Infinity Lost (4 page)

Nanny Theresa erupts into the room from the far door. The look on her face alone is worth it. Men are screaming and running and cowering and hiding while I gleefully stand in the doorway, basking in the warm glow of the manic pandemonium unfolding before my little eyes. Skinny Red-Cheek Man’s entire face is red now. I notice a large, dark stain spreading down the front of his gray trousers. I actually giggle out loud.

On the other side of the room, Silver-Topped Cane Man is hobbling away in a pathetic attempt to escape. I take careful aim.

BANG!

My bullet finds its mark, splintering his cane in two. He teeters for a moment, wobbling off-kilter like a faltering spinning top. Almost in slow motion, he falls. He rolls over twice on the Persian rug and comes to a halt on his back, rocking from side to side, his arms and legs pathetically flailing in the air like an overturned turtle.

I point the gun high and let loose three shots over their heads. Just for the fun of it.

BANG!    BANG!    BANG!

From every corner of the room, the men scream like little children, and I can’t help but throw my head back and laugh out loud.

Jonah and Mariele burst in from the far door and my huge grin evaporates. The fun is over. I drop the gun to my feet with a heavy thud.

“Mariele!” Nanny screams from behind the sofa, pointing a knobbly finger directly at me. “Take her! Take her to her room! Right now!” Mariele hurries across the carpet and scoops me up into her arms. Over her shoulder, I see Jonah trying his best to calm the situation. Horrible men are breathing heavily; some are clutching their chests, some are holding each other, some are wiping food from their faces, and one man in particular is blotting something else entirely from the front of his trousers. Every last one of them looks terrified. It’s fantastic.

I bob up and down in Mariele’s arms, and as she hurriedly whisks me along the hall, the raging shouts of the men echo after us. I know that I’ve never been in this much trouble. I really don’t care. Not even Nanny Theresa’s witch’s claws could scratch this radiant smile off my happy little face.

CHAPTER FOUR

That evening I stare out the window at the section of driveway that snakes through the manor grounds and disappears over the hill behind my bedroom. Mariele sits with me, knitting in silence. One by one I hear the men walk through the foyer downstairs, and one by one I hear them bay for my blood as Jonah and Nanny Theresa apologize over and over and over again. As night falls, I watch the taillights of the last limousine drive into the distance.

“Do you see? Now do you see?” Nanny Theresa’s voice echoes up the stairwell, amplified by the marble entranceway. “You have absolutely no concept of how dangerous that child is! The investors and the board members will not forget this. Mark my words, Major Brogan; there will be hell to pay. For all of us!”

“Richard will speak to them. He’ll bring them around,” replies Jonah.

At the sound of my father’s name, I strain my little ears toward the crack in my bedroom door.

“That little abomination up there could have killed someone today!” shrieks Nanny.

“After how they treated her, I’d say they kinda had it coming. Wouldn’t you?”

The tiniest smile curls the edges of my lips.

“No, I certainly would not!” bellows Nanny Theresa. “I’m holding you personally responsible for this, Major. Don’t think I haven’t seen you. Speaking to her like she’s your daughter, putting dangerous thoughts in her head. Well, she is
not
your daughter. Infinity doesn’t belong to you. You would be wise to remember that.”

“I’m well aware of the situation, thank you,” Jonah says calmly.

“Oh, are you really? Well then, fine. I’ve had enough of this glorified babysitting. From this moment on, I run this household and that is all. I wash my hands of her! That . . .
child
is solely your problem, and I suggest you deal with her! Control her! Right this minute! I expect you know exactly what I’m referring to when I say
control her
.”

Nanny Theresa’s heels clack on the marble floor as she storms away.

“I’ll deal with Finn when I see fit,” Jonah calls after her. “She needs a little time to think about what she’s done.”

Nanny Theresa’s heels stop dead.

“No, Major Brogan. When it comes to Infinity, you and I and Richard are the ones who need to think very seriously about what
we
have done.”

I sit in silence, pondering Nanny Theresa’s words. What on earth did she mean by that? This has been the longest day of my life and most certainly the worst. Miserable and exhausted, I quietly weep until there are no more tears left to cry. Only the sound of Mariele’s gentle voice tugs me back from the edge of complete and utter misery.

“It’s eight o’clock, Miss Blackstone—time for bed.”

I move wearily from the windowsill and slump onto my bed. Mariele takes my shoe off, helps me into my pajamas, and tucks me under the covers. I watch her as she fusses around me.

“Mariele?”

“Yes, Miss Blackstone?”

“What were Nanny and Jonah arguing about? Why do they need to think about what they’ve done? What did they do?”

Mariele’s head stays bowed as her fingers busily jab at covers that she’s already tucked.

“I . . . I’m sorry, Miss. I wasn’t really listening.”

