Surviving the Storm, page 3
A patio chair is mangled on the floor of the living room, surrounded by a pile of glass. Amelia is standing a few feet in front of us, staring at the scene. Her hands are covering her mouth, and the wind whipping through the room is causing Amelia's hair to break free of the tight bun at the base of her neck.
"We need to get going. Now," I state, pulling Amelia by the arm around the corner before anything else can fly through another window.
She could get hurt.
And maybe that could solve all my problems.
Looking over my shoulder at Garcia, he shrugs his shoulders, and I nod in the direction of my office. Dragging Amelia behind me, I focus on the click-clack of her heels over the swirling sound of the wind.
A plan begins to formulate in my mind.
Leave her here.
Worst case scenario, she survives. Maybe it'll teach her a lesson about lying to me.
Best case, the storm takes her. I'll be a grieving widow for the election.
One way or another, she's going to help me win reelection and then I'll rid myself of her. She can die now or later. I don't have a preference.
"Tie her up," I say to Garcia, removing a rope from the nearest curtain and then tossing it to him.
Like the devoted lackey he is, he snags it out of midair, then follows my instructions without hesitation. Over the years, I've tried to test his trust, to break him. Not once has he blinked when I've asked him to cross the invisible line no cop should ever cross.
He's loyal to a fault.
And his hands are dirtier than mine.
If any of our wrongdoings were ever to come to light, I'd be able to walk away clean. I can't say the same for Garcia. He'd spend the rest of his life in prison. And from what I understand, a cop in prison doesn't tend to last long.
"What?" I hear Amelia cry as Garcia approaches her, forcing her into a chair.
"It's for your own good."
"But I thought we were leaving," she protests.
"We," I say motioning between myself and Garcia, "are leaving. You, on the other hand, get to rid out the storm here. If you survive, you'll have a chance to tell me the truth about tonight. The truth about whatever is going on between you and the good detective. If you don't… well, I guess the truth won't matter much at that point, will it?"
"I am telling you the truth," she screams as Garcia tugs at her hands, wrapping the rope around and quickly securing it.
"Sure you are. I saw the way he was looking at you." Removing another rope, the curtain falls closed. I throw the rope to Garcia and point at her feet. "I can only imagine what the two of you do when I'm not around. How long have you been seeing him behind my back?"
"I swear, Johnathan. Nothing is going on between me and Micah. I love you, not him."
Her pleas are desperate as she kicks at Garcia, who easily overpowers her, one of her heels falling off in the process.
"I'm sure you do, sweetie. And I love you too. That doesn't mean you weren’t conspiring behind my back. I don't think I can trust you anymore. Trust is earned, not given." Another crash sounds off in the distance. We need to wrap this up and get the hell out of here. "You haven't earned my trust, and now you'll never have the chance."
Garcia stands next to a bound and frightened Amelia. Tears are streaming down her face, and her chest is rising and falling rapidly. Her cleavage momentarily catches my eye and holds my attention. A final crash breaks the trance, and I remove my tie.
I hand it to Garcia. "Cover her mouth while I get the things I need."
Moving past Amelia and Garcia as he muffles her screams of protest, I place my fingertips on the side of the bookcase and count to three. As soon as I hear the latch release, I pull it open, then step inside. If Ayers were here right now, he'd be shitting his pants.
First things first. I need to rewind the video surveillance to when the power went out, deleting everything that's been recorded since. No need to have any of this on camera. I have plenty of footage of Amelia to watch should I desire later on.
"Bring her in here," I holler to Garcia as I reach for my briefcase and begin filling it with anything I don't want to leave behind.
I hear a scuffle outside the open door, and when I turn, I see Garcia attempting to pick Amelia up, chair and all. She's making it harder than it has to be, securing her fate.
Pulling my gun from the small of my back, I release the safety and step back into the room. There's already a round in the chamber. All I'd have to do is pull the trigger. She'd no longer be a problem for me. I wouldn't have to worry about what she's seen or heard.
But I can't do that just yet.
I may need her still.
Four
Amelia
When I hear the gun discharge, my breath catches in my chest and my body goes still. A warning shot. The room goes silent, the only sounds coming from the storm raging outside.
"This will be a lot easier on you if you stop struggling." Johnathan's words are filled with malice and hatred. Annoyance.
And he's staring at me. The gun is pointed to the floor, but with the flick of his wrist, that could change.
"Put her in the closet."
Garcia bends, grabs the chair, and lifts me into the air. He sets me just inside the closet, then lingers for a moment before turning and closing the door behind him, but not all the way.
It’s pitch black in here except for a sliver of light. I can hear their muffled voices as they argue, Johnathan's voice growing louder before the door swings open and he's pointing the gun at my forehead. When our eyes meet, my heart stops in my chest completely.
Where is the man I fell in love with? The man I married? The one who swept me off my feet and promised to take care of me the rest of my life?
He's not the man staring at me with hatred and rage in his eyes right now. This man, this vile human being, couldn't possibly be the same person.
