Scarlet Stone, page 20
Today I wake late to a knock at my door.
“Scarlet Stone?” The delivery man asks.
“Yes.” I cover my mouth with my fist to hide my yawn.
“Delivery. I just need your signature.” He hands me the tablet and I sign for the small parcel.
“Thank you.” I shut the door and rip into it.
A mobile. It’s like sending an alcoholic a bottle of vodka. When I open the actual mobile box there’s a note on the inside.
For your reading pleasure.
Taking a deep breath, I turn on the phone. There’s a document waiting for me. I open it.
“Bloody hell …” It’s scanned pages of Nellie’s journal.
Oscar. He was in her house. In her bedroom!
I’m mad as hell and … curious. I’ve been doing so good. Okay, maybe not “good,” but not bad. Sometimes not bad can be a really good day. It’s all perspective.
The journal gobbles up the rest of my day. Hundreds of entries, some short, some quite long, but they’re all written to Bell. A lot of them don’t make any sense and in some ways they confirm Nellie’s diagnosis. Other entires remind me of my last day with her, the lucidity, the moment I questioned every day before with her. By the time I reach the end of the final entry, I don’t feel the enlightenment that I had hoped I would find. I wanted to know more about the “incident” that led to her mental state. One thing I know is that something happened to Bell, and Nellie is responsible.
However, the last entry, which was three days ago, is most shocking. She’s not insane—at least not in the way her family believes she is. And I think Bell is the woman with whom Harold had an affair. I don’t know if anyone else would read these same words and come to the same conclusion, but I feel it in the space between words. Bell and Nellie were friends who betrayed each other. That much bleeds through every page of the journal.
Bell,
I’m done. The lie has to end. I don’t know if the truth will set me free, but I have to try. I’ve found someone who makes me want something more than revenge. I’m not even sure if revenge was ever mine to give. That’s probably something you would know. What about forgiveness? Have I earned that? Have you forgiven me? I’ve forgiven you. I think I could even forgive Harold if I thought it would give me true freedom.
~Nel
My name is Scarlet Stone and for my twelfth birthday, Oscar gave me a signed first edition of Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, an Inverness cape, and a deerstalker cap. It was more than a gift; it was symbolic of my duty to solve mysteries.
Nellie and I need to have a chat. I grab my bag and open the door. “Nolan.” I gasp.
“Scarlet, we need to talk.”
“Oh, um … okay. Come in.”
He steps inside and looks around my tiny flat, specifically at the bed and massage chair that consumes the room.
“Have a seat.” I nod to the massage chair.
His brow tightens.
“You don’t have to turn it on if you don’t want to.” I return a half smile while grabbing my picnic chair, unfolding it, then taking a seat. It would feel too weird to sit on the bed.
Never mind. Nolan’s gaping-mouth assessment of my place has already maxed out the weirdness level. I should have just sat on the bed.
He eases into the chair like each inch he descends is the final crank to a Jack in the box. “Your father,” he begins once he’s convinced a scary clown is not going to jump out.
For me, the clown is already out and his name is Oscar. Tapping my finger on the plastic arm of my chair, I bide my time. It’s too early to jump to any conclusions.
“He and my mother were …”
Here it comes: horrific tales of the trouser snake. The small smile on my face feels pained. I can only imagine what it must look like.
“…having dinner last night. They seemed close.”
As long as he wasn’t eating her for dinner, then I can handle this. It’s still manageable. “Dinner at your house?”
Nolan nods.
“With your father?”
“He’s out of town.”
I swallow a hard lump then clear my throat. “What … what were they eating?”
Nolan narrows his eyes. “I don’t know.”
My sigh of relief is a bit louder than intended.
“He said you asked him to keep her company while you took some time off.”
Of course he did. Wanker.
“My mother seemed …” His lips twist to the side.
I hate how he keeps baiting me with fragmented sentences that leave me hanging. It’s like he’s waiting to see if I will jump in and … what? I don’t know for sure.
“Different.”
“Different how?”
Nolan shrugs. “Normal. Too normal.”
I laugh a bit. “Too normal? I’d consider that progress, a good thing. Isn’t it?”
“I know you’re going to take this wrong. My intention is not to sound like an awful son who doesn’t want to see his mother get better, but … I don’t want her memory of the incident to come back if it means she could spiral out of control to the point where we could lose her forever.”
“This incident. I don’t understand this ‘incident’ that you and your father seem so determined to keep from her and everyone else. You’re so afraid of me triggering her memory, snapping her out of her delusional state, but you won’t tell me what it is you don’t want her to remember. So how can I tiptoe around some invisible trigger?”
Resting his elbows on his knees, he cradles his head in his hands. “I don’t know,” he mumbles.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know!” His head snaps up.
I flinch.
The last time I saw so much agony etched into Nolan’s face was when he told me about his ability to sense other people’s pain.
“My accident. That’s what caused my mother’s condition. She thought I died and something just broke inside of her. She doesn’t remember it. Not once since her mind has gone to its ‘safe place’ has she mentioned it.”
