Hold On Tight (Take My Hand) (10 page)

“I’m going home.”

I felt Dexter’s heart start to pound against his chest – the
vibrations entering my body through my fingertips and darting straight into my
own heart. For the excruciatingly long seconds that followed, the silence
screamed at me – deafening me… terrifying me.

“No,” he breathed. “No.”

“I can’t watch you hurt yourself anymore, baby. It’s killing me.”

“Please,” he repeated, staring to the ground. “No…”

“Goodbye, Dexter.” Resting a light kiss on the tip of his nose I added,
“don’t ever forget that I love you.”

When I pulled away he tried to grab on to me by the sleeve of my jacket
but his body was too weak to grip me tight enough and I slipped free easily. My
eyes were burning when I reached the door so I closed them for a second to trap
the tears inside, knowing if I let one fall – I wouldn’t be able to stop
for a very long time.

Reaching the porch, I turned to Sarah and pulled her into a tight hug.

“Take care of him for me,” I whispered into her ear.

“You know I will,” she replied, squeezing me a little tighter.

After putting my case in the boot of the car, the driver got in and
brought the engine to life. I caught a glimpse of Dexter’s shadow moving
towards the window as we started to pull away and I tried so hard not to look
but my eyes betrayed me. Instead, they forced me to watch him crumble. They
forced me to stare at his forehead pressed against the glass while one of his
palms slid miserably down it as though he was reaching out for me.

They forced me to stare after him until he faded into the distance…

~Dexter~

“
I
didn’t think she’d leave,” I mumbled sorrowfully. “I told her
to. I know it’s best for her… but I didn’t think she’d do it.”

“You
know why she had to do it,” Aunt Sarah said as she tried to console me with a
hand on my forearm.

“Where’re
your keys? I need your keys.” Shrugging out of her hold I started flying around
the house in a panic. I found her car keys in the kitchen drawer hidden beneath
a pile of opened mail.

“Dexter
no!” she barked, ripping the keys from my hand. “You’re in no fit state to
drive.”

“Then
drive me. Please, Aunt Sarah… I have to go after her. I have to make this
right!”

“No,
honey. The only thing you can do to make things right is to get yourself clean.
Show her that she means enough to you to want to pull yourself out of this.”

“I
will! I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever she wants! Rehab, counseling…whatever it
takes. But I
need
her with me!
Please, Aunt Sarah. Please take me I’m begging you!” I clamped my hands down on
her shoulders as I pleaded with her. My body was weak and I had to use her
small body for support. “Please,” I cried, my voice fading. “Please…” By now my
voice was a weak whisper and my body was too frail to stay upright.

As I
carried on pleading, my voice growing shakier, I slid down to the floor.
Rocking back and forth on my hands and knees I struggled to breathe past the
unbearable pain ripping through my chest as my fingers started tearing through
my hair. Aunt Sarah lowered herself down beside me, propping herself up on her
knees and cradling me like an infant.

“You
need to let her go, honey,” she whispered against the top of my head. “You need
to fix
you
before you can fix the two
of you.”

“Please…
oh God
please…
” My body started shaking
violently as I gave in to the ferocious sobs. “Help me…” I trailed off, my
voice barely audible. “Somebody fucking help me.”

~Emily~

As
I stood outside the huge gates guarding
their house with my suitcase trailing behind me, I still wasn’t sure if I was
brave enough to go up to the door. I stared at the little white card in my
hand, the one Patricia gave me when she collared me in the street that day, and
kept cross checking the details against the giant house standing before me. It
was as if I was hoping the numbers were wrong. Maybe if I stared at it long
enough the numbers would change and I would in fact be at the wrong house…
solving my problem immediately.

But it wasn’t the wrong house, and I knew I’d regret it if I left without
speaking to Dexter’s father.

Walking up the long, gravelled path, dragging my suitcase behind me, I
didn’t even know what I planned to say or what I hoped to achieve. Nobody is
born evil - therefore everyone must have a certain level of compassion no
matter how tiny or hard to find that piece may be. I wasn’t naïve enough to
believe he would leave Dexter and Sarah alone. He was a cold, determined man
and I knew he wouldn’t back down. But maybe… just maybe he could give them some
time.

I know what you’re thinking and I completely agree. I was wasting my
time. But I had to try. I had to do
something
to try and support Dexter – something that might make this
gut-wrenching guilt a little easier to stomach.

When I reached the arched white door I hesitated while I tried to steady
my laboured breathing. It was then I heard some shouting and an ear piercing
scream coming from inside the house and instinctively I ran around the side of
the building and cowered behind a set of immaculately pruned shrubs. When I
heard the front door slam, the harsh noise reverberating along the walls of the
grey house, my pulse thudded in my ears and I started to shiver.

