Chapter Twenty-Five

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Elder

 

 

IF SOMEONE HAD asked me what my ultimate dream was, I would’ve said a reunion.

A forgiveness.

A ceremony turning me from No One into someone again and being welcomed back into my family.

I knew that would never happen for me, but to be lucky enough to witness such a reunion and not have it be my own was bittersweet. But then again, it was somehow even better as it was for someone I loved more than myself.

It was someone who deserved it more than I did.

And someone I would stand beside for as long as she wanted me.

For the past twenty minutes, I’d remained steadfast by Pim, helping fill in the visitor forms, answering guards when she turned mute, and touching the small of her back as we were guided from entrance to belly of such a dismal place.

I’d meant what I said outside. I was eternally sorry that I’d gone behind her back and spoken to Sonja Blythe.

At the time, I thought I was doing something courageous and romantic. Tampering with her future, I set in motion a reunion I wanted more than anything but overstepped boundaries.

I hadn’t asked what Pim wanted...

I hadn’t thought to include her in my sweeping gesture of meddling in her relationships.

Perhaps too much water and time had passed under that bridge to rebuild it.

I hadn’t stopped to ask.

Just like I hadn’t stopped to think about her when I’d made other phones calls while at sea. In some way or another, each of my conversations would affect her—just in different ways.

The first had been to her mother.

The second was to Jethro Hawk—our host at tonight’s masquerade. It was a well-known fact he dealt in diamonds—exquisite gemstones that sometimes had a cheap buy price while others were so rare they were utterly priceless.

I wanted to give Pim something better than origami dollar animals. I wanted to show her the depth of my affection. I’d emailed Hawk the design I’d sketched and hoped to God he had time to create it.

The third was to my uncle Raymond. As usual, he filtered his phone calls through his answering machine, so I was forced to leave a terse message, warning him and my family that the security guards surrounding them were for their protection. That the cousins murdered by the Chinmoku last week were only the beginning and not to be stupid by listening to my mother’s hatred for me. He needed to stay alert even though I’d increased security. He had to guard the children even though I’d added around-the-clock care for the smaller members as they tottered off to school.

I did my best for everyone, and it still wasn’t enough.

Even now, as I sat beside Pim in a private room waiting for her mother, I wished I could’ve done more.

The exclusive use of this space had only been granted after hours of arguing on the phone with the warden and providing a hefty donation to the educational program to ensure Pim and her mother’s first encounter in years would be behind closed doors and not with bars barricading them or other inmates around to hear.

Once again, I rubbed my neck from the prickles of tension and awareness running over my flesh. I’d offered to stand outside. I’d wanted to give Pim privacy. But as we’d traipsed through the drab, depressing prison, cutting through locked gates and being buzzed into sections of the establishment by our escort, Pim had taken my hand even while standing rigid and regal.

She had her own power, yet she wasn’t too proud to borrow a piece of mine.

That made me tumble even harder. To know she had the strength to do this after so many terrible things had been done to her. My feelings toward her weren’t of obligation and a desire to protect her because I found her weak.

Shit, no.

My feelings were enamoured because she used her healing as a ladder.

One rung at a time.

Each one climbing higher and higher from her past and hardship, slowly growing bolder and more beautiful each height she scaled.

I knew without a shadow of fucking doubt she would’ve achieved this without me. She would’ve found a way to kill Alrik. She would’ve found a way to come home. And she would’ve found a way to continue living.

She wasn’t alive because of me.

I was living because of her.

If there was any debt where we were concerned, it was me to her. Not the other way around.

We’d sat at this table in deathly silence for five minutes before the door opened and in walked a stiff guard followed by an older, sadder, crueller version of Pimlico.

Pim froze.

My eyes narrowed, drinking in the mother of the woman I loved more than myself.

Sonja Blythe wasn’t like the photos I’d studied online. She no longer had access to makeup and hairdressers. She neither wore business suits nor had airs and graces. The almost snobbish look she’d perfected—the smugness of knowing what others were thinking and that no secret was safe around her—was buried beneath a harsh dare to provoke her.

I’d never admit it, but Pim looked a lot like her—not in appearances so much—but in the way they took on the world and won.

Even though Sonja Blythe no longer wore suits or makeup, I preferred this version—the skinnier, harder version—because it was honest. Her arms were ripped from whatever pastimes she kept herself busy with. Her body thin beneath grey overalls but not sickly.

If she picked a fight, I’d put my money on her to win.