“But if it was an accident—”
He shakes his head. “It was her fault. I still don’t know all the details because my own memory of it is so sketchy. I have these fragments, but when I try to piece them together, they don’t make sense. We were going somewhere. My father was out of town. She needed to make a quick stop.” He shakes his head some more. “I waited in the car. It was taking her too long, so I went to look for her.”
I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. His eyes remain fixed to his interlaced fingers.
“Where were you?”
“I don’t remember where we were. My father said it happened at home. That doesn’t fit with what little I do remember—or think I remember.”
“So he’s lying?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me what happened, Nolan.”
He nods slowly. “I was shot. I lost a lot of blood. I died on the operating table. But they brought me back to life.”
“Nellie shot you?”
He nods.
“Why?”
“My father said it was an intruder. She grabbed a gun from their bedroom. When I walked around the corner at the top of the stairs, it spooked her. She shot me.”
“What did the newspapers say?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? That doesn’t make any sense. The only son of a prominent family gets shot by his mother and nothing gets printed in the newspaper?”
He shrugs. “My father didn’t want her to end up in prison for an accident. He didn’t want it to tarnish our family’s name. He made it …”
“Go away,” I whisper.
He nods.
“So, you live or come back to life, with an abnormally heightened sense of feelings, only to discover that your mother has lost it.”
“Yes.”
“So your father stays with her, in spite of what seems to be a broken marriage, because he wants the money.”
“Yes.”
“And when did he start cheating on her?”
“I’m not sure. He claims it didn’t happen until several years after the accident.”
“You’re pissed off he cheated on her.”
“Yes.”
“But you think she still loves him and it would crush her if he left?”
“Yes.”
“And he gets the best of both worlds—the money and other women. Tell me, what does she get?” Revenge. She gets revenge, but I don’t know how or why … yet.
“She gets peace. Peace of not remembering what she did to me. Peace of knowing her family is still together.”
“This is messed-up.”
Nolan doesn’t respond.
“I did not tell my dad to keep Nellie company for me. He bullied his way to work with me a while back. I introduced them. Your mother—the innocent doe-eyed Nellie? She took an instant liking to him and he to her.”
“That doesn’t make sense. My father said she’s like a child when it comes to intimacy. That’s what drove him to cheat on her.”
“Oh yeah? Well, the British bloke I sadly have to claim as my dad, he’s corrupted that child you call your mother and as much as it disgusts me, she’s enjoyed every bit of it.”
Nolan narrows his eyes. “What? You’re saying—”
“Yes. Please don’t make me go into detail. But … yes.”
I told him Father Christmas does not exist.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
He didn’t see the epilogue of the loo scene like I did. Clearly, he doesn’t understand how lucky he is at this moment.
“Is Oscar at your house right now?”
More blinking. “Uh … no, I don’t think so. When I left, my mother was in her room.”
“Alone?”
He flinches. Welcome to my world, Nolan, where some things cannot be unseen or unheard.
“Let’s go.” I stand and grab my bag.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
My name is Scarlet Stone, and I can’t remember ever feeling a connection to normal, well-adjusted people. My reflection has always been in the many faces of dysfunctional souls.
Nellie is alone in her room. The look of relief on Nolan’s face makes me smile.
“Are you announcing your engagement?” she asks, setting her book on the bedside table then swinging her legs off the side of the bed.
“We’re not dating, Mother.”
Nellie frowns. I don’t buy it.
“Can you give us a few minutes, Nolan?” I ask.
“Sure. I’ll be downstairs.” He shuts the door behind him.
“Scarlet, how have you been, dear?”
“Did you shoot Nolan at home or somewhere else?” There it is. I pulled the pin on the grenade. I’m that sure she’s not going to have an epiphany—a sudden remembrance of her past.
Zero. There is absolutely no shock in her expression. Nellie didn’t forget. She’s not crazy—at least not in the way everyone thinks she is.
“My journal.” She nods. “You read my journal. I wrap the leather tie left to right, but the last time I opened it, the tie was wrapped right to left.”
Not Oscar’s mistake. Mine. He wound it back the same way it was when he found it, after I wound it the wrong way. That’s why I do best behind a computer. I don’t see the physical details that he does or that my grandfather did.
There’s nothing in her journal that would lead me to think that she shot her son. We both know the journal only proves she’s been acting for years.
“I had a hunch that Harold was cheating on me. Intuition, I suppose. Harold said he was going on a business trip. He had this brown leather briefcase that I bought him after he graduated college. It traveled everywhere with him, especially on business trips. I found it in his office a few hours after he left. Of course, I knew I’d be getting a phone call with him all in a panic over leaving it.”
Nellie shakes her head. “The call never came. My mind wandered places a proper southern lady’s mind should never have to go. I made fools out of my parents when I married him. I wasn’t going to let him make a fool out of me. He had a handgun in a wooden box in our closet. I shoved it in my purse and headed to the car. I knew where he was. A day earlier, I wouldn’t have known.”
