This Woman Forever

Chapter 45

I texted John to tell him in as few words as possible about Alan’s call, to sweep the penthouse, and call me the minute he’s out of Ava’s earshot. By the time I’m at Lansdowne Crescent, he’s still not called, so I call him, stressed, panicked, out of my fucking mind.

“Yes,” he snaps in answer, sounding really fucking grumpy.

“Are you home?”

“We’re here now. Cathy’s already left, but I’ll stay until you arrive.”

“I’m at Lansdowne Crescent.” But I can’t remember exactly which house Ava went in. “Can you recall a door number?”

“It’s a blue door. Needs painting.”

I spot a blue door, and my eyes remain on it, lasers. “Lansdowne Crescent,” I muse, turning off my engine.

“Yes, Lansdowne Crescent.” John says, pensive.

“And you think it was Lauren?”

“I can’t be sure. I only got a glimpse, but if it’s not her, it’s her doppelganger.”

I’m praying it’s the latter. “We could be overreacting, right?” I ask, not wanting to insinuate that John might have been seeing things. “Making something out of nothing?” I’m clutching at straws, I know I am. This is not fucking good.

“I really fucking hope so,” John whispers.

I get out and walk up the path to the house, going to the window and cupping the glass, looking inside. “I don’t think anyone’s home,” I say, the glass steaming under my breath. I just need to see who lives here. See if we’re off the mark.

“There’s no one there?”

“The client you took her to see, it was definitely Ruth Quinn?”

“Yes, Ruth Quinn. I already told you. I know my eyesight ain’t as good as it used to be, but I’d put my life on it.”

Put his life on it that he thinks he saw Lauren? “Now you’re putting your life on it?”

“You need to call the police,” John hisses. “Not go looking for her, you crazy motherfucker.”

“I’m not leaving this house until I see with my own eyes who lives here.” I go to the door and knock.

“Jesse,” John goes on, sounding insultingly soothing. “You need to get your arse back here. Leave it for the police to deal with.”

“No, John,” I shout, hitting the door a little harder, my temper and fear getting the better of me. I’d put my life on it. All I can hear are Ava’s words about this client. She’s testing, demanding, always fucking calling or dropping by her office. Fuck. Every time I’ve thought I’ve seen Lauren, it’s been around the area where Ava’s office is. Every single fucking time. “Just tell Ava I’ve got caught up in traffic. I don’t want her to know about this. It could be nothing.” I’m praying it’s nothing. Praying.

“It’s too late,” John sighs, defeated. “She’s standing right here. You’d better come home.”

“Fuck!” I smash my fists into the door, probably raising the dead as well as the whole of London. “Answer the fucking door!” I shove myself away and rake a hand through my hair, looking to the clouds and forcing myself into some calm breathing. I’m a joke. “Can you put her on the phone?” I ask. My time dodging that final, crucifying piece of my past is up. Because even if we’re wrong, Ava’s heard too much.

“Who is she?” It’s the first thing she says, her voice strong.

I stalk to the end of the pavement and look up at the house, searching the windows. “I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean?” she yells, her composure lost, fear fueling her.

“I’m on my way home.” I give up; there’s no one home, and if there is, they’re not going to answer. “We’ll talk.”

“No,” she snaps. “Tell me.”

“Ava,” I wheeze, getting in my car, exhausted by my emotions. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure it’s her.” A Ford honks me when I pull out in front of it. Take it easy. “I’ll explain when I can sit you down.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Baby, please, I need to see you.” Hold her hands. Hold her down.

“You didn’t answer my question. What else could you possibly have to tell me, Jesse?”

“I’ll be home soon,” I murmur quietly, putting my foot down when I reach the main road.

“Will it make me run?”

“I’ll be home soon,” I say again, on auto pilot. I disconnect the call and grip the steering wheel hard, along with my teeth. Try in vain to get my head on straight. Then I dial Steve.

“Everything okay?” he asks warily, sensing my stress.

“I have another name for you. Two actually. Lauren Pierce and Ruth Quinn.”

“Right,” he says slowly, waiting for more.

“They could be the same person. Lauren Pierce is—” I breathe in, fighting the words forward. “She’s my ex-wife.” Steve doesn’t react. He just listens. “She was unwell. Mentally, I mean. She was in hospital for many years, and I’d heard she’d passed away. I’ve just found out she’s not dead.”

“Tell me more,” he says, calm and patient. Professional. No judgment, no show of surprise, although I’m sure he feels it.