I can tell that she’s lying.

“Mariele?”

She looks up at me, a nervous smile forced onto her lips.

“What’s your father like?” I ask.

Mariele’s big, brown, doe eyes crease at the corners. I had never noticed until right now just how sad they are. She glances anxiously toward the door. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Miss.”

“What things do you do together? Is he kind to you?”

Mariele walks over to my stuffed toys and begins tidying them, her eyes fixed sideways on the crack in the door the entire time. “Oh yes, Miss Blackstone. My father is a very nice man.”

“Mariele?”

She smiles in my direction, her eyebrows raised in hesitant expectation.

“What is my father like?”

Her smile disappears like it’s been wiped away with a dirty rag. “That’s enough talk, Miss Blackstone.” She walks over and pulls the covers up to my neck. “I don’t think Major Brogan will be reading you a story tonight,” she says, quickly changing the subject. “Perhaps you could read one yourself?”

“I don’t feel like reading. I don’t feel . . . anything,” I mumble.

Mariele stands at the end of my bed, just looking at me, her head slightly tilted, her expression heavy with sadness. She turns and looks over her shoulder at the door. She walks over, peers cautiously through the crack, and then quietly closes the door behind her.

“Maybe I can tell you a story?” she whispers. Her eyes have changed. They’re fearful. “You have to promise to keep this story a secret. Do you swear?” Now they almost look pleading.

I nod.

She walks to my bedside, takes Prince Horsey from by my pillow and buries him under a pile of thick cushions on the sofa by the window. “Horsey might hear us,” she says under her breath. “This story is only for you, OK?”

I nod again. I like secrets. Mariele puts the green-painted chair by my bed, sits, and looks me right in the eyes. She takes a deep breath and begins to speak in a quiet voice, only a hair above a whisper.

“Once upon a time, there was a little princess called . . . Flora.”

I like this story already.

“She was beautiful, and so clever, and almost everyone in the kingdom thought that she was wonderful. Some thought she was a miracle.”

I grin for the first time that night.

“Princess Flora lived in a castle, and even though it was a beautiful castle, Princess Flora didn’t realize that it was actually . . . a prison.”

I’m intrigued, and suddenly a little concerned.

“The castle was owned by a king who wanted to keep the princess hidden away in secret.”

“Why?”

“Because she was different, Finn. She was very special.” Mariele has never called me Finn before. “The king was part of an evil council. Together, over time, they would watch the princess and decide how they could use her.” My eyes are as wide as dinner plates. I hang on Mariele’s every word.

“What the princess needed to know was that the king didn’t control her life as much as he thought he did. What the princess needed to know was that she had a will and a heart of her own.” Mariele takes my hand and squeezes it hard. Her eyes are desperate. She’s scaring me a little. “What she needs to realize is that there are good people who are trying very hard to help her . . .”

Suddenly the door swings open and Jonah is there. “Why is this door closed? What’s going on here, Mariele?”

Mariele springs to her feet and straightens her uniform. “Nothing, sir. I . . . I was just telling Miss Blackstone a . . . a bedtime story.”

“Can you finish it tomorrow please, Mariele?” I say excitedly.

“Of course, Miss Blackstone,” Mariele replies. She curtsies, hurries out past Jonah, and disappears down the hall.

Jonah stands at the doorway, leaning out, watching her go. He slowly turns back into the room and frowns at me. “I don’t suppose I need to tell you that what you did today was very, very bad, do I?”

I shake my head. “I’m really sorry, Jonah. Those men just made me so mad. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, I promise.”

“Oh, I know. I’ve seen how good a shot you are. If you were really trying to hit them, they would all be in pieces, not just a vase and a lamp and their fragile egos,” he says with a little smile. “Just between you and me, I think they deserved it, but you have to promise that you won’t go shooting guns at people anymore. Well, at least not unless I say so.”

I nod and let out a tiny giggle.

“What did Mariele say to you, Finn?”

I’m suddenly very serious. “She told me not to say.”

Jonah smiles. “You can tell me, sweetheart. I promise it will go no further.” Jonah draws a crisscross shape on his chest with his finger. “There, I’ve crossed on it. OK?”

I ponder for a moment, then shrug my shoulders and slowly nod. “Mariele told me a story about a bad king, and a beautiful princess that he put in jail. I think she was talking about me. I think the bad king is . . . Father.”

Jonah walks to my bedside, sits on the green chair, and lets out a deep sigh. “Why do you say that?”

“Because he doesn’t seem to care about me, Jonah.” I thought all the tears I had to cry were gone, and yet my eyes begin to fill once more.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. I’m sure he does. In fact, y’know what? I was just talking to him on the phone, and he said that he’s going to bring you a present. For your birthday.”

