Jezebel (31 page)
Authors: K. Larsen
Celeste
Paris 1994
June, Thursday
The morning of Celeste’s death was spectacular. Oranges, pinks and blues set the sky ablaze in splendid glory. She gazed out the window from where she laid in bed, stunned by the raw beauty. Breathing in the spectacular show before her, her mind wandered to uglier things.
She popped out of bed late in the morning before wandering, one last time, to the City of Lights, which lived up to its name. For all its fanfare, the Eiffel Tower rarely disappointed; at night, its thousands of twinkling lights turned on to dazzle onlookers. It would make the perfect backdrop. A dazzling finale for a naive life, she thought bitterly. No more. Her life as she knew it was nothing more than a masterful illusion. She knew she couldn’t keep holding out for a miracle. She and Matteo knew too much.
Celeste wandered aimlessly for hours. She admired the stone gargoyles, the fresh smells that wafted from the bakeries and the bustle of the arts district. Finally, armed with a full belly she winked at the black sedan that had been tailing her all week. At the base of the tower, away from the crowds, she sat in wait.
At a quarter past five, she heard a whistle cut through the still chilled air. A jolly intricate tune. Clear, every note carrying beautifully. The whistler was not in sight yet but getting closer. She never could whistle. It had never really bothered her until that moment. The slap of dress shoes on pavement added a beat line to the whistled tune. Her rear was numb from sitting still for so long. Wind rustled leaves faintly. The tune gained volume as the perpetrator neared. She should practice whistling, she thought arbitrarily.
She had known someone would come for her when he found out she knew, because she would never willingly consent to further testing, but . . . she realized that she would rather die in truth than live a life consumed by betrayal. Celeste waited on a bed of nails. She was surprised that Gabriel was the one to arrive. The whistling stopped and she knew her time was nearing its end. Turning her head left, just slightly, he smiled a wicked smile at her. “Celeste.” His voice was emotionless and she wondered how. Was he not ever truly in love with her? All these years—an act? It didn’t matter anymore; she resolved to look at his betrayal as a gift.
“Gabriel,” she greeted. Her eyes scanned her surroundings looking for reassurance. She blinked once when she found it. “Where will you take me?” she asked.
His expression softened. “Nowhere,
mon amour.
Come here.” His hands stretched out to embrace her. Celeste found herself wrapping her arms around him, as she’d done so many times in the years past. What they must look like, she thought, to passersby. A loving couple? The lie behind the picture struck deep still. Holding her tight his voice came in a thick breeze at her neck. In everyone’s lives there is a crossroads where what is said next will define the future, and this was hers-she could feel it. Her stomach turned.
Don’t speak!
she wanted to shout. She understood what was coming and didn’t need his reasons.
“You destroyed
everything.
My life’s work, my reputation.” His snarl was low, menacing. White-hot pain seared the skin of her shoulder blade. She couldn’t inhale, her lungs filling with blood. Stepping back, Gabriel wiped a blood-tinged blade on his hankie, as she dropped to the ground, sputtering. He did it.
He really did it,
she thought. The moment stole her breath. She stupidly thought she had the situation under control. She was stripped down to something she didn’t understand.
Realization hit her like a freight train-that the real betrayal would be if Gabriel were able to make her stop loving him, stop believing in what had been
her
truth all these years. She owned that. Clinging to that thought, she looked him in the eye.
“I still love you,” she whispered, her voice faint but clear.
His cruel eyes widened in disbelief at her final words. His lips opened and closed, not forming any distinct word or sound. Gabriel stepped backward once, then twice.
Scream,
she thought.
Scream now!
But she couldn’t. Her throat wouldn’t work. All that came out was a gasp. Blood bubbled up and out the corner of her mouth as a half-smile crept over her face and her eyes fluttered closed. Pain radiated as her face hit the pavement. It was over. Her first love, her heartbreak, her pain. It happened. The boss died, the husband cheated, the heart broke. It’s not the truth she would have chosen but she’d take it. It was hers. She would be released from this life and he would walk away. The world went black.
