“I’m tired. And cold.”
Jesus, it’s gotta be eighty degrees outside right now. “You’re sure? I’m happy to do all of the grunt work. Filling pots, digging the holes.”
“Tomorrow. Take me to my room.”
Chapter 19
Lucian
Sixteen years ago …
Darkness swallows me, while I follow the path through the trees toward the clearing up ahead. The moon is still high enough that the tides haven’t yet swept through the cave, just below the grassy knoll that marks its spot. Beyond the edge, the sea almost looks calm, where fishing boats sit off in the distance.
The conversation with my father weighs like an anchor around my neck. For the last sixteen years, I’ve struggled to find a commonality with him, to the extent that I pretty much gave up trying. We’re different. We always have been.
And yet, a part of me yearns to understand this fascination I’ve developed. The tipping point between pain and pleasure, life and death. What if the only person who understands it is the very person I can’t relate to on any level. The one I can’t stand in this world?
The concept of Schadenfreude is beyond my comprehension. Like a group of sadistic children who chose not to evolve in favor of their amusements. I don’t find pleasure in suffering, only the perception and fantasy of it.
But what if he’s right? What if it continues to evolve? What if my future children suffer from the same uncontrollable urges he’s inflicted on me? Could I seek out excuses to punish and abuse my son, the way he’s done to me all my life? Would I be just as cruel someday?
The answer is no. Not because I don’t believe his theories, but because I’ve no intentions of bringing children into this world. Whatever it is he thinks he’s discovered will die with me.
The path narrows along the edge of the cave, and my thoughts are tamped down by the crash of waves as I approach the beach. A thrill winds in my stomach, hardening my muscles at the thought of what’s to come. The excitement of testing my limits again, and the exquisite reward of climax that always follows. As I enter the cave, I find the lithe form of Solange, her long dark curls spread out over the sand, hands already trussed over her head by rope attached to the signpost set deep in the sand, her gown in disarray and exposing her thighs.
“Well, you didn’t waste any time, did you?”
She doesn’t answer, and it’s only as I approach that I notice the irregular pallor of her skin.
I slow my steps.
Purple blossoms of bruises dot her legs and her bound arms. The abnormal contortion of her bent elbow, as if it’s twisted the wrong way, stirs nausea in my stomach, and I slap my hand to my mouth.
It’s not until I’m standing over her that I finally see the vacancy in her stare, assuring there is no life left in her, and terror explodes inside my chest, my head urging my muscles to move and get the hell out of here, but I can’t. I can’t move. I can’t stop looking at her lifeless face. The image now permanently seared inside my head.
My throat flexes with the need to scream, but a tight fist clamps around my lungs and keeps it from escaping.
She’s dead.
What did you do?
A black insect emerges from the corner of her gaping mouth, and I curl my lip as it scampers across her face and burrows in her hair that’s matted down by sand.
My leg twitches, and I stumble backward, falling onto the boulder behind me. Spinning on my heel, I race out of the cave, up the path along the edge of it, and across the field. My chest burns, the muscles in my legs ready to collapse with fatigue, but I don’t stop. I keep running until I reach the stone staircase, where Rand greets me.
“Help!” A hearty cough slices through the rasp of my voice. “She’s …. Help!”
My knees finally buckle, and the gravel of the driveway chews at my skin when I hit the ground. I throw my palms out to keep from smacking my teeth. “She’s … dead. I …. Dead!”
“Calm down, Lucian.” His hands settle across my back, and he tugs me to my feet. “What is it? What are you saying?”
“Solange! She’s dead! In the cave! I saw her!”
Brows furrowed, he tips his head and lifts his gaze toward the direction from where I came running. “Are you certain that’s what you saw?”
“Yes!” The shock releases its hold, and my muscles give out on me again. I collapse in his arms as a sob rips from my chest. “She’s … dead.”
Chapter 20
Isadora
Present day …
I wheel the chair into Laura’s doll room, where Nell meets us.
“Short excursion today.” Handing over Laura’s cane, she stands off to the side, allowing the woman to push to her feet. As she reaches for one of Laura’s hands to steady her, the older woman bats her away.
“One moment.” Laura hobbles toward the glass case of dolls, her reflection showing a content smile. “Look how beautiful. My beautiful little children.”
I exchange a glance with Nell, who rolls her eyes with impatience, and approach Laura from behind. “Which is your favorite?”
“A mother doesn’t have favorites.”
“Fair enough, which is the most priceless?”
“Ironically, it’s the one I paid the most for.” She points to one of the smaller dolls, one that seems old fashioned in rag clothes and a bonnet, with puffy cheeks and heart-shaped lips. Completely unnoticeable in a sea of dolls with far more color and detail. “I’d almost forgotten about her. I purchased her from Theriault’s for three hundred thousand dollars.”
My heart damn near cuts out, and I cough at the absurdity of paying so much for a doll.
Laura lifts her hand to the bracelet at her wrist and the small key that dangles from the linked chains. She unlocks the door and reaches in for the doll, her thumb gently brushing over its cheek while she smiles admirably. “She was created by the French sculptor Albert Marque, for the Parisian couturier, Jeanne Margaix-LaCroix, back in the early nineteen-hundreds.”
“It must be very special to you.”
“Griffin thought it was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever purchased.” Leaning into her cane, she sets the doll back in the case and locks the glass. “A man who spared no expense for his little dinner parties. Do you know, he once paid a half-dozen women to pose naked as live sculptures?” She scoffs, hobbling back toward her bedroom. “A hundred-thousand dollars for a few hours of lewd entertainment. And how many men stood fondling those young girls.”
The more time I spend here, the more I realize what little discretion the Blackthornes have when it comes to money.
Nell and I follow after her, and I hold back the covers of her bed, while Nell scurries ahead of Laura to help settle her in.
“I need to use the ladies room. A little privacy, if you will.” Cane clicking across the floor, Laura shuffles toward the bathroom with little trouble.
Nell jerks her head toward me. “I’m going out on the balcony. Wanna join?”