“Really?” I mumble through the sniffling.

“Really. He’ll be here when you wake up. I guarantee it. Here, I’ll light the fireplace to help you get to sleep.” Jonah walks over, presses a button on the mantel and low flames flicker up over the coals in the hearth. “You’ll be six years old tomorrow, Finn. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”

“Can we ride the ponies to the lake and have a picnic, please, Jonah?” I ask as I snuggle down under the covers.

“Of course we can. We can even take the rowboat out and I’ll teach you how to fish,” he says with a warm smile. Jonah ambles to my bedside, leans down, and kisses my forehead. Then he walks to the door and switches off the light. “Good night, Finn.”

With images of a princess trapped in a stone tower traipsing through my mind, I drift off into a dreamless sleep.

That night was the last time I ever saw Mariele.

I can’t have been asleep for very long when I feel it. My eyes flick open. Someone is in my room. I peer through the darkness and there, at the foot of my bed, I see a dark figure standing silent and still.

“Jonah?” I say croakily, rubbing my eyes. The orange glow from the embers in the fireplace dances dimly over the outline of a man. That man is definitely not Jonah. I want to scream out, but just as I’m about to, the man speaks.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, his voice soft and deep. “My name is Richard. Richard Blackstone.”

My fear evaporates and is replaced with wonder. I stare toward him, rubbing my eyes again, straining to make out his face in the darkness, wondering if this is real or whether it’s my very first dream.

“Hi . . . I . . . I’m Finn,” I whisper.

He chuckles softly. “I know. You’ve gotten so big.”

He
is
here. My heart leaps. “Will you be at my birthday party tomorrow? I’ll be six years old.”

He looks at the floor. “No. I’m afraid not. I have to leave tonight. I’m a very busy man, you see.”

“I know.” I can feel the sadness creeping into my bones again.

“But I came here tonight especially to see you. I was leaving you a birthday present. There, on the bedside table.”

In the dim glow from the dying embers I see a small black box and I’m instantly wide awake.

“May I open it now?”

“I don’t see why not.”

I scramble excitedly over to the box, snatch it off the bedside table, and pry it open. Inside, resting on a black velvet cushion is a delicate silver chain attached to a small silver circle. Inside the circle, set in the center like a frozen drop of midnight, is a beautiful, black, diamond-shaped stone. The light from the fireplace flicks softly across its facets, making it look like a tiny flame is trapped inside. I recognize it immediately from the photograph on the landing and I gasp with delight.

“It was your mother’s. She wanted you to have it. Don’t you ever lose it.”

“I’ll never take it off. I swear, I won’t,” I whisper solemnly.

“You be a good girl now. OK? Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

And with that, he slowly turns and walks away silently into the darkness. I launch myself at the bedside lamp and knock it completely off the table and onto the carpet. I kick at the covers and they tangle around my legs. With sheets and blankets wrapped around my ankles, I flop onto the floor and lunge at the lamp switch. My room fills with soft orange light, but he’s already gone. I finally manage to kick the blankets off, leap from my bed, and run into the hallway. It’s dark and empty. Maybe it was a dream after all?

I look down and there, curled in the palm of my hand, is my mother’s pendant.

I wanted to say more. The perfect thing that would make him stay longer or make him promise to come back one day soon, but all that escapes from my lips is a breathless whisper: “Good-bye.”

Sadly, I felt that it was more than just a word. It marked the beginning of my weary little heart closing a door on my father. I love the necklace, but it’s far too little and much too late. I slip it over my head and cradle the stone in my hand. I can’t help but imagine how different everything would be if Mother were still alive. Maybe Father would love me enough to want to know me? Not just arrive in the middle of the night and remind me of everything that I’ve lost.

I stare down the empty hall and feel a sudden pang of anger. It’s pure and hot and powerful. How dare my father ignore me for the first six years of my life and have the nerve to call me “sweetheart”! That privilege is already reserved for someone else. Someone, I’ve recently discovered, who is terrible at hiding the lockbox for his gun.

That very same night I creep into Jonah’s room, sneak the key from his jacket while he’s sleeping, and take Prince Horsey out to the old oak tree. I know it’s not his fault. He’s only a stuffed toy unicorn. But I can’t bear to look at his stupid smiling face for one more minute, knowing that my father once loved him more than he’ll ever love me.

I prop Prince Horsey on an upturned block of wood and blindfold him with one of Nanny Theresa’s silk handkerchiefs. With a resolute hand and a deep breath, I close one eye, take careful aim, and squeeze the trigger. With an echoing bang and a puff of goose-down feathers, the bullet whips right through Prince Horsey’s little make-believe heart. His soft, furry nose droops forward, and, just like that, my hopes and dreams of a life with my father are put to rest, years before I would have any real dreams at all.