Annabelle
“I’m the only one in the in the shadows. My heart is fire, my heart is young.”
~ Make a Shadow, Meg Myers
“That can’t be the end, Jez!” Annabelle yelled. She was gutted, twisted up inside. She reached for her glass of water and chugged the contents trying to stop the rising anger she felt.
“Why the hell not?” Jezebel shot back, arching an eyebrow. Her nose piercing glinted in the light.
“It . . . it just can’t. It’s so sad.” Annabelle’s shoulders slumped as she thought about Celeste’s story.
“Sometimes, life is sad,” Jezebel said. She looked at the woman, shocked at her bluntness. It seemed like such a cold statement, harsh in its honesty, from a woman she’d come to think of as warm. A woman telling a story about a friend, presumably.
“What about Matteo? What about Gabriel?” Annabelle asked.
“What about them?” she answered, nonplussed.
“Ugh! You are killing me here, Jez. It’s my last visit. I need answers! There is so much left unfinished!”
“True, kiddo, but not for long,” Jezebel stated. Glancing at the clock, Annabelle noticed she was already late for dinner. Her father would be irritated with her.
“Fine, I see what you’re doing. I’ll come back Friday before I leave for school, but you have to promise to finish the story!” she demanded.
Looking to Jezebel, she excused herself. When she turned to give Jezebel a wave goodbye she noticed that Jezebel wasn’t in her chair.
Odd.
Scanning the room she found Jezebel watching her curiously from the bathroom door. Then the room tilted, shifted the wrong way.
“Oh, don’t try to move. You won’t enjoy that, dear,” Jezebel clucked. Her voice sounded far away. Harsh and cold. The room’s dance picked up its pace. Annabelle blinked furiously as she started to understand. Fear pummeled her. “What did you . . . do . . . to me?”
“I don’t recall what it’s called. Almost tasteless, especially in
water.
Your father, Gabriel, really did nail it, didn’t he? Well almost. He never did get it to leave the subject able to talk.”
Jezebel gave her a dazzling smile. She swaggered over and batted away Annabelle’s hand when she made a clumsy grab for the woman. “It took quite a bit of time and money to track you all down. Wouldn’t you know it, wishes do come true because I had both at my disposal. By then, I have to admit I’d developed a small infatuation with you all. I wanted to meet your brother and you. Your brother I only saw through the windshield though. I didn’t get to know him like you. It was such fun. I hope there are no hard feelings. I wish I could give you my real name, but I have a feeling you’ve already guessed it.” Jezebel kissed her nose, like a snake charmer kissing the head of a cobra. “You were a real treat, you know, kid.”
Annabelle’s vision blurred. Her arms froze in place, her knees locked up and her neck stiffened. Jezebel pushed an index finger to her shoulder, and she tilted and fell to the floor, unable to move her body.
It seems that insignificant beginnings lead to epic endings. In the beginning she was loved. She was cared for and adored and cherished. In the beginning there was her.
A whole being.
A true sense of self.
A connection with reality and morals.
When the end came, love was twisted into hate, her sense of self destroyed by the select few who had helped create it and had guided her in life. Morals ceased to exist and reality became nothing more than a sparkling memory that hung just out of reach.
Celeste had always preferred collecting moments over things and this particular moment was grand. Annabelle looked at her like she was a monster. Like a cannibal preparing to eat her for lunch. She understood. Celeste rolled Annabelle facedown. It was a shame, but no one left the world unscathed. Wars had casualties. Annabelle was a good girl. But she served a purpose. “Shhh,” she told her as Annabelle tried to mumble words into the floor. Celeste had actually grown to like her over the last six months. She was
almost
sad to see her go. She slipped on her sneakers, coat and hat quickly. Pulling a knife from the side table drawer, she plunged it into Annabelle’s back, in the exact spot where she had been stabbed so many years ago. Matching scars. She twisted the blade. Annabelle’s breath wheezed out. Unlike Celeste, there would be no one in place to rescue the girl in time. She felt lighter.
