Third to Die (5 page)

“People don’t need to know about your past,” Rhonda said softly. “That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it? That people will judge you?”

“Won’t they?” Back in Avalon everyone had judged Brandy. She couldn’t walk a block without hearing whispered negative comments carried back to her on the breeze. She tried to hold her head high, to rise above it but people looked at her as though she were an unwanted bug which they desperately wanted to destroy. Even after her name had been cleared following Brandon’s death, she couldn’t lose the harsh judgement of Avalon’s residents. Their cruel opinions seemed to have stuck to her, making them unchangeable and permanent.

“No!” Rhonda insisted. “You need to go out, do some shots, dance and forget all about your mystery man back home!”

“Mmm,” Brandy still wasn’t convinced.

“Because let’s face it, Brandy. He’s clearly forgotten about you.”

Rhonda’s observation was harsh but true and it was just what Brandy needed to hear.

“I’ll go.” She nodded assertively.

“Good girl!” Rhonda declared triumphantly. “See you at eight-thirty. Wear something inappropriate.”

Brandy ended the call and let the silence of her apartment settle over her. She knew that Rhonda was right, not just about the fact that she needed to get out but also about Aiden having forgotten about her. And sitting around on her own, night after night, wasn’t going to change anything. If he was going to call then he’d have called. Brandy stood up purposefully and marched in the direction of her bedroom to select an outfit to wear for the evening.

*

Aiden parked up outside the Copes and May offices and glanced inside. He could see Betty positioned neatly behind her desk, typing away with her glasses perched precariously on the end of her nose. He didn’t like what he was about to do.

“Ah, Mr. Connelly,” Betty greeted him brightly, removing her glasses as she looked up from her computer monitor so that they were hanging around her neck.

“How did everything go with Clyde White? I hope he didn’t give you too frosty a reception.”

“He was as expected,” Aiden raised his shoulders slightly. “I came away in one piece which was all I could have hoped for.”

“Oh, good.” Betty went to put her glasses back on when she realized that instead of continuing on to his own office, Aiden was hovering awkwardly by her desk.

“Coffee?” she asked him. “I’ll just finish this payment and then I’ll get right on it.”

“Actually, I need to talk to you.”

“Oh.” Betty turned and gave him her full attention, her eyes bright with interest.

“Can you come in my office?” Aiden suggested.

“Of course.” Betty immediately stood up and carefully straightened her skirt before following Aiden into his office.

“Take a seat.” Aiden gestured to Edmond’s chair. Tentatively, Betty lowered herself into it, clasping her hands neatly in her lap and leaning forward like a child awaiting sentencing from an angry teacher.

“I need to talk to you about Edmond,” Aiden sighed, leaning against his desk rather than sitting.

“Oh?”

“When I went to see Clyde White he told me that Edmond is more than a bit sick. That he’s actually terminally ill.”

“Oh my.” Betty’s left hand fluttered up to her chest as she took a sharp intake of breath.

“So following my appointment with Mr. White, I went to check in on Edmond. You know how he is; he kept us in the dark to prevent worrying us. But it’s cancer, Betty, and it’s bad.”

Betty wore a grave expression as she stared intently at the carpeted floor, one hand still resting upon her chest.

“I hate being the bearer of bad news but he wanted you to know. He expressly asked me to come and tell you.”

Betty began to shake her head woefully.

“No,” she uttered, her voice barely audible. “Not him too!”

Aiden went and knelt beside her, cupping her right hand in his own.

“He’s one of the good ones, Mr. Connelly,” Betty declared as she looked up to meet his gaze. Watery pools gathered beneath her eyes and began to slowly burst their banks and descend down the wrinkled crevasses in her cheeks.

“I know,” Aiden tightened his grip on her hand which was trembling with despair. “And please, call me Aiden.”

Betty’s entire body began to shudder as her tears intensified. Aiden sat and held her hand as she cried, knowing there was little else he could do to comfort her.

“I’m sorry,” Betty muttered as she tried to compose herself.

“Don’t be.”

“May I be excused?” Betty struggled to her feet and wiped some of the tears from her face.

“Of course,” Aiden immediately replied. “Take all the time you need, Betty. I know how much you care for Edmond.”

