Deciding to go home and actually doing it are two entirely different things. All I want to do is dig a hole and hide in it.
However, the thought of running away like in the past cripples me. I can’t do that anymore. I can’t start anew, pretend I have a rebirth and go on with my life.
The memories of lonely nights, trembling under the blankets, cause me to shudder.
Besides, I can’t give up the life and the balance I’ve found. It’s not just about Layla and H&H. It’s also about Aiden, Levi, Astrid, and Elsa. It’s about Moses, Margot, Tom, and even Harris. It’s about the sense of family I’ve refound. And at the top of that chain, there’s Jonathan.
The man who held my hand through it all and didn’t judge me, even when he thought I’d lost my mind. If anything, he promised to protect me — including from myself.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve only had myself to rely on. Protection could’ve only been provided by me. Having Jonathan there brings a certain peace I’ve never experienced before.
But it’s not just about the sense of protection he brings. No. It’s also about how he doesn’t allow me to get lost in the maze in my head. It’s almost as if he knows how dark it gets and pulls me out every time.
I’m not sure what it is about him that allows him to read me so well. I doubt it’s because of the age difference, which, ironically, I don’t think about anymore, and when I do, it’s more with awe than anything else.
Not only does Jonathan know me, but he also recognises my needs before I come to terms with them myself. He’s taught me that recognising one’s own strength and weaknesses is what makes you strive higher.
With him, I feel both vulnerable and powerful. I can take on the world, but at the same time, I’m scared he’ll pull the carpet from underneath my feet one day.
Because right now? I seriously cannot imagine my life without him. The fact that he was once my sister’s husband barely gives me pause anymore.
I’m so sorry, Alicia. I’m the worst sister to ever exist.
Our first stop as soon as we arrive in England is Birmingham.
“I could’ve come to check on Layla on my own,” I tell Jonathan as the butler welcomes us inside Ethan’s Birmingham mansion — or palace. It’s a lot bigger than the one in London, and Moses had to drive a long time before we were able reach the entrance with its majestic lion statues and high towers.
“You think I’d let you come to Ethan’s house alone?” The question is clearly rhetorical since Jonathan continues in that haughty tone of his, “Nonsense.”
“Don’t be a jerk to him, okay?” I whisper in case someone is around. “We’re in his house, after all.”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether or not he looks in your direction.”
I chuckle. “You can’t be serious.”
He fixes me with one of his uptight glares. “I’m dead serious, and if you want me to prove it in front of him, I will.”
“I don’t see what the big deal is. After all, you used to share women in the past.” And no, I’m still not over that.
“The key phrase in your sentence is ‘in the past’. I wouldn’t even share a table with him willingly.”
“So I’ve been wondering… If you guys weren’t fighting, would you still be sharing women?”
He grips me by the waist, his fingers digging into my side. “Why the fuck are you asking these questions? We already established that Ethan, or anyone else, is off the fucking table. I wouldn’t share you for the rest of your life.”
“You mean your life?”
“Your life. Death won’t stop me, wild one. I’ll find a way, even as a ghost.”
“I have no doubt about that.” The masculine voice coming from our right pauses our conversation.
Instead of letting me go, Jonathan keeps me planted to his side with a possessive hand at the small of my back.
Ethan stands at the base of the stairs, placing a hand in his trousers’ suit pocket and smiling amicably. “Welcome to my Birmingham residence, Aurora. Jonathan, it’s been a long time since you’ve come here. More than twenty years, I believe.”
“Not long enough.”
I elbow him and whisper, “Play nice.”
“He’s looking at you, so that’s a no,” Jonathan says in a voice loud enough for Ethan to hear.
“Always a charmer, Jonathan.” Ethan smiles at him, but there’s no welcoming in it.
The latter returns it with a scowl.
The amount of testosterone around here is high as hell. I can almost taste it on my tongue.
“Where are Layla and her parents?” I ask to dissipate the tension.
“Mr and Mrs Hussaini went for a stroll, and as for Layla —”
Ethan’s words cut off when a door opens from the other side of the room, and in comes Layla carrying basket of roses, throwing the petals at a solemn-faced Agnus. He doesn’t seem to enjoy it in the least, but he remains silent as she grins. “I could totally turn you into a princess, Agnus. If anyone can do it, it’s me.”
Ethan laughs, and even Jonathan is about to smile before he seals his reaction, as usual. I’m beginning to see a pattern between Ethan and Jonathan. One is more open and the other is closed off. However, they have a lot of traits in common — the most important of all, their hunger for power. The more they have, the more they want. That’s why they clicked a long time ago.
Jonathan is just more forthcoming about it. Ethan doesn’t show it as much, but that doesn’t deny his desire for it.
Upon seeing me, Layla pushes the basket of roses at Agnus’s chest and runs towards me.
I open my arms and she hugs me without protest. “I missed you so much, mate. Don’t you dare leave me again.”
“I missed you, too, Lay.”
“Come on.” She grips me by the hand. “We have so much to catch up on.”
Ethan motions at the stairs and raises his brow at Jonathan. “My office?”
