Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) (83 page)

A part of it is that I’m afraid. I’m afraid of finding out Rose’s true involvement in what’s happened to me. I’m afraid because if things are as I suspect—if she knew about what Jeremy was doing while he was still Stonehart—that it gives very little credit to my ability to make judgment calls about people. If she duped me—and I think she did—how can I trust my ability to get revenge?

Does it also mean that I have
two
people whom I must hold accountable for all the horrible things that I’ve experienced?

But worse than that—more frightening than all that—is where I stand in regards to…

Myself.

Jeremy obviously deems me incapable of returning to work. I hope the day off does not transition into two days, then three, then a week. I
need
to be within Stonehart Industries. I
need
to be there, to ingratiate myself into the company. I need to prove to Jeremy that I am strong, that I am capable, that he can trust me…

But, how many steps did I take back yesterday? He wouldn’t even speak to me after we left the office! The text from Fey, the one I have no recollection of getting, is the final, tangible bit of proof that whatever I think happened—as opposed to what actually happened—were two very, very different things.

Why would she text me that? After the way we left things, I doubted she would want to speak to me again. Besides, what difference does it make what Jeremy’s father’s name is? How would she even know that
I
didn’t know it?

Am I still meant to be her bridesmaid?
Hah!
I snort a laugh. That should be the absolute last concern on my mind.

The only semi-logical explanation I can come up with, regarding what happened to me yesterday, involves a toxic mix slowly building up inside me.

Stress and nerves were the first ingredients. I did not react well to Fey’s revelation on the phone Friday night. Jeremy was right: I internalized it. I spent the weekend locked away, refusing to acknowledge the implications of what I’d learned. Okay, so I was the victim of a revenge plot. The worst had already been done to me. Jeremy and I have moved on from there. Knowing the reason
why
I was taken did not have the effect I thought it would, back when I was first released from the dark. It did not make me hate Jeremy any more.

In fact, it did not influence my feelings toward him in any way. Neither positive, nor negative. I already knew that Jeremy Stonehart was vindictive. I knew that his life had been built around revenge. Knowing that I was targeted because of some type of manifestation of that came as no great surprise. I’d already assumed as much.

Still. Still, maybe because I refused to let the new information affect me or my feelings toward Jeremy, my subconscious protested. That bit of news was another drop into the festering bucket of filth that has taken residence in my soul. Maybe it was enough to make some spill over. Maybe that was the second ingredient.

Or maybe, regret over how I dealt with Fey over the phone Sunday night was what pushed me over the edge.

The workday was rough, but no more so than usual. Of course there is pressure to deal with on the job. The IPO keeps looming in the background, and almost every day as many negative stories break about Stonehart Industries as positive ones. I dove in head-first yesterday, forgetting everything else, surrounding myself only by concerns related to the job.

That got me to 5 p. m. After the workday was over, things become hazy. That is where reality starts to blur.

Trying to reconcile my memories with the video brings me to this:

Sometime after five, probably just before Simon tapped my arm, I got that text from Fey. I read it, and—for one reason or another that I absolutely cannot discern—my mind protested. It retreated.

It retreated, and made up the fantasy that I saw afterward. The specter of Jeremy’s father. The illusion of the collar. The extra photographs contained within the envelope.

That explanation makes me extremely uncomfortable. It does not sit well with me.

But for the moment, it’s the only one I’ve got.

I step out of the shower and look at myself in the mirror. It’s the first opportunity I’ve had to do so with the cameras off.

I thought I’d gotten used to them—tucked their presence away in some forgotten corner of my mind. I realize now that they were always weighing on me. Now that I’m free to do whatever I want without fear of Jeremy watching, it feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

I look at my body. There are no signs of neglect. None of abuse. I look perfectly healthy. Nothing at all about my appearance would indicate that I’m going insane.

But how do I know if what I’m seeing right now isn’t another illusion? What if the true image of the girl staring back at me shows a wretched, pathetic, ruined thing?