Garcia steps in the small space, his large body blocking most of the light filtering in. Bending over, he unties my hands and then my feet but doesn't make a move to remove Johnathan's tie from my mouth. Once my hands are freed, I reach behind my neck and untie the knot, the material floating to the ground.
"Change of plans," Johnathan seethes as Garcia pulls me to my feet. "You'll be accompanying us instead."
His words are meant for me, but the way he's staring at Garcia makes it clear this was not his idea and he doesn't agree with the decision.
Johnathan takes the lead as we leave the house, Garcia following closely behind me. When we reach the driveway, he stops in his tracks, and I follow his line of sight. Through the heavy rain, I spot the dark mass.
There's a fallen tree across the driveway, blocking our exit. Both Johnathan's car and Garcia's truck are trapped. The tree missed the back of Garcia's truck by only a few feet. My car is in the garage, parked next to the limo.
"Ideas?" Johnathan shouts over the roll of thunder.
I have two thoughts, only one of which I would share with him. He's still holding the gun in his hand, and I'd rather not get shot for suggesting we call Ayers. He already believes I've betrayed him. No reason to give more clout to false accusation.
"What about your father?" I ask, quickly stepping back when Johnathan swivels his body in my direction.
The rain continues to assault me as I wait for Johnathan to say something. My body is cold, the fabric of my dress soaked and sticking to my skin. My hair, pulled into what was once a neat bun at the base of my neck, is sagging, pulling at my roots.
I'd give anything to go back inside, even for a moment. To change my clothes. To grab an umbrella. There are two sitting just inside the door. I've never needed to use either of them before, and now that I do, they're all I can think about.
He doesn't speak for a long few minutes before finally ordering Garcia to make the call.
"Five minutes," Garcia begins, moving around me to stand next to Johnathan. "We should walk to the road and wait there."
"Bring her," he states, his voice dismissive of my presence.
I want to scream at him.
I'm a person, damn it.
I've done nothing to deserve this treatment. He can believe whatever he wants to believe, but I haven't betrayed him. I don't care how it appears.
Not that I wouldn't. Maybe that's the problem.
Garcia takes my arm and begins to walk, but I hold my ground. I'm not going anywhere yet.
Clearing my throat and mustering all the confidence I have, I stand my ground.
"I want to change."
It's enough to get Johnathan's attention.
"You have three minutes. If you're not at the end of the driveway when my father arrives…" He doesn't finish his sentence. He's not going to leave me, he already tried. He'll wait no matter how long I take.
Still, I rush inside the house and begin stripping the dress from my body as fast as I can. Shimmying my damp skin into jeans and a sweatshirt, an outfit I know will piss Johnathan off, I slip into the closet to find my boots.
That's when I remember the locked box I found earlier.
I don't have time to open it. Even if I did, I don't know how I'd get it open. I've never picked a lock before.
Using all my strength, I push it back into the corner I pulled it from and slip my boots on. I'll be back for it.
Grabbing my purse and an umbrella on my way out, I slip my phone into the front pocket of my sweatshirt and jog down the driveway, doing the best I can to avoid jumping in puddles of water.
The umbrella helps to keep me dry from the waist up, but my jeans are soaked by the time I slide into the backseat of the waiting town car.
No one speaks as the driver backs out of the driveway and speeds down the road. We're heading away from town, toward Johnathan's parents’ house. I'm assuming we'll take shelter there, but I'm surprised we're not headed off the island.
The five-minute drive feels like it lasts an hour. When we finally pull up to their estate, I'm surprised to find it in pristine condition. No fallen trees. Not even a single branch on the ground.
Yet.
Their house is situated on the opposite coast of the island. The winds we were experiencing are on the front edge of the storm. I'm sure they're getting winds, as well, but not quite as severe.
Johnathan nudges me to exit the vehicle when I don't make a move.
I've been here on more than one occasion, yet it still feels like I'm an impostor every time I walk through the front doors. When I first laid eyes on Johnathan's house, I was in awe. It was large and glamorous and everything I've ever wanted in life but hadn't earned. I was out of my element.
Then I came here for dinner one night.
That feeling was only compounded. The Lang's home is a palace. A fortress. A castle. Three times the size of Johnathan's house, twice as classy, and over the top. I'm afraid to touch anything. Everywhere I turn, there are family photos in an attempt to give it a homey feel. If they weren't in solid-gold frames or the size of a small child, it might have worked.
The portrait of Johnathan as a child that adorns the entry is so large it could seriously injure someone if it fell off the wall.
He grew up here, so I can see why he might think this is a safe haven from the storm. Me? Even with the storm battering our house, I'd feel safer and more comfortable there.
"Amelia," Mrs. Lang coos as I rest my umbrella against the wall. "I'm so glad you're here. This weather is out of control."
Pulling me in for a hug, but keeping my wet body at a distance, Katherine kisses me on the cheek before stepping aside to let me pass. She forgoes hugging Johnathan whose clothes are soaked and dripping on the marble tiles beneath his feet.
"You have dry clothes in your closet." Yes, he still has a room at his parents’ house. I have no idea why, but he does. "Get changed and then meet your father in his study. He's expecting you."
