and when my senses kick back in, I realize that this must be Willa seeing as she looks just like Lisa.
“Thank you, so are you.” I give her a forced smile. Mr. Scott’s eyes land on mine, and I see such a huge difference from when I saw him last. His eyes are bright and full of life, his beard and hair trimmed and no longer wild. He doesn’t look like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders, or like a man who unleashed a terrible secret on his family. He looks happy, and a part of me is glad, while the other part is wondering what he is doing here.
“Chris wanted me to come,” he explains reading my expression.
“Chris wanted you to come?”
“He called me last night, and said he wanted us to be here for your opening.” They both look at me bewildered. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Last night?” I ask confused.
“Yes, is everything okay?” Mrs. Scott approaches me looking concerned.
“No. Chris hasn’t been here for about four days…”
“What do you mean, Lauren?” Mrs. Scott asks.
“Hey sweetie, would you like to see all the cool stuff Caylen has in her room?” I ask Willa, and she smiles and nods.
“Come on Caylen,” she says happily before taking off and Caylen bobbles behind her.
I sit down and begin to explain to them what’s happened—with Cal taking over from Chris and not telling me and Collin, and the new myriad of issues and possible medication abuse—and when I’m done tears are flowing down my face, and Mrs. Scott is rocking me in her arms.
“Oh honey, you’ve been d
ealing with all of this yourself?”
“We’ve got to do something. This is something we should be handling not the Crestfields,” Mr. Scott says, that old tone of authority back in his voice.
“I should cancel the show.” I grab my phone to call Hillary.
“No. No, you shouldn’t. You’ve worked so hard for this. Your deserve this.” Mrs. Scott squeezes my hand giving me a soft smile.
“We will all have to watch him. Someone will be here with you around the clock,” Mr. Scott says. “We’ll also tell Aidan to help out.”
“I just don’t understand why Collin would tell you to come here. Do you think it could have been Chris briefly?” I ask more to myself than them.
“I was shocked, to say the least,” Mr. Scott looks down guiltily. “I had such high hopes that things were about to change.”
“Have you seen him today?” I ask Mrs. Scott.
“He kissed me on the cheek while I was making breakfast and said he had to get to work. I should have known it wasn’t him when he didn’t steal any food.” She lets out a joyless laugh.
He always leaves before I wake up. Actually each of them do.
“Lauren, you should go get some rest before your big night. You look so tired,” Mrs. Scott says worriedly, and I realize I completely forgot about my hair and makeup appointment.
“I’m going to look like a zombie tonight—a stressed out zombie.” I laugh to keep from crying.
“No, it’s going to be fine. It’s all going to be fine,” Mrs. Scott reassures me taking me by the arm. “It’s one o’clock now. Go lie down until three and when you wake up, I’ll have everything you need to get ready here. I promise,” Mrs. Scott sounds so confident and sure that I immediately feel better.
When I hit the bed, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to sleep with so many thoughts running through my head, but somehow my eyelids feel as if they weigh a thousand pounds and sleep hits me like a truck.
“Hey, sleepy head. Time to wake up.” I open my eyes to see Hillary and Angela sitting beside me.
“What time is it?” I feel groggy and could sleep a thousand more hours.
“Time for you to hit the shower so we can make you glamorous.” Hillary grins with her five-pound beauty box at her side and a Red Bull outstretched to me while Angela waves her blow-dryer and flat irons at me.
“You guys are the best,” I say feeling myself tear up.
“Get all your crying out now because once I put your mascara and lashes on, I’ll have to kill you if tears wet them.”
I gulp down my Red Bull in between showering and putting on lotion and when I’m done Angela starts on my hair.
“Did I tell you I met my next one night stand?” Hillary asks, eying the size of her butt in my full-length mirror.
“Grow up Hil,” Angela playfully scolds her.
“Oh no if you saw him you wouldn’t say that. He’s so hot, and he’s an artist. He’s so broody and looking for a release.” She falls back on my bed and pulls up his picture on the phone. She shows it to Angie.
“Yeah, he’s cute but why does he have to be a one night stand?” Angie asks and Hillary smacks her lips.
“It’s an expression,” Hillary says defensively.
“What about Aidan?” I thought they seemed to be getting closer, so I am surprised that Hillary is looking at other guys, actually I’m not.
“Ugh, we’re not together. We’re just having fun and until he says otherwise, I am on the market,” she giggles. “What about you and Mikey,” Hillary teases Angela, and she smiles bashfully.
“We are hanging out,” Angela says while wrapping my hair around the curling wand.
“Hanging out or having fun?” Hillary says dramatically.
I close my eyes and take in the moment, remembering the days where we’d help each other get ready for dates, and had sleepovers after boys broke our hearts. Well, what I thought was heartbreak then. Nothing compares to what I’ve felt with Cal. The lows are to the bottom pits of the earth, but the highs are like the most coveted spot in heaven.
“Thank you for being here,” I tell them. Angie kisses my cheek and Hillary tosses a pillow at me.