So much lighter.
Vindicated.
Removing her necklace, she clasped it around Annabelle’s neck. The decades-old engagement ring and the gold engraved locket clanked against each other. There would be no doubt left in their minds when Gabriel and Monique—or Gavin and Monica, as they were called, were presented with them later.
As evidence in a murder.
His world has collapsed, he just hasn’t realized it yet. Just as he’d destroyed everything Celeste thought was true, she had taken from him all his truths: his marriage, his children, his identity. And it felt amazing.
Celeste left Annabelle Fortin on the floor of Jezebel’s room. Briskly walking down the hall, she yanked the fire alarm as she passed. She pushed through the double doors out into the chilled late summer air. It was six thirty p.m. He should be here already. Just as panic began to take root in her chest, a candy-apple-red Porsche pulled up to the curb. Her breath hitched as a grin spread across her face.
Her husband.
She’d missed him these last months. It was difficult being apart for so long. He was her rock. Her truth. Her everything. He smiled, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth as always. She smiled back. Leaning over as she’d approached, he’d pushed the car door open from the inside for her.
“
Fior
e mio,” he cooed, admiring her.
“I missed you,” she breathed. His lips found hers. Warmth flooded her. He is so incredibly handsome. So pure. His love, his commitment, saved her and now they were truly free.
“Sei pronta?”
Ready?
he asked. Celeste twined their fingers together and rested their connected hands on her thigh and sighed contentedly. It was over. Matteo put the car in drive and peeled out from the lot as people began to rush out the doors frantically. Her past floated away until it was just a memory of a nightmare from the night before, leaving a new life in its wake.
She is.
She is so ready.
Finally free from all the betrayal.
The End
Stay in touch so you don’t miss
Lying in Wait,
the prequel novella to
Jezebel—
it will have the missing years!
Before Jezebel, I’d never written in third person. The switch was hard for me until I got into a good pattern of writing. I’ll tell you a secret. I went and saw a woman who says she is a soul reader. In the course of our appointment, she told me I would write a book that took place in Paris. I had
no
books in the works that involved Paris at the time. She told me it would be about betrayal and that the first thing I would write would be the last scene. She said once I wrote that page—watch out world, the rest of the book would ‘download’ into my brain. I was in the thick of finishing up
Target 84
then and had three other ideas vying for attention once that was done. Here’s the thing—I finished
Target 84
and then wrote a scene that just ‘appeared’ in my head. It was the final scene of
Jezebel.
Well, it was Celeste’s final scene. Holy hell! She was right. From there, the book literally had its own shape and style and I was just along for the ride. I hope you enjoyed it. I hope you go back and kick yourself because ‘Oh! That clue
was
there!’
I have a thousand people I want to thank. Inevitably I will forget someone. Whoever you are: it’s not personal. There were oh-so-many people who helped this novel become what it is.
To start, my beta readers . . . without you all I’m not sure I would have finished this book. I kept hitting roadblocks or thinking it was crap and you all kept telling me to push on because it was good. Peggy a.k.a. Mom, Sherry, Reagan, Emma C., Emma A., Raquel, Jesey, Lisa, Trisha, L.A. and Kim and Ella and Sarah. Midian and Yaya and Marisa. I can NOT express enough how valuable your feedback was. Just know that it was. So valuable.
To the bloggers, your endless support of my books is astounding and appreciated and vital. Yes, vital! Without the help from so many of you no one would know who the heck I am. So thank you. Thank you for sharing, promoting, reading, reviewing and being true supporters. It’s incredible.
My family. There were lots of times I just zoned out and wrote. No one complained. No one interrupted. No one got pissy. In short-you were all amazing.
And to my readers. It is YOU who carry me along. YOU who motivate me to continue writing. My biggest thanks goes out to you, the reader, for taking a chance on this book. For allowing me to slip into your life and steal your time. It’s an honor. Thank you.
