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Dereck

Eureka. Those were the words I uttered when the detective sent me pictures of a heavily pregnant Miranda. I didn’t think she could become more beautiful, but I was wrong. Even in the black-and-white photo that I left on my desk, she glowed. I paid a large sum of money to have the detective follow her around, to keep her safe. Three o’clock yesterday morning he called me to say Miranda was in labor. The moments fizzled by as I made calls and preparations for her comfort. Now hours later I am pacing in the secret room of a hospital waiting to see my son.

Miranda doesn’t know I am here at Bellmar hospital. I know she will be puzzled by her private suite versus the shared room that she was expecting. She will be baffled that her bill was cleared due to “a glitch” in the hospital’s system. I feel like the light blue walls are closing in. I have a son. A son who will never know about me or carry my name. I tug at my tie, my palms become sweaty. I have never been claustrophobic before but this damn room has no windows and the door was closed. I need to get out of here. If I’m locked in, I could be here for a long while before anyone discovered me. This was a fucking dumb idea, I should just go out there and get Miranda and my son. But fucking Ilyana, made everything difficult with her trickery. The passing of time was turning out to be my biggest heart break. Every day without Miranda, a little piece of me dies.

I feel like I am spiraling. There is a heaviness in my chest, it’s not pain or fear. But it’s dark and suffocating and it’s clawing my insides wanting to escape. I am a man with so much power but yet I have no control over my own life. Why did I do this? My feet twitches with an urge to leave. I feel defeated, I don’t even know how I should get out of this. This was a stupid idiotic mistake, seeing a son that I can never have. The moment I thought about leaving the door opens and a nurse ushers a clear plastic bassinet into the room. My breath leaves me.

“Wash your hands in the sink behind you,” she says in a hushed tone.

All I could do is nod, my eyes never leaving the bundle in the bassinet. I don’t remember how long I washed my hands, but the moment the nurse picked up my son she rocked him from side to side. I place my hands behind my back watching over the shoulder of the nurse.

He has a shock of black hair and a tanned complexion. His nose and mouth are like his mother’s.

“Would you like to hold him? We don’t have much time,” she commented.

Hold him? He was so tiny in her arms.

“I don’t want him to fall.” Every part of me shifted demanding that his safety becomes my top priority.

Gently she smiles. “He won’t, now hold your arms out.”

Instinctively I held my hands out, and the light weighted bundle touches my arm. Secure and safe. That’s how he will be for the rest of his life. Nothing in this world would harm him or his mother. From a distance I will give him the best that life has to offer. Even if Miranda marries, I pause in disgust thinking about Miranda falling in love with someone else. Even if she marries, I will make sure you have everything your heart desires. I promise you son.

I thought I knew what love was, but now with my son’s life in my hands. This was love. As if sensing my presence he opens his eyes. A tear trickles down my cheeks and falls into his blue blanket.

“You may have your mother’s features, but you have my eyes son. You have my eyes.”

* * *

PENNY

The limousine cues up around the circular driveway. I close my eyes for a second preparing myself to be bombarded with questions, and shallow conversations. My phone buzzes in my clutch. Reaching inside I see a message.

Tarek

Don’t have men ogling at things that don’t belong to them.

Me

It belongs to no one but me.

Tarek

You heard what I said the first time. Call me when you are through.

Me

Maybe.

The car finally stops, and the door opens.

“Ms. Holt.” A palm covered in a white glove is placed out in front of me.

The warm feeling of the glove hand seeps into mine, slowly I exit the car adjusting my dress as I stand.

The architecture of the grand historical building is illuminated by strategically placed spotlights, highlighting the ornate arches and columns. There is a discreet security presence around the building. Men all in black suits with white earpieces in, standing alert. Slowly I step onto the red carpet, praying that my heels don’t snag, and I fall flat on my face.

I can see the headline now:

Governor hopeful Archer Holt’s sister couldn’t halt her fall.

Step by step, I head into the ballroom, a waiter with a silver platter filled with flutes of champagne passes near me.

Without hesitation I take a glass and sip. I would need alcohol to get through this night. Smiling as I glide through the crowd of men and women. The men are dressed in sharp tuxedos while the women are draped in designer dresses and covered in sparkling gems.

“Thank God you are finally here.” The voice that has been my guiding light all through my life says to the side of me.

I’m pulled into a hug, and I sigh as I rest my head on her shoulder.

“Let me look at you,” my mother says. She pulls away and cups my cheek.