“Will he accept visitors?” she asked, her voice on the cusp of breaking.

“Yes,” Aiden nodded. “But perhaps wait until tomorrow. Edna mentioned that having visitors tires him.”

“Then may I take leave tomorrow to visit him?”

“Absolutely.”

Betty took slow, deep breaths as her sorrow subsided. Carefully she straightened both her hair and her outfit.

“He’s more than an employer to me,” she told Aiden with certainty. “He’s a friend.”

“I feel the same way.”

“That’s the magic of Avalon,” Betty added wistfully. “There are no strangers here, only family. It’s why people never leave.”

Aiden resisted pointing out that he was still very much a stranger in the eyes of the majority of Avalon’s residents.

He watched Betty leave, sharing her anguish. Edmond was indeed a good man and a good friend to them both. Alone in his office, Aiden began to contemplate his time spent in Avalon. Edmond had always been there to watch over him, to guide him. He was one of the few people in town who were proud of Aiden’s triumph with Brandy’s case. Everyone else felt like Aiden had betrayed the memory of Brandon White by exposing the truth, but Edmond could see past that and saw the tremendous victory that had occurred; that Aiden had saved the life of an innocent woman.

Thinking about Brandy made Aiden’s whole body tense with guilt. He should have called her. He knew that. He owed her an explanation, he owed her a goodbye. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket, leaned back in his chair and made the call he’d been dreading.

*

Brandy rarely drank. After she’d downed the third shot Rhonda had bought her, she began to feel like she was floating and that the whole world had tilted on its axis. Dreamily she manoeuvred herself on to the dance floor where the rest of the evening became a blur of neon lights and pounding melodies which encouraged her body to move at a frenzied pace.

Somehow Brandy made it back to her apartment. She didn’t remember Rhonda struggling to place her in a cab, or how the driver insisted that if she threw up he’d kick her out. She didn’t remember anything until she woke up face down on her bed, atop all of the covers and still wearing her outfit from the night before.

The sun burned brightly through her windows. Having been too drunk to close her curtains, it seared across the bed and caused Brandy to wince and move. As she rolled over she felt almost blinded by its brilliance.

“Owww,” she shielded her eyes and groggily sat up. The room spun slightly but then settled. Brandy raised a hand to her head which felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool balls as she slept.

“Owww,” she moaned again as she pushed herself off the bed and headed for her main living area where she poured herself a glass of water which she downed in one. Her throat felt brittle and dry, as if she had been eating sandpaper all evening.

The water helped the sensation, but only a little. Everything ached. Brandy already wanted to go back to bed and sleep away the discomfort. She was about to turn back around and return to her room when she noticed the display on her answering machine was flashing with the number one. Her heart froze in her chest and for a prolonged moment she stared at it in disbelief. Then she pressed play and stood and listened to her solitary message.

“Brandy, it’s me, Aiden. I know I should have called sooner but…I’m sorry. I can’t, I won’t be coming to Chicago. Things here in Avalon are…complicated. I’m sorry, Brandy. Truly I am. Please don’t hate me.”

Brandy played the message three more times. After the third round of apologies, she firmly pressed the delete button and retreated back to her bedroom, taking care to close her curtains and seal herself off from the world outside.

Chapter Three

An Old Friend

Isla Connelly made sure to flush the toilet twice before leaving the bathroom. She caught Aiden’s anxious gaze as she descended the staircase into the lounge.

“Is the sickness bad already?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Isla sighed, rolling her eyes slightly.

“I’m sorry, honey, I remember how much you suffered with Meegan.”

“Meegan!” Their little girl had been happily playing with her dolls but as soon as she heard her own name her little head popped up and her eyes sparkled excitedly.

“Yes, I said Meegan,” Aiden smiled fondly at her as she began toddling over to him. It took her a few attempts but she finally reached him and embraced his legs as he sat on the sofa.

“Meegan!” she cried her own name delightedly.

“That’s you,” Aiden reached down and helped her up onto his lap where she immediately settled herself with her head resting upon his chest. Contentedly she placed her thumb in her mouth.

