Remember Me (58 page)

                                                       Chapter 45
Stretching her legs, Cassandra sighed heavily. Needing time alone to catch her breath and calm her nerves, she had came out to the garden to enjoy the night air, and hopefully find some answers or insight to all that had happened earlier.
“You alright?” Cynne' asked in a soft voice as she approached and sat next to her on the stone garden bench.
Looking out at the vast mountain estate garden, she gave her friend a hopeless smile and a shrug of her shoulders. “Do I have a choice?” she replied. Several hours had passed since Grace's suicide, and Granger was inconsolable, to the point he had to be sedated. Thinking again about the horrible aftermath of her mother-in-law's actions, she muttered, “Well, no, I'm not alright, but I have to be strong for my family. Lord, not only did I watch my husband fall completely apart, he's broken, and this may very well be the straw that broke the camel's back. Then, trying to explain to Regan what happened....” her voice trailed off at the awful memory of her son's voice as he cried and screamed for his Grandmother. The only comfort she had been able to give him was to hold him and rock him into a troubled sleep.
Shaking her head in sympathetic silence, Cynne' didn't know what to say. Although she had
never liked Grace from the very first time meeting her, she had never figured her to be the type to take her own life. Seeing her friend in such a tormented state of mind not only saddened her, but made her angry as well. To her, suicide was the ultimate act of selfishness, because the people they left behind most often were scarred for life.
“Care if I join you ladies?” a soft voice called out.
As one, they both turned
to
see Satin approaching them slowly, wearing a baggy pair of sweats and tee shirt that had been loaned to her by the household staff. She looked like a child who was trying on her mother's clothing, and the look would have been comical under less somber circumstances. Her hands were full, clutching a bottle of liquor and three glasses filled with ice.
Both of them motioned silently for her to join them on the bench.
Enjoying the feel of the damp grass on her feet, Satin padded over to them and sat on the ground instead, crossing her legs Indian fashion. “I thought under the circumstance we could use a stiff night cap. Hopefully, if I get buzzed enough, I can get that image of Grace..well, you know.” Not knowing what else to say at the moment, she suddenly busied herself pouring a drink for each of them. Handing one to Cynne', she offered another to Cassandra.
“None for me, thanks.” Cassandra declined. At the moment she felt so nauseated she knew the alcohol would make her lose what little she had left on her stomach.
Not pushing the issue, Satin nodded and downed the drink herself in three giant gulps. Not usually a heavy drinker, she winced for a moment, steeling herself to go past her usual two-drink limit.
I need something to stop the shaking....
her mind reasoned.
“I don't think Granger will recover from this.” Cassandra whispered, more to herself than them.
“It's my fault.” Satin blurted miserably, not looking at the other two women for fear of seeing a look of
judgment
in their eyes. “I just pushed her too hard. It's my fucking ego. She and I butted heads, so what did I do? I opened up on her with both barrels. I had to go for the jugular, and God help me, I was actually enjoying it. “
Not surprised in the least, Cynne' had suspected something like this would happen, she had seen it before. She knew that eventually, someone, or more than one person who had been at the get-together would have an unreasonable attack of conscious and blame themselves for what had happened, despite the fact all the blame rested squarely on the shoulders of the deceased. After all, no
one
had forced the woman to do what she did. Giving the tough as nails lawyer a thoughtful look, she spoke in a stern, yet gentle voice. “Miss Johnson, you did nothing wrong! She had choices. We all have choices. She could have left and waited for her son to cool down, for one. No, she did this to herself, no one made her do it.”
“Cynne's right.” Cassandra said, then leaned forward and gave the miserable woman's shoulder a gentle squeeze of encouragement. “You did nothing wrong. You didn't make her lie all those years, and you damn sure didn't put that gun to her head and pull the trigger. With both her son and only grandson in the house, no less.”
Nodding her head in agreement Cynne' added, “I'm sorry she felt she had to go out like that, but it was her own selfish choice. And to be brutally honest, I believe this is what she wanted, for all of you to take the blame and let her be the victim. It was the kind of person she was, there's no use in denying it.”
Lost in their own thoughts, all three women were silent as they sat and watched the lighting bugs flickering, lighting up the side of the mountain. It should have been a beautiful thing, but tonight it looked almost foreboding, a warning of more bad things to come.
 

                              ******************************

                                      Later, at the Guest house
“YOU KILLED ME!” Grace screamed. Pointing one long, bejeweled finger, she gave Granger an accusatory glare, her face ghoulish from the gunshot wound as she sat at his desk, the same desk she had sat behind when she made the decision to end her own life.
He opened his mouth to tell her how sorry he was, but nothing would come out, and his entire body began shaking uncontrollably. He wanted to beg for her forgiveness, for his harsh words, and tell her he would give anything or do anything for her to know how sorry he truly was. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he found his voice and fell to his knees, clasping his hands together as if in prayer. “Please, I didn’t mean any of it! Please come back, I’ll do whatever you want me to do! Just PLEASE come back, mother!
