Chapter Ten
Birthday Cake
Silas
" S ilas, honey, can you hear me? I know you haven't wanted anything to do with this cake since.
.. well, you know. I just don't understand why it was so urgent for me to run out and buy all the ingredients during my lunch break and then spend my entire afternoon baking it.
I mean, it's not like I mind, but you've refused to even look at this cake for years.
I've offered to make it for you on every birthday, and every time, you shut me down.
So, why now? Why was it so important to you that I make this cake today? "
I hear her. My Aunt Sydney's question is fair, but I have no idea how to even begin to answer it. I can't even tell myself why. I know my behavior must seem bizarre, well more bizarre than my normal level of weird. Refusing this cake for years, only to suddenly ask for it out of the blue.
I just can't tear my eyes away from the cake sitting on the kitchen counter long enough to answer her.
It has been years since I last laid eyes on it.
My eleventh birthday. Just the sight of it brings back so many memories of my mother, both good and bad.
Every detail of that day is still burned into my memory.
Crystal clear like I'm looking through a photo album.
It was the last day I saw her alive. It was also the day I made my final promise to my mother.
A promise I still live by and always will until I take my last breath.
Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think there would come a day when I'd want to see this cake again .
So, why was it so damn important to me that I have this cake today?
I'm fixated on every detail. It is an exact replica of the cake my mother used to make for me on every one of my birthdays.
From the way the shell border is perfectly piped, down to the swirled mound of whipped frosting placed exactly in the middle with a fresh strawberry on top as the finishing touch.
As I stare at the cake, I realize it isn't just a dessert or a peace offering to Charlotte; it represents so much more. It's a link to my past. A tangible connection to my mother that reminds me of the love she had for me.
Twenty years ago, when my mother made me this cake for the last time; I didn't know it would be the last time I would ever feel that love from her. I failed her. I didn't deserve to feel that kind of love anymore.
My failure, that's a weight I'll carry the rest of my life. But Char? She deserves to know what an unconditional love like that feels like. That feeling, that's what I'm trying to give to her in the only twisted way that I know how.
"I fucked up, Syd," I confess, raking a hand through my hair in frustration.
"I broke the rules. Rule number one: Never let your emotions control you or dictate the kill.
I let my feelings get the better of me. I threw my entire rule book right out the fucking window last night like it was on fire.
" I slump down into one of the kitchen chairs, unable to bring myself to meet my aunt’s gaze.
"What happened, Silas? You're always so careful. This isn’t like you."
"I know… But I couldn’t help it. When she looked at me, it was all in her eyes.
The sad, worn down look she had. Mom had the exact same eyes.
And before I knew it, I was breaking all my own goddamn rules.
” I pinch the bridge of my nose trying to ease some of the tension I feel.
“I've put us both in a compromising position.
Now, I've got an innocent girl chained up in my house.
I've exposed myself, and I can't let her walk away. She knows too much. And the cherry on top of this entire clusterfuck of a mess I’ve created? Today is her birthday. "
I finally risk a glance at my aunt, her eyes wide as she processes everything I’ve just laid out for her.
"Couldn't you…” She pauses as she begins to rub her temple with two fingers. “I don’t know Silas, just lie to me and say you had a craving for cake or something?"
"You know I would never lie to you."
She waves a hand dismissively. "It's really okay if you want to start. I mean, I think in cases such as this, exceptions should be made."
"When I was a kid, I didn't have birthday parties or presents to look forward to.
But every year when my birthday would come around, I couldn't wait to get a slice of that.
" I gesture to the cake sitting on the counter.
"When I realized this morning it was her birthday, that cake was the only way I could think of to tell her I was sorry. "
"Oh, Silas." Sydney sighs as she sits down in a chair across from me at the kitchen table. She covers my hand with both of hers, “Honey, only you could do something so deeply disturbing and then somehow spin it into a sweet gesture. Who's the girl you are keeping at your house?"
I lean back in my chair, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth at her question.
"You know, Syd, I do believe you might give me a run for my money in the ‘twisted’ department.
Here I am confessing to you that I kidnapped a girl and have her chained to my bed.
You barely blink an eye then ask what her name is.
You may even be more fucked up than I am. "
"Stop it!" she yells as she smacks my forearm.
"You know if it were someone else telling me this, I'd be on the phone to 9-1-1 right now.
For you to even bring someone into your home, captive or not, is unheard of.
You would never hurt anyone unless they have earned their spot on your list. Your methods are a bit unconventional, and you may be keeping this girl under more than questionable circumstances, there is no denying that.
But I know you and I know your intentions are always good.
I'm willing to bet what you are doing is to protect her more than to protect yourself. "
"It's Charlotte Ames." I watch my aunt's face, waiting for her reaction.
"Silas Andrew Voss!!" I try to keep my composure and hold my laughter in at her use of my full name, but fail when she smacks my arm again in outrage. "You were just in my office asking about that girl. She is one of my students! You can't just go around kidnapping my students!"
"Oh, that's where you draw the line of what I should and shouldn't do? You are more fucked up than I am."
"Silas…"
My laughter immediately stops as I recall the last time I heard her say my name in that tone.
I was fourteen and had devised a plan to mow down her prized rose bushes.
I figured if I ‘accidentally’ destroyed her beloved flowers that grew in her side yard, she’d no longer ask me to do the chore.