No. I shake my head. I’m not that far gone. Not yet. I still
feel
in control. I still
feel
like I have a grip on reality.

But isn’t that exactly what I felt yesterday? When I thought I’d met Hugh, and not…Simon?

Yes. Yes, it is. And that is what makes the entire episode so discomfiting.

Not once, in my interaction with Hugh, did anything feel off. I mean, his behavior may have been a little strange, but that was it. There were no signs or indications that what I was experiencing was not what was actually happening.

Does someone who’s going crazy realize it? Is this the outcome of all the abuse I’ve suffered at Jeremy’s hands? Is my mind finally breaking?

Or does the truth lie along a more sinister path?

Could it be possible, however unlikely, that the entire thing was somehow
planned
by Jeremy?

I scoff and dismiss the thought. The man has power. He revels in control. But he cannot make an image of me appear on a video screen.

I
saw
myself, from the surveillance room, talking to Simon. I saw something happen, on tape, with video evidence, of which I have no memory.

It was only
after
the video that I began to doubt myself. But if I can’t trust my own memory…if I can’t trust my own mind…what is there left?

I step away from the mirror and start to dress. As I do, I go over every single memory I have, in sequence, since waking up to find myself cold and abandoned in the sunroom so many months ago.

There’s not a day that I don’t remember. I’ve always had a good memory. Recollections of facts, feelings, things, events, has never been a problem.

A sudden burst of inspiration hits me. The cameras inside the house! I can go back and watch everything that I remember happening. I can see how well these tapes align with my memories.

No matter how painful reliving some of those moments may be.

I stride out of the bathroom and go straight to the little secret room. Rose can wait. It’s not like she has anything better to do.

Besides, after the way she’s treated me, I don’t mind introducing a bit of friction between us.

I sit down behind the computer, type in my password, and begin to watch.

***

An hour or two later, I sit back, feeling disgusted but…satisfied.

I’m disgusted by the way I saw Jeremy treat me before his apparent change of heart. But none of that is new. I’ve already moved past those events.

I’m satisfied because everything I remember…every single thing I recall…matches up perfectly with what I saw on tape.

That means, at least, that I’m still sane. Or that I’ve remained sane until the episode yesterday.

Once more, I think back to what happened. Things were clear in my mind…until Jeremy showed me the tape.

Only in the aftermath did I start to have doubts. Not before. I was seriously upset when Hugh pulled out the collar. That was the only real trigger I can think of.

I push away from the desk. I know I can’t change the past. Whatever happened yesterday, whether false or real, has taken up my thinking today. It’s one more thing I probably need to step back from, to try to gain some perspective on events.

I start down the stairs, then. I halt in mid-stride. Rose is waiting for me down there. When I speak to her, I’ll demand answers.

But there’s one other person I need to talk to, first. If I don’t, guilt will keep eating away at me.

Fey.

I sigh, and head back upstairs to get my phone. I check my messages. There are no new ones, from either her or Jeremy. But it’s not like I was expecting any.

I sit on the edge of the bed, type her number into the display, and then just stare at the phone without hitting ‘call’.

What would I say? I need to apologize, first of all. I know that she’s just worried about me. Her concern comes from a good place. Fey has a big heart. The way I repaid her kindness was despicable.

But I also know that I absolutely cannot let her interfere. If she begins to meddle—even all the way from the other coast—everything that I’ve planned to do to get back at Jeremy may yet fall apart.

That is, if I didn’t sabotage my position with the showing yesterday.

I take one deep breath. “Time to face the music,” I mutter, and hit ‘call’.

The phone rings. And rings, and rings, and rings. Fey doesn’t answer. It goes to her voicemail.

“Hey!” her usual, cheery voice greets me. “I’m not here right now, but leave me a message, and—“ she giggles,”—I’ll probably never get around to hearing it. But you can try!”

Beep
. Her greeting ends.

