WhiteSpace: Season One (Episodes 1-6 of the sci-fi horror serial) (37 page)

Jon’s fingernails were deep enough into his palm to dig blood, but he wasn’t sure whether the slick on his skin was blood or sweat. “My life is not a piece on a board for you to move around.” He stepped toward Warren, teeth clenched.

Warren’s eyes widened, broadcasting fear for the first time. He retreated a step; Jon took one more forward.

“What are you afraid of, Warren?”

“Calm down,” he said, holding his palms out in front of his body. “Just calm down.”
 

Jon spoke, slightly above a whisper. “You have no idea how calm I am. If I wasn’t calm I would have already delivered your head to Madge on my way out the front door, apologizing a final time for a mess I was leaving her to clean.”

“Okay, killer, I get it, you’re mad.” Warren chuckled and took another step back. “Let’s talk about this. I’m sorry for being a dick. Of course you have questions.”

Jon smiled. He’d have to do the smoldering volcano bit with Warren again. This shit was working. Maybe next time he’d even bring Houser. He continued to whisper through his rage.
 

“Why would you do something like that, Warren? Why are you so intent on making my life miserable? Why wouldn’t you want me to be happy?”
 

“You got it wrong, little brother,” Warren shook his head, then leaned his palms behind him on the top of his desk. “Sometimes you don’t really have a clue what’s gonna make you happy. When that happens, it’s my job to step in and fiddle the dials. And believe me, some trailer park chippie living over on the far side of Seabreeze isn’t gonna cut it. I stepped in because you were born for bigger and better things. And fine, you weren’t going to work the family biz, but you’d finally done something with yourself. You made it in Hollywood! And as much as I may make fun of you for it, you know what you’ve done this last decade is amazing. Sarah was holding you back. And she refused to get an abortion. So, as fate would have it, the stars aligned, and you fucked some model and pissed her off. Tell me that Hollywood pussy isn’t so much better than the homegrown variety, brother.”

Jon said nothing, glaring at his brother.

“I know you, Jon. You were all ready to come back here to grovel and apologize to Sarah. You would’ve thrown your whole career away, and for what? For her? For some brat? Please. I fucking saved you from a life of utter boredom and misery.”

Jon swallowed. “Who are you to say what I would or wouldn’t have done with Sarah? Or where we would have, or could have, taken our lives together? You think I didn’t deserve to know I was a father?” Jon clenched his fist tighter. “How would you feel if someone did this to you?”

“To me?” Warren lifted his hand from the desk so he could point at his chest. “To me?” He shook his head. “No, Jon, that would never happen. I draw the plans of my life with straight lines, and use pencil in case I have to erase. You don’t. And never have. You refuse to use rulers because you wrongly believe that everything can be eyeballed, and you prefer using pen because you think you’re above making mistakes.”

Like an asshole, Warren pushed himself from his desk, then ambled to the bar and poured himself a drink, knowing Jon would stand, heaving, while waiting for his next crumb.
 

Warren replaced the lid on the decanter, then lifted the tumbler to his lips and said, “Sorry, Jon. I’d offer you something but I think you’re best cut off.” He took a sip.

Jon said, “You had no right to interfere with my life. My mistakes are mine to make. I’ve done amazing things on my own. Is it so hard for you to believe I could have done them all, maybe even more, without your interference?”

Warren laughed. “Oh, kid, you’ve never done anything on your own. Not once. Business is business and us Conways are our best assets. Your life must be managed like anything else in the portfolio. You think you got ‘discovered’ in Hollywood? That you made it on your talents, alone? Please, brother. Dad made calls and got you in the right doors. Hell, I made calls to clean up your many little messes each time you pissed someone off over the years. The Conways are the only thing that stood between you and your self-destruction, so don’t come in here all high and mighty like you’ve been wronged. We made you. We saved you from yourself.”

Jon was seconds from unleashing a bottomless fury on his brother.
 

Warren would be lucky if Jon didn’t leave the Gardens with Warren bleeding out from a shard of shattered decanter. He felt himself shaking so violently, and from places he’d never shaken before. Warren’s next words would determine whether he ended the evening with breath in his lungs.

Jon growled, “Dad would never stand for this.”

Warren looked surprised. He blinked, then took a step back. “Stand for what?”

“Any of this. What you pulled with Cassidy and Sarah, treating me like a pawn on a chessboard. None of it.”
 

Warren had the nerve to start laughing, first soft and quickly loud.
 

His broken cackle might have been enough to end his life all on its own, but then he caught his breath and spoke: “Jon, who the hell do you think told me to make your little Sarah problem go away?”
 

* * * *

CHAPTER 4 — Cassidy Hughes

Friday night

Cassidy was sitting in the hospital room doing something she never, ever did: singing Vivian’s praises in the back of her head.
 

Cassidy was 18 miles past exhausted. When Vivian called offering to spend the night in the room with Emma so Cassidy could have the evening off, she didn’t know what to say.
 

At first she said no, arguing with Viv like she always did. But when her mom insisted on staying, saying it was the least she could do after being MIA for the search, Cassidy finally relented and instantly started dreaming about being back in her place, back in her own bed, if only for a night, by herself.

As she waited for her mom to arrive, Cassidy sat at Emma’s bedside, wrapped snug in the comfort of knowing her niece was safe. She had seen her safe return, and even if Jon were to take her away, at least she didn’t have to feel the wretched horror of not knowing where Emma was.

When Emma was missing, Cassidy was a failure — not just as a temporary mother to Emma, but with everything in her life. Like always. Sarah was gone, and her sister’s absence served to reinforce a lifelong law: Sarah was good at everything, Cassidy at nothing.
 