“Ruth Quinn is a client of Ava’s. A difficult one. I don’t know a lot on that front. But John took Ava to an appointment this afternoon and caught a glimpse of this Ruth Quinn. He thought she looked familiar.”

“Familiar as in, like your ex-wife?”

“Yes.”

“How long has it been since John’s seen her?”

“Sixteen years, maybe seventeen.”

“And you?”

“Same.”

“That’s a long time, Jesse.”

“I know,” I grate. I hear him. Why now? “I’ve been to the address of Ava’s client. There’s no one there. It could be nothing”—fuck, I hope it’s nothing—“but it could be something, Steve, and I really need to know.”

“I’ve got you. I’ll check out the names now and come back to you. What’s the address of this client?”

“Twelve Lansdowne Crescent.”

“I’m on it. You shouldn’t have gone there. Where’s Ava?”

“At home with John.”

“Listen, try to relax, okay? I’m sure there’s nothing in it, but it’s wise to check it out. Are you comfortable with me coming to your home to take these statements?”

“Yeah, sure. We’re in the penthouse at the new Lusso building on Katherine Docks.”

“I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”

I hang up and repeat his words over and over. It’s nothing. It’s been over sixteen years. Why would she decide to haunt me now? I’m so strung, I jump when another call comes in. “John?” I say, tense.

“The concierge has mentioned someone loitering around outside so I’m going down to check it out.”

“A woman?” I ask instinctively, my heart missing a few too many beats.

“No, a guy. By the bins.”

I sigh, loosening up. “It’s probably the homeless dude,” I say. “I took his trolly out a few weeks back. He sneaks in when the gates are open and rootles through the bins.”

“I’ll go check,” he says. “Ava’s upstairs. I locked the door.”

“Is she okay?”

“Worried.”

I hear the front door close down the line. “I’m five minutes away.” I hang up and focus on the road, trying to make some sense out of all this. But I can’t. I don’t know whether it’s because I simply don’t have the capacity or if it simply can’t make sense.

Three more calls come in before I make it to Lusso—Sam, Drew, and Kate. I don’t answer, my energy levels zapped. And now I have to explain to Ava why I was trying to break down her client’s door. I park up and scan the car park for the homeless guy, but don’t see any sign of him. I bet John saw him off. Probably with a few quid in his pocket.

I walk into the lobby, scanning the desk area for Clive or the new concierge. There’s no one. I glance down at my watch, walking on, the sound of my shoes hitting the marble echoing around the lobby.

As I approach the lift, I lift a hand, ready to hit the call button.

Stop dead in my tracks when I see John.

Unconscious on the floor.

“No,” I whisper, immobilized for a few precious seconds, my eyes nailed to his big body lying on the marble, half concealed behind the concierge’s desk. What the fuck is happening? “John?” My legs come to life, and I run to him, checking him over, my hands all over his big body. “John, can you hear me?”

He stirs, grumbles, his eyes opening and closing, hissing in pain. I see the blood around his head.

“Fuck,” I hiss. “John, what happened?”

His hand pats around on the floor, feeling, until he finds my forearm and squeezes. “Go,” he wheezes, finding my eyes. “Go.”

I withdraw, every inch of me turning cold.

“Go!” he coughs.

I look up above the elevator. It’s at the penthouse. “Oh my God,” I breathe, standing and sinking my fist into the doors. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I turn and run to the stairwell door, smashing in the code and yanking it open. I fly up the stairs like a tornado, adrenaline and fear fueling me.

Terrified.

I push through the last door and emerge into the foyer outside the penthouse, stalking toward the front door. I don’t feel for my keys, my head telling me to get the fuck in there fast. So I shoulder barge it, and the second I right my bent body, I see Ava, folded over, holding her tummy.

And I know.

I. Just. Fucking. Know.

“No,” I whisper, catching sight of someone disappearing into the kitchen. Fuck, no! There are clatters and bangs, but... Ava. What the hell has she done to her?

Ava’s eyes meet mine. Tears are streaming, yet her sobs are quiet. My God, I’ll fucking kill her. Rage breaks through my terror, so fast and fierce, I start to quake where I stand, consumed by it. It goes against everything inside me, but I leave Ava where she is and go to the kitchen. The minute I see her, nausea rises.

My blood turns to ice.

She’s not really changed that much. There’s still crazy in her eyes.

A knife in her hand.

A sick smirk curving her lips.

