Book Read Free

Nothing Hidden Ever Stays

Page 3

by HR Mason

To say Byron Ross was a fussy baby would have been an extreme understatement. Both Marie and the baby nurse tried everything to calm him but to no avail. The doctor assured the frazzled mother there was nothing wrong with her child, but Marie knew better. Her baby was unhappy and discontented, and he refused to be pacified. Something wasn’t right.

  Her husband, Marshall, told her to stop coddling him. He demanded she give their son to the nurse and forget about him, saying she had more important matters with which to concern herself. The mistress of Desolate Ridge was supposed to be beautiful and regal, not exhausted and depressed. He told her if she were a better mother, and a better wife, none of it would have happened. But she didn’t care about any of that. All she wanted was for the baby to stop crying.

  Marshall warned Marie that his patience was wearing thin. He told her if she didn’t take care of the situation, he would do so himself. She believed her husband, which was why she rarely slept. His threats and the insanity she saw so clearly behind his eyes were the very reasons she feared for her life. Marshall told Marie on their wedding day that he didn’t intend to share her with anyone, not even their children.

  Marie’s role was to bear the offspring who would carry on the Ross name. It wasn’t her job to worry about mundane details like raising them. Her only task was to be an ornamental fixture. He’d married her because she was beautiful, not because she was maternal. He’d hired the nurse to care for their son, and he made sure his wife understood her loyalty was only to him. She was his property, his to do with as he pleased.

  Marie had tried to be a good wife. She’d tried to do what her husband demanded. She’d had every intention of handing the child over to the nurse once he was born. But the moment Marie held her son in her arms, she’d been unable to give him up. She wanted nothing more than to love and protect him.

  So she’d defied Marshall every single day for the past four months of Byron’s life. She rocked her son, she sang to him, she rarely left his side, and she begged him to stop crying. She did all she could to calm him, but nothing worked.

  It was almost as if the infant were tortured by some inner turmoil. In the moments when desperation and exhaustion took over, Marie wondered if her son had inherited the madness of his father. God help them all if he had. Marshall’s insanity grew like the winding ivy that crept up the side of Desolate Ridge, choking out everything in its path. There was a monster lurking just below the surface of her husband, a savage beast disguised as a handsome, distinguished gentleman.

  In the darkest, most secret places of her heart, Marie feared her husband’s affliction may have been passed on to their son.

  On one occasion, shortly after the wedding, Marie had dared to question Marshall on a seemingly trivial matter. Without warning, he flew into a rage, throwing his crystal scotch tumbler across the room and shattering it into a million pieces. He’d grabbed her wrist, dragged her up the winding staircase to the attic, flung her onto the floor, and locked her inside. Marie was stunned, but it all happened so quickly she’d barely had time to react.

  Marshall imprisoned her in the attic for a week. He only released her when she grew ill, and upon an examination by the doctor, discovered she was with child. Producing heirs was Marshall’s highest goal, so he’d allowed Marie to return to her room in order to ensure the safety of the child.

  Marie had suspected Marshall was unkind before they were married, but it went much deeper than that. He wasn’t only unkind; he was evil. She locked her door tightly on the nights when she dared to sleep. Most nights she sat with Byron in the attic, alert yet exhausted, wary and waiting.

  She didn’t know exactly what she was waiting for, but she knew it was coming. She knew it as sure as she knew her own name. Marie thought of Henry Metzger, dear, sweet Henry, who would have loved and cherished her and their children. How different her life might have been!

  Marie kissed the top of her son’s downy head and whispered that she loved him. She dreamed of running away, but there was nowhere they could go that Marshall wouldn’t find them. She stroked her baby’s back and the glint of the moonlight streaming in through the window reflected off the large sapphire wedding ring that had been placed on her finger. That ring had sealed her fate.

  Marie Ross knew the darkness was coming for her, and there was no way she could stop it, no place she could go to escape. Her only comfort was in knowing Marshall wanted heirs, so Byron would be safe. She, however, was dispensable. There was no hope for her.

