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William

CHAPTER FIFTY

As I hold her hand in mine, my finger instinctively strokes Taylor’s ring finger.

I didn’t do it on purpose. It has become a kind of tic or compulsion, as if the absence of an engagement ring lingers in my subconscious, warning me that at any moment, she might leave.

I’m not an idiot. I know that a mere ring, or even a marriage contract, isn’t enough to stop her from waking up one day and realizing I’m not worth it, leaving for good this time.

But as the months pass and her memory doesn’t return, the feeling that I’ll never truly have her in my life grows stronger.

Not even watching Bonnie’s testimony on video—days after the nurse was arrested and confessed what happened the night of the kidnapping—was enough to break her amnesia.

The psychiatrists I’ve spoken to told me she must have suffered a severe trauma and that her unconscious mind is using amnesia as a defense mechanism. Athanasios agrees that it doesn’t seem to be anything physical. He’d like to examine her, but she still refuses to see him.

"If it’s so important to you, I can wear one," she says, catching me off-guard when I pretend not to notice her watching me as we walk.

"It doesn’t matter," I lie.

She steps in front of me. "It does."

I cup her face in my hands. "Why are you so afraid to accept our commitment? No matter what happened, I will never blame you, Taylor."

"Maybe I won’t be able to forgive myself."

I pull her into a hug. I’ve never been one for public displays of affection, but I can’t keep my hands off her. I don’t care about the hospital staff and patients passing by, smiling as they see us.

We’re making rounds in the intensive care unit, checking on my most critical cases, and it’s the first time Taylor has come with me. She decided to join me today after I told her about a newly admitted patient—an elderly woman who survived a fire but lost her entire family. She came out of a coma a few days ago, and Taylor asked if she could visit her, maybe even play for her to lift her spirits.

The woman I love has made a difference among my patients, both children and adults. They all adore her, and even the hospital staff pause to listen when she plays.

I asked if she’d consider performing publicly, but she said no. She loves working in the hospital, and as long as the obstetrician allows, she’ll keep doing it.

We’re just steps away from Mrs. Krulce’s room when, suddenly, we hear screaming.

I close my eyes, irritated, because I already know where it’s coming from—and why. It’s not pain; it’s rage.

It’s not uncommon for burn survivors to experience depression, especially when they realize that no matter how many reconstructive surgeries they undergo, they will never look the same again.

In this specific patient’s case, it could be some depression, yes—but it’s also because he has a hellish temper.

He has no family. He was admitted thanks to an anonymous benefactor. All we know is that his only relative, his mother, died more than two years ago—about the same amount of time he spent in a coma.

He only woke up a few months ago.

When he first arrived, for the first time since I became a doctor, I thought there wasn’t much I could do for a patient. But slowly, he started recovering, though it’s likely he will need care for the rest of his life. He can’t walk. He can’t even perform the most basic tasks alone, like eating or going to the bathroom.

"What’s going on? Why is he screaming like that?"

"No one has a clue. He spends the entire day calling for a woman."

She lets go of my hand and walks toward the room. Just as she reaches the door, he screams again.

"Why did you leave me, my beautiful? I loved you so much! He’s going to kill me!"

I’ve heard those words before. Every staff member in the hospital has.

But when Taylor turns to me, pale as a sheet, I feel confused.

I step closer because she looks like she’s about to faint.

Before I can reach her, though, the ranting starts again.

"My beautiful, come back to me!"

Laughter follows.

"Come on, let’s go."

She ignores me and steps inside the room.

I rush in after her, but it’s too late. She’s already at his bedside.

She doesn’t seem shocked by his appearance. It’s as if she’s hypnotized.

"Say that again," she tells the man. He instantly falls silent at the sound of her voice. "Say it again, you bastard," she repeats.

The only eye he has left opens, and he grins. "You came back, my beautiful. Taylor, my love. You came back!"

She stumbles back, hitting my chest. "It was you!" she screams, pointing at the patient. "It was him, William!"

"Taylor, what’s happening?"

"I remember everything! He’s the one who took me! I escaped! I . . .I killed him!"

