Dark Layers Volume 2: Dark Layers (10 page)

"Okay Daddy - jeez." I mutter, rolling my eyes at him down the phone.

"Do not take that tone with me young lady. I have been exposed to embarrassment regarding your recent hobbies and I will not suffer further because of you!"

Your card has been officially marked Gooden!
You can say that again!

"Daddy I'm sorry." I implore. He sounds angry, so damn angry and I know I will be on the receiving end of his nasty words.

"I will expect a visit from you at some point this week Anile."

"Very well Daddy."

"Goodbye Anile." He finishes and hangs up.

Being scolded by my father has practically left me with a red behind - well that would have been less painful!

I try to take my mind off of my nasty father - his mental games hurt me emotionally. The rest of the day goes by quickly while I work on the Timothy Allen case. Elijah has left notes with Hester - giving me access to private detectives - so all I have to do is relentlessly search through every document they give me and get prepared for the court hearing. I need to finish up and gather as much information as I possibly can so I can start booking the court dates.

After hours of phone calls, cross examination of statements, pinning notes on my schedule, and my over active mind, I finally stop to take a break for the first time today. It's five thirty. I should be heading home but I cannot shake this worrying feeling. There has still been no sign of Elijah and my gut is telling me that something is wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.

FRIDAY UNEXPECTEDLY CREEPS
up on me. The week has passed me by in a blur of annoyance and worry. Elijah is still nowhere to be seen and the media have picked up on this. Every bloody day they have ran stories on us both - but now they are separating us in their stories. I am publically known as the shrewd virgin who defends suspected rapists, and Elijah is the invisible man who prays on the innocent - I'm sure they are referring to me being the innocent. I think the media are also trying to dig up personal information on us both, especially how they keep leaving an anonymous tip number at the bottom of our page spreads for people to contact them with any information.

I have called Elijah several times, texted him, begging him to sort this media problem, but still nothing. I'm gradually giving up on the fact that we were getting somewhere.

I have taken a half day at work today. I left London at noon. I need to get my Invasion of Privacy documents signed to stop the media crucifying me and to prevent them from finding out about my mother. I'm anxiously standing outside of my Father's house with sweaty palms. I'm mentally going over the past week to try and prolong the inevitable - but the visit is inevitable.

Seeing my father is something that is not to be taken lightly. I was indecisive on whether to get a taxi or get the train - I opted for the train, it normally takes longer, but, with my luck, the train journey did not last as long as I had hoped, and hailing down a taxi also; I'm sure a higher power is trying to punish me for some unknown sin!

I stare impassively at my childhood home while I stand on the grey stoned driveway. It's positioned naturally out the back of Maidstone, in Kent - The Garden of England - and it's a work of art. The house is made from rustic old grey bricks, a thatched roof and tons of pure green land. He doesn't favour flowers - the front garden is just flat green grass - the only plants he has are apple trees, three of them out in the back garden. They bloom beautifully in the spring and smell awful in the autumn. My father has a full size outdoor swimming pool in the back garden also - I could do with a relaxing dip to refresh my soul but I'm not sticking around here for long - it reminds me to much of my mother's sadness. The garage is grand and new, not matching the old cottage. It's made from oiled black beams and white render - it's a double garage with no door situated to the left of the house.

Knowing I cannot put this off any longer, I casually knock at the small brown door. To my horror, my father’s wife number three, 'Scarlet', answers - a statuesque blonde with fake tits. She has no other qualities and you cannot even really see her eye colour - she has them stoned eyes that are too small for her head. What she sees in my father - apart from pound signs - is beyond me. She can definitely do better. The only way to describe my father’s appearance is referring to him as Hitter’s doppelganger!

"Anile Darling; what a pleasant surprise." She greets me with two pecks on my cheeks and gestures for me to enter the house.

"Hello Scarlet. Is my father around?"

"He is in his office and I would recommend getting your privacy papers signed very quickly. You have made a very unattractive appearance in the media, Anile."

Bitch!
"Of course, I will deal with it now." I smile gracefully at her but really I'd love to knock her block off!

The small hallway is lovely; light parquet wooden flooring; small brass wall lights all the way through the hall; family portraits of Scarlet, my father and I - none of the photos have my mother present.

Walking through the small dark hallway reminds me of playing here when I was a child - there are so many hiding places in this old house; I used to enjoy playing Hide and Seek with my mother. Some happy memories - but mostly sad. It has been years since I have set foot in this house. Running away from my problems always seemed like the ultimate solution for me, and it worked - until now.

I enter my father's office. The doors are so small, even I have to duck. It smells exactly the same as it did ten years ago - cigars and old musky cologne. His office is old and worn. It's a cottage. Uneven cream walls; terracotta tiled floors, and an old working fireplace that he never lights. More dark childhood memories hit me like a ton of bricks – ones that I thought I had forgotten. My mother and I used to joke that my father was Thanatos, that his touch made us feel dead. We would always prefer his evil words to his physical contact.

"Anile, the prodigal daughter returns." He huffs, seated in his Chesterfield seat like the King of England himself. His words wound me; does he really think I do not live up to his expectations?

"Hello Daddy." I say sweetly.

He doesn't acknowledge my sad expression, he gets to the point.

"Here are the papers, sign here." He jots his pen in place of the signature line.

"Should I read this first Daddy?"

"I have taken care of the fine details Anile. We cannot stop them running everyday stories on you but we can stop information regarding your mother being leaked into the media and being published." He informs me as he rises to his feet. "Sit down." He motions my position with a firm hand. "Elijah has called today."

