Clarity (13 page)

“Look,” Carmen snaps in annoyance. “We’re all flawed in some way. We all make mistakes. If I spend my life waiting for the perfect man, I’ll be waiting forever.”

“Flawed? He’s not just flawed. He’s a fucking monster.”

“Helen!” she says in shock. “You’re talking about the man who’s going to be my husband in a few hours.”

The makeup artist clears her throat. “We really need to get the bride’s face ready for photos… unless you’re calling the wedding off?”

“I’m not!” Carmen declares. “I’m getting married.”

Just then, to add another horrible element to the chaos, Grayson tries to re-enter the room. He turns the knob, and finds that it has been locked. “Carmen?” he says in confusion as he fiddles with it. “Will you let me in?”

In a panic, I move over to the dresser where I had left my phone. I pick it up with shaking hands, and hastily shove the single circular button. “Dial 911,” I speak into the phone anxiously.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Carmen asks, leaping forward and grabbing the phone from my hands.

“Calling 91…”

She interrupts my phone call before it can be completed, but places a hand on my arm. “Helen,” she says quietly. “Did he really do something worthy of arrest?”

“Yes,” I say, swallowing nervously. “Give me my phone. I’m calling the cops.”

“Please don’t,” Carmen begs. “If you destroy him, you’ll destroy me. Our lives are already so intertwined. We are practically married as it is! Anything that happened? Anything he did? It’s a family matter now. We’ll deal with it right here, between us.”

“You’re being so weak right now,” I say to her in surprise. “This isn’t like you. Why would you ignore important information and go ahead with a decision that can only end in tears?”

“Is everything okay in there?” Grayson calls from outside the room, jostling the doorknob.

Carmen takes a deep breath. “Listen to me, Helen. I’m not young and idealistic anymore. I’ve grown up, and I know that I need to make compromises.”

“You can’t compromise on
this!
” I hiss. “You can’t compromise on your safety!”

There is the sound of an item being tossed across the room and I flinch when it smashes into the wall. Carmen has snapped. I just hope it was a random beauty implement that fell victim to her rage, and not my cell phone.

“You weren’t here for me!” Carmen screams. “You were gone! Do you know how much you hurt me? Who the hell do you think you are? You left! You’ll probably just leave again tomorrow. This family obviously means nothing to you.
I
mean nothing to you!”

I can feel her breath on my face as she moves close to me so that her yelling can pierce my ears more painfully. I can also feel the eyes of the makeup artist on us. I am embarrassed as I wonder what she thinks of us—is this normal wedding behavior? It might be. There is also a hair stylist in the room, but it sounds like she is sitting and typing on her phone, and not bothered. There was another makeup artist in the room earlier, but it seems like she might have left when I was helping Carmen put on her dress. My sister is still screaming at me, and I wince as her already shrill voice increases by a few decibels.  

“Don’t think you can come in here at the last minute and stick your nose in my business! Don’t think you can order me around and interfere with my choices like you give a fuck! Grayson has been there for me every single day, for years. I’m not throwing that away because you’re a bitter little bitch.”

I lift my hands into the air, and they float there in confusion and bewilderment. Although I know that my leaving was justified, I still feel terrible. I wonder for a moment if Grayson really can be healthier for my sister than I am. Is it possible that he is trying to be good to her to atone for what he did to me? Is this all part of some kind of twisted plan for redemption? I can’t imagine what an appalled and horrified look I must have on my face, because Carmen gasps and sobs.

“I’m sorry, Helen,” she says, placing my phone against the palm of my hand.  I am relieved to feel that it is in one piece. “Just—stay out of it, okay? Grayson is my guy. I accept him for who he is. Please understand that.”

“But Carm—” I begin in protest.

“No. I won’t listen to any more of it. This is a seriously big and empty house, and I can’t be alone here for another day. The silence is deafening. Every little noise, every creak and sigh drives me insane.” She pauses. “But worse than that… my whole
life
is a big and empty house that people just walk in and out of as they please. No one stays with me. I need to start building a home where I feel welcome and wanted. I need to start building the foundation of my future. You understand that, don’t you? I’m much older than you, Helen. I can’t play games or life will pass me by. It’s time for me to move forward. Grayson treats me well. This is what I need.”

I stand in stunned silence as I allow her words to sink into my brain.

“Look. I need to get my makeup on,” Carmen says softly. “Can you please just be happy for me, little sister? Can you please just be supportive?”

“Carmen!” Grayson shouts from outside the room. “Please open the door, love. What’s going on? You never lock your door—I’m getting worried.”

“Excuse me,” Carmen says to me as she moves toward the door.

