TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) (5 page)

“Here, take my arm.”

I hold onto Ayden’s
right arm, leaning into him as I move gingerly towards the illuminated mirror
and my big reveal.

“What do you want to
do?” he asks, unsure of my intentions.

“I want to freshen up
and get dressed.” I straighten my back and try to balance myself unaided.

“Here, sit down. I’ll
get your clothes.”

He leaves me to sit
and catch my breath, but the pale and bruised woman I see reflected back at me
steals the breath from my lungs.

On returning he stops
dead. “Don’t worry about the bruises. They’ll heal quicker than you think.”

His words seem hollow
and lacking in compassion. “I know the bruises will heal, Ayden.” I look up at
him. “I’m more concerned about you …”

He tips his head to
the right. “Me? I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you? You seem a
little … distant; as if you’re scared to touch me.” I wait to be reassured.

“I’m sorry. Seeing
you like this … it’s ...” He looks about the room for an answer. “It’s
distressing. I’m afraid to touch you in case I hurt you. You’ve been through
such a lot and your body is still healing.”

“This is true,” I
answer almost as a reflex action but he doesn’t react. I can’t help but wrinkle
my nose. What’s happened to him? Where’s my playful Ayden? I need him to raise
my spirits before I fall backwards again into that dark abyss.

“Leave my clothes.
I’ll dress myself.” Feeling just the right amount of tenacity to stand, I reach
for my underwear.

“If you’re sure?”

“I am.”

He exits quietly,
leaving me to struggle with my clothing and face my hideous twin. I dress as
quickly as I can, running my fingers over fading bruises on my arms and my
face. I remove the padding from my stomach and I’m pleasantly surprised to see
a small discreet scar just below my belly button. It’s not as bad as I had
imagined, but it’s the invisible damage concealed in the cavity beneath it that
causes tears to prick my eyes.

I reposition the
padding and cover myself with a plain black dress; somewhat fitting under the
circumstances. I clip back my hair and splash my face with cold water in the
hope of encouraging cream coloured cheeks to blush. My tinted moisturiser helps
but does little to conceal the tinge of blue beneath my left eye.

Holding onto the
counter top, I trace the worry lines forming between my eyes and apply
lip-gloss to lips that are still a little swollen and, then it hits me … I
haven’t kissed Ayden for over four days. He’s not even made any attempt to hold
me. Has his concussion taken away his ability to feel anything for me?

I’ve heard of people
changing after accidents; not being themselves…

There’s a knock on
the door. “I’ll be right out.” I pull myself together and prepare to face the
music, terrified my own imaginings might actually be true.

I’m met with a warm
smile. “All set?” He pulls the wheelchair out for me to sit down. “Take a seat
while I pack your things.”

Obediently, I sit,
monitoring his movements as he hurriedly collects toiletries and bits of
clothing. As is my way, I am silent and pensive.

Lorna hands Ayden a
bag of tablets and creams for me; he places them on top of everything else and
zips up the leather case. We’re ready to leave.

Lorna bids me
farewell. “It’s been nice meeting you, Elizabeth. You’re well on the road to
recovery. Just make sure you don’t do too much too soon.”

“Thank you Lorna.” I
look up at Ayden. “Let’s go home.”

Lester is waiting
outside the main entrance. He quickly opens the door to the Rolls. I catch his
sympathetic smile and acknowledge it with a nod. After some careful
manoeuvring, I seat myself on the back seat and Ayden joins me. Instinctively I
reach for his hand and he takes hold of mine gently, offering reassurance but
nothing more.

“I’ve asked Bernie to
set up the bed in the guest bedroom for you until you feel a little stronger. I
don’t want to roll over in the night and hurt you.”

I knew that was
coming.

“That’s a good idea.
I’ll feel right at home there.”

Why make a fuss?

“It’s only temporary,
until …”

“… Until, we both
feel more like ourselves”.

“Exactly.”

I try to settle my
misgivings about his remoteness and attribute it to concussion and his need to
take care of me; depriving him of my affections in the process, it seems. But,
all I want to do is curl up in his arms, to feel the warmth of his body next to
mine; to have him whisper sweet nothings in my ear. To be healed by his love.

