Westchester, New York
Jonas Rutland didn’t wait to be invited into his father’s study. He opened the door in time to see his father screwing the new housekeeper and rolled his eyes.
“Gee, Dad, all class as always.”
The housekeeper, whose name Jonas hadn’t bothered to learn, jumped up and rushed past him, her face red. Fergus tidied himself up, shooting his son an annoyed glare. “How about knocking next time?”
“How about not being an asshole, next time?”
So far, the conversation had been nothing different than for the last six months. Since Sofia had been thrown out, Jonas had barely talked to his father – hadn’t talked at all to his sister who he knew had orchestrated the whole fiasco. At the start, Jonas, heartbroken and confused, had begged his father to tell him why he had done such a horrendous thing, but Fergus remained tight-lipped. Jonas had raged at him.
“You put my sister out on the streets for nothing!”
“She isn’t your sister, Jonas.”
“Sofia is my sister! More than that viper you call a daughter. Tamara is evil, Dad, twisted. She always has been but you, god, you always turned a blind eye. Mom saw it, Devika saw it, Sofia saw it. Tamara is a fucking little jealous bitch whose only goal is to screw her darling Daddy and take his money. Literally screw, probably.”
His father’s eyes had lit up with rage then and he punched his son across the room. Jonas had gotten straight up, his own anger a seething, violent thing. “You disgust me in every way.”
He turned to leave. “Get back here, boy. Don’t think I won’t cut you off the same way I did Sofia.”
Jonas gave a mirthless smirk. “Cut me off from what? Haven’t you got it yet? I don’t want your money. I’ve always made my own way ever since I left college. Screw your damn money. Some things are more important.”
“Don’t be naïve, boy.” Fergus was dismissive. “Your love for Sofia was nothing more than a schoolboy crush. She was never your sister.”
Jonas had heard enough. “Only you would twist it to make it seem like that. Sofia was my family. Dad, I’m going to find her and make sure she’s okay. And then when I do, I’m going to tell the world what a shitty father you are.”
He left the house, knowing he would never go back there. He drove home to his tiny apartment in New York City. His girlfriend, Megan, a nurse at the local hospital, was working nights and so Jonas did what he always did when Megan wasn’t there to distract him: he brooded. He got out the only photo he had of him and Sofia together – taken on her graduation day. It was the last time they had all looked happy together. “Where are you?” He said to the photograph of her step-sister, but of course, no-one answered.
Sofia knew something was wrong when she woke under Stefan’s fruit stall. Her neck was stiff, enough that it was agony when she moved it, and her head screeched in pain. She stuck her hand on her forehead. Fuck. She was burning up. She gave a groan as she opened her eyes, and the bright light seared her retinas. Jesus. She’d never known pain like it. She checked the coast was clear and crawled out from underneath the stall.
“You look like hell, girl,” Stefan said, and he too stuck his hand on her forehead, wincing “Oh dear god. Hey, Philippe, would you watch my stall for ten minutes? I need to go get Sofia some pain relief.”
“Sure thing.”
Stefan supported her as they walked to the nearest pharmacy, Sofia still clutching her backpack. Stefan lowered her into a chair of a café across the street and ordered her some hot tea. “Is she okay?” The waitress looked alarmed.
“Migraine,” Sofia managed, thanking the gods that her clothes were somewhat clean and tidy. They’d never let her stay there if they knew she was homeless. Stefan slipped the girl some Euros. “Just watch her for a moment until I get some paracetamol, would you?”
The waitress nodded and sat down next to Sofia. “You really don’t look well. Let me get you some food, my treat. It’ll help the headache.”
Stefan was soon back and Sofia popped three tablets gratefully, rolling her neck, trying to ease the stiffness. The waitress brought them both some pastries and bread rolls, waving away Stefan’s offer to pay.
Sofia thanked them both, grateful for their kindness. The headache pounded away at her temples, and she felt sick, but the hot tea and food did make her feel a little better. Stefan looked at her with concerned eyes. “I really think we should get you to a doctor.”
She shook her head. “It’s just a bad headache, Stefan, really. These will help.” She held up the packets of tablets and smiled at him. “I don’t know why you do it but your kindness means everything to me. You are a true friend.”
He didn’t smile. “You’re slurring. Look,” he dug around in his pockets, “take this.” He handed her a key. “This is the key to my place. Go there, rest for a few hours. Elizabeth won’t be home until five so she need never know.”
Sofia shook her head. “I can’t, Stefan, you’ve done so much for me already. I’m not going to risk upsetting your wife. What if the neighbors saw me go in and out?”
Stefan hesitated, but he knew he was beaten. His wife was a formidable woman, whom Stefan was terrified of. Sofia thanked him again and persuaded him to go back to work. “I’ll just stay here until my head eases off.”
She waited until he had gone, then thanked her waitress and took off, stumbling down the street. She decided to go to Montmartre, hang out with the artists there. Maybe the bustle of tourists would distract her from the pain, and maybe she could sell some work, afford a cheap motel room for one night.
As she walked, she could feel her body start to reject the food she had eaten, the pain increasing, her neck and shoulders tightening until she had to rush to the side of the road and throw up. She heard the disgusted snorts of passers-by – no-one stopped to help her.
As she stood, wiping her mouth with a napkin she had taken from the café, she felt someone brush past her, and suddenly her back felt very light. “Hey!”
The thief who had taken her backpack ran and Sofia, her whole body screaming with pain, panic rising in her throat, took off after him. They ducked and weaved along the sidewalks and across roads and just as she was beginning to lose hope, the thief tripped and she caught up with him.
They had a tug-of-war between them, the backpack’s sturdy canvas holding up to the fight. “Let go, motherfucker!” Sofia screamed, tears of anger pain and panic streaming down her face. She kicked him in the balls, hard, and cursing loudly, he let go unexpectedly.
Sofia felt herself falling backwards, through space, as if in slow motion. Her head ricochet off something metallic, and she heard screams ring out, as she bounced off the hood of the car.
Overwhelming pain then, and she could smell blood. She came to rest on the cold, damp asphalt. Consciousness ebbed and flowed and then there were people crowding around. All Sofia could think of was she had to hold onto her bag. Her life was in that bag.
And the she saw him. The merman…no, that wasn’t right…where had she seen this angel-faced man, with the most beautiful green eyes? He was bending over her, telling her was sorry over and over again. Other people were talking now, talking about calling ambulances and soon it seemed she was being loaded into one. Angel-face was with her and she clutched his hand. “My bag, please, don’t let them take my bag.”
He squeezed her hand back. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m here, I’ve got it. I won’t leave you or it. Just let them take care of you…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Sofia felt some kind of relief as she let herself sink into the darkness and it was only as she passed the point of no return that she remembered where she had seen him.
The swimming pool. He was her merman.