My legs feel like lead, and I remain rooted to the spot. Only when I hear Carmen unlocking her door do I realize that Grayson is about to enter the room. The thought of coming face-to-face with him sends a violent shiver through my body. There is a sharp pain in my shoulders and neck where all my muscles are clenched and bunched up tightly. For a moment, it is difficult to force myself to move, because my brain seems disconnected from the rest of me.

But then I hear his footstep.

I suddenly spring into motion as though he has set the ground beneath me on fire with his presence in the room. I can’t bear the thought of him looking at me, and I hope I can move quickly enough that he barely glimpses a flash of my hair disappearing. I find myself bolting back into the bathroom and ripping the door open to my bedroom. I need locked doors between me and that man. As many locked doors as possible. I know that they don’t offer complete protection, but they certainly help my anxiety. Once I have successfully barricaded every entrance, I move to grasp the post of my bed.

I close my eyes and press my forehead against the cool varnished wood.

With a sigh, I non-too-gently thump my forehead against the bedpost. “Why,” I grumble to myself blankly. “Why. Why. Why.” I don’t even have the energy to speak the word in the form of a question. The universe isn’t going to answer me; it doesn’t need to justify itself. It’s just having fun. I don’t think it even cares whether that fun is at my expense.

I fight the urge to lift my fist into the air and give God an excellent view of my middle finger. I have never been very religious, but for one single moment, I am almost completely certain that there must be one single, sick bastard responsible for this. I fight the urge to call him names, or ask
why
a few more dozen times.

I fight the urge to throw myself out of the second-story window.

An object vibrating in my hand startles me, and I jump and reflexively toss it away, as though stung by an insect. I then register the sound of ringing. My mind has been spinning so wildly that it takes me a moment to process that I am receiving a phone call.
Why?
I inwardly ask myself again. Even this phone call is too much to bear. I went so many days with zero contact from the outside world—so many weeks and months, with only the necessary communication for my job. Now, in one day, I am suddenly popular. I suddenly have to talk to people and touch them, and answer phone calls. It’s too much. It’s terrifying. But my phone continues to ring.

I fumble for the small device that I had dropped on my bed. Collecting it, I quickly answer it in a curt and businesslike voice. “Yes?”

“Helen! Sorry to call again so soon,” says the voice on the other end of the phone. “I am having a bit of a wardrobe crisis—I don’t go to special events very often. I thought I’d just ask to make sure. Do I wear a bow tie or a normal tie?”

My nose wrinkles with irritation. “Don’t bother,” I say in a dry tone.

“What?” Liam asks, sounding somewhat surprised. “What’s going on? Just a few minutes ago, you said…”

“Forget what I said!” I snap harshly. My entire face contorts with heat and rage. “Just—forget it. Don’t bother coming here.”

“Did something happen, Helen?” He pauses, and his voice sounds almost hurt. “You’re acting different. I thought we were going to have fun with this fake-date thing. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” I tell him quietly, “but it looks like my sister isn’t getting married after all.”

“What? But she said…”

“I don’t care what she said,” I hiss into the phone. “I’m going to stop this fucking wedding.”

And with that proclamation, I hang up the phone. I stand victorious in my resolve for a moment, breathing heavily in fury. Then it occurs to me that I have no clue in hell how I’m going to stop this wedding without trampling on my sister’s heart, and destroying the hopes of my fragile father. Feeling suddenly drained of my strength, I move over to collapse facedown onto my bed. My face sinks into the fluffy duvet atop the lovely farmhouse bed that I haven’t slept on in three years. It is much larger and softer than the tiny, hard cot I slept on back in my cabin, but in this moment, I cannot appreciate the luxury. I would gladly lie down on anything; even a bed of dirt in the slums of India, if it meant I would be far away from this house and
him
.

“Why,” I mutter again into the pillow as my makeup surely gets smudged all over the fabric. I can’t seem to form any other utterance. “Why.”

I’m not sure how long I’ve been lying flat on my face before I can no longer stand the
inertia. I have been running dozens of possible scenarios through my mind, and trying to choose the best course of action. I have been hovering in a strange meditative state somewhere between wakefulness and slumber, and it has been calm and serene. I can hear people rushing about the corridor outside my room, but I have been able to block it out and listen only to my inner voice. I have been able to reach inside myself and grasp a few morsels of wisdom and patience, to help me combat my overpowering anger and fear.

I need to tread carefully.

With a few words, I have the power to drop an avalanche on my sister’s head. It’s the right thing to do, but I shouldn’t be hasty and careless. I need to be graceful and delicate in my delivery, or I could hurt her just as much as Grayson. The fact is that Carmen doesn’t trust me. She sees me as an outsider, or even an enemy, and anything I can say or do to protect her will seem malicious and spiteful. I hear a female voice in the corridor, and I recognize it as an older family member.