The patient laughs. "No, my beautiful. You tried, and so did he. But I am immortal."

* * *

Taylor

I don’t know how long I was unconscious, but when I wake up, it’s not just William by my side—my obstetrician, Athanasios, L. J., and two other men in suits are also there.

William’s face looks carved from stone, tense, and as soon as he notices I’m awake, he steps closer.

"What happened?" I ask.

"You remembered everything," the father of my child says.

"Yes."

Suddenly, a wave of panic hits me, and I try to sit up.

"No. Stay calm. The police are already here. When you feel ready, they’ll take your statement, but before that, you should talk to our lawyers."

"Alright."

William sits beside me on the hospital bed. "It doesn’t have to be today."

"I prefer it to be."

One of the suited men approaches. "What do you remember, Miss Jarvis?"

"The night I disappeared, I woke up with someone in my room. At first, I thought William had come back," I say, and I see the pain on his face. I squeeze his hand to let him know it’s okay. "I was still half-asleep but soon realized it couldn’t be William because he didn’t have the key."

"But your neighbor Bonnie did," the man points out, proving that William must have already told him a lot about my case.

"Yes. I woke up, maybe a day or two later, inside a cage."

"Jesus Christ!" William groans.

"Calm down," Athanasios warns.

"Go on, Miss Jarvis."

I recount everything I remember: how my father was a police officer and trained me for situations like that because he had enemies and worried about my safety.

I explain how I tried to manipulate my captor, even though I was blindfolded and terrified.

" Blindfolded? "

"Yes." Then, suddenly, I turn to William and bolt upright. "The last day, when I escaped, he removed the blindfold at my request. My God!"

"Taylor, what is it?"

"I remember why I ran away that day specifically."

"Why?" they all ask at once.

"The man who kidnapped me . . .looked exactly like you, William. I thought he had to be your brother."

" Brother? " He looks stunned.

Memories start flooding back in order now.

I tell them my captor wanted me to call him ‘William’ too, and that he intended to kill my William. I explain how he constantly asked about our relationship and seemed obsessed with my child’s father.

"He’s not William. His name is Curtis Roane," Athanasios says.

"Could your father have...?" L. J. leaves the question unfinished.

William’s expression darkens with pure hatred. "We’ll know soon enough. I want a DNA test done on him."

I lean back against the pillows, feeling exhausted. My hands are cold, and the room blurs.

Vaguely, I hear William asking everyone to leave.

"What happens now?" I ask when he returns.

"We find the missing pieces—and then, we make them pay."

* * *

William

One month Later

"You didn’t have to watch his testimony," I say, and ignoring her protests, I lift her into my arms and carry her to the car, where the driver waits with the back door open.

After she sits, I fasten her seat belt. Then I settle in beside her.

She gives me a sad smile and intertwines our fingers. "I did need to. You know how people say that when we lose someone, we need to see the body in the coffin to find closure, to go through mourning? I think I experienced something like that today."

"I’m never going to forgive myself, Taylor." I lean my head back against the seat, and as has happened since her memory returned, I recall what she told me: that she was locked in a cage like an animal.

"You will, because we’ll have more good days than bad in our life together, and the time will come when everything I went through will be nothing more than a memory of a terrible episode."

The testimony of the man who, after a DNA test, proved to be my older brother lasted almost five hours. We heard a true horror story.

Initially, my lawyers were skeptical that he would actually reveal everything, but it seems that after years in the shadows, he couldn’t wait to be the star of his own story.

He disclosed that he was William III’s son by a young prostitute. He was born only a few months before me and spent a long time in poverty alongside his mother.

It was only about five years ago that he learned his biological father’s identity through a DNA test in a genealogy lab.

He said it took his mother a long time to admit that William III might be his father, and when she finally did, Curtis went after him to confirm.

It was a shock on several levels—not only because he discovered his father was a wealthy man but also because, after some research, he realized his father preferred much younger women.

Too young to be considered a “healthy” preference in our society, he said, without going into detail. A preference very similar to his own.

The only difference between father and son was that Curtis didn’t care about his chosen partner’s consent. Our father, according to his discoveries, had a Don Juan complex—he considered himself irresistible and lived under the illusion that women nearly forty years younger genuinely desired him.

