Fade to Black (The Black Trilogy Book 1) (18 page)

Sheldon was there, helping me, holding me up. Beatrice arrived not long after. I was told that Lana and Nathan were most likely part of a drug deal gone bad. Nathan was lucky to be alive, they said. I called Papaw, and argued with him for at least half an hour about his traveling to the hospital.

Only after agreeing that Nathan was out of danger, and that I would drive us home as soon as he was released, did Papaw agree not to come. Papaw then told me he would tell Jean-Paul when he called that I left to go to Nathan, but he would lead him to believe it was after Nathan was shot. I didn’t disagree.

“Piper, honey, I’m sorry about Lana. She was a sweet girl, in spite of where she came from. She don’t have to worry about nothing no more,” Papaw said in his all-knowing voice.

Tears fell from me, and made puddles on my shirt. He was right, but I couldn’t think of that now. I slept in a chair while Nathan recovered. Lana was cremated. I disagreed with Nathan’s choice at first, but had to agree Lana would never want to be seen displayed in a casket.

I cleaned her apartment and gave most of her clothes and personal things to a women’s shelter. I kept a blanket Nana had given her years ago. It only had small spots of blood on it, and I could get those out. I wouldn’t wash it though. Lana’s perfume was still on it. Yet, like Matthew’s jacket that I still kept in my old bedroom closet, time would carry away the scent of the person I loved. Lana’s scent would vanish as well, in time.

When Jean-Paul arrived in Louisiana he was his usual presentable self. Nathan called him Pompous, but never criticized my choice to marry him. Nathan, of course, was oblivious to what Jean-Paul really was to me.

When Nathan was safe to move, we made our way home. He only remembered being shot. His last memory of that night was laying down with Lana, then the gunshot, then pain. He had no idea who did it.

I brought Lana’s ashes home with me. When Jean-Paul left again for work, I climbed to the cliff where we would always go and sun ourselves, or skinny-dip. I dropped her ashes into the water below, making her a permanent resident of a place I loved.

Lana had no relatives I knew of. Her grandmother was in a nursing home, long since lost to Alzheimer’s, or maybe she was dead now. Lana never knew her father’s family. The baby I had delivered years ago never knew her.

I grieved, as did Nathan. We stayed quiet most days, as he sobered up from years of drug use and healed from the gunshot wound. He and Papaw would sit and have deep discussions about God and life. I would listen, mostly knowing the answers already from years of Papaw’s guidance.

“I’ll tell you, and I ain’t ashamed of it, but it nearly killed me to bury your daddy,” Papaw said to Nathan. “I believe with all my heart God has blessed us with one another. When it’s said and done, I hope I’ve done some good in my life. I hope I’ve loved you kids enough.”

He looked from Nathan to me with tired eyes.

“More than enough Papaw,” I said, and hugged him. “You’re the greatest.”

Papaw used a red bandana he kept in his back pocket to dry his eyes.

“Nathan, I’m mighty pissed off about your condition. God gives you life, and this…”

He gestured to Nathan’s bruised and scabbed arms. They were much better, but still the damage was visible.

“This is what you do with it? This is how you repay Him for your God-given talent? Nathan, please don’t do this no more,” Papaw said, in a small helpless voice I’d never heard before.

I looked at Nathan and was surprised to see he was crying now. Papaw squeezed my hand and let it go. He took Nathan in his arms, like he was holding a child. Nathan wept for the pain he caused us all, the loss of Lana, the years he spent doping and drinking that he couldn’t get back. He reached out for me, and we three wept together.

I fought the coldness in my heart. I wanted to believe all was okay, but dread and despair consumed me. I went into a state of oblivion in my mind. I felt nothing. I heard nothing. I just walked aimlessly around.

I did what I had to and nothing more. I often thought of Ryan, and whether he was looking for me. I decided he wasn’t. It was inconceivable that a man would want me around for anything other than to be used. I felt different with Ryan though, I felt wanted, desired. I would shake those thoughts off, knowing they were just my imagination.

While Nathan recovered from his wounds, he recovered in his mind. Losing Lana, probably the only girl he ever loved, took its toll on him. He sobered up, determined to be healthy. It wasn’t long until he was ready to go back to Nashville.