Rising to my feet, I head to my bedroom door and unlock it before bravely swinging it wide open.

“There you are, child!” says the old woman’s voice. “Oh, look at you, Helen. You’re absolutely darling in that gown! You look just like your mother. I’ve been sent to collect you. It’s time for the family wedding photos!”

“Aunt Edna,” I say firmly. “My sister is making a huge mistake. She can’t marry Grayson.”

“What do you mean, dear?” The older woman chuckles softly. “Why, I’ve never met a finer boy than that Grayson. Your sister sure got lucky and picked a good one!”

“No. She didn’t.” I grip the door frame tightly, and almost expect the wood to shatter under my fingers. “Aunt Edna. You have to talk to my dad and get him to convince Carmen to stop the wedding. I have evidence that Grayson is… only after our family’s money.”

“Good gracious, child!” Aunt Edna scoffs. “I hardly think that’s true. From what your father tells me, that boy single-handedly saved the family fortune! Grayson helped your dad make hundreds of thousands of dollars from investments in only a few short years. He’s the only reason you could keep the house!”

“But Aunt Edna,” I say sharply. “I have reason to believe…”

“Rubbish! Stop this nonsense immediately. Grayson is a lovely young man, and your sister is going to be just fine.” Aunt Edna reaches out to slip her hand under my arm and guide me into the hallway. “Besides,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper, “they have a pre-nup. My husband saw to that, and it’s iron-clad. If something goes wrong and your sister needs to divorce him, he doesn’t get anything! So, you can stop worrying, dear.”

I groan and stiffly follow the woman as she guides me through the hallway.

“Really, I understand your concerns,” Aunt Edna chatters on. “Why, when my daughter got married, I was in such a fright…”

“Excuse me, Aunt Edna,” I say, pulling my arm away and trying to escape as gently as possible. “I forgot something important that I need to do.” I slip away from her and move toward the staircase. The scent of the flowers decorating the main foyer fills my nostrils again, but it does not enchant me the way it did before. I don’t have even a millisecond to pause and appreciate them. There are dozens of voices in the house, and I realize that many of the guests have begun to arrive.

I should not have waited so long. By being depressed and indecisive, I have probably made cancelling the wedding far more painful to Carmen. People start to greet me as I descend the staircase, and dive into the confusing sea of voices. My head begins to spin a bit, as I try to move through the crowd without colliding with anyone.

“Helen, dear! Oh, you’ve grown so big, sweetie!” says a deep woman’s voice.

“Thank you,” I mumble with a nod as I slip past her.

“Well, if it isn’t little Helen Keller,” says a cheerful man’s voice—I think it’s one of our uncles. “I heard you’ve written some books! Boy, you never cease to amaze me. Being blind never slowed you down, kiddo!”

“Thanks,” I say again as I move past him. I am startled when I feel a large hand on my shoulder. I jump and rip my body away from the physical contact.

“Cousin Helen? Holy shit! The last time I saw you, we were both four feet tall. You turned out a lot prettier than I expected.”

“Thanks,” I say again as try to move away, but the male voice follows me.

“Can you believe Carmen’s getting married? She’s such an airhead. I always figured she’d just spend her life moving from random dude to random dude. But I was sure that
you’d
settle down and get married. You’ve always been the serious one!”

“Excuse me,” I say, trying to pull away from him.

“Hey, you don’t recognize my voice?” he asks, sounding hurt. He grabs my elbow gently. “It’s Cousin Charlie! Remember, we shared our first kiss in the attic when we were ten?”

“Sure. Great to see you,” I say as I remove his hand from my arm. I deftly maneuver around him so that I can escape. I cringe a little in memory of the kid that Carmen and I had dubbed Creepy Cousin Charlie—yet there is a bit of wistfulness in my expression. I long for the days when our biggest problem was an awkward young boy who wanted to play spin the bottle a little too often. Now that we are larger, it seems that the dangers have grown along with us, escalating from tiny annoyances into real threats.

I push these thoughts aside as I continue to navigate through the crowd, heading for my father’s library. Like me, he has never enjoyed crowds very much, and chances are that he will be locked away in the quiet privacy of his study until it is absolutely necessary to socialize. A few more people try to accost me for conversation as I move through the foyer, but I excuse myself. I accidentally bump into a fat woman’s squishy body, and quickly apologize and step away. I wince in embarrassment and aversion. Every time I come into contact with another person, my insides quake in momentary terror. But it’s unavoidable.

Trying to move gracefully through a crowded room when you’re blind is kind of like dancing in a swarm of bees and expecting not to get stung.

