Chapter 29
29
ADAM
I fall to my knees and take the broken picture frame into my shaking fingers, ignoring the sting as glass punctures flesh. I touch Lloyd’s face. My heart is still galloping.
For one cold moment everything had made perfect sense. The fact that the promotion gave up on trying to get me back, the fact that this beautiful 24-year-old was here, being so open and warm, telling me everything I wanted to hear; how the press got those photos. And everything Geoff said last night; tried to warn me about. It was all so clear. It all fit. Not fate, but a conspiracy with me, the desperate dumbass at its center. But now… now I don’t know what to think. Except that if none of that is true, and if Belle was telling the truth, then I’ve hurt him. Now he’s seen The Beast in all its glory. And he probably thinks I’m a paranoid maniac.
I collapse back, resting my head against the cold wall, my eyes prickling. I imagine Lloyd settling beside me. I always feel close to him here.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
I wish he’d speak to me, but even imaginary Lloyd’s abandoned me after seeing that display.
With trembling hands, I uncrumple the yellowed note.
Please don’t be sad, mon cher.
That’s how it starts. There was a time I knew every word by heart. But the memories are slowly disintegrating, like the paper. I should be glad of that, surely? This note represents the worst moment in my life. I should have burnt it the very day I found it. But how could I when it was all that was left?
Far away, a door slams. I slowly unfold the page, feeling a mix of dread and pain. I need to remember what comes next.
Please don’t be sad, mon cher. All the great musicians die at 27, don’t you know?
I know this will be hard for you, but don’t think of me as gone, think of me visiting Paris on tour. This will be difficult, but it won’t destroy you the way the illness would. I know you, I know there’s no way you could continue to build your career while I was sick and helpless here in the Highlands. That’s not who you are. You’ve fought so hard for what you have. I won’t be the one to take it from you.
And you know me. You know I’ve never liked anyone or anything telling me what to do. That includes this dratted body of mine.
When you think of me, think of those nights in New York, think of Zanzibar and Montreal, think of Paris. Don’t think of this. I’d rather be remembered for what I created than for what I became. Warhol said that, I believe.
The only thing certain in life is change. This isn’t an ending. It’s just another change. I love you. Now and always.
I hang my head and let the tears fall.
It’s several long minutes before I pull myself together. As always, my temper burned like a wildfire, sweeping across my senses, leaving only ashes. I feel raw and empty, and while the only thing I want to do is crawl into bed, I know I can’t leave this thing with Belle unresolved.
I haul myself to my feet, pull on some clothes and splash cold water on my face. Real men don’t cry, my old man’s voice echoes in my mind as I avoid looking at myself in the mirror over the basin.
I go past the control room first. Belle isn’t on any of the cameras. The children are happily playing CraftWar, Lily-Iris is doing laundry, Ray is at the kitchen table writing a letter. Belle must be in his room.
I rap gently on the door. “Belle, it’s me. Can we talk?”
No response. Not surprising. I swallow past the lump still in my throat. “I’m sorry. I lost my temper. Please may I come in?”
Nothing.
I rest my forehead against the door. There’s no sound from beyond, just the low wail of the storm outside. “I understand if you feel safer with a door between us. The truth is… you seem too good to be true, Belle. And it made so much sense that you were a plant. You must think me the most paranoid psychopath. You must believe everything you said about me, about Adam , was wrong. That I’m a Beast after all. I am. I admit that fully. You saw it for yourself last night, even when I try to do good, I cause pain. It’s just who I am. But I don’t want to be… I don’t want to be that. Especially not with you, Belle. Jonathan. Please… just let me know you’re okay.”
Nothing.
“Belle?”
My heart rate starts to climb again. Maybe he’s ignoring me. But maybe he’s not.
“Belle? Belle I’m going to come in. If you don’t want me to come in, say something.”
I twist the handle and push the door open. The room is empty, but the cupboard doors are flung open and all Belle’s clothes are missing.
Through the tall windows I can clearly see the raging storm.
I fly downstairs, taking them two at a time, skidding as I hit the entrance hall, no doubt leaving scuff marks that Lily-Iris will scold me for. I grab my jacket, my scarf and my gloves, fumbling as I put them on. Jonathan’s coat isn’t here.
Ray comes rushing out of the kitchen. “What’s all this?”
“I think Belle’s gone.”
“Gone?”
“I lost my temper.”
Ray’s eyes go large. “You didn’t go full Beast on that darling man?”
I can’t answer. As usual, Ray takes what they need from my expression.
“Oh honey, no. The man’s head over heels for you. You can’t go doing that to him.” They grab their own jacket and gloves.
Head over heels? I can’t afford to think of that now. All that matters is getting Jonathan to safety.
“You’re sure he went out? In this?” Ray asks.
“He’s not on the cameras. His closet’s empty.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. About half an hour ago?”
“Well, shit.” They throw the door open and the two of us head out into the cold.
The rain is coming down in sheets and the icy wind tears at our clothes. It’s so thick and loud that I can hardly see Ray in their pink parker mere feet away from me. How am I going to find Belle?
“I’ll check around the front.” Ray yells over the roar of it. “You check the cottage!”
The cottage. Angus’s cottage and the car out front. If Belle really wanted to escape me, of course that’s where he would have gone. I have to get to him first. He can’t drive in this.
It’s a fight just to move forward in the gale. My cheeks and nose go instantly numb and I shove my hands into my pockets to keep them from freezing. This isn’t just rain, it’s sleet. I duck my head and push towards the forest.
I follow the same route we took with the children on Spring Day. No gentle breeze and speckled sunlight now. Just icy mud, flying leaves and twigs, and whipping branches. Does Jonathan know the way to the cottage? Does he know where the path curves? To my knowledge, he’s never been there. And it would be so, so easy to get lost in this.
“Belle!”
Surely he didn’t come out this way. Surely he would have realized how dangerous it was. I can hardly see in front of my face. Twice, I nearly slip on the uneven, mulchy ground.
“Belle!”
But it would be worse if he tried to climb up the hill, if he tried to fight his way to signal. My stomach goes tight with sudden terror. The lake. A fall. Too many horrible endings to imagine.
“Jonathan!”
I fight my way through the trees, calling desperately. How long has he been out here? Please let him have found shelter. Please just let him be safe.
“Jonathan!”
And then I see it. His shirt. The one with the colorful birds and butterflies that he wore on our picnic. It’s lying in the mud.