CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Zoe
Hours later, I was still frozen, even while standing under the warm L.A. sun.
After stopping at my little cabin to collect a single bag of my things, I’d been taken to the police station where I’d answered a hundred new questions.
No… Gray hadn’t hurt me.
No… He hadn’t forced me to stay.
Over and over again, I answered the same questions asked in different ways, explaining how he’d saved me, took care of me, tended my wounds.
Made me laugh.
Brought me back to life.
Healed me in so many ways.
Accepted me for who I was.
Taught me to love.
Unleashed the goddess inside me. The part of me I thought would never see the light of day.
I left out all those personal parts, but from the glances everyone threw to each other around me, they already assumed that I’d slept with him. And I didn’t care. But when I heard terms like Stockholm Syndrome tossed around, it pissed me off and I’d quickly disabused them of that notion.
“Gray Maddox is a good man,” I insisted.
Even though he’d been silently watching me for weeks — I left that part out too. I shivered. I still didn’t know how I felt about that, and with the suddenness of all that had happened, I hadn’t had time to process it all.
On the plane ride home, I’d told Leslie every single detail about my time with Gray, leaving out the rape. That story would have to come later. She’d held my hand as I cried. But the minute I was in California, it had been crazy, and I’d pushed my heartbreak to the back so I could deal with one thing at a time.
The media had latched onto the story and hounded my every move. A porn queen dying of an overdose in response to the grief of her missing daughter was apparently big news. I still wasn’t certain if the tabloids were happy or sad I’d been found. I got the feeling they’d been planning a “double funeral” spread. A small part of me wished I hadn’t disappointed them.
“Are you ready?”
I squeezed Leslie’s hand and stepped out of the car, pulling my bag higher on my shoulder. The immediate rush of reporters turned my stomach.
“Is your mother still alive?”
“Where have you been?”
“Were you kidnapped?”
“Talk to us, Zoe. The people want to know.”
I ignored them all, walking up the hospital’s concrete sidewalk with as much grace and dignity as I was capable of.
“Did Gray Maddox hurt you?”
That was it.
I whirled on the reporter who had tossed that one out. It was a balding older man with dollar signs in his eyes. “Gray Maddox saved me.” In every way a person could be saved. “If it wasn’t for him, I’d be dead right now, and I’m forever grateful for his kindness.”
The man’s eyes narrowed as he latched onto the story. “Did he take advantage of you?”
Leslie pulled on my arm. “Ignore him,” she hissed. “You’ve said enough. You don’t owe them anything.”
She was right, but I couldn’t let it go. “He was kind to me.”
The man smirked, like he was imagining what “kind” meant. “Were you afraid being alone so many days with a killer?”
I gasped, and Leslie tugged at me again, yanking harder this time. I turned away from the cameras, the terrible reporters, and rushed to the hospital entrance.
“Did you know Gray Maddox was a killer?”
“Zoe, are you going to follow in your mother’s footsteps?”
The hospital door closed behind me, cutting off the additional questions. Leslie squeezed my arm tighter. “I’m sorry, Zoe.”
I leaned into her comfort. “Me too. I shouldn’t have stopped. Shouldn’t have said anything.”
“It’s almost impossible not to,” she assured me. “They goad until nearly everyone snaps.”
I turned to face her fully. “He’s not a killer.”
Sympathy oozed from her expression. “Yes, he is, Zoe. But not all killing is wrong. He stands in the gray area of it. Just because he wasn’t guilty doesn’t make him innocent.”
Gray.
My heart squeezed at the word.
“That is how the media will see it,” she went on, in full public relations mode now, “and if you attempt to fight it, they will fight back, then their claims of Stockholm Syndrome and all that shit will seem more plausible.”
Yes. She was right. I nodded. “I just won’t speak to them again.”
Leslie gave me a tight smile. “Good. In a day or so, something else will happen, and they’ll turn their noses in that direction.”
“And in the meantime, I’m giving those assholes my attention instead of being with Mom.”
Leslie hooked her arm through mine and began dragging me down the hall. “Yes. Your mom. Are you ready?”
I snorted, but the sound was clogged with emotion. “Ready or not, right? I just wished I felt… different.”
Leslie and I also talked about this on the plane. My ambivalence. The contradictions between all the emotions I was feeling about my mother.
I wanted to focus on the love, because I knew there was still love in my heart for her somewhere. It was buried beneath the guilt. The hate. The embarrassment. The responsibility. But it was there. Surely, it was there. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have been so torn. So emotional. Right?
Besides, I knew what real love was like.
Or had I just confused love with sex… just like my mother?
No. I tightened my arm around Leslie’s. I loved my friend. So, I did know love. Pure love. Not the love that expected something in return.