“Watch the hair!” Angela scolds her. For a small moment in time my mind isn’t on all that’s happened between me and my husband—the lies, secrets and hidden agendas—it’s just on me hanging out with my girls before one of the most exciting nights of my life.
“Here is your suit for tonight and the files you requested.” She hangs up the suit on my door and then sets the folder on my desk.
“Jennifer, what are these?” I ask looking up at my assistant and going back to the files in my hand.
“You asked for them, sir.” She smiles awkwardly at me. She’s pretty in the old-school movie star way—not thin as a rail but shapely, big doe eyes, and full lips—but I question if that was one of the sole factors of her getting this job.
“I asked you?” I reiterate. I notice her gulp.
“Yes, this morning.” She crosses her hands in front of her, the half-smile disappearing. I pinch the bridge of my nose. It’s the second time I’ve lost time, little moments stolen from me like taunts. First was the paper taped to my computer monitor that said “your time is running out,” and now this.
“What are these exactly?” I flip through what looks like personal documents, electricity bills, and a birth certificate.
“They were delivered by courier Mr. Crestfield,” her voice is wavering, and she’s nervous or uncomfortable, but it’s me that should be. When my eyes land on the name, I drop the file from my hands. It’s Clayton Rice’s life on my desk.
“Cal.” I mutter.
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“Nothing Jennifer. Will I see you at my wife’s opening tonight?” I change the subject, and her smile widens.
“Yes. We’re all very excited. I’ve never been to a gallery opening before.”
“Good,” I tell her, and she nods before leaving and shutting the door behind her.
I pull out the bottle of pills from my drawer and eye them. The combination I took earlier was wrong. It only made me tired and more susceptible to transitioning. I should up the count of the Naltrexonel. I pick up the phone.
“Jennifer, can you page Keelan Fexler?” He’s one of the chemists I’ve been working with. I take the file Cal ordered earlier and toss it in the shredder. I check the time and see I have about two hours before I need to head to the gallery, so I hop in the shower and change into my suit, and realize that Fexler still hasn’t made his way up here. I grab the phone.
“Jennifer, did you have Fexler paged?” I ask feeling the veins in my head begin to throb.
“Yes, but…”
“But what?” My patience is becoming thinner and thinner, and the line goes dead. I pick up the phone to call back but get a busy signal. I stand up and head to the door and Dexter Crestfield Sr. walks through.
“Collin…” He’s wearing a menacing smile. “My son,” he adds with condescension.
I smile back.
“Your brother revoked your privileges to our chemist and pharmacy staff,” he explains. He looks me up and down and gives me an approving nod.
“Excellent choice for Lauren’s gallery opening.” He smiles like a game show host. He walks past me and sits behind my desk. “I’m a little concerned, Collin.” He leans back in my chair.
“Concerned about what?”
“That you don’t have things under control.”
“I have everything under control. Granted, there have been some small mishaps,” I admit.
“I don’t do mishaps, Collin. I’m too old for them now. I like results, and I do not like mistakes or miscalculations. They bore me, irritate me, and I’m not someone you want to do either of those things to.” His hard face cracks into a smile.
“There hasn’t been a miscalculation or mistake seeing as I’m the one here. There is a reason for that, and if you help keep me here, you won’t have anything to fear.”
He sits up halfway in my chair.
“You remind me so much of your mother. Out of all of your comrades, you remind me of her the most,” he says with a sinister smile, and I clench my teeth.
“She was so beautiful. She could have easily gone to Hollywood or New York and made a fortune off her face alone. The second I laid eyes on her I knew she had to be mine and I just hoped that the brain she had matched the body.” He chuckles.
“Are you done,” I ask him pointedly. His smile fades into a flat hard line.
“You’ll sit. Right now.” His tone doesn’t go above a whisper but would make a lesser man flinch. He points to the chair in front of my desk. I press my lips together and adjust my suit before sitting. As long as I get what I want at the end of the conversation, I can appease him. He can pay for this later.
“You know I didn’t realize something was off with her until… well, I won’t get into the vulgar details with you. That would be tasteless.” He snickers and his eyes survey my face waiting for a reaction. “She seemed to be fine with us seeing each other when time allowed, and she understood being arm candy, but then a part of her didn’t, and then you came along.”
“As much as these tales of your youth are probably worthy of a best seller, I have somewhere to be,” I remind him.
“You know I think I have misled you, Collin. I may have given you the distinct impression that I owe you something—that you are in control—when in fact, it is the very opposite.”
I can’t help but laugh at that.
“Having you committed would be too simple,” he says casually.
I let out a disbelieving laugh.
“If I felt that you were any danger to yourself and Helen agreed with me…” he trails off.
“You’re not talking to Christopher, Dexter. You’d have to have more than that.”
“Impatient, just like Isabella.” He shakes his head.
“You have been coercing my staff to give you medication. You threatened one before slamming their head into a metal counter,” he says, and I feel my heartbeat speed up.
“I didn’t do that,” I retort, and he smirks.
