Switched (21 page)

“Me, too. I was broken after I got jilted at the altar, but I feel now that I can get my life back again. Perhaps because I almost died. Nataniel tried to take my life, and Jackson did take my life for a little while. But nobody’s going to take my life again. I’m responsible for that. I’m responsible for living. And I’m ready to do that.”

It was a good speech. And I thought Doyle would come back, asking me to marry him or at least have his children or love him forever or allow him to love me forever or worship me from afar. But he didn’t come back with any of that. Instead, the police arrived, and Doyle left me to give them a report.

We stayed a long time after that. The police gave me a t-shirt and sweats to wear. They took Nataniel off to jail, and he never said another word. We never got to ask him why he had killed all those women, but I had an idea. First of all, he was crazy. Secondly, there was the whole wedding fiasco.

Ah, love. It makes everybody nutso.

Doyle showed the police where Felicity was, and Maisey told them about the dungeon. It didn’t take long before they were pulling bodies out of every nook and cranny of Nataniel’s beautifully decorated house.

It was now a house of horrors. The neighborhood of horrors. And pretty much the vacation horrors. Maria’s family showed up and wailed at the sight of her dead body. I wondered who would mourn over Felicity, but Doyle promised me she would find her way back to her family.

When it was finally time to go, Doyle put his arm around me and gave me a squeeze.

“I’m so glad you’re not dead,” he said.

“Ditto. Hey, Doyle, is it all right if we just leave my suitcases next door? I don’t think I want them anymore.”

“I thought you wanted to be you again.”

“I do. I just think I’m not the same me as I was before.”

“Is this a justification to go shopping?”

“Like I need a justification?”

Doyle stopped walking and turned me around to face him. He put his arms around my back and pulled me toward him until my body was up against his. He looked down, deep into my eyes and I knew that he was going to give me the kiss of my life. The kiss I had always dreamed of.

But once again I was wrong.

“Debra!” I heard my name being called, and I turned away from Doyle to see who it was. My eyes swam in their sockets, and my head spun around like The Exorcist. I clutched onto Doyle’s arm to stop myself from fainting dead away.

Running up the street toward me was a tall, handsome man. Blindingly handsome. Sexy. In fact, he hadn’t changed one bit since I last saw him.

“Jackson?”

He ran toward me with his arms outstretched, like the last scene in an old romance movie. He was smiling from ear to ear. Excited to see me.

I didn’t know how I felt about seeing him. Certainly I was stunned. There were a whole slew of people I would’ve been less stunned to see. Jay-Z: less stunned. Stalin: less stunned. Bride of Chucky: less stunned. You get the picture.

As he got closer, I pushed away from Doyle and took a few steps toward him. I didn’t exactly outstretch my arms, but I did a little shrug thing. It was enough for Jackson. He ran faster, and when he reached me he lifted me up into the air and twirled me around like an ice skater.

After two spins around, he put me down and without saying a word, kissed me hard on the lips. I was dizzy, but I didn’t know if that was because of the kiss or because he had spun me around. Besides, I hadn’t eaten for a while, and I had just escaped death by serial killer.

In any case, I felt his tongue against my lips, but I didn’t open my mouth. It was a dry, almost platonic kiss, but even a dry platonic kiss by Jackson was pretty hot.

Behind us, Doyle cleared his throat loudly. I was slightly disoriented. Jackson, Doyle. Doyle, Jackson. Suddenly, it was raining men. And I didn’t know if I was happy about it.

“What the—? How did—?” I couldn’t get words out. I didn’t know what questions to ask Jackson. I was simply stunned.

“I searched for you for two days on this island,” Jackson said. “I couldn’t stop until I found you and got you back.”

“Got me back for what?”

He held my head in his hands, tilting my face up to see him better. “To what? To love you for the rest of my days. To share my life with you, and everything that I am with you. Our love was meant to be, Debra. I was the dumbest man on the planet to leave you that day. It was the last time that I will ever leave you. You are mine, forever.”

He hugged me, squeezing tightly. I didn’t know what to say. I was sort of in a state of shock. It was a great speech. It all sounded fantastic. I wanted all of those things.

Didn’t I?