“Here we are, me and you, as it should be,” she whispers, out of breath, as I move around the island, making sure I keep something between us. I don’t correct her. I realize I have to choose my words carefully. Be cautious, wise. Try not to poke her. I’ve seen many versions of Lauren. This one in front of me? It’s the worst. The most dangerous and damaging.

I stare at her, trying to catch my breath. “Put the knife down, Lauren,” I say calmly, silently willing Ava to stay away. Hoping she’s been sensible and got her and our babies the fuck out of here and called the police.

My hope is dashed when I hear a thud and Lauren’s eyes move to the doorway. Fuck. Ava’s standing on the threshold, looking the most petrified I’ve ever seen her. God damn her.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, her eyes nailed to the blade in Lauren’s hand.

“Nice to see you, Jesse,” Lauren muses, a nasty, sinister edge to her voice, causing many horrific memories to come flooding back.

“No,” I whisper, so tense my body hurts. “It’s not. Why are you here?” Why now, after all these years, has she chosen to invade my life?

“I was happy to let you wallow in misery,” she says, making me pull in air, my questions being answered with that one scathing statement. It’s Ava. Happiness. Peace. That’s why she’s here. “Drink your life away,” she goes on, the knife swaying. “And try to fill the void that you created by mindlessly fucking about.” And there it is. She was happy that I was miserable. Hollow. In constant pain. “But then you went and fell in love.” She smiles, and it’s loaded with nothing but hatred. My God, how long has she been hovering on the sidelines of my life, watching me slowly dying? “I can’t let you have happiness when you’ve destroyed mine.”

“I’ve paid tenfold for my mistakes, Lauren,” I whisper, catching a glimpse of Ava. Her horrified face, her disbelieving, watery gaze. It crushes me. Absolutely fucking crushes me. It’s been Lauren all along. The drugs, the car, the threats. I wasn’t seeing things. I wasn’t going fucking crazy. “I deserve this,” I murmur, not sounding very convincing.

“No, you don’t,” she muses, like it’s a foregone conclusion. “You took my happiness, so I’ll take yours.” Her knife is pointing at Ava. My happiness. And Lauren’s happiness? That was me. It wasn’t Rosie. It was me. She’s here because I took me away from her.

“I didn’t take your happiness.” I was never going to be her happiness.

“Yes!” She explodes, her face flashing red, and I flinch. “You married me, and then left me.”

The sound of complete shock that bursts from Ava was expected. Doesn’t make it easier to hear. I want to explain, tell her the full story, build the picture, before Lauren gets to where I know she’s heading.

Rosie.

“You didn’t know?” Lauren says, seeing Ava’s reaction. “Well, there’s a surprise. It might also explain why you’ve stuck around.”

Jesus Christ, what the fuck am I going to do? Trying to pacify her won’t work. I’ve dealt with her enough to know what I’m dealing with, and I’m dealing with the same woman who lost her mind and gunned for me. If it were just me standing here, I’d take my chances. But it’s not just me. And I don’t like the crazed looks she keeps turning Ava’s way.

To Lauren, my wife’s the problem.

“Nothing can break us,” Ava whispers shakily, and I swallow, my heart turning. I want to believe it.

The sick feeling in my gut worsens as Ava gazes at me, scared, her head shaking mildly. I did this. Caused this. I walked her into the middle of this, and I don’t know if I can get her out unharmed. Get our babies away from this psychotic madwoman who has every intention of doing irrevocable damage.

“I’m so sorry.” How did I let this happen? What kind of man am I? “I should have told you.” Should have given her every detail, made her aware so she could at least recognize the signs.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says desperately.

“It does matter,” Lauren hisses. “She knows nothing, does she?”

I stare at Ava, wishing and hoping, wishing and hoping, my head shaking.

“She doesn’t know about our daughter?”

A sense of calm finality comes over me, my eyes closing briefly as I exhale, needing to escape the shock. But I catch Ava jerk and instinct has me moving toward her.

“Stay where you are!” Lauren screams, halting me, my breath held, my eyes set on my pregnant wife as she gasps for breath, feeling for something that isn’t there to steady herself.

“Ava,” I yell, startling her.

“Yes, we were married,” Lauren declares, proud. “And he left me when I was pregnant.”

What?No. She does not get to spin her tale. She does not get to be economical with the truth. “I was forced to marry you because you were pregnant,” I seethe, trying to keep a lid on the inevitable anger, pushing back visions of me walking on numb legs down the aisle. Walking toward my tragic fate. “I didn’t want to, and you knew it. We were seventeen years old, Lauren. We fooled around one time.” And she tricked me. Got me plastered. Helped me escape. Fuck!

