A Bedtime Story (13 page)

I
t had been two days since Kayne left.
Laura had gone through every emotion possible.
What’s taking him so long?
She
kept imagining the worst, hoping for the best, caught in the limbo between. She
asked Olga constantly for news of Kayne’s whereabouts. It seemed Olga was in the
dark as well. Olga fretted over her, checking in on her constantly, almost
force-feeding her in bed. She stayed by her side, watching over her while pretending
to busy herself with other things.

It was late at night. Laura had asked Olga to keep her company, and
the latter was glad to oblige. She was reading in the chair by her bed when sounds
coming from the entrance made them both jump up.

“Kayne!” Laura exclaimed and leaped to her feet, rushing out of her
bedroom. The door opened as she reached for the handle, and she ran into him.

“Kayne…” She smiled up at him, her eyes full of hope.

His expression was inscrutable. He kept his eyes locked in on her
then turned to Olga. “Would you give us a moment?”

“Of course, Master Kayne, I’ll boil some tea.” Though happy to see
him, Olga left the room feeling uneasy about his tense expression.

“Kayne?” Laura asked, her voice quavering, her high hopes slowly
evaporating. “He’s okay? He’s okay, isn’t he?” She already knew the answer from his
severe expression but refused to believe it.

He shut the door behind him, led her gently to the bed, and made
her sit. He knelt in front of her and shook his head.

“No! No! You promised! You promised!” she screamed.

“It was suicide, Laura.”

“No… I don’t believe you... Peter would never,
NEVER!”

He closed his eyes and nodded his head in acknowledgment. He then
handed her a paper note that was tucked in his front pocket. “What is this?”

“Read it.”

She grabbed the paper from his hand, eyeing it suspiciously, then
immediately recognized the handwriting.

My Sweet Laura,

I fucked up. So bad. I failed you in so many ways. Please forgive me. You will be
safe now. I love you, always and forever.

Peter

“No…” She shook her head in denial. “NO!” she then screamed
forcefully, falling to the floor, the sound almost inhuman.

Kayne had dreaded the reunion. He had remained true to his word,
though he couldn’t shake the feeling he had betrayed her nonetheless. He put his
hand on her shoulder, wanting to comfort her.

“Don’t you fuckin’ touch me! Do you hear me? Don’t you fuckin’
dare!” she bellowed hysterically.

Kayne was taken aback, unsure what to do, how to deal with all this
pain. He stood up, hovering over her as she wailed on the floor, lowering her body
over her bended knees.

“You did it… I know you did… It was you.” Her voice came out eerily
soft. In an instant, she was up on her feet, staring him down, a demented gleam in
her eye. “Tell me. Tell me to my face you didn’t kill him.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

She could see the pity in his eyes. She snapped. Raising her arm to
slap him, she called out, “LIAR!”

He caught her hand midair, holding her wrist so tight it hurt. He
maintained his calm, though his eyes betrayed his anger. “I know you’re upset, but I
didn’t. He overdosed. I have a picture if you would like to see for yourself. Don’t
you fuckin’ call me a liar,”
he hissed. Then raising his voice, he
added, “And don’t you
EVER
raise your hand at me.”

But she knew. She knew in her heart he was lying. His denial felt
like salt being poured over her wound. With blind rage, she looked at him defiantly,
then spit in his face.

His hand twisted her wrist even harder, his eyes narrowing with
silent fury. But she held his gaze, challenging him, with the courage that’s granted
to those who’ve lost reason. He didn’t bother wiping his face. He lifted his other
hand and struck her, slapping her hard across her face, while still holding her
wrist.

Her entire body quavered on impact, only held up by the wrist he
was still holding. She fell to the ground the instant he let go.

She crawled back away from him, terror in her eyes, backing away
until her back hit the wall. She wrapped her arms around her knees and started
rocking herself, her eyes vacant.

Within seconds, he wanted to go to her but immediately cooled off,
still feeling her saliva dripping on his face.

“When you’re ready to talk about it, you can come to me,” he said
coolly after he wiped his face. He then walked out, leaving her behind, shattered on
the floor.

I
t had been almost ten days since Kayne
returned. Olga, very upset that first night, had chased him down to the living room
as he poured himself a glass of whiskey, drinking it standing by the bar. He was in
one of those scary moods, and she could see his father staring out of his eyes. She
didn’t let up. She’d seen the girl’s face, all red and swollen, but he simply
snapped at her to leave it alone.

Ever since that night, she stayed by the girl’s side. She brought
ice for her face and fixed meals she liked, but Miss Laura wouldn’t eat. The girl
was shrinking in front of her eyes. She wouldn’t get out of bed, she wouldn’t even
cry. She just stared ahead, her eyes vacant, all day long. She allowed Olga to dress
and undress her, even bathe her with no resistance. Olga’s heart broke for her. She
would tell Master Kayne about it every evening. She could see how he listened
attentively but then shrugged it off, his eyes cold. In the evenings, she’d pull a
chair by her bed and stay with her until she fell asleep. She gave up trying to make
her talk. She racked her brain trying to find a way to snap her out of her catatonic
state. On the third night, Olga was recounting to Laura one of her favorite fairy
tales from her childhood when her eyes moved, barely, but they moved. Olga knew she
had found a way to reach into her. She continued telling her a different story each
night, recounting old Russian folktales her own mother used to tell her when she was
little. Laura turned to her, listening enraptured. She would close her eyes
sometimes, as if imagining the tale in her mind, but remained quiet.