My heart stopped completely when I saw Martin, Dexter’s father, fly down
the long path before jumping into the same flashy car I met Patricia in that
day and speeding off with an almighty screech. When the roar of the engine
dwindled into a slight hum, confirming Martin was far away from me… I dragged
in my first breath in what seemed like hours.

My ears pricked up at the sound of muffled cries coming from the house.
When I looked up I noticed there was a window open above me which explained the
fact I could hear the strangled sobs from out here. Feeling a little bolder
knowing Martin was out of sight, I made my way back around the front of the
house and after a brief pause, I knocked lightly on the door.

When nobody answered I knocked a little harder. I could hear somebody in
there and I wasn’t prepared to give up so easily and miss my chance. In a few
hours I would be thousands of miles away. It was now or never.

“Patricia?” I called, cupping my hands around my mouth. Within seconds
the heavy door was being pulled open and I gasped, throwing a hand over my
mouth when I saw Martin’s wife. The last time I saw her she was so poised and
refined. She was confident – overly so – condescending with a
perfectly conceited smirk etched onto her heavily made-up face.

But now she stared at me with her sunken eyes and her bruised
cheekbones. Her honey-blonde hair which was styled into a flawless bob last
time we met, was now a tangled mess on top of her head.

“Did he do that to you?” I asked, clutching my hand to my pounding
chest.

“That’s none of your business,” she griped. “What do you want?”

“To talk,” I said simply, expecting her to tell me to get the hell off
of her property. Much to my surprise however, she stepped to one side and
motioned her hand towards a room off the far end of the lengthy hallway.

Tentatively, I placed my luggage down just inside the front door, walked
past her and in the direction of the room she pointed to. This house was huge.
Everywhere was pristine white and filled with elegant furniture and pretentious
statues. A bitter taste washed over my tongue and I shook my head to myself.
Martin appeared to have everything he could ever want going off this house. He
clearly didn’t need the money, leading me to believe his motivation behind this
whole sordid situation was some kind of twisted revenge.

I hovered in the living room while I waited for permission to sit down.
Patricia followed me in and then gestured for me to take a seat. Nervously, I
lowered myself down onto the spotless white leather couch. Patricia sat
opposite me on a matching armchair and clasped her hands together above her
knees.

“Nice place,” I remarked – sarcasm intended.

“I can’t stop what he’s doing if that’s why you’re here,” she announced
dejectedly.

“I just want to know why?” My head was shaking of its own accord. I had
so many questions burning holes into my brain but I didn’t know where to start.

“Why what?”

“Why…everything. Why did you fix Deborah’s case? Why did Martin fake his
death? Why is he trying to torture his only son by ripping the life he’s spent
so long trying to find from under him? And why are
you
helping him?”

“Does it really matter why?” she asked incredulously to which I could
only shrug. “It’s done now. The house is in my name. Kevin’s got what he wants.
You should just drop it and move on.” Kevin – right. Somehow I keep
forgetting that ‘Martin’ is dead.

“It matters to me. Sitting here with you, I’m struggling to believe that
you’re doing this because you’re a horrible person. And believe it or not I’m
not here for a fight. I know it’s done and I can’t change that, I just want
some kind of an explanation. Don’t you think I deserve that much?”

“He needs the money,” she said, sighing heavily. Sitting on a couch that
probably cost more than Sarah’s entire house, my neck jerked backwards and I
raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Kevin gambles,” she added, as if it explained
everything. It explained
nothing
.

“And?” I pressed.

“And he doesn’t know when to stop. He owes a
lot
of money to some very dangerous people. The same people who
ordered a hit on him ten years ago. The same people who made it necessary for…
Martin
,” she hesitated before revealing
his ‘real’ name, “to go to such extreme lengths to keep us safe.”

“It’s more than that. What he’s doing to Dexter I mean. Why not sell
this
house. Downsize? This place has got
to be worth five times the price of Sarah’s home. He wants revenge… he must do.
Even after
everything
he did to him
and his mum…” I had to stop talking when my throat started closing up.

“You’re right,” she said simply. “The price he will get for that house
won’t make a dent in his debts.” After dragging in a long, exhausted breath,
Patricia continued. “Kevin is a… troubled man. Please don’t think I’m
justifying his behaviour towards his son here, but he really did love Deborah.”
I’m pretty sure my knees are going to bruise from the impact of my jaw smacking
into them. “I know it sounds ridiculous and I don’t expect you to understand…”

“Good,” I snapped – because it was utter bullcrap.