“I have the bridal suite for us at a resort in Palma,” he continued. “Let me pamper you. Let me treat you the way you should be treated.”

Again, it all sounded great. It was exactly what I had dreamed of. Wasn’t it?

Doyle cleared his throat again behind me. This time, I turned around. I raised an eyebrow in question, and Doyle shrugged in response. Nothing to offer. No demands. He was letting me go, just like that.

I should have been relieved, but I was surprised that my feelings were hurt.

“Will you say goodbye to everyone for me?” I asked Doyle. “I don’t want to leave just like that, but…”

“It’s okay. You don’t have any belongings at the café. It was probably meant to be this way.” His eyes shifted to Jackson and then back at me. “Are you sure…” he started, but Jackson interrupted.

“We should get going. I’ve got a taxi waiting.” He studied his watch, impatiently.

A policeman handed me my purse. There was no reason to stay. I was leaving my suitcases behind anyway. I had my passport. Jackson had money and credit cards.

“Well, thank you,” I said to Doyle.

“Thank
you
,” he said.

Jackson slipped his arm around my waist and walked me away, down the street. I turned around once and saw Doyle looking back at me. But he didn’t come after me. He didn’t tell me to stay. And that made me indescribably sad.

***

It wasn’t until we got to the luxury resort that I realized two things. First, Jackson never actually asked for forgiveness. He never made an apology. Second, he never asked me about the police and the ambulances at the scene of Nataniel’s horror house.

He never asked if I was well, and he didn’t give me a chance to tell him the story of how I had been almost raped and murdered, all within the past twenty-four hours. I had just survived against all odds and saved Maisey’s life, and there was no one to celebrate with. But also, there was no one to mourn with over the deaths of Felicity and Maria.

I was missing Maisey and Doyle and everyone back at the café, but I didn’t know if that was just trauma and fatigue talking.

At the resort, we were treated like royalty. I’d forgotten what it was like to be with Jackson, not to have any concerns over money and to be able to spend whatever I wanted and get whatever I wanted. It was much nicer than worrying about how I was going to pay for my next meal.

We were escorted up to Jackson’s suite on the top floor. “I’ll get you some new clothes while you get cleaned up,” he said and left.

I was happy for the moment alone. I stood at the window, taking in the breathtaking view. Finally, I had the view I had been promised all along. Pristine, turquoise water stretched as far as the eye could see. Boats sped across the water, making white ripples along the top. Beautiful.

My mind flashed back to the catastrophic trip on Bruno’s yacht. And then the time alone with Doyle in the water, as he swam me back to shore.

I turned away from the view and found the bathroom. The tub was as big as a small pool with Jacuzzi jets and stairs leading down into it. But I chose the shower instead, in order to wash away what I had been through.

I caught my reflection in the mirror. My neon red hair was still as bright as ever, and now it was matched by the gaudy makeup that Nataniel had chosen for me, made all the worse with tracks of goop all over my face, left from my tears, the dirt in the dungeon, and scuffling with a crazed killer.

I turned on the water and stepped into the shower. I let the hot water run over me for a long time. Then, I began to scrub.

***

“Shut up!”

“And then Nataniel save me from being raped.”

“Shut up!”

“But it turned out Nataniel was really a serial killer. He chained me up in a dungeon and was going to kill me like he had killed other girls on the island.”

“Shut up!”

“There’s more.”

“Shut up!”

“Stacy, Doyle kissed me. And he’s not a serial killer.”

“Now, you’re making things up,” she said.

“Shut up.”

“Well that works,” she said after a minute. “I mean, it’s a start to a good relationship, him not being a serial killer.”

Stacy and I talked on the phone for hours. We had a lot of catching up to do. But I waited until the end of our conversation to drop the big bombshell. “And Jackson showed up and took me away and brought me to a suite in a five-star resort, and that’s where I am now, wearing designer clothes, getting a mani-pedi, and talking to you on a gold courtesy phone.”

I let it out all quickly, like a boat motor, so she wouldn’t interrupt and tell me how stupid I was. But she didn’t tell me how stupid I was. She didn’t say anything. There was a long silence.

“Hello? Hello?” I said into the phone.

“What do you want me to say, here? What is the proper best friend response to this?”