***

Detective Constable
Sheridan is struggling to carry a large box of items relating to the Richards
case. He moves towards a glass door with the initials CID – Criminal
Investigation Division - neatly engraved in a gold font, and pushes his weight
against it. Grateful to be relieved of his burden, he places it on a side desk
and begins to remove its contents. Once they are laid out, he finds the
appropriate form on his laptop and begins to list them in no particular order.
He reaches for his camera out of the drawer, clicking away until every single
item has been listed and accounted for; this includes a knife in a sealed
plastic bag and a hand-written note that he reads through then slides into a
plastic wallet, recognising its significance to the case.

He adds the case
reference number to the file and prints it out complete with the photos from
the attached SD card, including those taken at the scene and his seemingly
relevant array of items. All this will await the attention of a senior offer.
He was told to record, but can’t help reading through the report written up by
the officers on the scene.

It makes for a
gruesome read but he presses on, reading two witness accounts. One says how the
car spun out of control and the other makes reference to a passenger who seemed
to be leaning over to the driver, causing him to lose control of the car. Two
eyewitnesses have given an account of a four-wheel drive vehicle that appeared
to slow and then speed up, purposely charging into the sports car.

The fatal injuries
sustained by the passenger would support that, indicating the driver Mr. Ayden
Stone was merely a victim in this crazy woman’s suicidal scheme to kill them
both; but … what does he know?

With the job done, he
places the file on the in tray, turns off the light and leaves the premises,
thinking no more about it.

Ayden
places my case on the guest bed and I sit myself down beside it, kicking off my
shoes. “Thanks, I can take it from here.”

“Would you like me to
run you a bath?” he asks hesitantly, watching my face for signs of discomfort.

“Yes, that would be
nice.”

“I’ll organise
something to eat; a salad of some sort with a selection of cold meats. How does
that sound?”

“Delicious.” I smile
weakly at his attempt to move things along. Maybe this is how he deals with
such a traumatic series of incidents? Just to get on with things; act as if
nothing of any significance has happened?

But it has …

I stifle a whimper
with my right hand. He’s standing a foot away from me but there’s an ocean
between us. One of us has to reach out before we are swamped in sadness so deep
we may drown in it.

“Ayden, look at me.”
I rest my hands on my thighs and lift my head so our eyes are locked: misty
aquamarine and blue topaz bonded together. I see the tell-tale marks that bear
witness to our encounter with a madman, but those scars run deeper than the
bruises on his face.

“I understand why you
want to wrap me in cotton wool; to lock me away where you know I’ll be safe and
well looked after, but that’s not what I need.” I reach out my hand to him. “I
need you.”

He takes my hand and
edges closer. “I know.”

“I don’t think you
do. I think you’re grieving or you’re in shock or something, because you’re not
yourself, not with me.” I tighten my grip on his hand and tug at it to prompt a
response. “Talk to me. Tell me how you feel because I don’t think I can take
much more of your coldness.” I wipe away my tears with my free hand before they
dampen my cheeks.

He bows his head.
“I’m sorry. It’s a coping mechanism, I suppose …”

“But you don’t have
to cope alone. We’ve both been close to death and the dead, there’s no denying
that, but … by some miracle we’re alive. Fate has taken us by the hand, Ayden,
and led us to this point and …”

He lowers his head
and smiles ruefully. “Is that how you see it?”

I stand before him,
caressing his scarred cheekbone with my fingertips. “It is. I won’t cease to
exist if you say my name. The name you whisper when you’re teasing me; that
same name you call out when we make love. I need to hear my name leave your
lips, Ayden, if only to be reassured that you still love me; that you remember
me and what we had.”

“I want to remember,
but for that I need your permission.” He fixes me with a serious stare.

“Permission?”

“Yes.”

I flop down heavily
on the bed and fiddle with my wedding ring. “I don’t understand.”

“You will, in time …”

Our conversation is
ended abruptly by a knock on the bedroom door. “Excuse me, Mr. Stone, I have a
selection of your wife’s clothes from the master bedroom as you requested.”