“Fey,” I start, hesitating. “Fey, it’s Lilly. Listen, I really wish I’d caught you live. I don’t know if you’re ignoring my call on purpose. If you are, I don’t blame you. I would too, if I were in your shoes.”

I exhale. “Look, this is hard for me to say and sound like I really mean it, but… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled, I shouldn’t have gotten angry. I know you’re just trying to look out for me. I know that you’ve got my best interest at heart.” I swallow hard and press on.

“But Fey…trust me when I say this. You don’t know what I know. Whatever Robin found, whatever you’re worried over, that’s just one-tenth of the picture. Less than that. One hundredth.

“That’s why it’s so difficult for me to see things the way you do. I mean, I understand what it looks like from the outside. Especially when all you have to go on is Robin’s research and a few brief moments with me.

“But Fey, Jeremy and I…we have something special.” I wince inwardly. That’s not exactly a lie. He and I do have a very,
very
special relationship. But I want Fey to take it the way people usually mean it, and not the way I do now.

“We’ve connected. Bonded. Our lives are intertwined in more ways than I can say.” I hesitate again, mentally replaying my words.

“I know I’m blabbering. But I really hope you listen to this message to the end. I’ll tell you the truth.

“I spoke to him. About what…about what you told me. He did not deny it. In fact, he all but confirmed it. But that doesn’t change things between us.”

How can I explain this?

“He says he loves me, Fey. I haven’t said the words back, but I believe him. I think he actually, truly, means it when he says it to me.”

There. I’ve said it. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“So Fey—I’m not afraid. I know where I stand with him. I hope you can trust me enough to relieve your own worries. I don’t want you concerned. I want you to enjoy your final months of college. Do it with Robin. Do it for me. Because I know…” I sigh. “I know I’m never going back.”

I stop talking. I feel a single tear trail down my cheek.

“And Fey?” I add after a long, silent minute. “I’ll understand if you never want to speak to me again. I just hope that, one day, the friendship that we shared before will let us get past this. And if it doesn’t—if I never hear from you again—just say hi to your mom, and Robin, and Sonja for me. I haven’t forgotten about any of you. I do think of you as my sister. And sisters have falling outs, you know? But they also have ties as strong as blood. They’re what lets them reconcile their difference two, five, ten years down the road.

“Anyway. I’m not thinking that far now. I just hope that you return this phone call. And even if you don’t, I won’t blame you. I’ll just hold out hope for that long, happy reunion that might come a decade from now.”

I take another break. I need it. I feel like I’ve just poured my soul out to her.

And I’ve done it without once telling the truth.

“Fey?” I finish in a small voice. “I love you. Like a sister, I do. Bye.”

I hang up. Then, with a great, exhausted sigh, I fall back on the bed and close my eyes.

Chapter Eight

I bolt upright suddenly, awake and very, very alarmed. Something’s wrong.

I feel it. But as I look around the empty room, I see nothing that could cause alarm.

It’s still light outside, though the sun is obscured by a thin layer of clouds. That’s better than the storm we had all day yesterday.

I get up, check my phone for messages or calls from Fey. I see none, sigh, and head downstairs.

I find Rose in the kitchen, exactly where I told her to be, looking either bored or annoyed. In front of her is a single white mug.

“Your coffee,” she says thinly, gesturing to the cup. “Brewed a few hours ago, so it’s obviously cold.” She sounds testy.

“Don’t test me,” I warn. I sit across from her at the table. “Jeremy told you to make amends with me, didn’t he? You can start by explaining your behavior from before. You’ve had more than a week to consider it. I want the truth: What the hell happened?”

“What
happened,
” she emphasizes, “was that I found an intruder in my home.
My home
, Miss Ryder, not my workplace. My
home
. Somebody whom I had no recollection of having invited in.”

“So you’re allowed to go wherever you please,” I say, “to roam Jeremy’s mansion without restrictions, to wander the grounds, to do whatever you want, as his
employee
,” I emphasize the word. “And yet I, for one reason or another, am barred from entering your home?”