As Grace stood, blood gushed from the head wound. Walking around the desk with an odd, zombie-like shuffle, a crooked grimace that was meant to be a smile spread on her ghoulish face. “You're such a good boy.” she practically sang. Stopping in front of him, she reached down and ran a cold hand through his hair, and her now-dull, dead blue eyes locked onto his. “Now you understand that it should have been just me and you. I'll forgive you, my sweet boy, if you come with me, I don't want to be alone. Come with me. Remember what I said a long time ago? That no one or nothing would ever separate us? Not even death, my son. Come on now, your father is waiting for us.”
Granger's head fell forward as he closed his eyes and wept. He wanted her to forgive him, but what about Cassandra and Regan, could he leave them? “Please mother, I don't want to leave them.” he whimpered, sounding like a small, lost, frightened child. Suddenly, he felt cold metal in his right hand. Opening his eyes, he saw it was the gun she had used to take her own life with. Shaking his hand in horror, he tried to drop the gun, but found he could not. Screaming incoherently, he shook his hand even more frantically, then tried to pry it loose with his left hand, but was unable to dislodge it from his own finger's
treacherous grasp. Looking up at the ghoul that had once been his mother, his screaming ceased and he suddenly began to hyperventilate.
“Use it, my son!” her merciless voice commanded. “Come with me, be free, and I'll forgive you. Can't you see we are
Mortensons
? No one matters but us!”“ Her face contorting into
an
angry, hateful snarl, she screamed, “YOU DID THIS, YOU! NOW COME WITH ME, DONT MAKE ME BE ALONE WITH YOUR FATHER! YOU PROMISED TO ALWAYS PROTECT ME, BUT YOU KILLED ME INSTEAD! DO IT!”
Seemingly of
its
own volition, his right hand, still holding the gun, raised to his right temple as tears slid down his face and he whimpered. “Oh God, Cassandra, Regan, I'm so sorry, but I have to go.” Horrified beyond belief, he moaned one last time, closed his eyes, and felt his finger begin squeezing the trigger.
“Yessss....that's Mother's good son. No one will take you from me.” she hissed with satisfaction as she leaned down and grasped both his shoulders in a vice-like grip.
“Granger! Granger!” a vaguely familiar voice suddenly rang out. The voice sounded desperate, almost panicked, and he suddenly felt his body being pulled from his mother's grasp.
 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Cassandra desperately tried to stop Granger's violent thrashing, he was apparently in the grip of some terrible nightmare. Only moments earlier she had came to check on him, and hearing his terrified cries, she had rushed into the room, trying to rouse him. As she put her hand on his shoulder to calm him, he grabbed her arm with his uninjured one, snatching her to him, wrapping his muscular arm around her like a steel bear trap.
The cast on his broken arm was pressed painfully against her stomach, making her panic and scream as she struggled to get loose, “Gra...Granger!” she wheezed. As he cried out for her, telling her that he was sorry about leaving, she screamed again, trying to wake him.
“
STOP, YOU”RE HURTING ME! WAKE UP!”
The words penetrating at last, his eyes flew open, and it took a moment for his mind to register the fact that he had his beloved wife pinned against him, and she was struggling to break free. Releasing her suddenly, he sat up and cried out, “Oh God, did I hurt you? Are you alright. I didn't know what I was doing Cassandra, I swear! I would never hurt you. It was....”
The woebegone look on his face broke her heart, and it made her even angrier at Grace, the pain she had inflicted on this kind, decent man. The woman's own son! Placing her fingers to his lips, she tried to sooth him. Pushing him on his back gently, she caressed his face, much the same way she had done Regan hours earlier. “Honey, I know you were dreaming. You were having a nightmare, you weren't aware of what you were doing.”
Pulling her to him with his good arm, he twisted his body so that they were
lying
on their
sides, facing one another. Closing his eyes, he basked in the comfort of her mere presence. He needed her to make him feel something other than the all-consuming, cold pain that was eating away at his very soul. The guilt of his mother's suicide was pushing him towards his breaking point.
I killed her, ME! What if I cause Cassandra or Regan to die as well?
His
tortured mind screamed unreasonably.
“Baby, are you alright?” she asked, knowing the question was foolish, but not knowing what else to say.
Not wanting to discuss his feelings, he ignored the question. “How's Regan? I know I should get up and see him, but I want to have my act together before I talk to him.” he said softly as he ran his hand up and down her back.