Unfortunately for me, my aunt's detective skills far exceeded mine at that time and my plan backfired spectacularly.
Not only did I have to continue mowing her lawn, she also had me tending to the yards of most of her neighbors on the block for the remainder of the summer.
"I'm sorry. I went to the diner, and she was there.
I only had plans to talk to her about the case I'm working on and ask her a few questions.
I got a small glimpse into what her life is like, and I knew I couldn't just walk away. She needed someone looking out for her. Someone she could count on to have her back.”
I lower my head as the same familiar shame I always feel begins to creep in.
“I know what loneliness feels like. And at that age? It’s almost unbearable.
It’s worse for a woman. You and I both know all too well what can happen to a woman who’s trapped with no way out and no one to turn to. I won’t ever let that happen again.”
My aunt's grip on my hand tightens. When I look up, I see the tears welling in her eyes .
“After that, Syd, one thing just snowballed into another until all hell broke loose last night. If I could change the situation, I would. It is what it is for now until I come up with a better solution."
Sydney clears her throat as she stands from the table, picking the cake up from the counter. "You need to take this cake and go before you tell me anything else. It’s easier to lie to the cops if I don’t know anything."
I take the cake carrier from her hands and give my aunt a one-armed hug, "Thank you. I owe you—everything."
"You don't owe me anything, but there is one thing I would like for you to do for me."
"What's that?"
"When you were younger, you were the sweetest boy with the biggest heart.
Despite all the pain you and your mother went through, that never changed.
But after what happened to your mom, you shattered into a million pieces.
You were just a child, but you picked up every piece with more strength and courage than most grown men will ever possess.
I watched as you put yourself back together the best you could.
You chose darkness as the glue to mend yourself, but every one of those broken pieces are still good and worthy of love.
You were backed into a corner where the only way out was to fight your monster. The only way for you to do that was to become the bigger monster. You may share his blood, but you are not like him, Silas. I’m asking you to stop thinking that you are. Your light far outshines your darkness."
I wish she was right. That despite the all-consuming darkness running through my veins, I am not beyond redemption.
That the actions I take to keep the promise I made to my mother does not define me entirely.
But that's just wishful thinking. Because I know, man or monster, it doesn't matter.
I am irredeemable. No amount of light will ever change that.
I am such a fucking idiot.
Charlotte isn't going to care about some cake or any of this other bullshit.
I don't even know why I bothered. She's pissed as hell, and rightfully so.
She probably hates me right now. I mean, who could blame her?
Hell, I would hate me if I were her. I left her chained to my bed all day for fuck's sake.
It's not exactly the best way to show someone you care. What kind of person does that?
Well, me apparently.
I pace back and forth on my patio in the back of the house. My eyes dart anxiously towards the closed door that leads inside then back to the outdoor table. The birthday cake my aunt made sits in the center. Next to it, a gift bag and several containers of takeout take up the rest of the table top.
“Yeah, this is fucking weird, even for me.” I run my hands through my hair, frustrated with myself.
I don’t understand why Charlotte has this effect on me.
She clouds my judgement, making me do stupid shit.
I’ve known her for little more than 24 hours and in that time, I’ve made one mistake after another.
But I don’t know what else to do. I'm not a relationship expert. I've spent more time with my victims than any potential friends or partners. Killing someone isn’t exactly the building blocks of any type of long-term connection.
I've only celebrated birthdays when I was young. Mom, Aunt Sydney, and I would do something small. Just the three of us. That all stopped on my eleventh birthday. After mom’s death, it was my father’s unspoken rule that we never acknowledge "that day" again.
Even when mom was alive, celebrations were limited to just us—no friends, no parties.
I never experienced the normal things kids do.
So, here I am, an adult, and all I have to go on is what I've seen in movies and on TV. I sure as hell don't recall one that ever started out like this. I may be ignorant of the nuances of birthday activities, but I’d say it’s a sure bet that pin the tail on the donkey is still the preferred icebreaker over chopping someone's dick off or kidnapping.
So yeah, I'm a little out of my depth here.
I should just take all this shit inside and forget about the whole idea. She’s not going to care about any of this anyway. Then again, she did act like two hot dogs from a gas station were a gourmet meal. Maybe she will appreciate the cake.
Get a damn grip, Voss. Why am I so nervous? Having that cake here has to be the reason.
I walk over to the cooler by the back door and pull out two beers. Twisting the cap off one, I down it in one go. I crack open the second, taking a few sips as I head inside. I can’t shake the feeling that this is all a disaster waiting to happen. What am I even supposed to say to her?
“Oh, hey Char, I uh… I was going through all your stuff. I mean, not in a creepy way or anything. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t have any way of contacting anyone to escape.
Well, I found out it’s your birthday. So…
Happy birthday! I mean, sorry about the whole captive thing and for holding you against your will, but there’s cake! ”
I let out a bitter laugh at the absurdity of this entire situation.
Yeah, total fucking idiot.
Leaning against the kitchen counter, I down the second beer, then toss both empty bottles into the trash bin. The buzz is slowly creeping in now, dulling my anxiety. Maybe that’s all I need to get through this. A little liquid courage.
“Fuck it.” I mumble to myself under my breath. “What’s the worst that can happen?”