Broken Illusions (His Agenda Volume 3) (7 page)

I told her what had happened in the dream and heard an intake of breath on her end.

“Haley, I’m so sorry, sweetie. But remember this: Jude is dead. He’s been dead for two years. He will not come back.”

“I know,” I said, biting my bottom lip. “I wish my mind could believe that too.”

“Did you ever get closure? Real closure? I mean, were you at his funeral or something like that?”

I shook my head as if she could see me. “I told them to do whatever they needed to do with his remains. I never wanted to have anything to do with him again.”

“Well, that’s it.” There was a hint of triumph in Becca’s voice. “You need closure, sweetie. I’m not saying it will solve all your problems, but it’s worth a try.”

“I don’t know how I can get that closure. Garrett once told me to write a letter to him and burn it. You know, telling him how deeply he had hurt me. He said I might let him go that way, and release the negative emotions.”

“Did it help?”

“It did in the moment I burned the letter. The relief only lasted a few hours, though.”

“Why not try something else?”

“I have no idea what.”

“Dearest, I have to go and check on a patient. I’m sorry. Think of a few ideas. I’ll call you after my shift so you can run them by me.”

“I will. Thanks so much, Becca. Talk to you later.”

After hanging up, I took a pad and paper and started jotting down a few things. I managed to come up with five ideas, some of them ridiculous, but it helped knowing there were options that could help me let go of Jude.

I folded up the paper, put it in my purse, and instead of going back to bed, I switched on the TV and watched a nice comedy. I fell asleep before it ended.

I was awoken by Becca’s phone call. She was pleased with some of the ideas, but one in particular.

“I know it’s scary, and you will probably be subjecting yourself to a lot of pain, but maybe you need to face the pain in order to let it go.”

“Maybe.” I decided I would do it. “I’ll make the call.”

Later that day, I laughed at myself. I had ditched Garrett because I wanted to do it on my own, but in truth I wasn’t doing it alone. Instead of him, I was leaning on Becca. But in a way, it helped to be leaning on someone who knew me on a deeper level, and who had seen my deepest, darkest scars. Someone who wasn’t Dustin.

Taking the healing steps would not only be good for me. I was doing it for Dustin, and for everyone else who came into contact with me. It would prevent me from scarring the relationships I formed with other people.

Damn you, Jude. Go to hell already.

Chapter Seventeen

My heart pounded and sweat pooled between the steering wheel and my palms.

Before leaving the apartment, I had called Dustin in Dubai, but he was having lunch with an investor and couldn’t talk. All I could say was that I had a last-minute shoot out of town and I’d be spending the night. I hated lying to him, but I couldn’t give him the opportunity to try and talk me out of what had to be done.

To give myself a few moments to calm down, I leaned against the headrest and closed my eyes.

Please God, let this be what I need. Give me the strength I need to get through this.

After Jude died, I started going to church. It helped to remind myself there was a higher power out there watching over me. Relying on my own personal strength was too freakin’ scary. Given that most of the wedding shoots I was booked for fell either on a Saturday or Sunday, I didn’t attend church as much as I liked, but I had learned how to talk to God from my own home.

I blew out a slow breath and started the car with shaking hands. I had to stop several times on the way with the pretense of getting something to eat or for a bathroom break, but the truth was, I needed to get out of the car and walk around a bit, to shake off some of the anxiety. Halfway to my destination, I almost turned back, but a call from Becca changed all that.

“You can do this,” she said. “You’re almost there. I think if you turn back now, you’ll be harder on yourself for not going through with it.”

I gazed at my own eyes in the cracked and smudged mirror of the small gas station bathroom. The green in them looked dull and dark shadows framed them.

“Do you plan on telling Dustin at all? Or did you already?”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. I haven’t decided yet. I don’t want to worry him at the moment. The conference in Dubai is a big deal. I want him to focus on that.”

“You do know you have to open up to him sometime about your struggles, right? Especially the sleepwalking. He’s bound to notice sooner or later.”