Her hazel green eyes, so like the daughter I was in love with, locked onto me in recognition of our phone call then immediately discounted me for Pim.

Pim didn’t move an inch, her fingers turning white on the table.

The officer tapped his prisoner on the shoulder, breaking the connection for a second while he removed the handcuffs. When Sonja Blythe was untethered, he said, “Fifteen minutes. Everything you say and do will be recorded for future use.”

Part of the prison’s policy was an officer remained in the room for the safety of the visitor. After I’d lost my temper and pointed out the visitor would be the daughter the inmate killed for and paid an extra bonus to yet another in-house inmate program, I’d managed to secure utter privacy—minus the eavesdropping video and audio recorder.

The officer glanced at me then Pim and finally nodded reluctantly and stepped from the room. The clang of the closing door reverberated around us.

A few endless seconds ticked by as Sonja Blythe moved toward us and sat on the opposite side of the table.

There were no explosive hugs.

No watery tears.

Nothing to signal these two women had any foundation of physical affection.

The only sign of history was a gloss in Pim’s gaze and a tremble in her hands.

Sonja Blythe absentmindedly rubbed her wrists where the cuffs had been, never taking her eyes off her daughter.

Pim vibrated beside me, but it wasn’t from fear or sadness. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Rage perhaps? Forgiveness?

I had no idea what I was doing here or how to shatter the sudden unbearable tension in the room.

Her mother half-smiled as if—just like me—she didn’t know the correct etiquette on how to begin.

Finally, she whispered, “Tasmin, Min, Minnie Mouse.” Tears welled in her eyes only to retreat as she cleared her throat. “My how I’ve missed you.”

Pim’s breath hitched then she nodded frantically as if she lost control of her ability to respond in half-measures. She stopped herself just as quick, clearing her throat just like her mother. “I-I heard what you did.” Her voice was stilted and impersonal as if she struggled to return to an era of child after hating her mother for so long. “I owe you the greatest apology.”

Neither woman looked at me.

As it should be.

I was here for Pim, but in terms of input, I wanted to remain invisible.

Crossing my arms, I leaned back in the chair, further extracting myself from the conversation. I had no fucking clue how this would go. I would be there if Pim needed me but I wouldn’t dishonour her by stepping in before she asked.

“You owe me nothing.” Her mother curled her upper lip with disdain. “It was me. All me.”

Pim stiffened, toxic questions spilling from her lips. “You mean…you did have something to do with my abduction?”

Sonja Blythe’s eyes widened in horror. “No! What? No, not at all. I only meant I wasn’t a mother to you.” Her voice lowered. “Min, you have no idea how often I wish I could go back and do it all over again. Be a better mother. When I thought you were gone…well, I wanted to kill everyone I’d ever put before you. Every appointment I took when I should’ve taken you to school. Every session I booked when I should’ve taken you to dance practice.”

Her shoulders caved as her face turned haggard with confession. “I was a teacher, coach, and headmistress when I should’ve just been your mum. I dragged you out to functions and forced you to act as my eyes and ears and tell me what you saw. You didn’t want to be there—not for the long hours I commanded. I knew that. I knew keeping you out late ruined your concentration at school the next day. I knew teaching you how to see things people wanted to keep hidden would make you an outcast at school, yet I did it anyway.”

Pim’s posture softened a little, still unable to accept. “So you killed to make up for your mistakes? You did it to ease your conscience?”

Her mother’s eyes glassed again. “You know…I’ve asked myself that same question. I really studied myself. I searched and searched to see if I was as heartless as I felt. But I can safely say, on my life and yours, I killed because that bastard stole you. I killed because no one else had a right to you but me. I killed because you were all I had left of your father, and I screwed up. I killed because he hurt my baby almost as much as I’d hurt her and stolen any chance for me to make it right.”

Silence fell like rain, sizzling on the table-top while wounds were licked and truths were accepted.

“You didn’t screw up,” Pim finally muttered. “We were just different people.”

“Other daughters are different from their mothers, and they didn’t get sold or hurt.” Sonja swiped at her eyes, smearing tears over thin cheeks. “Other mothers are different, but at least they put their child’s well-being first.”

Pim smiled sadly. “You did, though. You never stopped hunting for me. You killed for me.”

“I would’ve burned the entire world to the ground for you.” She growled, sounding every bit a feral inmate.

