Uncovering You 6: Deliverance (21 page)

Fey continues rambling.

“Paul used her,” Fey repeats. “She was susceptible to his charms. She gave him money so that he would keep coming back. Somewhere along the way, he got her addicted… and, well, this is where things get murky.

“Robin told me as much as he could. But, all this was covered up. He had to dig really hard to find it. Apparently, Jeremy’s mother was deaf. One day she was in Paul’s apartment, alone. She fell asleep waiting for him. Something went wrong. A fire broke out in the kitchen. The alarms went off, but she couldn’t hear them.

“She was the only casualty. By the time the smoke woke her up, it was too late. She couldn’t get out. She burned to death.”

Jeremy, on the floor, gives absolutely no indication of whether what Fey is saying is true. He just continues to watch me. I can tell that his mask has remained.

“So…” I breathe.

“So, don’t you see, Lilly? You were targeted by Jeremy Stonehart.”

“Think! What would a man with his power, his wealth, want from a fresh-faced twenty-three-year-old still in college? Did he pluck you out of the crowd because of your looks? I’m not saying this to hurt you, Lilly. But you’re not exactly model-material, you know. Sex? He could get that from anybody. It did not have to be you.

“But revenge… vengeance… for his mother’s death? Oh, yes.

“He’d already gotten to Paul. I’m sure of it. But maybe when he found him, and saw his mental state, it was not enough. So, Jeremy went after his daughter. He went after
you
.

“You have to get out, Lilly. I’m warning you.” Fey’s absolutely frantic at this point. “Get out of California. Get away from the man. You’re only there as a pawn. Your life might even be in danger. Don’t you see? Don’t you see, Lilly? This is a revenge plot. You’re in the center of it! You have to get out. You have to—”

“He’s coming,” I cut her off. “I’ve got to go, Fey. Thank you.”

“Be careful,” she warns. “I’ve looked up flights. Robin and I can be there to take you away tomorr—”

“No!” I break in. “No! Don’t do that. I need time, Fey. Time to think. Time to—”

I don’t get to finish. The phone slips through my fingers and falls to the floor. The line cuts off.

I’ve gone numb all over. I look at Jeremy. I feel cold.

“Is it true?” I whisper.

Slowly, he stands. The fluidity of his motion reminds me of a rising lion. I feel like I should run, like I should get away. But, my feet are rooted to the spot.

He does not approach.

“If I say it is…” He pauses. His eyes cross the space between us. “will you hate me for it?”

I hesitate, grappling with the new information. Is this the answer I’ve been looking for? Is this the reason
why
?

And, knowing it now, knowing that it could be…

Does it really change anything between us?

“No,” I breathe.

“In that case…” Jeremy’s dark eyes focus on me.

“Yes.”

The End.

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Prologue

Summer. 1978.

“M-mama?”

The young boy brought one trembling hand to the door. He pushed.

It did not budge.

Beyond the heavy oak, he could hear the woman’s sobs. His mother’s sobs. They tore at him, because of what he could not do. He could not go to her. He could not comfort her.

He could not protect her.

Footsteps. From down the hall. The young boy’s head whipped around. His heart caught in his throat.

He was not supposed to be here. That, he knew. It was forbidden, for many different reasons, but only one was pertinent.

Because his father had said so.

Frantic, his eyes searched for an escape. They scanned the empty corridor-there was only one way out. Down the stairs away from the attic.

Where the footsteps were coming from.

He looked for a hiding place. An open fire roared on the other side of the room. It was a grand room, and rarely used, but the servants always ensured that no room in the large, soulless mansion lay neglected.

The footsteps were getting louder. He could still hear his mother’s crying on the other side of the door. He gave one last, futile push-even thought he knew it was useless-and scampered to hide behind the large armchair by the fire.

He peaked from behind the back at the entrance to the room. He could see the shadow cast by the person climbing the steps growing larger and larger. Fear constricted his throat. He clutched the book he was holding in front of his chest like a shield of armor.

But he knew, deep inside, that nothing could protect him.

“Je…remy…” His brother’s singsong voice came to his ears. “Je…remy…. Little Jeremy, where did you get to?”

The young boy winced. He hated being called that. He hated what it represented, what it meant. He hated what it reminded him of. That he would never be the match of either of his brothers.

He saw his brother’s shape emerge from the flight of stairs. If the boy was scared before, one look at his brother was enough to make him terrified.

Robert, at 17, was already a full-grown man. Wide shoulders gave prominence to a bulky frame that suited him perfectly for rugby. A few days of not shaving already had a thick beard on his cheeks. His hair wild, disheveled-betrayed what he’d been doing earlier with on of the housekeepers, before fancy struck him to seek out a victim for the night.

The boy did not know why his father tolerated Robert’s nocturnal activities. They were cruel, sadistic. More than once in the past year, he had woken up to find the family dog beaten within an inch of its life. Each time, he had nursed it back to health-only to have it happen again a few weeks later.

Eventually, the poor beast just disappeared. Nobody spoke of why. In fact, Jeremy seemed the only one to even notice.

There were other incidents. One month ago, Jeremy discovered a shoebox wrapped in gifting paper waiting for him at the breakfast table. He had woken late, and missed the rest of the family. He was alone when he opened it. Inside, he found-as his stomach recoiled at the memory-six little parakeets. Their necks horribly twisted, lying in a bed of straw.

He’d brought the box to his father. Jeremy knew the man knew who was responsible. He’d expected some sort of punishment for Robert, maybe of the kind he’d received so often-but all he got was an angry scolding for interrupting him when his father was working.

“They’re birds, Jeremy,” his father had said. “Dead ones, at that. They can’t harm you.” Jeremy remembered the leer his father cast at him then. “Don’t tell me you’re frightened of the dead?”

Jeremy closed the box and threw it out, but the image of those six helpless parakeets haunted his dreams for the next two weeks.

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