He points Bernie in
the direction of the wardrobe. “Thank you. Please place them in there.”

Ending our
conversation he exits the room and I am left watching my clothes slot one piece
at a time into an empty wardrobe. Bernie closes the door and turns to face me,
trying unsuccessfully to conceal her surprise as my ghostly pallor. “Can I get
you anything, Mrs. Stone?”

I shake my head. “No
thank you Bernie, and please call me Beth.”

“Thank you. You can
reach me by pressing zero on the phone by the bed at any time. Please don’t
hesitate. I’ve prepared a selection of food for you in the fridge, so when
you’re ready …”

“That’s kind of you,
thank you.”

She turns and walks
quietly out. I lick at the gloss on my lips, feeling the plumpness of tender
flesh. As I breathe, the scar on my stomach stretches and contracts, leaving me
with a painless feeling of tightness. All in all I am visibly healing, but the
fact I may not be able to conceive is a crushing reminder of my brutal attack.
An unwelcome shiver of fear runs the length of my body; fear at what might have
happened and fear of what is to come.  I can’t begin to even contemplate living
my life like this; a married couple under one roof with nothing to connect them
other than a surname.

I pour some expensive
bubble bath into the bubbling water and watch it fill with scented froth. The
room folds in around me as the steam rises from the bubbles. When I turn to my
left I flinch slightly, seeing Ayden standing by the door, leaning on the
frame.

“You’ll feel much
better after a bath,” he states. “Let me help you.”

I don’t resist.

He begins by
unbuttoning my dress and folding it over my shoulders, around my elbows,
holding it while I step out of it. He falters.

“What’s the matter?”
I ask. “Can’t you bear to look my bruised body?”

He’s shaking his
head. “Of course no, it isn’t that.”

As I wait to be
rejected, I’m transfixed by his penetrating stare. His features appear to
soften; that faraway look in his eyes morphs into something else…

Sadness.

A single tears falls
from his right eye and trickles over the fine row of sutures before descending
onto his cheek. I stand on my toes and catch it with my lips when it reaches
his chin. As my tears fall, he does the same and kisses away my pain, until my
sobs become no more than a hard swallow.

“You’ve been very
brave but there is one more trial for you to face before you can be truly free
of all this. My only concern is that you’re in no shape mentally or physically
to process what I have to tell you.”

Feeling restored by
the closeness of his body I offer a reply, “There’s nothing I can’t handle if
we’re together, Ayden.” I take a step back. “Why do you mention a trial? You
mean for having killed my attacker?”

“No. That’s being
taken care of and you won’t be charged with anything. My legal team is handling
all that and there’s enough evidence against him to forgo any charges that may
be levelled at you.” He takes a deep breath. “No. This is more of a personal
sacrifice …”

“It is?”

He’s nodding. “Take
your bath, and once you’re refreshed and we’ve eaten, I’ll explain.”

We’re sitting across
from each other. The glass table is highly polished and the crystal wine
glasses reflect in it as I did not so long ago. Thankfully, there are no traces
of my fingerprints or smears left over from my naked body; everything is
pristine and untouched.

Between mouthfuls I
look up and he catches my eye but I refuse to respond to the midnight blue hues
of flickering light emanating from those bewitching orbs. I need to think
straight and I must not let myself become caught up in his silent seduction.

“You’ve found your
appetite,” he observes, watching the last morsel of carpaccio leave my plate.
“Are you feeling revived after your soak?”

Still unsettled by
the tone of his voice I nod slowly. Both timbre and phrasing are recognisable
as Ayden’s, but the playfulness I love so much is missing, and no amount of
wine will restore this man to his roguish self, tonight.

 “So, you mentioned a
trial.” I align my knife and fork neatly. “What am I to be put on trial for?”

He pushes back his
chair. “This isn’t the place to discuss that. Come and sit down.” He reaches
for our glasses of wine and moves gracefully in the direction of the sofa. Once
seated, he taps the cushion for me to join him.

I join him on the
sumptuous leather sofa and turn to face him. He looks calm and composed,
perfectly at home.

 “Do you recall your
first meeting with Alenka?”

Alenka!