I could understand why Pim struggled to see the caring parent in her mother. She spoke of avenging her daughter’s disappearance but with a righteousness born from an egotistical pompousness of getting her own back. She killed for her daughter—no denying that sacrifice—but she did it for her own satisfaction, too.

She did it to shout that no one could take what was hers and not suffer the consequences.

She was ruthless.

She was coldblooded as well as hot.

But there was also no denying she loved Pimlico with everything born of tragedy and regret, and now it shone brighter than the other parts of her.

She’d redeemed herself. And now it was up to Pim to recognise and judge if it was enough.

Pim leaned back a little, studying her mother. I had the strangest sensation that our thoughts were in sync—that she’d come to the same conclusion I had and mulled over such things.

Slowly, she leaned forward and placed her hands on the table, waiting for her mother to link fingers. The moment they touched, Pim spilled, “I’m going to tell you the truth because you deserve that. I’m going to be honest because that’s what you always demanded from me. And I’m going to be indifferent because that’s what you said a good psychologist must be to truly see the truth.”

My heart stopped beating, my eyes snapping onto her.

Was I prepared to be privy to this? What if Pim had forgotten that I might not be contributing but I still had ears—still heard things she might not want me to know?

But before I could stand and excuse myself, she sucked in a breath, looked at the ceiling for fortification, and visibly shuddered. When she spoke again, her voice was cool but passionate, lecturing but fragile. “He killed me only metres away from you, mother. He asked me to dance, and I went with him. Do you know why? Because you were the one to tell me not to judge others on appearances. That first impressions were often wrong and to grant him a piece of myself even though my instincts were screaming at me to run. He took me outside. He stole my Minnie Mouse watch. He wrapped his hands around my throat.”

My legs bunched with fury.

I wanted to fucking gut him.

Pim continued in her colourless narration. “I don’t know why he did what he did, and I won’t guess. Was it purely for money? Was it because of your need to crack open the minds of murderers and rapists? Was it because I liked to dawdle on the way to school and attracted the attention of someone I shouldn’t? We’ll never know, and no one is to blame.

“When he revived me—brought me back from the dead with his lips on mine and his rancid breath in my lungs and told me of my fate—I hated you. When he dangled Daddy’s watch and told me he’d keep it for safe keeping, I cursed you. When I was imprisoned in a hotel waiting to be sold, I screamed for you. And when I was auctioned off like a piece of meat and that bastard Alrik flew me to his home and stole my virginity, I cried for you. I cried for me. I cried for everything that’d been stolen because I knew no matter what happened from that point on, we could never be the same.”

Tears spilled down Pim’s face, but she didn’t cry. It was as if her soul purged everything in that moment but didn’t affect her outwardly. She was stronger than I’d ever seen and more broken than I could stand.

My heart thundered to see her torn between so many different things.

I wanted to slay every memory and erase every pain.

I struggled to stay in my chair and not scoop her into my arms and kiss her, make love to her, do whatever it took to take her thoughts somewhere else.

Anywhere but here.

This wasn’t what I had in mind when I arranged for her to see her mother.

I hadn’t meant her to slice deep and carve out the blackness still suffocating inside.

Fuck!

Pim bowed her head for a long moment, her breathing harsh and tortured; when she looked back to her mother, she whispered, “For two very long years, I will admit I cast a lot of my hurt and pain onto you. I wrote letters. So many letters. I purged my thoughts and fears—just like you taught me in one of our many lessons about being the master over our emotions. I made the choice that no matter how much he hurt me, I would never speak a word to him. I lived in silence, Mother. I endured every one of his beatings and rapes. I let him break me, brutalise me, all the while screaming at me to speak to him. And not once did I do what he asked.”

Her jaw clenched as her chin came up. “Do you know why?” She flicked a glance at me, flinching as if only now remembering I was here.

Her voice wavered a little, but she repeated her question to her mother. “Do you know why I stayed silent? Why I refused to give him my voice? Why I locked that part of myself away and preferred to die than speak to that fucking bastard?” She snarled the last words with more vehemence than I thought capable.

All this time, Pim came across as stoic, making me believe that with him being dead she’d found a degree of closure.

Yet with those two words, I knew how wrong I’d been. How much she still had to work through. How the stages of grief were tracking through her without my input. Anger was this stage. Despair, disbelief, denial.

What would be next, and how could I help her through it without her being in this much agony?