“For nothing else but to finish what I started,” he said.

Nathan had started a soundtrack for a movie. The movie people told him they would wait for him to recover, since they were delayed in filming anyway, and should still make their timeline.

My life with Jean-Paul did not change. He refrained from hitting me, while Nathan was there at least, and when I hugged my brother, who was now twenty pounds heavier than he had been, I thought to myself that at least I had a little peace, if only for a little while.

Papaw’s mind was beginning to slip. I helped him the best I could, when he let me. We danced some nights after dinner, the way we did when Nana was alive. I know he longed to be with her again. Papaw never again saw the abuse I endured. Jean-Paul was very good at placing the blows on my body, and not my face or arms.

Then, when Papaw moved to the small room off the grand room, giving us his and Nana’s room, he was too far away to hear the goings-on in the bedroom, where I got most of the beatings, and if I made any noise, I would be beaten worse.

There were many times Jean-Paul would threaten to kill Papaw or Nathan, if I did not shut up or do as I was told. Sex with Jean-Paul was torture. When he was home from work, he insisted I take part in things I didn’t think anyone normal would do.

He loved to choke me to the point of me passing out. Other times he would say horrible things in my ear, causing me to gag. He had a strange fixation with holding a knife to my throat while on top of me. It was horrible, and I did everything I could not to show just how sick he made me.

I secretly began to plan my escape. I’d been assured of my death or my brother’s if I did anything wrong. Also, Jean-Paul was the financial thread that held my family together. When Nana died, her insurance would not pay once they found out she refused treatment. I was a midwife, but babies did not come every day. What money I made I tried to save.

We closed Papaw’s veterinary office when he began forgetting things. Time, little by little, was taking him from me. With each passing day, he stayed on the porch a little longer, watching the sunset.

Nana often told me her favorite time with Papaw was watching the sun rise or set from their bed. They would talk of things new, and things from years past. He was comfortable and peaceful. His body was not betraying him like Nana’s did, but his mind was unconcerned about the present.

I found Papaw sleeping late one morning. I thought he was just tired, but when I returned to him an hour later, he was gone. Lying there, still sleeping, he had slipped away, gone from me to be with Nana. A part of me accepted that after Nana went, he no longer wanted to live.

Selfishly, I would have kept him with me forever. I went to the funeral home to cut his hair and shave his face. I traced my fingers along his eyebrows, never wanting to forget how animated he could be. I imagined this would be how my dad would look at this age.

Bitterness tried to enter my heart at the thought of not having my dad with me. I couldn’t keep the feeling; Papaw would hate me for it. Now father and son were together.

We buried Papaw beside Nana. That was the lowest I’d been in a while. I’d resisted drugs, trying to remain clean, as I had been since Nana’s death, but I began cutting again. When Jean-Paul saw the marks, he beat me and said I was evil and going to hell. He said I must have a demon in me. I believed this to be true. I was always fighting it, but the demon always won.

I was alone in the house after burying Papaw. Nathan had gone again after the funeral. I lay in the birthing tub, feeling sorry for myself, adding up all I had lost. I thought of Ryan, and wondered if he thought of me as well. He also was lost to me. I had Papaw’s straight razor I used to shave him with. He preferred this to a more modern disposable.

I’m not sure what led me to that moment, but as I added up my losses and thought of the stacks and stacks of unhappy things, I began to cut my arm, knowing I’d pay for it later. Jean-Paul would most likely kill me this time.

Instead of the nicks I carved in my flesh for relief, this time I took the straight razor, and slit at least a ten-inch opening in my forearm. The blood gushed from the wound, quickly turning the water bright red.

I thought, “Well, that was easy,” as I watched the flow.

I was accepting of my decision. I hated to leave Nathan, but he had a life and would go on. I wished I could see Ryan again. Nana always said I’d know love when I saw it, and I swear it was one day on a beach, and I saw it. I mourned the life I would never have with him. I was to the point of giving over to death, when someone burst through the kitchen door.

“Piper!”

I jumped up, wrapping my arm in a shirt, and throwing on a robe, all in quick succession.

