End of Eternity 3 Page 2

  “He’s drawing her?” I ask softly. “The girl that died. Helen.”

  “Yes. It was the only way he could cope with what happened,” his mother explains. “I told him to trust that she was with God, and that she was now an angel looking down on him. That she would be watching over him for all the days that he lived. He found peace in that thought at first, but he later grew a little obsessed with it. He sometimes told me that he could see her standing in the shadows, watching him from afar. He often said that he could hear her voice.”

  Nodding, I look around sadly. This whole room is like stepping back in time to visit my husband as a child. There is a bookcase that is only half-filled with books, for the rest of it contains trophies. There are medals hanging from the wall, for both sports and academics. It’s really quite heartbreaking to think of how wonderful Grayson could have been. He could have been great. He could have been happy. He would have been an amazing father.

  “You should get some sleep, dear,” says Grayson’s mother softly. “Please let me know if you need anything. The bathroom is right down the hall.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her as I move toward the bed. She exits the room and gently closes the door.

  Placing my purse down on the small bedside table, I pull the covers of the bed back and crawl underneath them. I really am exhausted. Reaching to the side, I switch off the lamp to plunge the room into darkness. Letting my head fall back onto the pillow, a little gasp escapes my throat.

  Apparently, Grayson liked to create his best artwork with glow-in-the-dark chalk. Every inch of the walls is covered in pale phosphorescent drawings of his dead girlfriend. But the worst of it is on the ceiling. I don’t know how he was even able to reach that high—perhaps he was tall enough, or maybe he stood on a chair—but the entire ceiling is covered in repetitious writings of her name.

  Penned in multiple sizes and every kind of font imaginable, the word Helen is repeated over and over and over again. Sometimes the word is written backwards, or upside down. My eyes scan the glowing letters as chills run down my spine.

  Helen. helen. Helen. neleH. HELEN. helen. neleh.

  The words blend together in a chaotic jumble, sometimes overlapping and crisscrossing. It is always written with such a passionate scrawl that it is evident to see that Grayson’s state of mind was not calm or accepting. This tragic event completely unhinged him. It looks like he was never willing to let go.

  I can see why my husband developed such an unhealthy obsession with my sister. Loss can do funny things to a person, as I am quickly learning. When he discovered that my sister’s name was also Helen, some desperate part of his brain must have wanted to believe that his first girlfriend was still alive. After she was taken from him in such an atrocious way, he must have wanted to do anything possible to preserve her image in his mind. I don’t think he really meant to hurt anyone, but he was very disconnected from reality.

  Thinking about this whole situation hurts my chest. I can picture Grayson lying here every night, staring up at her name on the ceiling and remembering what he’d lost. How many thousands of tears did he shed on this very pillow? Imagining my husband as a teenage boy going through such pain causes my own grief to deepen.

  My hand shakes as I reach to the side to turn the lamp back on, and all the words and images immediately disappear. I take a deep breath, and try to wipe the horrifying sight from my mind. It is as if all of Grayson’s heartache was immortalized on these walls. I could feel the overpowering sadness and misery of the young boy in every stroke of every letter he wrote.

  And strangely enough, I also feel closer to him. It’s both comforting and saddening to know that my husband once went through the same thing I am going through right now. He lost his lover and his child nearly simultaneously, just as I have. And he took it just as poorly as I am, if not worse. Far worse.

  Will I ever get over this?

  From the looks of things, Grayson never really got over Helen’s death. It seems like he went through his life searching for her. Searching for someone similar to her. The images on the wall do slightly resemble my sister, so I can see why he became fixated on her. I can see how his mind could have played tricks on him, especially combined with the side effects of his drug use. I can see how he could have gone slightly insane when presented with a living woman who reminded him of so much of the dead woman he loved, and the trauma he suffered all those years ago.