“Play nice,” I mouth at Jonathan.
“No,” he mouths back and I shake my head as Agnus abandons the basket of roses on a table and follows them.
With the three of them there, I can only imagine what will happen in that office. Definitely not something I want to witness.
Layla and I sit on a bench in the garden. The trees here are so tall, they block the horizon.
“So?” she asks impatiently. “Details.”
“Promise you won’t hate me?”
“Never. Ride or die, remember?”
I let it all out and tell Layla about my life ever since I was brought up in Leeds, and all the way to witnessing that crime, losing my sister, and the whole trial nightmare.
While I speak, Layla’s expression falls and I think she hates me by the time I finish, but she hugs me again. Two hugs in one day is a first.
“I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that on your own. You were so young.”
I hold on to her and let the tears loose. It’s the first time I’ve talked about the whole thing and I’m so grateful that Layla is the one I got to tell everything that happened.
She pulls back and wipes my tears with the back of her sleeves. “Johnny gets brownie points for taking you away from here so you could clear your head. His Daddy status is reinstated.”
“You’re awful.” I smile through the tears.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, Lay.”
“Which name do you prefer? Clarissa or Aurora?”
“When I was Clarissa, I was happy, but it was at the expense of other people’s suffering. I don’t like being her anymore. I don’t like the memories associated with her or the fears she went through.”
“Aurora it is, then. It’d be super weird to call you anything else.” She grins tentatively. “Why did you pick that name?”
It’s my turn to smile as the memories of summer and marshmallow scent filter back in. “Alicia said if she had a baby girl, she would’ve named her Aurora. I guess it’s stayed with me.”
“I’m so proud of how far you’ve come, mate.”
“Are you being sappy right now?”
“Who? Me? Never!” We laugh and she scoots closer, her expression morphing into one of seriousness. “What are you going to do now?”
“I’m still thinking about it. Hey, Lay, don’t you miss work?”
“Honestly? I’m going out of my mind here. You know I hate staying still, but it’s okay. I can take it.”
“Well, I can’t.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“I’m going to stand tall like I was supposed to sixteen years ago.”
The following day, I go to the prosecutor’s office. I don’t tell Jonathan, because he’d stop me.
I refuse to live my life in fear, scared about when they’ll come knocking on my door, or when they’ll catch me while I’m walking down the streets.
Although I don’t share my plans with Jonathan, I make my way through the building, armed with his words to me.
You did nothing wrong.
He’s right. I haven’t. And now, I’ll own up to it.
They take me to a white room with a grey table in the middle. I keep my cool as the prosecutor tries to intimidate me with his questions.
The prosecutor, who introduced himself as Joffrey Dale, is an older man with a few decades of experience under his belt. It makes sense that they’re assigning him to an important nationwide case like this.
His bushy brows are drawn together as if they were made to judge people. His suit is a size too big and his head is half-bald with a few streaks of hair combed in the middle. But that doesn’t take away from the sharp look in his light brown eyes.
After a long silence, which he spends reading the file in front of him, Joffrey finally lifts his head. “We’ll start with the basics. What’s your name?”
“Aurora Harper.”
“Your legal one, Miss.”
“Aurora Harper. I registered it.”
He nods as if the information is new to him, when it’s most likely a tactic. Even the white room we’re in, which seems sterilised, must be some psychological trick. The police played them a lot on me back in the day, but I was too young to recognise them.
“Why have you come here, Ms Harper?”
“Voluntary questioning.”
He fixes me with his bland eyes. “For what?”
“Maxim Griffin’s parole hearing.” My hands grip each other on my lap, but I force them to loosen.
“What’s your relationship with Mr Griffin?”
“He’s my father.”
“And you’re the Clarissa he’s accusing of being his accomplice?”
I nod.
“Are you admitting to his accusations?”
“I’m admitting to being his daughter that used to be named Clarissa. That’s all. His accusations are entirely false.”
He focuses back on the file, retrieves images of the murdered women, crime scene ones, too, and lays them in front of me. I force myself to stare at their faces, even though tears start rushing in.
“Do you remember them, Ms Harper?”
“Of course I do. I dream about them all the time.”
“Who are they?”
“My father’s victims.”
“Do you remember their cause of death?”
I swallow a deep breath, the air sticking in my throat. “Suffocation by duct tape.”
“Do you know how long it takes for death by suffocation?” The question is clearly rhetorical since he continues in his flat tone, “Normally, it’s twenty minutes, but in their cases, he left a small opening in the duct tape to slow the process. Their death processes ranged from four to twenty hours. They spent all those hours begging for air, only to find death.”
“I know that! I also know he stalked them and made them feel like he was their dream on earth before he lured them to the cabin. I also know he cut their arms, played with their bodies while they suffocated, then kept the duct tape as a trophy before he buried them. I also know those seven reported victims weren’t his only ones, and that many other cases were closed for lack of evidence. So why don’t you look into those instead of this entire masquerade? Why the fuck are you allowing that sick bastard the right for parole?”