“I’m here,” I called back, running through the birthing room, and nearly colliding with a frantic Elisabeth Hatchet.

She was breathing fast and holding her swollen belly.

“It’s coming!” she screamed.

I helped her to the table and barely got her on it.

“He’s coming! He’s coming!” she said again.

Two pushes and he was there, Elisabeth’s fourth child with her high-school sweetheart, Cooper. I cleaned him up and gave him to her.

“Matthew,” she breathed the name.

I sucked in a breath when I heard it. Elisabeth looked at me, smiling. I returned the smile through tears. I stood in a robe, touching my forearm. Was it a coincidence my death was interrupted by Matthew? No. It was exactly something he would do. He saw me, and sent an angel my way, as if to say, “Something better awaits you. Just hold on.”

I cried myself to sleep after sewing up my arm that night.

The next day, I explained to Jean-Paul that I fell as Elisabeth was calling to me, causing the cut. He didn’t question me. I had become an Oscar-worthy actress. It would be another three weeks before I thought of my missing periods.

Sure enough, Jean-Paul and I would be celebrating our miracle baby, who we thought would never come. Daniel had not won. He had not destroyed all of me. I inwardly said, “Take that, you bastard.”

chapter twenty-three

Jean-Paul was kind to me during my pregnancy, returning to his gentlemanly ways. I actually thought a baby might help us. He brought a middle-aged woman, Maria, home to help with the housework when I reached my sixth month, afraid I would harm the baby if I did too much. I was grateful, but a little perturbed that the woman only understood Spanish and did not speak at all.

Maria went about her cleaning and lived in the room Papaw had slept in before he died. Late winter we welcomed our baby girl into the world. Jean-Paul allowed me to name her Ellie Grace, Grace after Nana.

Maria was a huge help to me. I had to have the baby in a hospital. I was considered high risk, and at one point, Ellie tried to come too early. I was scheduled for a C-section, and ended up having a full hysterectomy. My uterus had given me all it could and had to go. Daniel had done more damage than anyone knew.

Maria and I bonded quickly over the baby. She was learning to understand English, but still would not speak. I wondered at times if she couldn’t speak, or whether she could and just refused to.

Nathan came and went, healthy and happy. He won an Oscar. He also carried tremendous debt, but he refused to file for bankruptcy. He worked tirelessly to try and make up for his drug-riddled past. It pleased me that Roger was trying to help him. As for me, I knew I was being abused, but I had no idea what that actually meant until Ellie was four. I looked at her beautiful pale skin, full pink lips and thought she must look like Nana when she was little. The thought of anyone hurting her made me crazy.

Being hit or slapped I healed from rather quickly for the most part. I knew to stand perfectly still, and to be attentive to every word Jean-Paul threw at me. When the Scotch took effect after an hour, I dared to nod, and say, “I’m sorry. I’ll do better from now on,” keeping my eyes averted.

It went from the receipt order to how much I spent on laundry detergent. After being told what an overspending, stupid cow I was, I was then instructed to perform oral sex. It repulsed me. I got on my knees, as he began to unzip his trousers, I began thinking of other thoughts to keep me sane.

Had I acted like I didn’t want to or showed any sign of displeasure I would have suffered physically. So I did as he wished. He pulled at my hair and bloodied my lips, but I stayed on my knees as he instructed.

As I later watched Ellie sleeping, I thought I would kill the man that ever tried to force her into anything like I had been forced into. I would kill him and not blink an eye. It dawned on me for the first time ever that the sexual abuse was minor in comparison to the names I was subjected to, or the constant put-downs. I realized at that moment, touching the splits on the inside of my lips, that I was sick of feeling bad. I was in a dark place in life, for not only Ellie but for myself. I would crawl out, and then I would run like hell. I had to, or die this way.

I began trying to find my way out. I had to be stealthy about it, or I would end up dead, and that would leave Ellie with Jean-Paul, an idea I could not stand.

Sheldon came at least three times a year with his family. Ellie had playmates, and I had adult conversations. This did not sit well with Jean-Paul, who was becoming more aggressive each time he was home. I was a great actress, but it now seemed just my existence annoyed him.