  I forgive you, Grayson, I tell him inwardly. I’m so sorry for all that you suffered and I want you to know that I forgive you. I wish you could have told me. I wish you could have shared all of this with me. It was a part of you, and I would have loved you once I understood what you’ve been through and where you actually came from. I don’t know why you felt the need to lie to me. I didn’t care about whether you had any money at all—I only wanted you.

  Chapter Three

  I have been tossing and turning in this bed for hours. I wish that I had gone to stay at a hotel instead of at Grayson’s mother’s house; it is suffocating to be here. I simply can’t understand how she has no desire to seek justice for her son. That poor, sweet old woman simply let all these bad things happen to her family without ever standing up for herself. I can’t do the same. I can’t be like her, and simply let my life get destroyed by Brad’s cruelty.

  I need to make a stand. Somehow.

  Tossing and turning in bed, I find myself plagued with ugly thoughts. They permeate my mind and infect my whole body. I feel a strange kind of electricity flowing through me, and I know that I’ve changed. Something has changed. My phone is lying beside me, because I was considering calling my father or Owen. However, as much as I need to talk to someone who cares about me, I know that they would not be supportive of my current vendetta. I feel like I am in this alone.

  What can I do? What can I actually do?

  If I called the cops, they might think I was crazy. I doubt that they can actually find any proof that Brad drugged me to induce my early labor; I never even suspected it was possible before hearing Helen’s story. I don’t know how exactly he did it, but I do remember him giving me a cup of tea a few hours before I started bleeding. I was already having a difficult pregnancy before he intervened, and that might seem like reason enough for me to lose my baby—I suppose I was an easy target.

  Of course, it’s been way too long since Brad drugged Grayson and his first girlfriend. All of that is ancient history, and all the evidence has been destroyed. I know that the authorities won’t be able to do anything with my accusations.

  This is completely in my hands.

  My head hurts, and my breasts hurt. My stomach hurts, and my whole body feels weak. Grayson’s mother offered me a meal, but I was unable to eat. How could I eat after learning this kind of information?

  I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to begin.

  A small sound alerts me to a text message. I turn to the side to grab my phone, hoping that it isn’t Brad. I wouldn’t know what to say to him. A rush of relief fills my chest when I see that it is Owen. He sent a message asking how I am.

  I nearly want to cry from happiness. I need to hear his voice so much right now.

  Instead of responding via text, I call him. I lie back down on the pillow and shut my eyes tightly, waiting for him to answer. I am surprised that it takes so many rings, considering that he just texted me.

  “Hey, Carm!” he finally says into the phone. “Sorry for taking so long; I was fighting with Caroline and I had to excuse myself. Is everything okay?”

  “No,” I tell him softly. “Owen… I just learned something horrible.”

  “What is it? Dammit, I knew I should have gone with you to Detroit! Are you okay?”

  “Yes, but… it’s about Brad,” I whisper. “Grayson’s mother said—she said that…”

  “Yes?”

  “Brad might be responsible for me losing my baby. In fact, I’m almost certain that he is. He’s done this before, with Grayson’s first girlfr
iend. Except she ended up dying in childbirth. Her name was Helen.”

  “Shit,” Owen curses quietly. There is a long pause as he processes this. “Shit. That makes so much sense. That’s why he went nuts over your sister?”

  “Yeah. It would appear so.”

  “Okay,” Owen says quietly. “So what do we do? I told you that guy was bad news! Are you safe there? Should we call the police?”

  “I don’t think that’s going to work,” I tell him as I lift a hand to rub my forehead. “I don’t know, Owen. I need to make a plan. I need to find a way to deal with this myself.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Carmelita. Slow down. What are we talking about here?”

  “I want to do to him exactly what he did to me. I want to take everything away from him. Can you get me access to drugs, Owen? For starters, I want to make sure that he is totally impotent and never able to have children. Chemical castration, is that what it’s called? Heck, I want to make sure he’s not even able to get it up.”

  “Carmen, are you out of your mind? I can’t get those drugs for you. That’s dangerous. You shouldn’t even be thinking about this stuff, much less talking about it! This isn’t you.”