Her mother shook her head, her own tears spilling faster as her teeth lodged deep in her bottom lip. She barely managed to say, “Oh, Minnie Mouse…” She clutched Pim’s fingers, dragging her closer to kiss her knuckles, begging for forgiveness. “No wonder you hate me.”

I didn’t understand.

What did her mother understand that I didn’t?

What family connection just flew over my head?

She wasn’t just referring to Pim’s accusation of her upbringing. It was something worse than that.

Pim sighed heavily, squeezing her mother’s hands, relieved that she understood even if I didn’t. “I remained your daughter even though I cursed you. I chose death over speech because, thanks to you, I knew what he ultimately wanted from me.”

Sonja wailed. “I know. I know. I’m so, so sorry, Min. Please…I’m so sorry.”

“It wasn’t my body, my pain, my pleas he wanted…was it, Mum?” Pim choked, her own sadness switching to sobs.

The fact she’d flipped from mother to mum released the last of the barriers, and her mother collapsed over Pim’s hands, falling to the floor on her knees. Her chair toppled backward as Pim remained sitting like a queen with a tormented smile on her face.

She didn’t wait for her mother to answer her, delivering her question as vicious as a blade, stabbing me right through the heart. “It was my mind. He wanted my mind. He wanted to know how it felt to be raped by him. He wanted me to tell him how his fists bruised, how his chains bit, how every little thing he did changed me from my past to his future. He wanted to take my thoughts and hoard them, chipping them away, slowly stomping them to dust. He wanted to take my memories and taint them with his possession, so I had nothing left. He wanted every single scrap that made me mine and ruin me until I became nothing but his.

“And thanks to you, Mum, I understood that even when I didn’t. I stayed silent to spite him. I remained mute to protect the pieces of me I thought were long-lost dead and gone. But now I understand I was doing it for another reason. A reason that perhaps trumped all of that.” Her voice strangled, hanging itself from her lips. “I was still obeying you…even then.”

Her mother cried harder.

Another wracking sob clawed through Pim’s throat. “Are you proud of me? Did I do the right thing? If I was on your couch right now, would you wrinkle your nose like you did at the weaker or would you stare with pride at the stronger? Am I strong in your eyes? Did I do well? What, Mother? Tell me so I know if I’ve finally earned your admiration.”

My heart motherfucking broke.

That was what Pim carried?

That was what chewed her inside?

The need for her mother’s approval? A mother who had twisted her up long before she’d ever been stolen?

The fact she’d survived more abuse than anyone and instead of needing to be hospitalized for a broken mind sat there demanding parental admiration undid me.

Who the fuck cared if her mother approved?

I’d never been so goddamn proud. So humbled. So traumatized by another’s cravings.

Fuck me.

I couldn’t…I can’t…

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

My mind exploded with noise and shame and humiliation and utter self-disgust.

Her mother dropped her head in her hands and cried deep, ugly tears that dripped onto the floor.

My own eyes pricked to think how similar I must’ve seemed to Pim. How my commandments to know her mind must’ve petrified her. How my demands she speak and give me everything must’ve overridden so many terrible memories of Alrik demanding the same fucking thing.

I’d done exactly what that rapist had done.

I’d saved her and delivered her to yet another battle of wills.

I might not have physically hurt her, but I was just as bad.

Just as cruel.

Just as fucking evil.

Christ!

I wanted to punch something.

I wanted to throw my chair across the room and tear myself apart.

I wanted to get on my knees and put a gun to my head for ever thinking I had a right to Pim’s innermost thoughts.

Who the fuck was I to demand her secrets for safe passage on my yacht?

Who the fuck was I to expect her innermost thoughts in return for taking her from that disgusting white torture chamber?

I was nothing.

I was no one.

I’d already earned everything she’d kept from others by reading her letters like the thief I was.

Once a thief, always a thief.

And Pim had stolen my humanity.

I struggled to breathe, spiralling in on myself, drowning in regret as Pim’s mother said through her sobs, “I couldn’t be more proud of you, Tasmin. Never. Not a day went by that I didn’t beg for your forgiveness for how I treated you. Not an hour ticked past when I wished I could rewind and hug you instead of berate you. Kiss you instead of scold you. And show you just how much I cared.”

She scrambled on her knees to her daughter’s side, clutching Pim’s hands. “I loved you so much it scared me. Me—the woman who spent her entire career manipulating humans as if they were bugs under a microscope—was petrified of you. I thought love was weak. I believed if I let myself show how much you meant to me, I would be just like the people who came to me broken and begging for answers.” She shook her head, tangled hair flying. “I was wrong. And I found that out far too late.”