It doesn’t matter how old I become, as annoying as she can be, no one melts me like my mom.

“Have you been exercising? You look a little chubby. You need to exercise, because—” Poking her finger at my arm.

“Mom. I am fine.” I almost slapped her hands away, but I remember that she is my mom.

“Of course you are. And you are beautiful too.” She nods as she rubs my arm.

My mother is the epitome of grace, in this ballroom she stands out. Her statuesque body draped in a floor-length gown that hugs her curves. The deep glittering emerald-green of the dress contrasts beautifully on her dark skin, which seems to glow under the ballroom’s chandelier.

“You look regal tonight mom. Archer is running for governor not president,” I tease as I take a sip of my champagne.

“Oh shush,” she taps the side of her French roll and smiles. “How are you doing?”

“Fine. Where is Archer?” I ask as my eyes begin to rove the crowd.

“Out and about. You look well loved. Are you in a relationship again?” My mother taps her lips as her eyes move up my body.

“No relationship. Just fresh hair twists and a wax,” I reply. My minds races back to the top of Tarek’s dark head moving between my legs, and his tongue, dear lord his tongue.

“Who is he? Your cheeks just redden.” My mother’s eyes squint.

“There is no ‘he’. Where is Archer?” I needed my brother now so he can take her attention away from me.

“Hmm. He is in the crowd somewhere. Try to behave tonight, especially now that he is engaged.” The way my mother says the word engaged I can tell she is not happy with his decision.

“Engaged? Tell me he didn’t propose to Botox Barbie,” my mind screams recoiling at the thought of having that emotionless, Kardashian wanna be as my sister-in-law.

As if he heard my cries of distress, the crowd parts as my brother and his remora aka the shark sucker fiancée walks to us.

“Finally, you are here,” he says, his silver-grey eyes meet mine. I lean forward and give him a light hug.

“We have to talk,” I reply, before I can say more a thin pale hand drops in front of my face. A rock the size of Gibraltar shines in my eye.

“Wow Tamy, this ring is just like you,” I said as I look into her makeup covered face. “Gaudy and over the top, but somehow, you make it work.”

She bats her mascara laden eyelashes as she is trying to register my words. “Um, thank you?” She smiles. “There is Lisa, excuse me.”

Tamy turns away as she shows her hand to another woman, and they begin to talk. Bringing my attention back to Archer, I tug the sleeve of his jacket and pull him down toward me.

“I will eat a bowl of soup with a fork, before I become that woman’s sister-in-law,” I whisper into his ear.

“Let me make my way through the room. Try to behave,” my mom says as she walks away.

He chuckles and jabs my shoulder lightly with his elbow. “Tamy is not that bad. I need her anyway.” Archer waves to a man with a woman on his arm as they walk past us.

“Tamy has more filler than substance. Why do you need her?” I ask, flashing a smile as people pass by us.

Archer grabs my hand and moves quickly out of the ballroom down the hall. He opens a door and pulls me into a library.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask as I rub my wrist.

He closes the door behind him. “I’m about to tell you something. You can’t tell mom.”

Instantly my interest piques. “Golden boy got a dirty little secret. Please don’t say tire lips is pregnant. Mom will kill you.”

We won’t admit it out loud, it doesn’t matter how old we get, we are still a tiny bit afraid of mom.

He drags his hand through his head, and he begins to pace. Archer is the big brother of a person’s dreams. He is reliable, kind, giving, patient and he just happened to be very good looking.

“No. She is not pregnant. But I do need her.”

I sit on a single chair and fixed the end of my dress. “Explain.”

“Don’t tell mom about this she will freak out. I got invited to join a secret organization called the Quarter Masters.” He stops by the fireplace and awaits my response.

“Um yay? The Quarter Masters sound like men who should be on Epstein’s watch list.” I never understand what rich men in particular have with secret organizations. It’s like they have to feel special that they belong to something that only a selected few can do.

“Why do you need Mrs. Potato Head?”

Shaking his head, Archer pressed his 6’4 frame against the fireplace. “Luckily, she was on the list of women given to me to choose for marriage. It’s the first step to enter.”

A slow form of laughter erupts from my stomach. “What shit is that? They gave you a list of women who they approved, and you agreed to it? Why?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you any of this,” he replies, as he passes his hand over his Caesar cut.

“But you are. Why doesn’t mom agree?” My mom, like other mothers, tends to be over dramatic but if she is adamant about something it should be considered.

