‘I miss that kid,’ she says and hiccups.
My heart does a little somersault. ‘Me too.’
‘He has the clearest, sweetest eyes. You could dive in and drown in them.’
‘Yeah.’ I smile to think of them. ‘I think of them as pieces of sky boiled down to fit into his irises.’
‘And he has this great cartoon chuckle.’
‘Cartoon chuckle? He has a great laugh.’
‘Oh God, don’t you go all “my son’s poo’s a better color than yours” on me now.’
My laughter is both drunken and sad.
‘I never wanted children until Sorab,’ she says.
That sobers me. We are both silent for a while. My limbs feel heavy and my head feels odd.
‘What the hell am I doing, Billie? Getting drunk at a time like this?’
‘Nothing. It was a bad idea of mine. Just go to sleep.’
‘Big stinking pile of smug. That was me.’
‘Stop it.’
‘Things between me and Blake are not good.’
I feel her body stiffen. ‘Did you argue?’
‘No. That’s just it. All the passion is gone from our relationship.’
Her body relaxes. ‘You’re a silly muffin, Lana,’ she chuckles.
‘You don’t understand, Bill,’ I insist.
‘When he comes back tomorrow, tell him you went to bed with me and we’ll see how far banker boy’s passion has fallen.’
I feel her hand come around my waist and her body spooning mine. Her big new boobs push into my back. They feel warm and firm and not uncomfortable. ‘Thanks, Billie,’ I mutter and wriggle closer to her. Almost immediately I feel myself slipping into sleep.
Hours later I feel Billie’s hand being removed and I half-open bleary eyes. My head is throbbing. Blake smiles at me.
‘You’re home early,’ I mumble.
‘And what a lucky thing I am.’ He carries me to the spare room, tucks me under the duvet and climbs in beside me.
‘Nobody gets to sleep with my little angel except me,’ he whispers and spoons my body exactly as Billie had.
Twenty-Five
Victoria Jane Montgomery
I lie on my bed and look at the moonless night and desperately wish the phoenix would come to me. There is no more peace for me since I found out that Blake is my half-brother, and I can’t have the revenge I had so carefully planned. When I think of what he has done to me, my blood boils.
Once I loved him. Now I want nothing more than my revenge. I keep dreaming that I am pouring boiling oil into Blake’s bitch’s belly button. She screams like crazy as her skin peels and her flesh and fat bubbles and cooks like a piece of steak on a grill.
God, I hate her so much.
If only the phoenix would come again to me. I can ask it for its blessing. For I am frightened. I feel that something strange is happening to me. I hear the sounds of knives being sharpened in my head and I’m afraid I am losing my grip on my sanity. Perhaps it is because I am locked up here with all these crazies that I am becoming one too.
There are voices in my head now.
Every day these disembodied voices grow stronger and more relentless. They madden me with their harsh cackles and calls for revenge. They want blood. Blake’s blood. I no longer dare attend group sessions. Fortunately, the policy here is that it is not compulsory. I dare not talk to anyone. What if I lose control and one of the voices takes over?
All of a sudden I hear a voice, a sweet, lost child voice. The questing innocence beguiles me, irretrievably draws me to her. She is in direct contrast to the usual threatening, sordid, obscene, and often downright menacing voices I am forced to listen to. I listen out for the unspoiled new voice and realize that all the other voices seem to have hung back.
The lovely new voice thrusts forward eagerly. I embrace it with all that I am. Perhaps I will be all right. Perhaps this new voice will keep me safe and guide me to the right path. Perhaps the phoenix sent this voice to me. Immediately I feel stronger.
You can’t trust anybody, it says in its uniquely fresh and wonderful voice.
I nod enthusiastically.
And you can’t give up on divine plans.
I nod again.
The phoenix has sanctioned them.
Of course the phoenix did. I listen intently as the beautiful voice elaborates on what must be the truth of the matter.
Blake must die just as you planned—a car crash on his way home from the hospital after signing over all his rights to the Barrington fortune. Then it will be the turn of his bastard child to die.
Afterwards, as planned, we will pay a little visit to the lying, cheating, cock-sucking cunt he married…and watch her die, slowly and painfully.
Twenty-Six
Blake Law Barrington
She comes toward me, her eyes huge, her face pale and drawn, and I feel a stab of guilt. When I found her she was bursting with life, an innocent thing in an orange dress. Look how careless I’ve been. Look what I’ve done to her.
‘What is it?’ I ask, holding her. She seems so small, her bones so breakable. She was not always like this, was she? No. Once she fought me on her terms.
‘Blake,’ she calls.
‘What is it?’
She swallows hard.
‘Tell me?’
‘Oh, darling. You don’t really want me anymore, do you?’
‘What?’
‘I know you love me, but you don’t desire me anymore.’
I shake my head. I will never understand women. How they can be so intuitive and so dense at the same time. I run a finger down her beautiful, beautiful nose to her plump lips. I remember the first time we kissed. I remember how they looked when that f**king pervert abused her at the party. I remember them when she was laughing at that drug dealer party she invited me to, and I remember them when she told me on our honeymoon that she was my captive slave. Seems so long ago. So much has happened. I wish I could go back. I can’t. Here and now is what I have.
‘Lit matches,’ I whisper.
‘What?’ she asks.
‘That night I met you I thought your eyes were like lit matches. So blue. The impression of something cool and yet it’ll burn your fingers.’
She bites that plump lip. ‘Have I burned you?’
‘Never.’
‘I’m so confused, Blake.’
‘Come here. I want to tell you something.’ I lead her to the sofa. We sit together, our thighs touching. If only she knew. Maybe I need to spell it out to her. Maybe I’ve been too distant. It’s my upbringing. Stiff upper lip. Better in than out.