Her face turned black with memories. “I need you to know I hunted the same people I tried to help. I tortured people to find you, Minnie Mouse. I wanted so much to kill Kewet the moment I found him, but I held back just in case he knew more than what he said. I ransacked his apartment. I found the Disney watch Daddy gave you. I still have it—wishing I could give it back to you—even knowing how many times I badgered you to stop wearing such a juvenile thing. So many things I did, but when that killer tried to run, and I visualized you dead or worse, I snapped.”

Her tears slowly stopped as her breathing evened out. “I will never apologise for what I did to him. For taking his life. I’d do it all over again. I would do it for you. I don’t care if it means I’ll rot in here. I have no remorse. I feel no regret.” She squeezed Pim’s fingers. “I would kill an army if it meant you were never taken and never had to live the life you did.”

She brought Pim’s fingers to her mouth. “I’m so damn proud of you. So heartbroken that I made it harder on you. I hope one day you can forgive me. I hope one day your father can forgive me. If you never come visit me again, this is enough. I will happily serve my time knowing in some small way, I showed you how much I care. How deeply sorry I am. For everything.”

Pim sniffed, her own tears evaporating into salty tracks, leaving her skin white and limbs shaky. “I do forgive you, Mum.” Her voice was achingly soft. “But after everything…do you forgive me?”

Her mother sucked in a wet sob. “Oh, Min, do you even need to ask?”

Pim collapsed, bending in her chair to fall into her mother’s embrace. The two women clutched each other, and fuck, I couldn’t stay here anymore.

I shouldn’t have witnessed any of this.

I wasn’t worthy after everything I’d demanded of Pim.

I would never be worthy or have enough breath in my body to apologise for being the same as the monsters she’d endured.

Her mother should kill me too for how cruel I’d been. How callous and motherfucking selfish.

I wanted everything about her but not at the expense of her happiness.

Not anymore.

My eyes fell on Pim’s form still wrapped in her mother’s arms.

I can’t do this anymore.

My legs bunched, hurling me upright from my chair.

I had to run.

Before I exploded.

The ticking in my brain was obsessing.

I was regressing.

I would snap soon and take my misery out on the woman I loved.

My legs forgot how to work as I moved on painful instruction to run. As I stepped toward the two on the floor, my eyes locking on the door and escape, Pim’s fingers lashed around my wrist, injecting me with yet more self-loathing.

“Elder?” The way she looked up, glossy-eyed and trusting, hair spilling over her shoulders, and such fucking love glowing, I couldn’t do it.

My voice cracked as I jerked my arm away. “I’m so fucking sorry, Pimlico.”

Her mother jolted at the name. The name I knew I shouldn’t keep calling her. It was a name linked to slavery and pain, but to me, she wasn’t Tasmin.

She was Pim.

She was Mouse.

Once again, hindsight sucker-punched me in the chest.

No wonder she flinched whenever I called her Mouse. No wonder she grew pissy and pained when I demanded she tell me why that nickname affected her so much.

A watch.

A watch from her childhood stolen the night she was murdered.

Goddammit, I’d been such a heartless fool.

With a shaking hand, I bent and cupped her cheek. With tortured lips, I kissed her forehead wishing against hope she could feel my agony through my touch. That she could understand how I wished I could undo who I was, who I’d been to her, and every single way I’d treated her.

How I begged for self-discipline that I’d never touched her. How I wished I could undo the fact I’d manipulated her into talking to me and giving me things she’d wanted to keep private.

Her embrace by the submarine.

Her confession of liking clouds over stars and rain over sun.

How she hated toast—

They were things I hadn’t earned. Things I’d stolen.

I had to get out of there.

Immediately.

I never spoke in my mixed heritage. I chose English over Japanese as a way to honour my father rather than my mother. But in that moment, English seemed woefully unable to convey just how damn sorry I was.

It wasn’t enough.

The English language only had one way of apology.

Japanese had over twenty.

I’d use all of them if it meant the heaviness in my chest would ease.

I would murmur them forever if I could somehow find redemption.

But for now, all I could offer was one.

Kissing her again, I breathed into her hair, “Owabi shimasu.”

The translation: please accept this apology from the bottom of my heart.

“El…” Pim reached for my neck, but I swooped back, bowed low and sweeping to the woman I loved more than anything, then stalked from the room.

I didn’t look back.