She laughs. “It’s funny how we already know certain things but our mind won’t let the images into the light until something else triggers it. I saw them—the subtle looks, the accidental brush of their hands in passing that was anything but accidental. I saw it. I should have known before then. I just didn’t want to see it.”
“And Nolan?”
She focuses on me for the first time, every word until this point had been spoken with her eyes glazed over into the past. “He pulled up as I was getting ready to leave. It was his birthday. I’d forgotten my only child’s birthday. He offered to take me to dinner. I couldn’t say no, so I told him we needed to make a quick stop before going to the restaurant. He asked why we were going there? He knew them. We all knew them. I said I had a luncheon invitation to drop off and it would only take a few minutes, so he stayed in the car like I asked him to do.”
With one blink, Nellie’s tears fall. “I didn’t knock. The door was unlocked, so I opened it. I knew. It’s so hard to explain that slow ascent up the stairs knowing that everything in life is about to change forever. When I eased open the door, Bell shot up out of bed, holding a sheet over her naked body. No one was in bed with her. For a full three seconds I doubted myself. I heard the bathroom door open, and I prepared to explain to her husband why I had let myself uninvited into their house. But it wasn’t her husband … it was mine.”
I haven’t blinked. I’m not sure I’ve taken a breath the whole time.
“I pulled the gun from my purse and aimed it at him.” Nellie pinches her eyes shut for few silent seconds, releasing more tears. “My hands were shaking so much I could barely keep my finger on the trigger.”
Even now, her hands shake folded in her lap.
“I was crying because my world seemed to be ending before my eyes. He was my husband. She was my friend. With each blink, I became more and more blinded by my emotions. Bell’s pleading voice was a mere echo. He … said nothing. I closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger.”
Biting her lips together, her body trembles in silent sobs. “Sh-sh-she jumped in front of him.”
I draw in a shaky breath, blinking back my own emotions.
“Harry yelled my name as he caught her limp body collapsing to the ground. When he looked up at me, all I could see was murder in his eyes. The gun fell from my numb hands. I didn’t move when he dove for it. Then I realized what he was doing, and I took a step backwards and then another. When he lifted the gun like an extension of his arm, I turned and dove toward the door. The pop of the gun sent a chill up my spine at the same time my shoulder connected with something—someone—as I tried to escape.”
“Nolan,” I whisper.
Nellie nods.
“I-I t-told him to w-wait in the c-car.” She sobs.
The two people who were meant to die that day, lived. I grab a tissue from her bedside table and hand it to her.
“And Bell?”
She shakes her head.
Nellie is responsible for someone dying. I hate that I know how that feels, but I do.
My name is Scarlet Stone, and I can’t remember ever feeling a connection to normal, well-adjusted people. My reflection has always been in the many faces of dysfunctional souls.
“Why does Nolan think you shot him?”
“Because that’s what Harry told him. Since Nolan didn’t remember much at all, it was easy to tell him what Harry told the police.”
“But you told Nolan it was a burglary at home. This didn’t happen at home.”
Nellie blots her eyes. “Money can buy just about anything. It bought …” She sniffles.
“The police.”
She nods.
“Clean up.”
She nods.
I feel nauseous.
“Whatever story you want?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I killed the woman he loved, so he made me take the blame for Nolan, justice in a twisted tale.
“But you were declared insane.”
She shrugs, taking in a shaky breath. “I’ve seen a psychiatrist for years. Truthfully, I did feel like I was having a mental breakdown after they told us Nolan’s heart stopped beating on the operating table. That Nellie … her heart stopped too. They brought Nolan back. I didn’t want to come back. I was on suicide watch for weeks. Harry wanted me to be evaluated to determine if I was of sound mind.” Her eyes hold firm to mine, silently pleading for me to understand. “It was an out. A way to live without accountability.”
“How did you get your psychiatrist to declare you—” I know the answer before I ever finish the question. “Money,” I whisper. “All these years …”
“Crazy was just easier. And I had the lead in all the school plays. I can play any part.”
I shake my head. “The secondhand shopping … the coupons …”
“Harry didn’t grow up with money. Everything he owned was secondhand. Nothing was purchased without a coupon. He swore he’d never go back to that life. I wanted to prove him wrong.”
“It was an illusion.”
She laughs. “I know. I know about the women. I know he’s one man with me and another man the second he walks out of here. I know no one else sees the clothes I buy for him. I know he’s only here because of the money—my money. I also know that Nolan’s fear of me remembering something that he himself can’t remember is what has kept him from kicking his father’s philandering arse to the curb.”
I’m speechless.
“I’m observant. People talk over crazy people. They think I can’t hear them one room away.”
“Oscar …” Eventually, I’ll talk in full sentences again. My mind is spinning way too fast, throwing out a word here and there.
Nellie smiles like a giddy school girl. “He’s the first breath I’ve taken in years. Do you have any idea what it’s like to physically feel your breath? It’s like your heartbeat. It’s there doing its job, but we take it for granted until we almost lose it or until something or someone unexpectedly crashes into your life, making you feel absolutely everything.” She rolls her red eyes. “You must think I’m a stupid woman saying such nonsense.”
