CORAL - Forever (A Romance Trilogy, Book 3) (39 page)

I sigh inwardly. I don't think he’s gone to get food at all,
I think he’s gone out to calm down, which is fair enough, I can understand that.
I shiver again and wrap my arms around myself. I feel so tired, exhausted now
I’ve got it out. I wonder off to the bedroom, climb under the quilt, pull it
over my head, and curl up into a ball...

I
HAVE DRESSED IN MY WARM SWEATS AND HOODY
. I still feel cold though. I
look up at the clock on the wall, it’s twelve noon, I must have drifted off for
a while. I’m amazed I didn’t have any nightmares, but then again, I didn’t
sleep a wink last night. I even pretended to be asleep when Tristan got back so
he couldn’t see my eyes, it seems they give me away too easily.

I look out at the view, there are so many people out on the
beach, but I don't feel like going outside today, I just want to hide and
forget the world – I hate that the fucker has made me feel like this.

As I walk into the living room I’m startled by Tristan. I
didn’t hear him come back. He’s sat on the sofa with his laptop on his thighs,
his legs stretched out in front of him, his feet resting on the coffee table.
He looks up at me, his big brown eyes wide and worried.

“Hey baby.” He reaches his hand out for me.

I take his hand and sink down onto the sofa next to him.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.

Tristan sighs. “Because I shouldn’t have left you last
night, or today’ – I silence him with my finger. “Stop it. You did what you
needed to do Tristan. I’m not upset you went out today, so don't
you
be.
I was fine, I slept for a while, then I did some thinking.”

He reaches up and cups my cheek with his hand, he looks like
he could cry. “What were you thinking baby?”

“That I am not having my first ever holiday ruined because
of that fucker!” I spit.

Tristan smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You want us
to forget it?” He says.

“I think so,” I say. Tristan moves his laptop to the side
and pats his legs, I climb up so I’m sitting sideways on his lap.

“Are you sure?” He questions, squeezing me tight.

“Positive,” I say. Tristan glances down at his laptop, then
starts to close the lid. “Whoa! Wait!” I shout. “You know something?” I ask.

“No, I was just looking over his company website.” He says,
frowning at me, but I can tell he’s hiding something.

“Let me see,” I say, intrigued all of a sudden and pull the
laptop onto my legs.

“Conundrum!” Tristan mutters. I know he means me.

I reach forward and lift the screen back up. At the top of
the page it says Smith, Miller & Associates. I click on the button that
says ‘Meet Our Team’ I see his face – the fucker – Simon Smith – CEO –
Ugh!

Part of me wants to slam the laptop shut, but I’m still
intrigued to know more, so I continue to scroll. There’s lots of faces coming
up with snazzy job titles, but nothing comes up that’s of any interest to me. So
I stop scrolling, and I’m about to push the laptop away when I notice there’s
two more tabs open at the top. I move the cursor over to the first one and
hover over it.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Coral, baby...I just,” Tristan sighs heavily and runs his
hand through his hair. “You were sleeping so I thought I’d do a little
research, see if I can find anything out,” he says, he looks worried. “I really
don't want you seeing this,” he adds.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Just some information on his family, his businesses.” He
says frowning up at me.

I look back at the screen. “He has a family?” I squeak.

“It would seem so,” Tristan says. I stare back at the tab –
I argue with myself for a moment. Do I really want to know? Or do I want to
forget it? Curiosity gets the better of me.

“Coral, don't!” Too late.

Tristan has found an old newspaper report. At the top of the
screen it says The Guardian March 14
^th
1992. I scroll a little more.
My hand freezes when I see the face of a woman, a redhead that I recognise.
“His wife?” I whisper.

Tristan nods once. I look back at the screen and begin
reading the report...

‘Following the suspicious disappearance of
Mrs Erica Smith in the Cote d’Azure, Scotland Yard have arrested her husband Mr
Simon Smith. He has been charged with her homicide and will remain in custody
until bail is set. Mr Smith has repeatedly denied any charges, and has ample
alibis for the night of her disappearance. Holidaying with friends on their
luxury motor yacht in the south of France, Mrs Smith had, according to Mr
Smith, stayed on board whilst the remaining party dined in St Tropez, when they
returned Mrs Smith had disappeared. Police were called to the scene, and within
hours blood and hair samples were taken from the rear of the yacht. Police
divers were called to the scene, yet no body was recovered.