I had a healing broken wrist when Roger next came to visit. He stayed in my old room, now the guest room. On the night before his departure, I cooked a huge dinner. Roger had been walking the horses around with Ellie. She was growing at a rapid pace. The marks on the wall were measuring her taller than I was at seven.

When they came in the door, Ellie was telling Roger stories she was learning in school. Roger winked at me and sat at the table as if there were nothing better in the world than listening to Ellie.

“You know, Ellie, you might grow up to be a producer. Make your own movies! Or be an actress, because you are so pretty with those great big blue eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were kin to my friend, Ryan Knox,” and Ellie laughed at the thought.

I laughed too, for just a second as this sunk in. I kept up with the tabloid news on Ryan when I was allowed to, as Jean-Paul disapproved of it. I couldn’t allow my thoughts to wonder about Ryan too much, because it made me so sad, and I had a little girl who depended on me.

I was at the sink, drying a plate and lost in thought. Once the idea of what Roger was saying had firmly set in, I dropped the plate, staring at Roger in horror. I was trying to do the math in my head. I couldn’t keep up.

“What? What is it?” he asked, frantically running to me.

I bent over double and dry-heaved, trying to keep my dinner down. Maria helped Roger get me to the couch. Ellie was saying, “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Truly scared.

“It’s okay, baby,” I told her once I found my voice, but it was anything but okay. It was unbelievable.

I looked at Ellie, placing my hands on either side of her face, and there he was.

Ryan, the same eyes, the same mouth. She was Ryan in miniature female form. How had I not seen this? How would I not know? With burying my best friend, nursing my brother back to life, Papaw dying, and getting my hair ripped out every other night by my husband, and then trying to die…Matthew.

Matthew saved me from killing myself and my baby. Matthew, always saying that there was something better, and to just hold on. Matthew.

I laughed then, like a crazy person. I laughed till I cried. And cried and cried. The realization and irony of it was just too much.

Maria took Ellie to bed, and I calmed down. Roger placed his hand over mine.

“Can you tell me what it is?”             

I wanted to so bad but was afraid. I shook my head and we sat in silence, sipping wine until it was time for bed. I left him at the stairs. I lay in bed still in shock, wishing I could tell someone.

When I was still awake at two in the morning, I made my way to my old room where Roger was staying. I knocked softly, and he answered.

“Come in.”

He was on the phone. I waited until he finished and set the cell aside.

“Sorry. I operate on West Coast time.”

I nodded and shut the door. Roger had a bottle of Johnnie Walker on the dresser, a half-full glass beside it. I walked to it, and swallowed it down.

“I need to tell you something, but what I need to tell you could cost me my life, and maybe Ellie’s as well. It’s not that I don’t trust you, because I do.” I eyed him nervously, I was quivering with fear. “Distract me. Tell me some of your secrets until I can get calmed down.”

Roger thought for a moment, and then began to tell me about his daughter’s death. We never spoke of Molly. I knew of the suicide, as did everyone else, but Roger never wished to speak of her, so I left him to whatever feelings he had about the tragedy. He told me of the planning it took to remove the man from the picture. He never mentioned a name, but I had a feeling I could narrow that list down to one. Ryan.

When he’d finished, I could appreciate his confidence in me. I dreaded involving him in my secrets, but I was ready to tell now. I went to my old window and then onto the roof outside. Roger followed, and I began to tell him everything. From Daniel to Jean-Paul to Matthew to Ryan to Ellie. I left nothing out. I talked about the daily abuse I received, cringing at the thought of being labeled a victim. To say he was shocked at my admission would be an understatement.

We watched the sunrise, and in the morning hours, we had a plan. It would take some work, but we were co-conspirators now. We had to get Ellie and myself out of the dangerous situation we were in.

Now, to act on what I thought I already knew. We had to have a DNA test done to prove what I was already sure of. Nothing would be said to Ryan until the truth was confirmed. Roger knew if this got out, I and my daughter would be dead, and we would never be found. Jean-Paul promised me that all the time.

…

I acted as I always did, like I was an actress in my own movie. Roger said the test would take several weeks, so I waited impatiently. I was already sure of the results but needed the confirmation.