Armed with this powerful information, Curtis blackmailed William, who quickly gave in. Our father wanted to avoid having his name linked to a career criminal, the son of a prostitute, and had no interest in letting the world discover that he didn’t truly care about the legal age of consent.

Curtis started leading a life of luxury in secret, thanks to his newly discovered father, but he didn’t think it was enough. He wanted the years that had been stolen from him—the trips I took, the college I’d attended, my career.

Equal rights for both sons, as he put it.

He wasn’t direct about it, but based on Taylor’s memories of being under his power, the man became obsessed with me.

He revealed very little about his own life before meeting our father, but from what he let slip, he had always been a sexual predator, also committing small offenses like theft and break-ins.

When it came to women, he started being violent toward his “girlfriends,” as he called them, at a very young age. Initially, he just scared them, but soon he escalated to stalking and then to rape.

He was nearly caught once, but by then, “Daddy” William was there to protect him—along with some corrupt police officers who kept him out of prison.

His worthless life alternated between obsessively following mine and harming women, until the day he got a request from my father to help kidnap Taylor.

He said William III wanted to “steal” her for himself and that, after offering him a hefty sum, Curtis agreed to help.

However, once he started following her, he realized that she and I were involved. In his deranged mind, taking her for himself would be his first real victory over me.

William III said he wouldn’t allow that—that the agreement was that Curtis wouldn’t touch her. But even knowing Taylor’s safety was at risk, the woman our father supposedly confessed he was “in love with,” he did nothing to stop Curtis from carrying out the kidnapping. He planned every step with him, provided everything he needed.

On the day the abduction was supposed to happen, they had an argument. Our father wanted to call it off. That’s why William went to the bar: there was no actual job for Taylor. He intended to drug her, take her away, and gradually seduce her, offering a luxurious life, treating her like a princess. Making her not just his mistress but his wife.

A twisted and cruel fantasy, in which her own desires didn’t matter so long as his were fulfilled.

He thought that, for a poor girl, it would be an irresistible offer.

As we now know, it didn’t work. Taylor refused to take the job or even accept a ride home. So our father changed his mind again, called Curtis, and told him to go through with the original plan—kidnap her and take her to the cabin in Tennessee.

Everything else happened as Taylor recounted: the gas in the kitchen, her throwing the lit lighter and running away.

The only difference was that it wasn’t Taylor’s action that caused the fire. Our father was lying in wait, and in my opinion, he deliberately planned to kill his own son and emerge as the hero, causing the young, poor, and terrified Taylor to fall for him.

Her jumping into the river, breaking her legs, ending up in a coma, and losing her memory was an unexpected bonus for him. But that last part is mostly speculation and logical deduction, since Curtis’s final memory is William telling him in the cabin’s kitchen: “Die. She’s mine.” Then he set fire to the place.

"It’s terrifying to think that your father always had some sort of plan for me," Taylor says, as if guessing my thoughts.

"I know, but you’re safe now," I reply, raising her hand to my lips, trying to calm myself more than her.

"Do you think he also . . .hurt other women?"

"Define ‘hurt.’ He slept with girls who were underage, Taylor. It doesn’t matter whether it was by force or by luring them with money and gifts. He was as twisted as his eldest son. In any case, he had the chance to?—"

"—rape me, right?"

"Yes, and he didn’t. I think he became obsessed with you. He likely already wanted a divorce from my mother and took advantage of the situation. She mentioned my father confessed he’d fallen in love with you."

"My God, what madness!"

I drape an arm around her shoulders, holding her close.

"What happens now?" she asks.

"Curtis will be evaluated to see if he’s fit to stand trial."

"Even though he can’t even go to the bathroom by himself?"

"It’s a mental evaluation, not a physical one, Taylor."

"And what about your father?"

"He can’t hide forever."

"There’s something I need to tell you. Jackie’s friend is hunting him, but I don’t think he plans on bringing him to justice."

I look at her so she’ll understand what I’m about to say. "After everything I’ve discovered now, that wasn’t my intention either."