To keep him from finding out, I had taken steps to reduce the number of times we spent the night together. Often I was the one who offered to sleep at his place instead of him coming to mine. That way I could leave and go to my apartment before I fell asleep.

“I’ll tell him soon. Just not yet.”

“Okay,” Becca said. “I have to get back to work. You do what you have to do. Call me when you get there… or if you need to talk.”

We hung up and I got back in the car. Less than an hour later, when the sun was gliding higher in the sky, I drove into Madison, through its streets, toward the house I thought I’d never see again.

Madison on its own left a bitter taste in my mouth. It was the place where I had suffered the most, the setting for all the torture Jude had inflicted on me. In an inexplicable way, I felt as if Madison had somehow let me down at the time I needed it most.

For two years I’d turned my back on Madison, even rejecting photo shoot assignments that required me to be here. I knew sooner or later I’d find myself right back where it all started. I thought it would be much later, when my wounds had healed and the scars had faded.

The mansion was as powerful and intimidating as Jude had been. The place I’d once thought could be my home now looked like a monster raging up into the sky. This place had offered me shelter and then snatched it away. This mansion, with its majestic windows, lush gardens, and pillars was more than a house. It was Jude, in brick and mortar.

I spotted the realtor’s car before I saw him: a small BMW standing in the place Nolan used to park Jude’s car. The courtyard, empty of luxury cars, looked bare and abandoned.

A stocky man with a goatee and small eyes emerged from the back of the house just as I climbed out of my car, the warmth of the sun spilling onto my head and shoulders.

“Miss Bradley,” he said, rushing toward me. He bounced more than he walked. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

I ran the palm of my right hand along the sides of my jeans to wipe off the sweat before shaking his.

“Mr. Loyd, thank you for being available to show me the property at such short notice.”

I had been following the sale of the house for months now out of sheer curiosity. The realtor’s number had been in my phone for several weeks but I had yet to call it until today.

“I’m leaving for Mallorca in a few hours. Taking the wife on vacation. You were lucky to catch me.”

He gave me a once-over and then his gaze returned to my face. He smiled, clearly pleased with what he saw.

I had made an effort to look casual, but at the same time as if I had the money to afford a mansion like this. Thanks to my new black jeans, a white, collarless Armani shirt, a sleek Gucci bag, and metallic thong sandals, I was the picture of understated elegance. Around my neck I wore a diamond necklace from Stalford Jewelers—the gift I had bought myself when I got my first big check from shooting a celebrity wedding in New York.

“I’ll need at least half an hour in the house, if you don’t mind. I like to get the feel of a house first… imagine living in it.”

“Of course.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “I have at least an hour to spare. Take your time.”

I understood why he was nervous. The house had been on the market for two years. The people who had bought it from Jude before he died had moved out as soon as they found out about the crimes committed inside the place they called home. It must have been a shock when Leon’s body was dug out of the garden that now looked so serene and undisturbed.

For a moment, I wondered if Mr. Loyd knew who I was, whether he’d seen me in the papers. Hopefully not. I looked different from the woman I was two years ago, with shorter, darker hair, and less fear in my eyes. The photos that had made their rounds in the press had been of a terrified woman whose internal scars were visible on her face. To some extent, I was still that woman, but the scars were a lot less visible now.

“I’d appreciate that. It’s a beautiful house. Can you tell me why the previous owners left, and why no one has bought it yet?”

He sucked in a breath and I felt bad for putting him on the spot. It was clearly a question he typically avoided, but surely I wasn’t the first person to ask. Why did I even ask him, when I had more answers than he did? Did I want to see if he would lie?

He cleared his throat and pulled the keys from his pocket. “The previous owners moved abroad… hmmm… and well, the price tag on the house is quite high. Most people can’t afford it.”

A lie. He wanted to get this house sold as soon as possible. But I wouldn’t be buying it, of course. I’d come here for closure. I wanted to step back into the past to make peace with it, in the hopes my monsters would let me go for good.