Cassandra now fully understood why people had always maintained that suicide was such a selfish act. People who took their own lives weren't around to see the emotional destruction they left in their wake, and leaving others to pick up their pieces. “He was very upset, to say the least, but I finally got him to sleep. Edoardo and Gianne insisted on staying with him, so I could come and check on you.” Running a hand through his hair, she said, “The doctor left another sedative for you. Do you want it now, so you can sleep? I'll be here with you, and I can get someone from the kitchen to bring some tea for us.”
Pressing his nose into her neck, he shook his head. “No, I just need you” he mumbled, then softly ran the tip of his tongue across her neck. Hearing her moan, his lips worked their way back to her chin, and kept going until his hungry lips sought her full ones.
“You have me baby, if you need me, I'm here.” she murmured, then returned the kiss hungrily.
                                     
**************************
Raidon had just finished briefing several members of his security team. The media was unrelenting, they were trying ay tactic they could think of to get on the grounds, hoping to see Granger in his grief. In addition to that, the vultures had been harassing household staff members as they came to and from work, hoping for any little tidbit of juicy information, and even making some up as well. The estate had been barraged with so many phone calls that Malcolm had had the phones shut off, and the numbers changed.
At the moment, he was feeling a bit lost in the grand home, since Malcolm was not around to kill time with, his friend was busy planning Grace's funeral service.
Walking down the long hallway on the third floor, he rubbed his aching shoulders and closed his eyes momentarily, trying to stop the phantom gun shot from ringing in his ears. He knew it would be some time before he would be able to sleep, so he decided to try to work out, and wear himself down to the point he could drift off.
Stepping inside the exercise room, he tossed the towel he had brought on a metal chair beside the treadmill. He did a quick stretch, then mounted the machine, turning it up to
its
highest setting. Running in place, his mind drifted back to when he was a little boy, specifically, the terrible night he had lost his own beloved mother.
He was playing quietly in his room when his father, whose name was Nelson, came home after being on one of his common, seven-day binges, in a belligerent mood, as usual. It was a common thing for his father to leave him and his mother, Aiko, alone, without money for food or utilities. But somehow, they always made-do.
He liked the times when he and his mother were alone in the house, there was a blissful peace present that was only there when his father was gone. She would laugh at his silly behavior, and she would actually hum and sing as she cleaned the house, or while she cooked the food she managed to get from the food bank. But best of all, they didn't have to tip-toe around the house like cat burglars.
But nothing good ever lasts, and his father was home again, still drunk, and meaner than he had ever seen him. “WHERE IS THAT LITTLE BASTARD?” his father yelled from within what passed as a 'master bedroom'. “I should have drowned that useless little shit when he fell out of your worthless womb!” he heard him yelling drunkenly at his mother as he began tearing through the house in search of him. Assuming he was outside playing, his father nearly tore down the screen door as he stomped off into the yard.
Running to his room, his mother looked at him, her almond shaped eyes wide with fear. He could see his father had wasted no time smacking her around, one lip was busted and bleeding, and there was a large bruise just below her left eye, which was beginning to swell.
“Hide, my angel!" she whispered frantically, then ushered him from his own room and into the master bedroom closet.
Before shutting the door, she hissed, “He's already looked in here, maybe you'll be safe. Don't come out for any reason, not until I come and get you!”
For one brief moment he and his mother looked into each other's eyes, and he knew in that instant that his life was about to change forever, for the worst. “Mama...please don't go!” he whispered, beginning to weep silently.
His mother apparently felt it too, and she reached out with her tiny, delicate hands and caressed his face. “I love you, my Angel, never forget that. Promise me you'll never forget how much I love you.”
“Mama, please, PLEASE don't go!” he finally wailed, unable to help himself.
“Shhhhh....shhhhh...hush!” she cried, looking over her shoulder fearfully. Looking back at him, she leaned down and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. Hearing his father lumbering back in the house, cursing, she pointed at a large, empty cardboard box that had once held a large television set, and he quickly scampered behind it, and out of sight. Peeking over the top, he saw his mother begin closing the closet door, but quickly abandoned that act as his father stormed into the room. Not wanting to rouse suspicion, his
mother scampered to the bed just in time.
“Where is that little bastard? He's been messing around with my stuff ! Some of my baseball cards are missing!” His father raged as he grabbed a razor strap he used regularly on both of them.
Shaking with fear, his mother bowed her head and answered in a meek voice, “He does not touch your things. He knows that it's forbidden for him to go into your bedroom.”
His father, all six foot-two, two hundred and forty five pounds of him, looked down at her in contempt. “YOU CALLING ME A LIAR?” he roared. “You hid him from me, didn't you? Or sent him away! Well now, we'll just see about that. Who's hiding him, that chink sister of yours in her fancy townhouse? I'll deal with her myself, where's my coat?” he finished as he turned and headed for the closet.
“Nelson!” his mother cried as her eyes grew wide and she sprinted towards him, blocking his way.
“You lost your mind, woman?” he sputtered angrily, unused to being thwarted.