“She said she heard of the men and none of them are good. She said I should

stay away from them.” Archer’s lips fold in like he is trying to hold it all in. “If I join, there is a guarantee that I will win the election.”

I stare at my brother in disbelief. “That can’t be right. Votes dictates a winner for an election.”

He smirks, folding his arms staring at me, “Power wins elections. People are allowed to vote because it makes them feel safe, like they are part of something, when they are not.”

When I thought of politics, I never understood why my brother was so enraptured with it. I know he wants to do good but as I told him once there are other ways.

“What does Roxanne think about this?” I ask. Roxanne is my brother’s personal assistant. From the start of his career, she has been the voice of reason. Where was she anyway?

“I don’t know what’s going on with Roxanne,” His cheeks reddens when he says her name and his jaw clenches. Oh, that is new.

“What do you mean you don’t know what’s up with Roxy? Where is she by the way?” I have never seen Archer without Roxanne at his side. Even when he was on a date, Roxy would be right there in the restaurant waiting for him.

“Do you know Roxanne has breasts and legs? Oh, she also has a firm ass too. All these years—” He breaks off. His eyebrows furrow, and his forehead creases.

“I mean, she is a woman. She wears boring suits, but any fool can see she has a banging body under those clothes.”

“I guess I am a fool.” He stops to look at the books on the library shelf and continues to talk. My focus is pulled by the vibrating phone in my clutch.

My heart leaps hoping it’s Tarek.

Opening my phone, I was not disappointed.

Tarek

You know when I was in my twenty’s I would send girls a pic of my dick.

Me

Why did you stop?

I can still hear Archer talking but I have no idea what he is speaking about.

Tarek

It would end up in the girls’ group chat.

Me

Oh poor Tarek, now the girls will see what little you have.

Tarek

You know better than that. The problem was the other girls wanted me too.

Me

Now what do you send?

Tarek sends a pic. It’s pic of his palm facing upward, but unlike the rest of his hand, his middle finger and his ring are lifted, separated from the others. A clear wet substance coats them, from the tip to the base, it glistens under the light.

Instantly my pussy clenches, knowing that is my juices covering his fingers.

Tarek

I send them memories. Enjoy your fundraiser .

I smile, trying to think of something snazzy to say. A throat clears and I look up from my phone to see Archer, arching his eyebrows.

“New lover? Mom said you dumped Melvin,” he states. I was so wrapped up in the thought of Tarek that I didn’t see when my brother moved from the fireplace to the sofa that he is sitting on opposite me.

“No, he is not a new lover,” I was getting too comfortable with Tarek. Normally I would have men doing mental gymnastics. But with Tarek, everything feels so easy, and right. I don’t know how to deal with that.

“So, there is a ‘he.” Mischief covers my brother’s face, he folds his leg onto his lap and holds his ankle.

I need to get Archer off the topic of “my new lover” before he goes into investigating mode.

“Now about Roxy. She has a right to be what she wants to be,” I state. His face drops, and his leg has a slight shake to it.

“I told her not to wear anymore skirts. And to stop wearing color. Grey, beige or black.” He sighs like just realized how stupid he sounds.

“What did she say?” Poor Roxy has been in love with my brother for years and he never notices.

“She handed me her two weeks resignation,” he replies, his shoulders drop in defeat.

I place my phone back into my clutch and I begin to clap. “Good for her.”

“What the hell do you mean by that? Good for her? What about me?” he cries.

“What about you? She has been your right hand for years, pining away for your love and what do you do?”

Archer throws back his head and scratches his clean-shaven chin. “Love? Pining away? Pen really?”

“Who takes care of you when you’re sick?” I ask, feeling a need to smack him at the side of his head.

“Roxy,” he replies, with a hint of boredom.

“Who plans all your work trips for you?” I need him to see that there was more to Roxy than just a secretary.

“But Pen come on, that’s her job,” he replies.

“I’m trying hard not to slap you. Who flew to Greece with a new passport for you because yours was stolen?”

He slides down the chair slowly. “Roxy.”

“Who packs your fridge with all your favorite food?” Roxy’s love dawned on me months ago when I walked into Archer’s condo at 8 at night and Roxy was packing Archer’s fridge, talking to his chef about Archer and his dislike of Asiago cheese.

“Roxy,” he whispers.

“Who gives all your little girl friends a goodbye rose at the end of your relationship?” I never understood why my brother did that but to each his own.