“I wish she wouldn’t do that,” Isla noted as she sat down beside them. “If she keeps it up it will make her buck-toothed!”

“She’s too young for it to cause any damage.”

“Mmm,” Isla seemed unconvinced, frowning as her daughter continued to suckle on her own appendage.

“Did the doctor suggest anything to help with the sickness?”

“Oh, just the usual,” Isla replied flippantly. “Basically the same stuff I used before.”

“How have you found the doctor here? I’m surprised you haven’t been moaning about how he wants you to give birth in a barn or something!”

Isla laughed a little awkwardly at the joke.

“They’ve honestly been fine. More professional than I expected.”

“Well that’s good.”

“What’s good?” Meegan removed her thumb from her mouth to deliver the question. Aiden glanced at expectantly at his wife, who turned away from them yawning.

“Nothing, munchkin.” Aiden stood up, hoisting Meegan onto his shoulders. “But it’s getting late and time for bed!”

Normally Meegan would protest about it being bedtime, but the ride up the stairs on her daddy’s shoulders was more than enough to appease her. Isla watched them leave, with Aiden making choo-choo noises like he was a steam engine. She suddenly really did feel sick. Every night she was plagued by the same feeling of dread which coated her throat with a bitter aftertaste. She knew that eventually the charade she was living would end. That her lies would tumble down like a poorly built house of cards. Each time she saw Aiden with Meegan she died a little. The lie was supposed to bind them all together, to help them remain as a family but Isla feared that, ultimately, it would be what tore them apart.

“She went straight off to sleep!” Aiden stated quietly as he crept back down the stairs. “One thing I’m not looking forward to is the sleepless nights. I remember how brutal those were!”

“Yeah,” Isla nodded in agreement, “they were a real challenge. Especially when you had work the next day.”

“I was a proper zombie for a couple of weeks.” Aiden smiled at the memory. “Do you remember that time I filled my work flask with formula and was too tired to even notice until I got home and you asked me why we were so low on powder!”

“I remember.”

“Just think we get to go through all that again.” Aiden sat down on the sofa and wrapped his arm around Isla’s shoulders, drawing her into him.

“We need to think about when we are going to tell Meegan and how we’re going to do it.”

Isla tensed in his embrace. Telling a lie to Aiden was one thing; he’d understand and, God willing, even forgive her, but telling such a lie to a naive, innocent child was completely different.

“Its early days, we don’t need to tell Meegs yet.”

“She’s smarter than you think. I reckon she already suspects something is up.”

“You give her too much credit,” Isla could feel the steady rise and fall of Aiden’s chest as she leaned against him, accompanied by the gentle beating of his heart. Since she’d told him she was pregnant he’d been so attentive, so caring. They’d finally got back to the place they’d been before apathy entered their relationship. He’d even seemed to forgive her about telling Samuel Fern about his son’s paternity. Everything was perfect. Isla wished it could stay that way for ever, that nothing had to change.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” Isla asked. “It is Saturday night after all.”

“Sure,” Aiden stretched out and grabbed the television remote from its resting place on the arm of the sofa.

“What would you like to watch?”

“I don’t know,” Isla repositioned herself so that she could see the television more clearly.

“You pick something,” she urged her husband. “I’ll watch whatever you want.”

*

An hour into the historical melodrama which Aiden had selected, Isla noticed how his gaze had settled beyond the television. Rather than watching the movie, he was looking out the window at their darkened yard as though he could see something lurking within the shadows.

“Aid?” she whispered his name but he didn’t hear her.

“Aid!”

The second time, Isla’s voice was considerably louder and Aiden snapped back into the moment.

“What?” he looked at her expectantly, his eyes still glazed and slightly distant.

“You’re not watching the movie,” Isla stated as she wriggled on the sofa and sat upright. The air around her felt pleasantly cool.

“I am.”

“What’s happening then?” Isla pointed at the screen. One man had just shot another. Aiden squinted at the image and sighed. He had no idea who either man was.

“You’re right, I’m not watching.” He stood up, stretching his legs, and wandered towards the kitchen in need of a beer. The evening was blissfully cool thanks to a cloudy afternoon but he felt hot and sticky from having Isla resting upon him.