‘It
has been reported that Mrs Smith was filing for divorce from Mr Smith and had
been in talks with the journalist, Brian Evans. Mr Evans has mysteriously
disappeared. Mr Evans colleagues have been called in by Scotland Yard to give
testimony, following rumours that Mrs Smith was about to blow the whistle on
her husband’s corrupt businesses. According to reports, she admitted that her
husband had several off-shore accounts and was guilty of fraud and
embezzlement. She claimed that ‘Smith’s & Millers Solicitors’ was being
used as a front for his apparent dealings with the drugs and human trafficking
black market, and most disturbingly, child pornography. However, with no
substantial evidence linking Mr Smith to the crime, the judge ruled for a
dismissal and all charges were dropped.’

I feel sick. He’s a fucking psycho!
A psycho that I threatened.
Fuck!
My heart starts manically beating
against my chest, I can't breathe!

“He bumped her off!” I manage to squeak.

“Baby’ – “I threatened him Tristan, I threatened him!” I
shout out.

What if he comes after us? What if he hurts Tristan? Oh God!
Oh no...

“Hey, stop it.” Tristan says, taking hold of my shoulders
and softly shaking me. “There’s no need to be afraid. Nothing is going to
happen to us,” he tells me firmly.

“But’ – “Coral, don't worry.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Tristan
takes my face in his hands. “Look at me baby.” I open my eyes and see that his
eyes have a cool, steely determination. He doesn’t seem worried at all. “This
was a long time ago Coral. For all we know, he’s squeaky clean now.” I very
much doubt that!

I blink rapidly at him, trying my best not to freak out. “But
what if he took my threat seriously....If he...if he hurt you,” I break off and
take a deep breath. “Promise me Tristan, promise me you won't do anything about
this, I don't care what he did to me...I don't care!”

“Hey.” Tristan pulls me against his chest, holding me tight,
rocking me gently. “You always think the worst Coral, everything is going to be
fine, I promise you.”

“You don't think he’ll do anything?” I question.

“No. As far as I know he’s a legitimate business man. I’m
sure he’s more worried about you spilling the beans than you should be about
what you said to him.”

“You really think that?” I ask, looking up at him.

“Yes. I’m positive.” I stare back at him, I see only truth.

“Ok,” I sniff. “What’s on the other tab?” I ask this time, I
don't need another shock like that.

“Just random family photo’s,” Tristan says.

I look down at the screen again., for some unknown reason
I’m intrigued. Maybe it’s because I can't understand how a man that did that
sort of thing to kids, would have a family of his own. I pick up the laptop and
start scrolling again. There’s a photo of him, and then underneath that there’s
another photo in which he has his arm around a small boy, he looks afraid, so
unhappy.

I read the information below the photo. ‘Dillon Smith with
his father Simon’. I stare at the boy again, and I suddenly realise why I
recognise him. I swallow hard. It can't be true – can it? B
ile rises in my throat. I start shaking my head in
disbelief.

“What?” Tristan stiffens beneath me.

“Him,” I whisper, shakily pointing at the boy.

“What about him?” Tristan softly pushes.

“He…” I turn and stare wide eyed at Tristan. “He’s the boy,”
I add, my voice barely audible.

“What boy baby?” He asks, his voice still soft.

“The boy that….” I shake my head. “I was made to…” I frown
down at the screen – He made his own son do it – what a sick bastard!

“Baby, you’re worrying me, take a deep breath and tell me,”
he says.

As I continue to stare wide-eyed at the boy, I do exactly
that, breathing in and out several times.
Ugh!
I feel sick again. Then
all of a sudden a strange calm washes over me. Dillon looks so sad in the
photo, a little older than I remember him. But I do remember how scared he was
– terrified actually. I can't believe his own father made him do this...I shake
my head, poor kid!

I take another deep breath and turn to Tristan.
“Tristan, this is the boy I was made to have sex with.” Tristan
stares blankly at me for a moment, then looks down at the photo of the scruffy,
dark haired boy with the sad look in his eyes.

“You’re sure?” He whispers.

“Yes, I would never forget his face.” Just like I’ve never
forget his father’s –
Ugh!

