Page 9 of Save Us
“I know, you’re growing up far too quickly!” I say and pretend to look cross with her. “You have to stop that right away, no more growing up for you, baby.”
She giggles over my silliness, and it rings out just like Beth’s laugh used to, back when we were happy together. A flash of that last night we spent in one another’s arms, dancing to Dire Straits, enters my head and I have to take in a large intake of breath to try and clear it away. Looking at Beth’s mini-me is both painful and beautiful, all at the same time.
“Do you think Mommy was watching today? Like when I went in the sea with Hetty? Mommy liked the sea; Bodhi told me.”
She smiles softly and cuddles a floppy Jellycat rabbit into her neck, which she then sniffs with relish.
“Of course, kiddo,” I reply with a sigh, trying not to show her how painful the lump in my throat is. It’s always there when I talk about her mother.
“Mommy called me that once,” she says out of the blue, still flying her little digits through the air as she stares at the imaginary patterns she is making. I can’t help but frown in confusion at her, knowing that Beth didn’t even get a chance to say anything to her daughter; that she died giving birth to her.
“What did she call you?” I ask when she doesn’t attempt to elaborate. I’m now having to try hard not to get freaked out by her weird statement, as well as not release the sob pushing up my throat to escape.
“Kiddo. She called me kiddo,” she answers with a shrug. “She was trying not to cry too.”
“When was this, Rosie?” I reach for her little hand and catch it mid-air with a squeeze that seems to finally break her trance-like stare. She simply yawns and rubs her eyes, seemingly making me wait for the dramatic plot twist.
“A long time ago, in a dream, I think.” She yawns again, so I kiss her goodnight and wait for her to go to sleep. “Night Daddy, thank you for my party today.”
“Sure thing, kiddo,” I smile at my gorgeous girl, “love you.”
She smiles before falling asleep with a calm and regular breath that tells me she’s out for the count. I have to tear my eyes away from her, like I do every night, for she is all Beth. Every time she smiles, I see Beth. Every time she laughs, I hear Beth. And every time she cries, I want to cry with her, because she’s Beth.
I always leave the door open for Rosie and tonight is no different, but I can’t say I’m not a little weirded out by her words back there. It’s probably just coincidence or the overactive imagination of a five-year-old, but it still managed to cut right through me.
As I walk slowly down the hallway toward the top of the stairs, I can hear Stephen’s dulcet tones speaking on the phone, probably to my mom. Like clockwork, she calls every night after Rosie’s bedtime, fussing over her son and granddaughter. I smile though, it shows she cares.
Too tired to face a full-on discussion with her, especially after I just spent most of the day with my family, I quietly bypass the living room and go straight to my home office. I’m ready to dive into yet another internet search on Oliver and Mayfield. My many attempts to uncover any fragment of information on either has become obsessional, but no less fruitless over the years. While it’s frustrating, I’m nothing if not persistent and damn stubborn if I’m being honest. I swore to Rosie and Beth that I would make him pay for her death one day, and I’m not about to break that oath. I just can’t say when it will happen.
All I have managed to find out is Oliver married shortly after Beth’s passing, which only infuriated me. It seemed like such a callous act after losing the supposed ‘love of his life’. An article had been published in the papers about how heartbroken he was and how he had had a shrine made up in his New York house to honor his lost bride. It was very much doctored; her daughter wasn’t mentioned. Though, to be fair, I had no desire to correct anyone on that front. I want Rosie kept safe and hidden, especially as the old grandfather is still alive and kicking, and no doubt looking for a replacement for Beth. Fucker will have to get through me before he even thinks about trying to get anywhere near her.
Instead, it was reported that Beth had died in a car accident when he was attempting to rescue her from my ‘deranged’ clutches. According to their ‘reliable’ sources, Oliver had also magnanimously paid for me to receive psychiatric treatment following my abduction of Beth. It quoted him as saying he believed in rehabilitation for people with mental illnesses. Ironically, my initial reaction was to laugh a little manically over it. However, when I calmed down, I realized it meant we would at least be left alone, both me and Rosie.
The woman he ended up marrying is called Angela Steele and is some long-lost distant cousin of Carl Steele. She is blonde like Beth, a side note he was unable to prevent from being printed. Other than that, she is kept hidden away from the public eye and seemingly lives her life as a recluse inside of his multi-million-dollar townhouse in Manhattan. I can’t help but feel sorry for her and frequently wonder if she had any choice in their nuptials and if he is just as obsessed with her as he was with Beth.
There have been but a few pictures of her in the papers since their wedding, always at a distance, always poor quality and with people covering her, mainly her bodyguard who looks a lot like the guy who was sent to keep watch over Beth. Her face is permanently looking toward the floor and her body huddled with clothes that are far too big for her tiny frame.
She’s reportedly in her late twenties, maybe early thirties, but dresses more like someone approaching fifty. The way she carries herself makes me feel like she is just as lost and beaten as Beth was, especially after she had returned home from one of her insidious stays at Oliver’s house. She, too, looks like she’s been dealt a shitty deal she can’t get away from. Even from afar, she does not hold herself in a happy, confident kind of way.
“Xander!” Stephen makes me jump with his sudden presence at the door. I look up at him with a furrowed, almost accusatory brow for scaring the crap out of me.
“Just got some intel on Lawrence if you have five minutes?”
“Shoot,” I reply and kick the other chair out from underneath my desk, giving him an invitation to sit. It’s still Stephen’s house but he travels so much, he’s rarely here. Besides, ever since the day Rosie and I moved in, he has insisted we think of it as our place too. He truly is the best of men and now he sits before me with an expression that tells me whatever he has is going to make my day.
“Do you want the good news or the good news?” He grins from ear to ear as I pour us both a tumbler of whiskey, a drink that gives away the fact I live a life that is far too old for my age. “First off, he and his wife were seen leaving a fertility clinic. It would appear they’ve been trying to get pregnant for the last three years.”
I can’t help but laugh a little. It’s pretty awful for a couple who deserve to have kids, but for someone like Lawrence, it truly is a blessing the scum can’t reproduce.
“Interesting, amusing, but not exactly ground-breaking.” I shrug and take a long swig of the bitter liquid, which burns pleasurably down my throat.
“The other good news is his wife has been abducted, right on the street, in front of the bodyguard who got knocked out cold!”
“Now, that is interesting!” I point at him with my hand still wrapped around my glass. “The bastard has plenty of enemies and the outcome of this might give us a hint as to who and why.”
“Of course, it’s not so good for the wife,” he winces over our celebrating the kidnapping of a woman like a couple of selfish assholes.
“Well, no, but…” I sigh and try and shake my head of the sudden guilt. “Course, she might be glad of it given who she’s married to.”