  Marie could feel the shadows closing in, creeping slowly day by day. They wrapped their spindly fingers around her neck, squeezing tightly like a vise. She knew she could struggle, but she would not prevail. Marie understood that one day there would be no breath left.

  5

  Aubrey adjusted her weary body in the airplane seat. She’d never flown before because she couldn’t afford it. The irony wasn’t lost on her that her inaugural flight happened to be in the first-class cabin of the plane. Mr. Wayfair had purchased her ticket and provided directions on what to do once she landed in Ohio. A driver would meet her at the airport and escort her to Desolate Ridge. Mr. Wayfair had tipped his hat and waved goodbye to Aubrey at the gate. She’d assumed he would fly back to Rossdale with her, but apparently he had other work to attend to.

  It was hard to believe only two days had passed since she’d heard the news that would forever change her life. She was no longer Aubrey Ross, orphaned, abandoned, penny-pinching waitress. She was Aubrey Ross, multibillionaire and mistress of Desolate Ridge. It was a lot to wrap her head around, but once the shock wore off, she’d enjoyed quitting her job and turning in the key to her dumpy apartment.

  Aubrey didn’t know what awaited her in Ohio. All she knew was it had to be better than what she’d left behind in Seattle. Besides, she didn’t intend to stay. She would make a plan to prepare the house to be sold, and she would decide where to go after that. If she were truly as wealthy as Mr. Wayfair said, she could go anywhere in the world.

  She grabbed her purse and rifled through its contents, resting her fingertips on the object of her search. Before she’d boarded the plane, Mr. Wayfair handed her yet another envelope and asked her to open it once she was in the air. Aubrey was curious, but she’d lived her entire life not knowing her family’s secrets, so she’d agreed not to look at it right away.

  The pilot announced the aircraft had reached its cruising altitude, so she decided it was an acceptable time to discover the envelope’s contents. She slid open the seal, reached inside, and pulled out a letter. As soon as her fingertips touched the paper, she felt a current course through her, like a zap of electricity. She jumped, dropped the letter in her lap, and glanced around to see if anyone else had experienced the jolt. No one seemed disturbed but Aubrey.

  She grabbed the paper once again, overcome with curiosity, turning it around in her hands. It was worn and crumpled, and the handwriting was sloppy. There was a red sticky note attached that read ‘This note was found in your mother’s room when they recovered her body. I hesitated to show it to you, but I thought it was best for you to know.’ The note was signed by Mr. Wayfair.

  Aubrey removed the letter and began to read the crooked, slanted writing.

  I believed I could save her. I thought if I left that madhouse, there would be some hope for my daughter. I wanted so badly to give Aubrey the life she deserved. Once again I’ve failed. It seems like that’s all I know how to do. I’m not fit to be anyone’s mother. She’s better off without me. If she’s raised by others, maybe the curse that follows our horrible family will finally be broken. I wish I had been stronger.

  -Anna Ross

  Aubrey reread the letter three more times. She didn’t realize she was crying until a large teardrop splashed onto the paper, causing the ink to run. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. It was uncomfortable and strange, and she tried to shut it down, but she couldn’t. Instead, she closed her eyes and allowed Anna’s final words to sink in. She felt them chipping
away, just a little, permeating the hard outer shell she’d grown for self-preservation.

  She’d spent her life trying not to feel anything. Emotions were nothing but barriers to survival. She’d made it through the foster care system by being numb, had mastered the skill. Yet there she was, weeping over a letter written by the woman who had abandoned her. She was crying over desperate words written by Anna Ross before she’d hanged herself.

  Aubrey had concocted an image of her mother as a terrible girl who had been too selfish for motherhood, imagining her to be a junkie or a drunk. She’d pictured her leaving her child at the hospital without a moment’s hesitation. She had lived with the idea of this imaginary mother, who grew more despicable as the years passed. Never for a second had Aubrey considered that the woman who abandoned her might be anything but reprehensible.