“He blames Dexter for the way he is. When Dexter was born, he couldn’t
adjust to having to share Deborah. He became jealous and possessive… violent.”

“Have you listened to what you’re saying?” I roared, sheer incredulity
catapulting me to my feet.

“Remember I said I wasn’t justifying it. I’m just telling you the truth…
like you asked.”

“Then why the hell are you still with him? What is
wrong
with you?”

“Yes,” she replied solemnly. I wrinkled my face in confusion. “To answer
your first question?” she added. “Yes. He did this to me.” Patricia motioned
her hand over her face – over her bruises – and the answer to all
my questions was suddenly glaring at me. She’s afraid of him. Everything she’s
ever done to help that sadistic man was done out of fear.

Just like Dexter’s mum.

We talked for another half an hour. Patricia told me in excruciating,
stomach-churning detail some of the things Martin had put her through. It was
hard to believe she was a woman of power and authority. Behind the
commissioner’s badge she was just a frightened and feeble woman.

“Surely, you could just leave him?” She looked at me as though I’d just
asked the most ridiculous question. “I mean you must know people who can help
you, being in the police and everything.”

“And let the things I’ve done come out? I’ve tampered with the system so
many times for him I can’t even remember. I would lose everything!”

“At least you’d be safe,” I countered.

“And what about Marianne? What would happen to her? I need to prote-”

“Who’s Marianne?” I interrupted, confusion distorting my expression.

“Our daughter.” In the words of Rachel – Holy shit balls. “If I
take Kevin down he’ll make damn sure he takes me with him. She needs me. I
won’t leave her.”

“Dexter has a
sister
?” I
asked, my thoughts appearing out loud.

“He doesn’t know?” she asked, looking as confused as I felt.

“How the hell would he?” I barked. “No one’s seen Martin since the day
Dexter sho… since the day of the accident.” My eyes rolled towards the ceiling
and I let out a heavy sigh. It was then I noticed the time on the glass clock
above the fireplace. My plane was due to leave in just over an hour.

“I need to leave soon. I’m um… going home.” I felt guiltier than ever
saying those words after the conversation I’d just had.

“That’s a wise decision.” Then why do I feel so bad about it? “Are you
going to tell Dexter? About Marianne?”

“No,” I said at the exact moment I decided. “I don’t think he could take
that kind of news right now.” Or ever…

“Probably best. I don’t think Kevin would be too happy about me telling
you.”

“Well…” I couldn’t find the words, my brain numb from shock, anger and
heart-wrenching pain, so I just nodded towards the front door.

“Before you go, I want you to take this.” Patricia scurried over towards
a cherry-wood desk and then fiddled with a small lock hanging from one of the
drawers. She returned with a piece of folded paper which she tucked into my
hand without showing me what is was. “It’s for Sarah. No one must know where
this came from. Understand?” She still had her hand clamped over mine,
preventing me from uncurling the mysterious paper. “Promise me, Emily.”

“I-I promise,” I stuttered. Seeming appeased, Patricia nodded and
released her hold on my hand. The paper uncoiled of its own accord and there in
my hands was a cheque. A
hefty
cheque.
A fifty-thousand dollar cheque.

“How did you… what about…”

“Everything we own is in my name,” she began when it became obvious I
couldn’t remember how to speak anymore. “We can’t risk Kevin’s true identity
being discovered so we keep as much as possible under my title. However, I have
always kept a portion of what I had before we met locked away. He doesn’t know
about it and he never will. I need you to promise it will remain that way.”

“O-o-of course.” I stared at the crumpled paper in my hands. Beneath the
amount I read over the name printed at the bottom – Mrs J N Walters.

“He’s not the only one who knows how to change a name,” she confessed
with a guilty frown. “You should go. He could be back any minute.”

Nodding weakly, my arid mouth unable to produce words, I made my way down
the hall and towards the front door.

“Take care, Patricia,” was the last thing I said to her.

Then I left her. Alone and afraid. Just like I did to Dexter. And as
much as I still wanted to hate her, I just couldn’t do it anymore.

So, as I made my way to the main road to hail a taxi, I cried into the
collar of my jacket. I cried for Patricia and her daughter who I’d never met. I
cried for Sarah and Deborah and everything that man had taken from them.

And I cried for Dexter.

I cried for the pain he’d been through. I cried for the pain he was
going
through. I cried because I missed
him – the
real
him. And I cried
because I loved him.

I love him.

Dear God I love him.

That was my very last thought before lugging my suitcase into the back
of a taxi and heading for the airport.