Sarah had died so suddenly, that it was difficult, if not altogether impossible, to properly mourn her passing. Cassidy had gone from the “fun aunt” who refused to grow up to full-time guardian in the ringing silence that sits in between one second and the next. Cassidy didn’t have so much as a minute to process or reflect. She felt like she’d done the right thing, stepping in to care for Emma, but had she really?

Was it fair to her or Emma? Perhaps Emma was better off with Viv. Crazy as she was, she did raise two girls on her own. Or now that Jon knew the truth, perhaps Emma was better off with her father. That seemed like the option which made the most sense to Cassidy.

But was it the right thing for Emma?

Emma had been asleep in her hospital bed for a while. Yet, as much as Cassidy was looking forward to an empty house and cool sheets, she wasn’t quite ready to leave. She slouched in a surprisingly comfortable chair next to Emma’s hospital bed, stroking her hair as her niece quietly snored.
 

Cassidy’s mind began sifting through an impossible number of what-ifs — from her own life, along with the many who, what, and wheres and whys that came from living life with Sarah.
 

Cassidy had never known life without her sister. At one time, they’d been tighter than the threads of a rope. Even when they didn’t get along, they still had a bond which went deeper than temporary mood swings, rivalries, or any of the other shit that you go through with your siblings. They were, in some ways, like halves of a whole.

Now, one half of Cassidy’s was gone forever.
 

She’d never felt more alone, and was tangled in the thickest self-doubt of her life.

Life was never easy when you were Sarah’s sister. Sarah was always so smart, and happy, and warm. She was easy to love, and even easier to be around. Sarah was a giver — of both her time and love. Whereas Cassidy always felt like a taker. And no matter how brightly Cassidy managed to shine, she was only a shadow beside her sister’s brilliance.

Cassidy had spent her life comparing herself to her other, better half. She sometimes let the pain pool deep enough to wallow in, especially when her Addict was around and happy to help. Cassidy wished she believed in a God she could pray to help her through this.

That was one other thing that Sarah had over her — faith.

Lack of faith might have been the number one divider between Cassidy and her sister. Cassidy saw believing in God as only slightly less stupid than believing in Santa. The only difference was, you grew out of the Santa lie.

In her weakest moments, Cassidy often wondered if Sarah’s unwavering faith was one of the things that made her light shine through Cassidy’s shadows.
 

That last thought sent a sharp and sudden stabbing into the depths of her chest. She wondered how she would get through the night.
 

Her addict reminded her.
 

What are you waiting for, Cass? The bottle is full.
 

FUCK.
 

She looked at Emma, resting so peacefully, and wondered how on Earth she could possibly take care of the child. Once an addict, always an addict. And addicts couldn’t be trusted.
 

That’s right. Why bloody your knuckles beating down a wall with an open door? Jon can take care of her.
 

You should take care of yourself.
 

Cassidy’s ears started to ring.
 

FUCK.
 

The engine of her self-loathing was starting to purr.
 

Cassidy already knew exactly what she was going to do.

After Viv arrived, she leaned across the hospital bed, kissed Emma on the forehead, then neatly readjusted her body, softly against the pillows. She thanked her mom for coming and then left the hospital, thinking about everything from Jon to her pills waiting.
 

Even if Jon came to claim Emma tomorrow, no one could take their nine years together away. Cassidy would have their history forever. She knew her niece up and down and inside out. It would take Jon years to understand a fraction of her, let alone know how much she liked spaghetti tacos.
 

Cassidy hit the bottom of the hill and turned left.

Maybe Jon wouldn’t want to take her. A child isn’t exactly an easy accessory for someone wearing Jon’s particular brand of lifestyle. She asked herself for the millionth time what Sarah would have wanted, then reminded herself that her sister’s preference didn’t really matter at all. Not when there was reality to deal with.
 

What does Emma want or need?

The question filled her with an aching nausea.
 

Cassidy wanted to pull over, roll down the window, and throw up — evacuate the rising bile inside her.
 

There are better ways to beat the pain.
 

Six more minutes.

Cassidy didn’t want to think about what Sarah would have wanted, and hated that she had to.
Fuck Sarah. I did my part. I’ve been the good aunt. It’s time for me to live my life!
She thought back to all the Fridays she’d come over to spend movie night with Emma and Sarah – pretty much any Friday when she wasn’t scheduled at Shipwrecked
—
then imagined how many of those times the girl had fallen asleep on her chest.
 

She would scoop Emma into her arms, then carry her to the bedroom, each time wondering how much longer she’d be able to manage before her niece finally grew too heavy. She had carried her twice in the last week, and didn’t think her arms would make it another year.
 

Cassidy imagined Jon scooping Emma in his strong arms, like she was nothing. Cassidy’s imagination lingered longer as she pictured Jon slipping Emma under her sheets, then pulling the covers up to her chin in her brand new bed — a big white four poster, with princess pinks and wintery whites. Hell, there was probably a stable of horses and ponies on the back of his property.

Jon would cover Emma, kiss her on the cheek, then turn to Cassidy and smile.

Ha! You and Jon Conway? That’s ripe with hi-larity. Even I can’t help you there.

Her Addict was an asshole.
 

But tonight belonged to the Addict.
 

Cassidy pulled into the driveway of Viv’s house, opened the door, then ran up the stairs and into the bedroom, tapping two pills from bottle to palm just 30 seconds after killing the engine. She decided she didn’t feel like driving home.

She looked at the ceiling, dropped the pair of pills into her mouth, then swallowed. It used to be one pill. Now it was two. Soon, she’d need three, four, and more to achieve the same feeling. That’s when things could get ugly.