“Listen!” his mother said desperately. “You've had a hard week, and I know just what you need to relax.” Saying that, she threw her arms around his shoulders and stood on tip-toe to kiss him.
“Heyyyyy, wait a minute.” he slurred as he looked at her suspiciously. “When was the last time you threw yourself at me like that? Usually I have to take it from you. What are you playing at here? You tryin' to distract me?”
“No, Nelson, it's just been a long time, is all.” she replied nervously.
“LIAR! You just don't want me hunting down that thieving little shit, isn't that right?” he bellowed, snatching her up by the hair.
Not giving his mother a chance to speak, he raised his beefy arm and brought the strap down on her small body, knocking her to the floor.
Unlike other times when Nelson would beat her, she didn't stay down like a wounded, helpless animal with her body curled tightly in a fetal position. This time she stood up, then looked up at her husband, not even trying to hide the pure hatred she felt for him. “I. HATE. YOU. YOU FILTHY, LOW LIFE BASTARD!
Every day
I pray that you die! I PRAY for the day that someone comes to our door and tells me you've been killed. I hope that you die a slow, painful death!”
'I'LL SHOW YOU SLOW AND PAINFUL, YOU WORTHLESS SLUT!” his father bellowed, responding the only way he knew how, and that was to ball up his fist and begin beating the tiny, defenseless woman. As he rained blows down on her, his rage became
more and more pronounced, wanting to break her spirit completely.
Raidon covered his ears, but it couldn't block out the sound of his mother's screams, which were becoming weaker and weaker. Suddenly, the screaming stopped, and all he could hear was the heavy breathing of his father. Taking his hands from his ears, he began crying harder as he heard wet, gurgling noises coming from his mother's battered body.
Another vicious kick from his father lifted his mother's near lifeless body completely off the floor. “YOU WANT ME DEAD, BITCH?” he roared, then turned and went to the nightstand, where he retrieved a .38 caliber handgun. Walking back to the woman's prone body, he aimed the gun at her head and pulled the trigger.
Feeling as if he had been kicked in the stomach, Raidon's vision suddenly blurred and he whimpered, but not loud enough for the drunken madman to hear. More terrified than he had ever been in his young life, he wet himself, praying his father wouldn't find him and kill him.
He clamped his lips tight to keep from screaming as he watched his father look down at his mother, then calmly walk to the bed and sit on the edge. Reaching in the front pocket of his beer and blood splattered shirt, the madman withdrew a crooked cigarette from a crumpled pack of Winstons and lit it. Taking one deep drag, he exhaled a plume of smoke, then lifted the gun to his right temple and pulled the trigger.
Raidon's body suddenly felt like it weighed two tons, and he was suddenly dizzy and nauseous as well. “My God, I thought I was over that night.” he mumbled.
Cynne' stood in the doorway of the state-of-the-art gym, watching Raidon as he ran full speed on the treadmill, eyes closed.
He's not running for the exercise, he is running from something, something horrible, and it has nothing to do with Grace's suicide...
she thought. She didn't know how long he had been running like that, but she knew it must have been some time, judging from the volume of sweat pouring from his body. And from the way he was breathing, she feared he would pass out any moment. She watched in silence as he mumbled something unintelligible, then opened his eyes, turned the machine off, and stepped down. He seemed to be completely unaware of her presence.
Struggling to move his heavy legs, he managed to make it to the metal chair, then plopped down wearily. Bending forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and pressed the heels of his hands into his closed eyes.
Cynne's heart went out to him, and for a moment she thought about leaving him alone with his thoughts, but found she couldn't move, couldn't walk away and leave him all alone, hurting. Stepping inside, she closed the door quietly and approached him. Kneeling in front of him, she reached around him and grabbed the towel that had fallen to the floor. “Raidon?” she said softly. When he raised his head, the pain she saw in his eyes made her gasp. Instead of questioning him, she gently caressed his face with one hand, and with the other, used the towel to wipe the sweat from his brow with the gentle care a mother would
for a small child.
Raidon was suddenly overwhelmed by the fact he wasn't ashamed for her to see him in such a state. He sat stone still, silent, and let her tender care sooth the ache he was feeling. Taking the soft hand that cupped his face, he finally spoke. “I know you're wondering, but are too polite to ask. When I was just a young boy, my father killed my mother, right in front of me, and then the cowardly son of bitch killed himself, he was too much of a spineless jellyfish to face what he had done.” he explained, stunned by the words that had came out of his mouth. He had never told anyone outside of his adoptive family about what took place the night of the murder/suicide.
Struggling to keep from crying, Cynne' knew he didn't need or want pity, he needed someone to listen, and that's what she would do for him. “Can you talk about what happened? It helps sometimes.” she said, hoping somehow she could help him, and wondering why the prospect of doing so seemed so important all of a sudden.