“Roxy,” he states quickly as he sits up. “Then she befriends them after. Like what the fuck?”

I close my eyes shaking my head in disgust. “It could be that she just has a likeable personality. While they are crying over you, Roxy is wiping their tears not you.”

“Fuck…she loves me,” he murmurs, pressing his palm into his eye sockets.

“Yay and here’s the kicker. I think you love her too. Admit it, you can’t live without her.” I take pleasure in seeing the realization fall over him.

“You’re being dramatic. I can’t be with her. She is not on the list,” he stands and begins to pace.

“Fuck the list, Archie.” I stand getting ready to leave.

“I can’t.” His back is turned to me.

“Then you are a fool. If you can’t say fuck the list and take what you want, you don’t deserve her.” I didn’t wait for his response; I walk out the library leaving Archer to wrestle his own demons.

* * *

TAREK

The file for Fiona Charles sits in front of me. My fingers feel heavy, like I can’t lift them to open the folder.

In the silence of my office, it’s like Fiona’s spirit hovers over me. I may not have known, but I failed her. I failed this twenty-five-year-old woman. My establishment promises protection from predators, only to have one pounce on her. What was her state of mind like? What made her think that she needed to take her own life?

Opening the file, slowly I see a passport size picture of a girl with dark eyes and dark straight hair.

I begin to read her autopsy report. She shot herself. I didn’t need to see how or where the bullet exited. I did see the sprays of her blood on the wall in the attached photos.

Turning the page, I see pieces of her torn diary stapled together.

January 3rd.

My search for God has been constant. It’s like I pray, and he ignores my cries. Maybe my father was right, God doesn’t answer sinners like my mother or myself. That’s why mom died because she was a sinner.

Flicking the page I see another entry. There is no month written.

I found the lord, in the form of Pastor Jo and his wife. They have been so good to me. I am afraid to feel happy. Maybe the lord hears the prayers of a sinner after all.

My stomach twists as I continue reading Fiona’s diary.

I went to a new place of worship called Nowhere. The pastor says that the lord went to the dwelling of sinners. It’s our job to do the same.

He fucking knew her outside of Nowhere. He was grooming this young woman. Rage engulfs me as I read more.

Pastor Joseph said it was the lord’s work when he…

I close my eyes not needing to see the rest of what was written.

The final page was her suicide note, and I can’t read it. My hands begin to tremble as I see words like, I’m sorry and I pray that the lord forgives me.

He took advantage of a young woman who was looking for guidance and love. How did she get past our vetting? I continue reading her file. We did vet her, and she had the money and means to join Nowhere.

She was just a lost soul seeking peace in Nowhere. In all of the fucking places. Nowhere?

I close the file and breathe out. Rubbing the bridge of my nose, my thoughts are turned to another suicide that still haunts me to this day. “We both should die together to see who he loves most. I wanted to tell her; he doesn’t love me either. But it was too late…. It was all too late.

Turning to my laptop, I begin composing a letter to Pastor Joseph inviting him back into Nowhere. The narcissist won’t question my invitation; his arrogance will blind him. He needs to pay my office a visit before he ventures into Nowhere. That would be his final time entering. An eye for an eye, a life for life. Fiona was going to get the justice she deserves. If it cost me my soul, so be it, I’d walk into hell with arms wide open for her to get justice. My soul doesn’t need to rest in peace, hers fucking does.

My cell rattles on the desk, breaking my train of thought. Grabbing the phone my heart flutters as I read Penny’s text.

Penny

I always found Hades to be the sexiest of all the gods.

I chuckle for the first time in some hours.

Me

Why is that?

Penny

Unlike Zeus, Hades remained faithful to Persephone.

Me

Is that what you want, someone to be faithful to you like Hade?.

Penny

No, I just wanted a pomegranate.

Me

I’m coming for you in an hour.

Penny

See you then.

My soul feels calmer now that she sent me a message. I open my drawer to pull out my box of cigarettes and my fingers glide over the box. She doesn’t like smokers.

I shake my head and close the drawer. “I need a new fucking vice.”

A knock draws my attention and my software engineer Luce walks in.

“Can I have a moment of your time?” Luce asks.

“Sure, come in?”

She smiles and strides into my office closing my door behind her.

“I just came to drop the second file on Pastor Jospeh.” The thud of the file hits my desk.

Luce lifts her nose and begins to sniff. “Hmm interesting?”

I pause from reaching the file. “What’s interesting?”