  As she read the letter and considered the words, a tiny sliver of something she didn’t understand crept inside. It wasn’t love; Aubrey didn’t believe herself to be capable of that emotion. She could never love her mother, but maybe she could understand what Anna might have been feeling. Maybe she could believe that Anna was trying to do the right thing. Maybe she could sympathize with a girl who was damaged and tormented, just as she was.

  Maybe….

  Aubrey wiped her face and gently folded the letter, returning it to the envelope in her purse. She didn’t know why Mr. Wayfair had decided to share it with her, but she was glad he did. It couldn’t heal the hurt, not even close, but somehow it helped.

  If nothing else, her curiosity was piqued. She wanted to know more about her mother, the Ross family, Desolate Ridge, and the supposed curse. Perhaps whetting her appetite had been the strange man’s plan all along.

  Aubrey closed her eyes and rested her head on the airplane seat, fidgeting with the large sapphire ring on her hand. When she’d first slipped the ring onto her finger, it fit perfectly. Now it seemed much tighter, almost as if her finger had grown, or the ring had shrunk. She tried to pull it off, but it wouldn’t budge. She figured her hands were probably swollen from the change in altitude and left it alone.

  Aubrey was tired, and there were several hours remaining on the flight. She didn’t know what else to do, so she decided she would sleep. Before long, Aubrey had fallen into a deep slumber. A dream began to spread itself into her subconscious, melting into her mind like snowflakes on warm ground.

  The dream began in darkness. She didn’t know where she was, but soft moonlight filtered in through the window. Aubrey glanced at her arms. She held a small baby close to her chest as she rocked gently and hummed quietly. The voice was hers, but not quite.

  Aubrey knew she wasn’t fully herself in the dream, and yet somehow she was. She stroked the baby’s back, and the large, sapphire ring glinted in the moon’s luminescence. She inhaled the sweet scent of the infant in her arms, and a wave of sadness and desperation cascaded over her like a waterfall. A door creaked open behind her, and footsteps echoed in the quiet room. She gasped, although somehow she’d known he was coming.

  The man walked briskly toward her. He pulled the baby from her arms and placed him in the crib across the room. The child wailed, and her heart broke. Deep inside, she knew it was the last time she would hold him. She pleaded with the man, but her words couldn’t permeate his insanity.

  His face contorted with rage. He leaned in closely, and she smelled the scotch on his breath. His black, soulless eyes were nothing but a void. She began to scream, but the sound was muffled as he wrapped his hands around her neck, squeezing tightly with his fingers.

  She couldn’t breathe. She’d known the end was coming, and yet she was powerless to stop it. He compressed her neck like a piece of wood in a vise. Her breath grew shallow until it wasn’t there at all.

  Aubrey awoke, gasping for air like a drowning woman. She breathed in deeply, feeling as if she’d never get enough oxygen. Hands shaking, she touched her neck. Her skin felt warm, almost as if the fiery heat of the man’s fingers still lingered.

  Her heart pounded wildly. She’d never experienced such a vivid dream. It was ridiculous, but she felt as if the woman was her. She didn’t recognize the man, but she knew she would never forget his face.

  6

  Still shaken from the nightmare, Aubrey waited for her luggage at baggage claim. She’d spent the rest of the monotonous flight vacillating between trying to recall every detail of the dream and trying to forget it. The ordeal had been vivid and real, like nothing she’d ever experienced. She was unsure what to make of it, and she hoped it never happened again.

  After collecting her bag, she headed toward the terminal and looked around. Mr. Wayfair told her a driver would be there to escort her to Desolate Ridge, but she had no idea how she was supposed to find him. She quickly discovered there was no need to worry when an older man, dressed smartly in a suit, black tie, and driving cap, approached her and reached for her bag.

  “How was your flight, Ms. Ross? My name is Carlton, and I’m your driver.”

  She was a bit taken aback. She had no idea how the stranger knew who she was.

  “It was… fine… good, I guess. How do you know who I am?”

  “I’d know you anywhere, ma’am. You look just like….”

  Carlton’s voice trailed off, disappearing into the jumble of sounds in the airport. Aubrey knew he wanted to say more, but something stopped him.