  “You don’t know me,” I tell him, shutting my eyes tightly to repress my emotions. “We barely just met! How do you know what I’m capable of?”

  “I know you better than you think, Carmelita. Sometimes you don’t need to know a person for years and years to see what’s inside of them. And I know that you’re not thinking straight right now. You’ve been through a lot these past few days, and you need to rest and recuperate. It’s enough to drive anyone loony!”

  “Owen,” I tell him in a tortured voice. “I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I don’t have any energy. My breasts are killing me and I need to use the pump-thing you got me, but I don’t even have the energy to do that. I’m useless. Thinking about hurting Brad is the only thing that makes me want to keep going. What do I have, other than that? Other than the idea of retribution.”

  “What do you mean? You have tons of reasons to keep going. Wait—what do you even mean by ‘keep going’? Carmen, what are you saying?”

  “Maybe I’m better off dead,” I tell him softly, as tears slip out of my eyes. “Almost everyone I love is dead. My mother, Grayson, my daughter. Maybe I should join them. Maybe my dad and sister would be better off without me.”

  “I wouldn’t be,” Owen tells me firmly. “I need you to keep being your alive and pretty self, for as long as you can. Listen to me, Carmen. Things seem bad right now—no, things are really damn shitty right now—but they will get better. I promise you that. Just hold on, and they will get better.”

  “I don’t think so,” I tell him with a tearful smile. “I’m fairly certain that the best days of my life are long gone.”

  “Well, I’ll just have to prove you wrong then, won’t I?” Owen asks with determination.

  “You can’t,” I tell him quietly. “You have your own life, and your own problems. I really appreciate that you’ve been here for me these past few days, but don’t make this into any more than it is. You barely know me, Owen. I’m not your priority. We’re not even really friends.”

  “It looks like I’ll have to prove you wrong about that too,” Owen says angrily. “Close your eyes, Carmen. Get some sleep. I promise you that things will be better in the morning.”

  The line goes dead.

  I immediately feel regret for making Owen upset with me. He’s been nothing but nice and supportive through everything, and I shouldn’t be taking out my issues on him. I just don’t know what to do. I feel so lost and alone. Reaching to the side, I switch off the lamp and plunge the room into darkness. The sinister drawings and letters immediately return to view, and now that they’ve had some time to soak up the light, they are more vivid than before.

  “Grayson,” I whisper into the dark. “I miss you. Do you want me to come and join you, wherever you are? Do you miss me too?”

  There is no response. As I stare at the eerie lettering on the ceiling, it occurs to me that my husband might actually be happy. Maybe he has been reunited with his first love, and his first unborn child. Maybe even if I died to join him, he would no longer have any room in his heart for me.

  Grayson has Helen, and Owen has Caroline. My sister has Liam, and my dad has his work.

  No one really has any room in their hearts, or in their lives, for me.

  All I have is Brad.

  I wonder if I can make him love me.

  I wonder if I can make him love me, and then rip his heart out.

  I wonder if I can crush him completely, the way he has crushed me. I don’t care if it destroys me. I will gladly ruin my whole life as long as I can take him down with me. I have nothing left to lose.

  Chapter Four

  A tiny hand reaches out to grasp my pinky finger.

  Her skin is soft and warm, and her grip has surprising strength. I marvel at how small each of her fingers are; she is chubby, pink, and perfect. Her voice is a gentle cooing noise that is music to my ears. Although she has no words, I understand her perfectly.

  She is happy.

  Leaning down, I place a kiss against her tender forehead. There is a tuft of pale blonde hair at the crown of her head. The hair is so fair that it is almost transparent. She is so delicate, yet so strong.

  She is smiling.

  “I’ll always be here for you,” I vow to her, knowing that she can understand me, too. “I’ll love you forever, sweet girl.”

  She looks at me with a surprising sort of wisdom on her face, as if she is reciprocating the sentiment. I reach out to caress her little cheek, but I am alarmed by slivers of dark shadows against her porcelain skin. Before I can even react, gnarled claws wrap around her little body and rip her from my arms.