“I see.” I kept my tone emotionless, my eyes fixed on his face. “Can I have some time in the house alone now?” I asked as soon as we entered.

“Of course.” Relief poured over his features. “I’ll be in my car in case you have any more questions.” He said the last word almost in a whisper. Questions were not welcome, it seemed.

I smiled and nodded. “I will.”

He bounced off to his car, unable to get away fast enough from any more possible questions.

When he left, I stepped further into the house. After all this time, the chill was still there—the sudden drop in temperature I used to feel every time I entered.

My feet were leaden as I moved forward, my heart beating so hard I thought I might pass out. I was cold but I was still sweating, and a headache was creeping up on me.

I managed to get as far as the flight of stairs, where I lowered myself onto the last step with my head in my hands, feeling as though something was wrapped around my lungs, squeezing them, cutting off my air supply. I tried to stand again, but my knees were too weak, and shadows of black danced in front of my eyes. If I walked up the stairs in this condition, I wouldn’t make it to the top without collapsing.

I stayed seated for a while, then finally stood. I took my time, climbing one step at a time, holding tight to the banister. With each step I remembered my past here. The many times I had climbed these stairs on the way to our bedroom, praying that Jude would be asleep, that he wouldn’t want to have sex with me, to rape me, to torture me another night. I remembered the day he had dragged me up these stairs when he’d brought me back from Serendipity. I remembered limping up and down the stairs, in too much pain to walk normally after he had hurt me in the worst possible ways.

I reached the landing and took small steps past many closed doors, toward what used to be our bedroom. My hand trembled as I pushed the wooden door open. The room was empty, but when I walked around it, I heard my own screams, his evil laughter, and his groans of pleasure as he pushed himself into me. I halted in the center of the master bathroom and closed my eyes as if I could block out the horror that way. But the sounds got louder inside my head.

Then, amidst all the noise, I heard footsteps coming from the stairs. My heart almost exploded as I spun around, feeling him, hearing him, fearing him. On trembling knees, I walked out of the bathroom in time to see the bedroom door open. I almost collapsed with relief when I saw Loyd standing there, a confused expression on his face.

“Are you okay, Miss Bradley? I heard screams.”

I blinked several times, confused. Had I been screaming out loud?

“Yes,” I said, avoiding his eyes. “Yes, I’m fine.” I looked up again and forced a smile even as a wave of hot humiliation swept through me. Did he see the horror mirrored in my eyes? Could he hear my heart thumping?

“Erm… Do you want me to show you the rest of the house?”

“Actually”—I cleared my throat—“I knew the previous owners. I visited once. They showed me around.”

He lifted an eyebrow, looking both surprised and relieved. “Is that so? I thought…”

“We lost touch. I wondered why they had left.” I paused. “I want to see a few other rooms. I’ll give myself a tour.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be downstairs.”

There was only one other room I wanted to see. I held my breath as I went down the stairs and approached the room that used to be Jude’s office. The closer I came, the weaker my knees became.

At the door, I halted and touched the cool doorknob.

“This is it,” I whispered and opened the door.

The room, empty of furniture, looked much bigger than I remembered. I crossed it and approached the wall that interested me, ran the palm of my hand along it, then pushed against it. It budged and gave way. Did the realtor even know this room existed?

I stepped inside until I was right in the middle. It, too, was bare. The photos on the walls were gone.

I took a deep breath. “I will no longer let you scare me. Jude Macknight, this is where I leave you.” I blinked back tears and then turned to leave.

The realtor was disappointed when I told him I didn’t want to buy the house after all. But he lightened up when I assured him I would refer the offer to my wealthy friends.

My drive back to Serendipity was permeated by an eerie calm. I had done it. I had willingly come face-to-face with the past and walked out alive.

Chapter Eighteen

Dustin was back from Dubai and I planned to prepare a romantic evening with a home-cooked meal. He would be moving in next week, so we needed to celebrate. Also, it was kind of an anniversary for us. For the past two years, we had celebrated the day we became a couple back in high school.