Ellie turned eight and got a new saddle from Roger. Finally, in May, he called with one word.

“Positive.”

I was not at all surprised, and I grew more and more in love with Ryan through the daughter we shared. I began to look forward. If something did happen to me, then Ellie would go to Ryan, and Roger would make certain that happened.

I began to notice Jean-Paul watching me, closer than normal. I think he became suspicious of my talking with Roger so much. He would also catch me daydreaming and slap me back to reality. One thing he despised more than anything was my smiling for no apparent reason. I caught myself counting down the hours until he would leave.

When I was on the phone after he left for work one morning, Maria came to me looking frantic. She was twisting her hands and looking around. I touched her arm to calm her. Maria pointed to the phone, then to her ear.

“You need me to call someone?” I asked, never knowing her to call a soul.

Jean-Paul said all of her family was in Mexico, and could not be reached. Maria shook her head, and then pointed to the phone again, but this time she took both hands and extended pinky and thumb like a phone, and placed both hands to each of her ears.

“Someone is listening,” I said, my stomach turning. “For how long? Since when?”

Maria shook her head and shrugged. Dread filled me. Had we spoken of Ellie? Just the previous week, Roger and I agreed a private investigator should follow Jean-Paul when he left to drive his truck. Roger felt like we needed to know his habits, and find out if he was doing anything illegal.

Roger said he would be coming with Sheldon on July fourth. He also wanted to know Jean-Paul’s schedule. I told him he would be gone that week. We said good-bye until the fourth. As I saw the fear in Maria’s face, I wondered if we were in danger at that moment.

“Watch Ellie. I’ll be back in just a minute, okay?”

I didn’t wait for her to answer. I left and drove Papaw’s old truck as fast as it would go to the grocery store. I jumped out at the pay phone and pushed a half dozen quarters into it. I was in near panic when Roger picked up.

“He’s listening to my phone conversations at home. Maria just told me.”

I looked around me, paranoid I was being watched.

“What?” Roger asked in disbelief. “Why would he do that?”

I took a deep breath and tried to think.

“He likes to know what I’m thinking all the time. He doesn’t trust me with anything.” That was a fact. “He doesn’t want me going to church if he isn’t with me, because of my talking to other men, and having my own thoughts without him guiding them.” I was rambling now but couldn’t stop. I was in full-blown hysterics now. “Roger, what if he knows. Have we said Ryan’s name? Oh my God, Roger!” I was breathing hard now, thinking. What nagged at me? It wasn’t just this. There was something else that bothered me.

And there it was. The pieces of a jagged puzzle slid into place.

“He killed him,” I whispered, not listening to what Roger was saying. “He killed him!”

“What? Killed who? Piper, what are you saying?”

I placed my hand over my mouth, and tears blurred my vision.

The scene of Matthew’s body, with no helmet in sight when I knew he always wore his helmet, because Matthew was the most responsible person I knew, and did what was expected of him.

“Roger, a couple of years ago I found Matthew’s helmet in our garage. It was hid back behind some decorations. When I asked Jean-Paul about it, he said he found it while he was hunting and couldn’t remember where.”

I paused, sickened by my own stupidity.

“Roger, Matthew had a horrible head injury, an injury that would have left a mark on the helmet he never went without. When we got him from the wreck site, his helmet was missing, and I searched for it myself, along with his family.”

I closed my eyes remembering.

“Matthew’s helmet, when I found it in the garage, was spotless. No marks. Jean-Paul killed him because we loved each other, and had made plans to get married after college. At my party, I remember Jean-Paul was there, and he seemed agitated and weird to me. And I had seen someone in my woods.”

Roger listened as I let all this stuff out I’d been holding inside.

“Piper, there’s something I need to tell you, but quickly. The investigator I hired to track him? He was found dead on the side of the highway. He had to be identified by dental records. He was burned beyond recognition.”

I nodded numbly.

“He likes burns,” I said in a hoarse whisper, and as if mine was fresh, it stung to remind me how much he liked them.

“Get Ellie, and get to the airport. I will have two tickets waiting for you there. Pack nothing. Tell no one. Understand?”

I agreed and hung up. I sped home.