Despite my outburst, Joffrey’s voice and expression remain cool. “Because, Ms Harper, we might have evidence that he wasn’t the only one involved in those murders.”
“What evidence?” I laugh with a bitter edge. “I testified against my own fucking father. I brought him to you the day I lost my sister. If you have something against me, show it, but I know you don’t. All of you are playing into his hands.”
“Then why did you escape the Witness Protection Program?”
“I didn’t trust the police. They were aggressive and careless, and I didn’t feel safe in their company.”
“Or you wanted to run and hide.”
“If I wanted to run and hide, why would I come here of my own volition?”
He opens his mouth to say something, but a knock on the door cuts him off. Before he can stand up, it barges open, and in comes a man looking to be in his early fifties. He’s slim and short, wearing an elegant striped suit and carrying a leather briefcase.
“Who are you?” Joffrey asks.
“Alan Sheldon. I’m Ms Harper’s solicitor. The voluntary questioning is over, effective immediately, Dale.”
Wait. I have a solicitor? When did that happen?
“Ms. Harper was ready to answer more questions.” Joffrey doesn’t hide the irritation in his tone, but he also stands his ground.
“Not anymore. My client needs to rest before the trial.” Alan motions at me and I rise.
I was done anyway. I came here to urge them to investigate the other victims and to warn them of Dad’s manipulative nature, but if they’d rather play into his hands, then it’s all on them.
“Ms Harper,” the prosecutor calls when I’m standing beside Alan. “Mr Griffin said you were never innocent. What’s your reply to that?”
“You don’t have to answer that question,” Alan tells me.
“It’s okay. He should know that Dad doesn’t even know the meaning of innocence. He spent his entire life tarnishing it.”
And with that, I’m out of the room. Alan walks closely beside me. We’re about the same height, but since I’m wearing heels, I’m a bit taller than him.
“Don’t show up for any voluntary questionings anymore, and if it somehow happens, please call me beforehand, Miss.”
“I’m sorry, but who hired you?”
“Mr King.”
“Oh.” Of course, it’s Jonathan. Did I mention that he’s always one step ahead?
“Word got out that you were here.” Alan’s voice turns critical. “The press is just outside.”
Shit. Fuck.
Sweat trickles down my spine at the thought of facing them. I’m sure the victims’ families are there, too. Despite my pep talk, I can’t handle restarting the nightmare all over again.
“We can wait, then go through the back,” Alan suggests.
“Running away would mean I admit to doing something wrong. I haven’t.”
“Remember, you don’t have to answer anything.”
I nod, but I’m not in the right headspace. My feet hesitate at the revolving doors as dark memories of the trial rush back in.
It’s okay. I can do this. I’m not that sixteen-year-old girl anymore.
Snapping my spine into a straight position, I march right outside.
As Alan had forewarned, the press is waiting. As soon as I come out, a horde of people rush towards me. Cameras flash in my eyes as phones and microphones are shoved in my face.
It’s a complete shitshow and I’m caught right in the middle of it. Alan tries to shield me, but he alone can’t ward them all off. Bodies bump into me, and eager, slightly judgemental eyes bore into mine.
The questions rain on me from all directions.
“Ms. Harper, is it true you escaped?”
“Why change to Aurora Harper? Did you erase your family history along with Clarissa Griffin?”
“Is it true you picked the victims for your father?”
“Why have you come to questioning?”
“Is it true that you escaped the Witness Protection Program to join an extremist jihadist group?”
“What’s your comment on your father’s accusations?”
“Will you stick to your initial statement or are you going to change it?”
“Were you diagnosed with an antisocial disorder when you were young?”
Their words muffle into each other, and it takes everything in me to stay in the present. The flashing of cameras keep throwing me back to eleven years ago.
“Murderer! Murderer!” A group of people protest at the side of the road. They’re holding pictures of the women who lost their lives because of Dad.
I recognise their faces, even though it’s been a long time ago. The families. The people left behind.
Sarah stands with them, carrying the toddler I saw her with at the charity event. She’s glaring at me and screaming with the others. “Murderer! We want justice!”
One of them throws rotten tomatoes at me and I close my eyes, letting them hit my face. I retrieve a napkin from my bag and try to wipe it away, but they hit me with another one.
Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them out and I force myself to remain completely still.
I force myself into a numb state. That’s the only way to get through such scenes.
On the third tomato, a few buff men dressed in black surround me and Alan. We’re in such a small circle that their heights and developed physiques block the press and the victims’ families.
They block everything.
I stare with a stunned expression as Jonathan strides to my side with that innate confidence of his. Relief as I’ve never felt before engulfs me as he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into the crook of his body. I inhale his woodsy scent, using him as an anchor to dissociate from the hell surrounding us.
Jonathan faces the press and says in a loud voice that everyone can hear, “This is my first and final warning. If anyone harasses my fiancée again, I’ll sue and destroy them in court.”
He then leads me towards an awaiting car. My legs barely carry me and he has to half-lift me. Only one word stays stuck in my head.
I’m not becoming deaf, right? Because I think Jonathan just called me his fiancée in front of the entire world.