After great effort, I finally arrive at the doors to my father’s library. I am pleased to see that they are closed, and I quickly slide them open and slip inside. Tugging the doors closed behind me, I release a sigh of relief as the noise from all the wedding guests is instantly—but not completely—muffled. I feel as though I have placed all the bees into a jar and fastened the lid tightly closed; for a moment, they are no longer an issue. I hear breathing in the room with me, and I am glad to know my father is in his library, as always. Now I can finally discuss the situation and stop this wedding.

“Dad?” I say with determination. “I need to talk to you about Grayson.”

There is a silence. “No,” he responds quietly. “You don’t need to say anything to anyone.”

My heart feels like it has been jabbed with a taser. For a moment, my insides are paralyzed. It is
his
voice—I am in the room alone with
him
. I am too frozen to escape before I feel two hands circling around my waist.

“Helen,” he whispers. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

I am torn between wanting to run, scream, lash out and hurt him, or say something profound and wise that will fix everything. However, my mind can’t work quickly enough to decide what to do, or what I could possibly say, and I end up immobilized in anxiety.

I can feel his face descending close to mine. The bristles of his chin scratch against my cheek as he puts his lips close to my ear. His breath tickles the tiny wisps of wayward curls framing my face.

“You shouldn’t have come back here,” he tells me. “I’m never going to be able to let you go. Those mesmerizing amber eyes of yours—it’s such a pity they’re useless.”

Finally, I am so appalled that I am able to break through my barrier of fear and push him away. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss, and my voice is filled with snakelike venom. “I don’t know how you weaseled your way into my home and into my family, but you are
not
going to marry my sister.”

He laughs softly. “You’re delightful when you’re pissed. Unfortunately, I
am
going to marry Carmen. We’ve been together for years—and in case you haven’t noticed, your entire extended family is already here, eagerly anticipating the wedding.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck,” I tell him. “They don’t know who you are and what you did to me. I’m giving you one chance, Grayson. Call the wedding off and tell them you changed your mind. Or I’m going to expose you and send you to jail.”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you say my name,” he says in wonder. “It sounds so refined coming from your lips. Say it again.”

I close my eyes briefly. This man is beyond infuriating. I need to find a way to overpower him with my words. “Three years ago, you raped me. All I need to do is tell someone that it was you…”

“How do you know it was me?” he asks. “You have no idea what I look like.”

My face twists into a scowl. “No one is going to doubt my judgment.”

“Maybe I’m not who you think I am. Did you ever think that maybe you have me confused with someone else?” He moves close to me again, and reaches for me. I back away, but he grabs me and pins me to the door beside the wall. “You can’t positively identify me. You have no evidence.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I tell him quietly as I peel his hands off my body. “After you beat me unconscious and I woke up, I immediately filed a police report. They checked me out and created a rape kit.” This time, I’m the one stepping forward and lifting my chin to put my face close to his. I need to be as intimidating as possible. I need to show that I won’t back down. “If I ask them to reopen my case and test my rape kit, whose DNA do you think they’ll find? If you don’t call off the wedding
now,
then we’ll find out. I wager you won’t be too happy with the results.”

There is a moment of stillness as he considers this. I hold my breath, thinking that I might be victorious. Did my threat work? Can he tell I’m bluffing? Of course, there is no rape kit. I was so depressed that I was unable to file a police report or do much of anything after the event. I only had the presence of mind to call our family doctor, Leslie Howard, and have her bring me emergency contraception. I listen to the silence, trying to figure out what Grayson is thinking. Does he believe me? This is my trump card; if this doesn’t work, I have no other ideas.

I hear a little metallic click, and I feel a cold nozzle pressed against my forehead, between my eyes.

“Do you know what this is, Helen?” he asks me softly.

My heart starts racing. Is he going to kill me? Right here in my father’s library? I am so terrified that I can’t reassure myself with the reminder that there are dozens of people just outside the door who might hear the shot. I know what this man is capable of—but I don’t know how smart he is.

“This is a gun. Don’t worry, sweet thing. I’m not going to put a bullet in your head.” He slowly drags the nozzle of the gun down along my nose, and roughly over my lips. He rakes the gun down over my neck and collarbone, until he slides it into place over my heart. The gun lingers there for a moment, between my breasts. “I’m not going to put a bullet in your chest, either. But let me tell you this…”

He lowers his voice to a deathly whisper as he lifts a hand to cup my cheek. “If you tell anyone
anything
about what happened three years ago—or if you do
anything
to jeopardize my marriage to your sister—I will kill Carmen. I will put a bullet in your sister’s head. I will put a bullet in your sister’s chest. And then I’ll shoot myself. I love your sister more than I’ve ever loved another human being. If you take that away from me—if you take that away from
us
—you might as well be killing us both.”