  “Who do I look like?” she coaxed, hoping the man would elaborate.

  “No one, ma’am. You only have the one bag?”

  Carlton avoided her gaze and began walking toward the parking lot. She followed closely behind.

  “Yes, sadly, one bag holds all of my worldly possessions,” she answered.

  “Not anymore, ma’am,” he reminded her.

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  The pair arrived at a vehicle, a classic Bentley Touring Limousine, and Carlton opened the back door. She’d never seen such a fancy car, and she had to remind herself that it was hers. She wasn’t sure what the proper protocol might be, so she hesitated.

  Carlton gave her a crooked smile and gestured for her to get into the car. Completely out of her element, Aubrey obeyed. He closed her door, deposited her lone suitcase into the trunk, and slid behind the wheel.

  “You should relax, ma’am. It’s about an hour and a half to Rossdale. There is a light snack and some drinks in the back, so help yourself. I thought you might be hungry from the flight,” Carlton said pleasantly.

  “Th-thank you,” she stammered.

  It didn’t take long for Aubrey to discover that Carlton was a man of few words. The pair rode in silence for many miles. Not knowing what to say, and seeing as how she despised small talk, Aubrey relegated herself to staring out the window, watching as the scenery flew by.

  She was surprised at the stark difference in the landscape. Seattle was a constant buzz of people, a hubbub of activity, a difficult place to ever be completely alone. Ohio seemed to be its antithesis. Rolling land stretched for miles, wide open, spread out, and lush in its simplicity. Something about the surroundings called out to her, almost as if the countryside were welcoming her home to a place she’d never before been.

  They didn’t pass through a single metropolis on the entire drive. Farms were scattered here and there across the countryside, and sometimes there were quaint little towns, which were sprinkled with a few homes and small businesses. But that was it. Aubrey wondered about the people who made their lives in such places, far away from the hustle and bustle of a large city. She’d never known anything but urban life, so the small-town experience would be new. Aubrey wondered what awaited her in Rossdale.

  As fields of corn and soybeans whirred past the window, her troubled mind returned once again to the nightmare she’d had on the plane. Her hands fluttered to her neck as she recalled the feeling of strangulation. She pictured the face of the man in the dream, and she shivered. She felt the weight of the infant in her arms, the desperation of trying to protec
t him. She twisted the ring on her finger and tried to forget.

  “How much longer, Carlton?”

  Aubrey was restless, and she needed to move. She wanted to outrun the vivid images that wouldn’t leave her mind.

  “We’re approaching town now, ma’am,” Carlton answered.

  “Is there a store?”

  “There is a small one, ma’am. Is there something you need? I can get it for you.”

  “If you’ll just drive me there before we go to the house, I would appreciate it. I need to grab a few items.”

  “I can get whatever you need,” he repeated.

  “That’s quite all right, Carlton. I’m used to doing things for myself,” she insisted.

  “If you say so, ma’am.” He nodded.

  Aubrey could tell he wanted to complete the task for her, but the idea of someone serving her was both unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Besides, she didn’t actually need anything; she mostly wanted to get out of the car, stretch her legs, and gather her wits.

  The town’s store seemed like a good place to get a feel for Rossdale. She was curious about the people who lived there, in the town named after her family. She was anxious to check out the locals.

  They drove down Main Street, right through the center of town, and folks stopped to stare as the shiny vehicle passed by. Carlton pulled into the parking lot of a small brick building called Lawson’s General Store.

  Before he could get out of the car, Aubrey opened the back door. She noticed the look of irritation that passed over her driver’s face, and she felt a bit guilty for going against protocol, but Carlton would figure out sooner or later that she didn’t need anyone to do things for her. She could take care of herself.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said quickly as she closed the car door.

  Aubrey walked inside the small building, and every head in the place swiveled in her direction. The buzz of chatter she’d heard when she entered was replaced with dead silence. No one smiled, and a woman who was standing nearby gathered her small daughter close to her side, as if Aubrey’s presence would somehow endanger her child.

 

‹ Prev