It was during one of those evenings that she first spoke again.
Olga had just finished telling her the tale of Alexei and Aniska, two orphans,
brother and sister, wandering through the Russian wilderness.

In the tale, the two siblings meet all sorts of
characters throughout their journey, from friends and foes, to evil men and
enchanted beasts. They learn the secrets of the Winter Woods, befriend a traveling
bear, and even escape a murderous huntsman. Their journey leads them down the path
of the Great White Wolf Witch. The cunning Witch lures the children into her realm,
wishing to use them as sacrifice to undo the curse that had bound her spirit to that
of the White Wolf’s. Unlike all their previous encounters, they can’t get out of
this situation with wit and bravery alone. The Witch is strong, powerful, and most
cunning of all. Yet a human part still remained in her heart. She had been a mother
once, long, long ago. Her human heart would not let her forget it when the time
came. Incapable of carving out the innocent children’s hearts to free herself, the
Witch pierces her own. She dies alone in the snow, forsaken and unwept. It was a sad
story.

“I love wolves, I always have,” Laura said simply, her voice
childlike, at the end of the story. The next night, she asked Olga to retell her the
story of Alexei and Aniska.

Following that night, Olga established their new routine. Every
morning, she would drag Laura out of bed and bring her to the solarium. They had
never gone there before, she’d barely shown it to her. It was Elena Malkin’s domain,
and like so many traces of her, it was shut out and forgotten.

It was really a beautiful place, though a pale comparison to what
it had been in its glory day. Olga thought Laura would like this place. In so many
ways, she reminded her of Mrs. Malkin, and she frowned inwardly at the
association.

Olga spent the days doing her crochet, talking about everything and
nothing, telling funny anecdotes she remembered from childhood, back in her
homeland, her Russia. She even made Laura’s lips widen into a sort of a smile a few
times, though her gaunt eyes foretold of the long battle ahead to recovery.

They would have their breakfast together there. Laura would only
nibble on hers, shivering away regardless of the warm weather and layers of clothes.
Olga would cover her with the thickest
comforter she could find.
Sometimes they would just sit together silently, comfortable and comforted by each
other.

It took a few days for Laura to begin participating in
conversations, dropping sentences randomly here and there. In response to another
one of Olga’s fond childhood memories involving a mischievous dog the family had,
Laura just said, “We had one when I was really young, but after my mom left, my
father got rid of him. He didn’t like dogs.”

Laura didn’t mention that the dog crate, however, remained. She
wondered if Kayne had told Olga about it. He hadn’t. She had gone over that night in
her head over and over again. She wanted to believe him; he had given her his word.
He had never lied, he hadn’t lied in other circumstances where he easily could have.
But the coincidence was too much. Then she thought maybe Peter had become aware they
were on to him, noticed the men who had tracked him down to Chicago. The men
she
had led to him.
Maybe she was the one who killed him
. Or maybe
it just got too much. Maybe the darkness that always gnawed at her had greedily
swallowed him.
Was it really that surprising?
She rubbed a faded scar on her
wrist unconsciously. Maybe it was just the Spencer curse, she thought. The Spencers,
they would be no more. Peter’s death ensured it. She recalled her father’s comment
when he found out about her infertility:
Good. You should be celebrating!
Spencers… rotten blood. I told your mother she should have aborted you. Damn
bitch was so stubborn…
She had thought her father cruel at the time, but
always she forgave him. She knew of his own hard childhood, of the abuse he
survived, denounced, and, so unwittingly, reproduced. The Spencers, the cursed. For
the first time, she understood her father, and she felt relief at knowing her family
line would die out with her.

Olga, for her part, obviously treasured her family and to this day
fought back tears when reminiscing about her time in Russia. For all the heartfelt
memories she willingly shared of her childhood, she remained suspiciously evasive
about all that followed when she reached Canada as a young teenager.

Laura had tried asking her about her time with the
Malkins, but Olga proved as equally secretive. She admitted to being with the family
long before Kayne’s birth, but she wouldn’t go into any detail. But she did confirm
Laura’s suspicions. Olga was no fool, she was well aware of the family business and
knew of the life Kayne lived. She was quick, however, to add that light and darkness
existed in all of us. To support her statement, she reluctantly offered her one
personal secret Laura could never have suspected.