“So the boy you were made to…it’s his son?” He says
incredulously. I silently nod, and look back at Dillon. He looks ill, he has dark
rings under his eyes, and he’s pale and skinny. “But…that…?” Tristan seems as shocked
as I am. “His own son?” He gasps, slowly shaking his head.

I start scrolling again, there’s several more photos of Dillon,
and he’s not smiling in any of them. “Do you think we can find him?” I ask.

“Do you want to?” He gasps.

“Yes, I think I do.”

“Why?” He breathes.

“I don't know,” I whisper. I stare back at all the photos of
him. I stop when I see one that reminds me of a photo Gladys once took. I was
six or seven, standing up like Dillon is. I remember she wanted a photo of me
with John and Joyce. They both came and knelt behind me, John had reached up
and put his arm around my shoulder, in the photograph I am grimacing, my eyes
wide with fear – I hated that he was touching me.

In this photo, Dillon has a man crouched down behind him
too, he has his hands on Dillon’s hips. Dillon’s jaw is clenched and his hands
are balled up into fists, his eyes wide with fear.
Why do I get the feeling
that he doesn’t like to be touched? Like me?

“Baby, I don't think that’s a good idea,” Tristan says.

I sigh inwardly, probably not. “He doesn’t look very happy,
does he?” I whimper.

“No baby, he doesn’t,” Tristan replies.

“Poor Dillon.” I shake my head. “God knows how long it went
on for him.” I shudder and look away from the screen for a moment. But I can't
seem to stop. I want to see more of the boy that want through the same horror
as me, so I continue scrolling. Then I change my mind, it’s just more photo’s
of Dillon and his sicko father. Just as I’m about to stop, I see a half a photo
at the bottom of the screen.

Two boys this time, one is Dillon. I cock my head to the
side, there’s something familiar, something about the shape of the other boys
forehead. I read the line above the photo – Dillon Smith with his big brother
Kane. I scroll down and see that the boy Kane, is stood next to Dillon, his arm
around him. Dillon is grimacing again, his brother Kane is smiling widely at
the camera, a defiant glint in his eye.

I drift off, remembering something from my past. He was
there, when it was all happening. I mean several kids were bought along, but I
remember, Kane was always there, in the background. I remember the strange look
in his eyes, like he was enjoying it. But my instinct is telling me there’s
more to this, more to the boy with the crazy look in his eyes....But what?

“Coral, I really think you should stop this now,” Tristan
says.

I shake my head at him. I’m mesmerised by what I’m seeing.
“His brother, I remember, he...he was always there...in the background...” I
whisper.

Tristan groans as though he’s in pain. As I continue to scan
the photos, I immediately freeze.

I can only see the man’s hair and his forehead. But I
recognise that forehead, the style of his hair. I shake my head slightly.
It
can't be, surely?
That would just be too freaky to be coincidence?

“What?” Tristan asks. But I don't answer him. “Coral, what
is it baby, what have you seen?”

I shakily press the button so the screen scrolls down, my
heart is in my mouth, my ears are ringing and I can feel the blood pumping
through my veins.

And there he is, Kane Smith staring back at me. Almost black
hair, bright blue eyes, chiselled features. He’s smiling in the photograph, but
I can see the evil behind those eyes, the malicious intent – just like his
father. A rush of adrenalin floods my system. He told me his name was Sam!

I don't believe this!
I start shaking my head in
denial, this is some kind of sick fucking joke!

“Coral, what’s wrong?” Tristan says, shaking me gently,
trying to pull me out of it.

I close my eyes for a moment, my hands gripping into fists.
No,
no, no....This can't be happening!
I open my eyes and with careful
controlled movements, I put the laptop to the side, get to my feet and start
pacing, my hands gripping my hair, my breath coming in sharp gusts.
This
is...unbelievable!

I want to scream, both of them, in one foul swoop!

“Coral?” Tristan softly says. “Please tell me what’s going
on.” His voice is strained, I can tell he’s hurting. I don't want to hurt him. I
take several deep calming breaths, when I feel ready, I open my eyes, climb
onto his lap and wrap my arms tightly around his neck.

“You promise?” I whisper, inches from his face, my eyes
pleading with his.

“Yes. I promise.” Tristan says, slightly bemused.

Keeping my eyes firmly locked on his I say the words. “He’s
the guy that raped me.”