“I don’t know. On one hand, I want you to be completely supportive and tell me this is fabulous.”

“I’m completely supportive. I think this is fabulous. I’m so happy for you,” she said, quickly.

“But on the other hand,” I started. “I want you to tell me to stay strong and not give in to Jackson just because I’m in love with him, he's sexy, rich, and he’s promised to take care of me for the rest of my life.”

“All of those things are good things. Who doesn’t want to be taken care of?”

“But…?”

“No buts. Remember? I’m the best friend. Best friends don’t say but.”

“Okay…” I dragged out.

“But Debra, if you want me to say “but,” tell me right now. Because I got a whole lot of buts swimming around in my brain, and they’re dying to come out. But I’m going to hold them back until you give me the say so.”

I didn’t give her the say so. I was too chicken. Jackson was being wonderful to me. Everything I wanted, he provided. He didn’t pressure me to make love since I wasn’t ready for that.

It was like he was making up for lost time. It was like he was trying to make amends, even if he didn’t say he was.

***

Jackson helped me out of the limousine. Our bags were whisked away inside the airport by resort staff. The airport in Mallorca looked a lot different in the light of day. Happy people arriving to and returning from their vacations hustled and bustled in and out of the airport. We were no different. Tanned, dressed in resort clothes, we walked hand-in-hand inside the terminal.

“And when we get back, we’ll have a small ceremony. Nothing like what we had planned before. Of course, we’ll have to have a big party at some future date. I let my mother know to start planning that,” Jackson said.

We got our boarding passes and walked to the gate. We got priority boarding, since we were sitting in first class.

“I’m so glad I got you back,” Jackson said patting my hand, as we waited for the plane to take off. “I can see that I came none too soon. You sort of had some kind a nervous breakdown, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

“Well, nervous breakdown might be a little harsh.”

He patted my hand, again. “The clothes, the hair. All a bit crazy, don’t you think? I mean, look at your hair, Debra. What were you thinking?”

Our plane moved away from the terminal, and we made our way down the runway. The plane roared to life as it increased speed. My body slammed back against the seat as we took off.

“What’s wrong with my hair?” I asked Jackson, maybe a little too loudly.

Sure, I knew what was wrong with my hair. I was the first one to say my hair looked like somebody set my head on fire. I looked like Bozo the clown. I looked like I went to the drugstore for hair dye while I was having a bad acid trip.

But how dare Jackson comment about my hair? He was supposed to take care of me, now. He was supposed to be filled with renewed love for me. He was going to be there for me always. Shouldn’t “being there” start with not ragging on my hair?

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” I demanded. “Why did you say marrying me was a mistake? Why didn’t you ask how I was when you found me on the island? Did you know that I just fended off a serial killer and a rapist? Did you know that my life was on the line? Did you know that I went bankrupt paying for your mother’s idea of a wedding? And more than that, Jackson, why haven’t you apologized? You think that I had a nervous breakdown? Just get ready for what can happen if you don’t say you’re sorry right this second.”

Jackson’s jaw dropped. “I think you’re a little overwrought, Debra. You’re asking me inappropriate questions.”

“Inappropriate? You know what’s inappropriate, Jackson? I’ll tell you what. Inappropriate is a man who forces his fiancée, who makes one quarter of what he makes a year, to pay for an over-the-top, over-expensive, ridiculous wedding. That’s inappropriate.

“And you know what else is inappropriate, Jackson? Jilting your bride three hours before the ceremony, by giving a note to a waiter. A waiter! That’s inappropriate.”

I was on a roll. I was Lincoln at Gettysburg. Jesus on the Mount. “You know what else is inappropriate, Jackson? Flying to an island to the woman who you jilted and dragging her home without even giving a shit that she was almost murdered. That’s inappropriate, Jackson. And one more thing, Jackson: I don’t need you to take care of me. That’s a fate worse than death. Besides, I don’t even think I like flying first class.”

I stood up and marched to the front of the plane. I demanded that the flight attendant move me to economy. She was slightly flummoxed by the request. I was probably the only passenger in the history of aviation to request to be transferred from first class to economy during a transatlantic flight. But there was no way I was going to sit next to Jackson.