Olga was homeless when Lev Malkin found her. He took pity on his
fellow countrywoman and took her under his wing, offering her shelter and
employment. She had been young and beautiful once, and men preyed so easily on the
defenseless. Master Malkin hadn’t and for that alone earned her loyalty. Years
later, when she was in her thirties, a man she didn’t know had come to the house on
business. Master Malkin rarely mixed family and business, but it was an emergency,
and this man was sent to retrieve a package instead of the usual pick-up guy. He had
leered at her openly all night and made vulgar comments out of earshot. Master
Malkin had finally asked her to show him out when the business was concluded. But
the man forced her into a corner on his way out, the moment they were alone. He had
forced her mouth shut and legs open. Master Kayne had witnessed the scene, came at
him like a madman, and he
stopped
him. He was only sixteen then.

Master Malkin didn’t give his son grief about it; they got rid of
the body. The Malkins looked after their own. They instilled fear to ensure
obedience but knew only gratitude could earn loyalty.

K
ayne sat alone in his office pensive. Olga
gave him daily updates on Laura. He looked forward to them. The truth was he missed
her company, her shy glances, and her inquisitive ones. He missed her bashful
smiles, her nervous chatter. He even missed her annoying curiosity. He was passing
by the solarium one day and heard laughter, actual laughter. He envied Olga in that
moment.

That night he made another call where he was particularly cruel,
and the following night, and the night after that. He whipped and caned mercilessly,
made them cry, made them beg, and made them come. He came too but found no
release.

L
aura had heard, night after night, the
clicking of heels. She had wept bitterly in her pillows, knowing Kayne was having
sex with another woman at that very moment. She had no tears left. She felt the
change in her, however subtle. From the shadows, she didn’t return fully the same.
She never did. Every now and then, since she was a little girl, from the cage to
Peter’s suicide, darkness would claim her but never keep her. Even when she went
willingly. Every time she returned, a little piece of her was lost. She was done
crying.

She wondered about her puzzling captor who treated Olga so kindly,
who had protected her, killed for her. Her captor who hurt women for pleasure, who
killed and tortured for a living. Her captor who terrified her, who fascinated her,
who captured her, in every sense. She hadn’t seen him since
that
night, when
he got back and changed her life forever.
Didn’t he always?
From their very
first encounter, he took her freedom. Then he took her body, turning it against her.
Then he took Peter. She wondered what else he could take from her, if she even had
anything left worth taking.

She asked Olga that day if he would be home for supper. He would.
Her heart beat faster as she asked if it was okay if she joined. It was, Olga
assured her happily.

***

In her usual jeans and a soft pink top, leaving her hair loose, she
nervously went to meet him. He was already seated, staring at her, his expression
unreadable as she hesitantly pulled the chair facing him.

“Hi…”

He nodded in response, his sealed lips even more
telling of his murky mood. They remained in silence, their eyes locked on each other
as he reached over and served them.

“I believe you…” she finally said in her softest voice, her eyes
fixing the plate in front of her.

He didn’t answer, keeping his eyes on her, scrutinizing her.

“What happened to his… body? Is it just… rotting there?” She looked
up to meet his gaze, her voice quavering as her eyes glistened with unshed
tears.

“No. The state provided for the funeral,” he finally said, his eyes
softening.

“Oh… I was just hoping to say good-bye…” Her voice broke, and a few
tears rolled down her cheek, which she quickly dried off with the back of her
hand.

He kept looking at her, not saying anything.

Her voice went steady then, her eyes fixing far ahead into a
nonexistent distance. “I tried it once… when I was sixteen. He had started doing the
harder stuff. Sometimes he’d be gone for days. This one time he didn’t return for
two weeks. I was freaking out. I wouldn’t leave the house. I was so scared that I’d
miss him when he came back. I stopped going to work. I didn’t go to school anymore.
I’d literally run to the store when I needed something and run back home. I just
knew he’d come back for me, you know?” She shook her head, hurt in her eyes.

“At least for my birthday… he never missed my birthdays, no matter
what. I even baked a cake and everything.” She chuckled bitterly. “I waited ’til
midnight. When he didn’t come back… I slit my wrist. On my sweet sixteen.” She
finally looked up at him, offering a sad smile that didn’t belong to a
twenty-three-year-old. “But he did come back for me. He found me. He saved me…
And I didn’t
. I didn’t save him… I didn’t…” She choked, tears rushing
down her cheeks.

Before she knew it, he was by her side, pulling her up into his
embrace. He held her close, rubbing her back, running his fingers gently in her hair
while she sobbed uncontrollably against his
strong, comforting
chest. They hadn’t been so close in a long time. She could feel him all around her,
warming her, calming her. She remembered how good it felt; she just wanted to close
her eyes and get lost in him, disappear completely into him, and have him carry the
load that was to be Laura Spencer.

He waited for her sobs to fade, her breathing to slow, then pulled
her away just a little. He grabbed her wrist and lifted its palm facing up, where a
little faded scar could still be seen.

“You will never try this again,” he commanded her, his voice
assertive though not harsh, his eyes boring into hers.

She returned his gaze, studying his expression, and took a few
seconds before slowly nodding her head.

“Good.” A faint smile crossed his face. He leaned in and placed a
soft kiss on her scarred wrist.