Elijah? How formal. I feel nervous - I know how this is going to go and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

"Really, what did he say?" I ask a little too quickly while signing on the dotted line. I'm curious about the regular contact between my father and Elijah, and also because he has not answered any of my calls.

My father looks annoyed, really, really annoyed which rings my alarm bells.

"Well, he was asking after your mother; wanting to know where she is and he asked me in an extremely clipped manner, 'what happened to her.' he said. Would you happen to know why?"

My heart drops through the earth as sick memories torture my mind – memories that I have tried so hard to forget, memories of Jack De Sniper. He was a debauchee fucked-up man who took everything he possibly could from my mother, and he eventually drove her mentally insane. He used to do things to my mother, sick disgusting things, and he would make me watch. I was so young that my mother thought she could protect me by telling me what I saw never truly happened. She would say I just dreamed it. To this day, I appreciate her trying to save me mentally - but I was no idiot. My father never believed what was happening to her. He accused her of being unfaithful - a whore - and he locked her up no problem.

I swallow my nerves, knowing exactly where this is going, "no Daddy. I swear. I have never spoke of mother, or what happened." I implore trying to defend myself.

While I'm seated in my father's guest chair, he rises to his feet. He circles me twice, tapping his chin in a questionable state. He eventually stands behind me with one hand resting on my shoulder. I swallow hard, trying desperately to remove the lump that has grown in my throat. I'm scared, I know my father is on the verge of losing it - I can sense his tension.

"Anile, he knows something; I can tell by how intrigued he was. The only way he could have found out any information is by you - so, I reiterate, what have you told him?"

"Daddy I swear I have not said anything, I promise." I try to get to my feet but he forces me back down, firmly pushing my shoulder. Tears lightly glaze my eyes. I feel intimidated by him.

"Stand up Anile." He orders.

I submit myself. I get to my feet and try to stand on shaky legs. My father eyes me. He grabs my left arm and holds me tight - I feel terror rush through me as an unexpected force hits me.

wh-tch!

"Daddy please!" I beg, holding my face. The force of his strong hand hitting me has left the most pounding stinging sensation on my cheek. He has made my eye throb also - it pounds in rhythm with my heart rate.

"Get out of my house and do not come back! If you think I will accept you ruining me by your disgusting mouth - telling everyone that your mother was a whore - then I want nothing to do with you!"

"Father I haven't said anything! Why won't you believe me?" I almost scream.

He raises his hand to me again and I fall back into the chair scared. I don't even acknowledge the sheer force of my back hitting the chairs arm, but I know I will feel the pain later.

He smiles triumphant -
evil bastard!

"Maybe a few more of them will keep your mouth shut, girl!"

I do not answer him, I know better. I try to steady my breathing and my throbbing face.

He solemnly walks over to his office door. He picks up a black rucksack then throws it at me. The heaviness of the bag smashes against my legs. I just sit still, shaking like a leaf. I know he has thrown it at me for me to take it, but I'm too scared to pick it up.

"Give that back to your political Bastard boyfriend and make sure he takes it! Insulting me like that; as if I cannot pay for my own daughter! Does he not know how much money I have?"

"Daddy, that was a misunderstanding - I swear!" I beg.

"Your apartment, your money and your student loans are now your problem. Until you can see reason and stay quiet about our history, I suggest you learn to stand on your own two feet!"

I shakily get up and stand as strong as I possibly can, fighting the tears that threaten my soul. I take the bag. I throw it over my shoulder and walk sombrely past my father, desperate to get the hell out of here. He does not look at me again, not once. He passes me and sinks back into his chair.

Once I close the office door, Scarlet is offering me sympathy.

"Are you okay?" She asks frowning.

"Sorry to seem rude but I really just want to leave Scarlet."

I almost burst into tears at her pity, but I thankfully manage to subside them. The rucksack falls down my arm, it's so heavy. I throw it back over my shoulder once more, take a huge breath, and walk out of the door, never looking back.

I start to call a taxi but an old friend pulls up.

"Anile, when did you arrive back in town." Sophie asks as she rolls down the window to her sporty red BMW.

I'm so thankful it's Sophie - tears glaze my eyes once more. She's my oldest friend who my father banned me from being around because she really was a bad influence on me - I still loved her nonetheless. She's not cover girl material - she's different - a daring red head. She has a fiery personality to match her fiery red hair. She has freckles and dark green eyes - her eyes are immediately prepossessing.  Her skin is porcelain white and wrinkle free. Men fall at her feet.

"What's wrong Anile?" She says with a frown.

She must notice my sadness. I shrug my shoulders, words fail me.

"Please do not tell me it is your arrogant father?"

I burst into tears at the simple mention of my father and she is out of the car and hugging me before I know it.

"It is your father, isn't it?" She whispers.

I nod my head while its cupped between her shoulder and her soft cheek.

"Get in the car, I'll take you wherever you are going."

"I have to go back to London." I sob.

"Do you have your own place or are you in a Hotel?"

"Yes, I have my own place." I sniffle.

She sighs long and hard, "how about a girly catch up weekend? I am not busy and you look like you need it Honey."

I smile happily. My eyes are red and rimy but my smile tells a story of its own - I love this girl.

"Really? That sounds amazing. It has been so long hasn't it?" I say.

"It has. Stop crying Anile. Do not give your father the satisfaction."

"You are right, he's such a Wanker!" I try to gather myself as worry rushes through me. "He has cut me off financially."