And it was a mutual attachment. If what Gray said was true… and I believed it to be true… he had felt not only an immediate attraction to me through the lens of that camera, but an immediate attachment. Like he wanted the best for me. Wanted to make sure I was okay.
If he’d wanted to hurt me, or simply just fuck me, he would have taken advantage of our isolation weeks ago. He would have knocked on my door, seduced me into his bed then.
He hadn’t.
He’d simply watched over me. Then risked his own life to save me. Cared for me. Tried hard not to touch me.
I smiled.
Okay… maybe he could have tried a little harder not to touch me, but I didn’t make it easy for him since I practically threw myself into his arms.
His arms.
I missed his arms. His smell. His taste. The little gap between his teeth.
And I didn’t even have his phone number.
How silly was that?
“We’re here.”
I focused on our surroundings after allowing Leslie to just lead me to where we needed to go. I blinked at the sign. Intensive Care Unit.
Pulling my bag higher on my shoulder, I let out a long breath. “Let’s go.”
Leslie pushed the button to announce our arrival. A minute later, the double doors clicked and began to open. We were greeted by a nurse who gave me a tight smile, her eyes flicking down my body.
I stiffened.
She knew. Of course, she knew who I was — the porn queen’s daughter. And in a glance, she had judged me as no better than the queen herself. It didn’t matter that I wore a simple maxi dress that fell to my toes, a cardigan to cover my arms. It didn’t matter that I wore no makeup and that my hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
I was the spawn. Cyn’s sin.
As I’d done so many times in the past, I attempted to ignore it. Lifting my chin, I followed her to a room as a steady beep… beep… beep… made its presence known.
There she was.
An older version of me, lying so still, her face as peaceful as a doll’s. Tubes ran from all directions, including the respirator attached to her throat.
Up.
Down.
Her chest was the only thing that moved, in time to the sucking and hissing of the machine.
In.
Out.
Life giving oxygen was pushed through her body. Poisonous carbon dioxide flowing out.
Her heart continued to beat. The proof was on the monitor over her head.
But she wasn’t alive, I knew. The part that made a human lay before me. The part that made her a human being had already left the vessel in which it had dwelled.
I wasn’t sure what I thought about the afterlife, but if there was any truth to reincarnation, I hoped the soul that left this being found a safer, more hospitable place to land next time.
I hoped there wasn’t a hell. Earth had been enough of one for my mother.
Maybe it would be better if, after death, there was nothing. Nothing seemed better than fire licking at your skin.
“The doctor will be here in a few moments,” the nurse said, snapping on a pair of gloves before touching the tubes coming from Mom’s arm.
“Thank you.”
Her gaze softened. Sherry, it said on her name tag. “Can I get you anything? Water? A soft drink? Juice?”
I met her eyes and shook my head. “No, but thank you. I appreciate the offer.”
Leslie shook her head too, and the nurse left us alone.
The doctor appeared, introduced himself as Dr. Martins. “I’m sorry, but the news isn’t good.”
I’d already known that, of course. Had prepared myself for it.
“She looks alive,” I murmured, reaching for her hand. “She’s warm.”
I didn’t know what I’d expected.
“Yes,” Dr. Martins agreed. “But your mother has no brain activity. She’s gone. Only the life support that is circulating her blood is giving the illusion of life.”
Illusion.
Life is but a dream.
The childhood song ran on repeat in my head as the doctor explained the process of letting her go officially. Just a flip of a switch and she’d go from alive to dead in that instant.
I just had to tell them to do it. Tell him to officially kill my mother.
Did that make me a killer too?
Was that part of the gray area Leslie spoke of?
Gray.
Oh, how I wished he was here.
“When?”
The doctor frowned. “When what, Miss Meadows?”
“When do I have to tell you to turn the machines off?”
He looked at Leslie then back at me. “Well, to be honest, there is no timeframe. Today would be best. Tomorrow at the latest. There really is no reason to leave her to suffer.”
That thought was disturbing. “Is she suffering?”
He cleared his throat. “No. That was more metaphorical than real. To suffer, one must have the conscious ability to feel or experience pain. Your mother is outside that ability now.”
The bag on my shoulder felt heavier and I set it down on the chair. My laptop was inside. Suddenly, I knew what I wanted to do.
“I need to finish something before I let her go. It should only take the rest of the day.”
I felt both Leslie’s and the doctor’s eyes on me, but I was only looking at Mom.
“Of course,” the doctor murmured and left.
“Do you need me to stay?” Leslie asked.
I squeezed her arm tighter. “Yes,” I said and hugged her to me. “But go. I need to do this myself.”
She kissed my cheek and left.
Sitting down by Mom’s bed, I took my laptop out of the case.
When the manuscript for “Come Closer,” opened, I placed my fingers on the keypad and began to type.