  “No!” I whisper hoarsely. “No! Give her back! Please!”

  A knock on the bedroom door stirs me awake. For a moment, I’m not sure where I am. The dream was so vivid that I did not realize I was dreaming. My surroundings are bright and illuminated by sunlight, and I have to squint to let my eyes adjust. It looks like the room of a young boy. Grayson. Reaching for my phone, I check the time and realize that I stayed up all night doing research on horrible things I could do to Brad, and that I’ve only slept for about an hour. It was a very deep sleep, and filled with deeply disturbing images.

  “Carmen?” says a woman’s voice. “There is someone here to see you. A young man?”

  Lifting a hand to rub my eyes, I contort my face in confusion. “A young man?” I brush my hair back out of my face as I try to make sense of this. Is it Brad? Did he find me?

  “He says he’s a doctor?”

  I sit up, suddenly alert, and throw the covers off my legs. “Owen? Did he say his name was Owen?” I grab my purse and smooth my wrinkled clothes as I rush to the bedroom door.

  “I believe so,” says Grayson’s mother. “He seems like a lovely young man. Were you expecting him?”

  “No,” I tell her as I move across the hallway. When I see Owen sitting on the sofa and sipping a cup of hot chocolate, I nearly break down in tears. He is wearing a lime-green newsboy hat, and it looks ridiculously adorable and somehow masculine at the same time. I know he is just trying to cheer me up with bright colors again. “What on earth,” I murmur, staring across the room with a combination of astonishment and gratitude. “How the heck did you get here?”

  “You’re not the only one who knows how to hop on a plane, little lady,” he says with a wink. “Besides, you were talking crazy last night. I had to come make sure that you weren’t going to get into any trouble without me. I’m your sidekick now, you know?”

  I laugh lightly at this. “Is that so?”

  Mrs. Scott moves to my side and smiles. “Owen was just telling me a little about what life is like as a doctor in the big city. You are lucky to have such good friends, Carmen.”

  “I suppose I am,” I say softly, moving to sit on the couch beside Owen. He
immediately puts down his cocoa and reaches out to wrap his arms around me in a big bear hug. I gratefully sink into his embrace, and return the hug. “Thanks for proving me wrong,” I whisper into his sweater.

  “Anytime, Carmelita,” he says softly. “Hey! Would you like some breakfast? Mrs. S made it all fresh! Delicious eggs and bacon. You’ve got to have some of this.”

  “I’m not feeling so hungry,” I tell him, folding my hands in my lap. I hadn’t noticed the array of breakfast foods spread out on the coffee table. They look delicious, but the smell is making me feel a bit sick.

  “I would normally be happy that there was more for me, but you really need to eat something,” Owen informs me. He grabs half a bagel that seems to be slathered with something like cream cheese, and shoves it into my mouth.

  I only just manage to part my lips in time to avoid getting cream cheese all over my face. My eyes widen in surprise, and a little laugh escapes my throat as I reach up to grasp the bagel. I do bite off a piece and begin to chew, for the flavor is pleasant against my tongue. “Dammit, Owen!” I say with contrived annoyance. “I told you I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Well, if you aren’t going to take care of your wonderful little self, then I am,” he says with a harsh look. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him softly. “It means a lot to me that you’re here.” Sending him a small smile, I take another bite of the bagel.

  “I see that your husband has become an accessory for a lovely little fireplace!” Owen says, gesturing to the mantle. “He looks very comfortable up there, Mrs. S. I think you chose an excellent spot for him.”

  “Well, I don’t have very much space around here,” the old woman says shyly as she moves to sit in the couch across from us. “I figured it’s as good a place as any.”

  “If he gets bored of sitting up there all the time, you could always move him around so that he can get some exercise. Over there on the windowsill might give him a nice view of outside, and he can watch the passing cars and kids playing.”