Taking the stairs two at a time, his briefcase bumping against his leg as he ascends, Johnathan disappears from sight, heading in the direction of his childhood bedroom. I watch him go, wondering if being back in this house will change his mood. Was he a different person growing up? What changed him? Was it Monica?
It's the only thing I can think it might be.
My mind begins to reel, attempting to piece together all the lies I've been told. I'm sure there's some truth to what I know, more than likely from what Micah's figured out. The problem is I need to figure out what's real and what's fabricated.
The front door shuts, and when I turn, I expect to see Garcia standing behind me. To my surprise, it's the driver who picked us up. Katherine takes his coat, and he disappears down the hall without a word.
"Coffee?" she asks, her voice cheerful as she leads the way to the kitchen.
"I'd love a cup."
The lie slips past my lips effortlessly. Katherine is always offering coffee or tea and snacks. It's the first thing she does when we come over. A true hostess.
Settling into a seat at the kitchen island, I watch as she busies herself making a fresh pot of coffee for the two of us. As soon as it's done brewing, she pours us each a cup and sets the cream and sugar in front of me so I can doctor mine.
"You know," she begins as she stands across from me. "I have a pair of slacks I think you might fit into and a brand new blouse that would look great on you if you'd like to change as well."
Ah. She disapproves of what I'm wearing. I'm not surprised. What does surprise me is that she brings up the topic, even as subtly as she thinks she is.
"I'm fine, but thank you for the offer," I reply as I take a sip of the steaming coffee, burning my tongue slightly.
"We're going to head into the city if this storm intensifies," she points out as she stirs her coffee, even though I haven't seen her add anything to it.
I want to tell her to shove her clothes up her ass. Of course, that wouldn't be very cordial of me. Maybe I should tell her what I think about her son then.
Again, not a good idea.
Change of subject? Probably in the best interest of everyone that I don't offend her.
"Did you happen to see where Garcia disappeared to?"
Not that I care. I just happened to notice he didn't come inside, and I was under the impression he was 'watching' me right now.
"I believe he went to clear the tree from the driveway and will be back to pick you up here shortly."
So now Garcia's in charge of downed trees? Does he have a chainsaw hiding in the back of his truck?
Never mind. I don't want to know the answer to that.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, startling me slightly. Who the hell is calling me?
"Great. Excuse me," I say, sliding off my stool and leaving the kitchen.
Slipping into the bathroom, I retrieve my phone and slide my finger across my screen anxiously.
Unknown: Hey, it's Beth. I came down to surprise you. Bad timing, right? This storm is crazy, and they won't let me on the island. Hope you're okay. Give me a call. Miss you, Abby girl.
Abby girl.
No one's called me that in forever. It's strictly reserved for my mother. And Beth, I suppose.
ME: I miss you too. I'm trapped on the island right now. Once we make it to town, I'll get in touch. I can't wait to see you!
BETH: Keep me posted. I heard it's going to get worse before it gets better.
ME: I will. I'll shoot you a text once we head that direction.
BETH: Sounds good. Stay safe.
With a smile on my face, I flush the toilet and turn on the water, pretending to wash my hands before slipping my phone back in my pocket.
I haven't seen Beth since I left Houston with Johnathan. I should be pissed at her for not coming to the wedding, but I can't find it in my heart. Not right now. Not with everything else that's going on. It'll be great to reconnect and to have a familiar face in my corner.
To have a friend.
I've been isolated from everyone and everything for a while now. The more I think about it, the more I realize exactly how alone I've been. Aside from Johnathan, his parents, Garcia, and Ayers, I haven't spoken to another person since before the wedding.
Who goes two weeks without human contact?
The only reason Ayers is even included in that list is because he's forced his way into my life. If there's anyone here I consider a friend, it would be him.
A tall, handsome, muscular, friend.
One that is trying to protect me from my husband.
A man who, if my situation were different, I would want to be more than friends with. Sadly, that's not the case. Not right now at least.
So to have Beth in town, to be able to see her and hug her, to talk with her about everything that’s going on, will be amazing. She's a smart chick. Let's hope she has some insight into my predicament.
In fact, she owes me. She's the one who suggested I come here. Practically pushed me into Johnathan's arms, not that it took much. Still, she's as responsible for my current situation as I am.
No. Scratch that.
No one is responsible for this madness except my husband.
Whatever happened with Monica started all this, and no matter how I piece it all together, everything points to him. He's the reason she's not here. He's behind her disappearance. He's the only one who knows where she is.
And he's never going to confess to what really happened.
Sinners sin.
Liars lie.
Evil spreads evil.
My husband is all of those things.
Five
Johnathan
“You look like hell," my father notes, barely looking up at me as I walk in his office and close the door behind me. The room smells like furniture polish with the hint of expensive cigars, my father's one vice if you don't count bourbon and scotch.
"It's nice to see you too."
"I heard your wife looks worse than you do," he replies, ignoring my flippant reply.
When I saw her running toward the car, I almost told the driver to leave without her. She knows the rules. She's not allowed to wear jeans out of the house. I didn't even realize she owned a sweatshirt anymore, and those boots are going to be the first thing I throw away once we get back home.