I simply nod, still
hearing her name whirring in my ears several seconds after he has spoken.

“Something surprising
happened in the washroom, didn’t it? Something that has puzzled you since then.
What was it?”

The washroom?

“I don’t recall …”

He raises a
disbelieving brow. “Think carefully. It isn’t a trick question.”

I think back. ”There
was something.”

“Yes.”

“I was shocked to
find out that she knew me; who I was before, you know…?”

He nods. “Yes I know.
And how did you think she acquired that information?”

“From you, of
course.” I lower my shoulders. “Look, Ayden, why are you asking me this? What
has Alenka got to do with us?”

“Very little to do
with us, more to do with me, actually.”

What!

“Aren’t you forgetting
something?” I hold up the impressive band of platinum sitting next to my
engagement ring and flick it with my thumbnail. “We’re married, remember?”

“I haven’t
forgotten.”

“Well there’s a
surprise. Seems like you’ve forgotten everything else; like my name for
instance. Why can’t you bear to even utter it? Is it because it’s not Alenka?
Are you missing the fantasy fucking already? Is that it?”

He’s shaking his head
vigorously. “No! Absolutely not!”

“Then what?”

He leans into me and
faces me squarely, I notice how the scratches on his forehead have disappeared,
and the sutures on his cheekbone have melted into his skin like leftover ice
cream.

“Tell me, what do you
see?”

I can’t help but
reach out to touch his flawless skin, absent of bruises and swelling.

“I see a handsome man
who looks remarkably well, considering what he’s been through.”

I wait for a jovial
‘this is true’ but I’m left wanting.

“There’s a reason for
that and it’s not one you will be prepared for or want to hear, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have had you in my
sights for some time, most of your life in fact. Only now have I come face to
face with you, like this.” He glances down but, sensing I’m about to speak,
puts a broad finger against his lips. “Shhh …you must try to listen. Don’t
speak until I have said what I must. Please try Frances.”

Frances?

“I first met you when
your grandmother passed away. It was a warm summer’s evening and you were eight
years old. You were sobbing by her bedside and she spoke to you of fairies and
Neverland. Do you remember?”

Wide-eyed, I nod and
dissolve into the sofa.

“She was a very sweet
lady and her passing was filled with sorrow but you grew and your sorrow
eased.” He reaches for our glasses of wine; I take hold of mine and throw back
two large mouthfuls before handing him the glass.

“As I recall, your
mother’s passing was a tragic affair, and there was much sadness in your home,
but … she was suffering unnecessarily, and she welcomed me with open arms,
fearing only for your welfare.” He pauses for a moment but I am so mesmerized
by him that I cannot speak.

He inhales deeply.
“Your father left you with a grieving heart that simply would not mend.” He
searches for the right words …

“To die, to
sleep—

No more, and
by a sleep to say we end

The heartache
and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is
heir to—'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be
wished. To die, to sleep.

To sleep,
perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub,

For in that
sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have
shuffled off this mortal coil

Must give us
pause.”

He can’t be serious …

“
You’re
forcing me to relive some of the saddest moments of my life, quoting Hamlet’s
soliloquy and you expect me to be quiet. What’s going on Ayden? You review my
life as if it’s some kind of soap opera.”

He looks down
dejectedly. “If only it was that simple.”

“Simple! Let me
simplify it for you. The truth is I’ve had two stalkers; one’s dead and then
there’s
you
. Why now? After everything we’ve been through. Tell me … why
now?”

“You need to listen,
Frances. What I’m going to say will be hard to grasp, initially.” He takes my
right hand between his and rests it on the cushion between us. “Our fourth
meeting was by far the most traumatic for you. Taking the life of another human
being is never easy, even in self–defence.” He pats my hand softly. “Mr. Rizler
left without fanfare or a farewell. His dark and deadly soul left this earth in
a rush with no one to mourn his passing. But I suspect you knew that.”

With his free hand he
tips up my chin. “Listen closely with an open heart and mind. Our two destinies
have been interwoven for decades, and the window I’ve had into your world has
allowed me to see your vulnerability but, more importantly, the strength of
character you have to see this through.”

I’m bewildered. “To
see what through …”