“Don’t blame your decision on your parents.”

My parents? No. I blame her. “I was trying to right my wrongs. I was trying to make them happy.” And it was all wasted. I only made things worse. More tragic. “I—” I see Ava backing away in my side vision, but I don’t look her way. I keep Lauren’s eyes on me. Yes, get away. Run.

“Don’t move,” Lauren barks. “Don’t even think about trying to leave, because this knife will be in him before you make it out the door.” I’m sure Ava’s realized by now that the scar on my stomach wasn’t caused in a car accident. So she’ll know Lauren is serious. Deadly serious. “You’ve not even heard the best part.” Lauren flashes me a satisfied smile, enjoying this as much as only a psycho would. Performing. Shooting for the most shocking, the most extreme reactions. “So it would be nice if you stick around to hear me out.”

“Lauren,” I say, my voice low. What the fuck is she expecting from this? That Ava will hear her, leave me, and we’ll live happily ever after?

“What? You don’t want me to tell your young, pregnant wife that you killed our daughter?”

It hits Ava like a boulder. Fuck, she’s going to pass out. The stress, the pressure, the emotions. But if I move?

I look at Lauren. “No,” I yell, seeing her moving toward Ava, the knife poised. My God, no.

I fly across the kitchen like a bull, catching Ava, blocking Lauren’s path to her. “Fuck,” I hiss, my vision blurring as pain radiates through my body and an awful sound invades my ears, like a squelch. I still for a moment, paralyzed. And then I feel the knife in my side. I breath out on a rush and start to shake, adrenaline kicking in. Urgency. I haven’t got long.

I spin, grab her, and smash her to the ground, and Lauren’s hands grip my wrists as I straddle her, heaving, the pain getting worse, the feeling of warm wetness creeping across my shirt. I blink, over and over, trying to clear my vision. And when I do, she smiles. She’s fucking stabbed me. Again. But she was aiming for Ava. For our babies.

I roar, losing all control, and punch her in the face. Only Lauren would laugh. “I didn’t kill my daughter,” I bellow, drawing back and going again, sinking my fist into her face, the sounds of her laughing unbearable. How can she laugh when we’re talking about Rosie. How?

“You did,” she sings, delighted, her hands hitting at my chest, catching me in my side. The pain flares. “The moment she got in that car, you sent her to her death.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” I grunt, feeling dizzy, the flow of blood leaving my body so fast I can actually feel it pouring out of me.

“Carmichael should never have taken our daughter,” she screams, laughing. “You should’ve been watching her!” She spits out some blood, baring red-stained teeth. “I spent five years in a padded cell. I’ve spent twenty years wishing I’d never let you see her.” She spits at me, scratching at my sleeves. “You left me without you, then you killed the only piece of you I had left! I’ll never let you replace her,” she screams. “No one else gets a piece of you!”

Deranged and desperate, black dots now hampering my vision, I swing aimlessly, feeling and hearing bones crunch against my fist.

And then... silence.

No more tormenting words.

No more laughing.

The adrenaline leaves me, and suddenly air isn’t so easy to find. I gasp, my lungs burning, as I raise my hands and hold them in front of me, trying to focus on them. “Fuck,” I whisper, looking down at my shirt.

“Nothing will break us.”

Ava?

I search for her, finding her on her knees. I have to get to her. I have to get her out of here. Struggling to my feet, I wobble, trying so hard to shake the dizziness away. And isn’t it incredible that now, when I can’t see a fucking thing, I still see Ava. So clearly. But I don’t like it. The mess of her face, the tragic despair in her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.” I barely get the words past the lump in my throat, my steps heavy and clumsy. I feel so weak, my heart racing.

“It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”

I put one foot in front of the other, but I don’t seem to be going anywhere. She stabbed me. I swallow, trying to wet my mouth, suddenly unable to talk. Ava, call an ambulance. My legs start to give, my body becoming too heavy to hold me up, and I drop to a knee, gasping. There’s no air to be found. Ava’s bewildered. My breathing becomes short and sharp, anything deeper causing slicing pain in my stomach.

Helpme.

I sway on my knee, my uncoordinated hand reaching for my jacket and shoving it back, showing Ava the knife wedged in my side.

“No!”

I lose my balance and strength, collapsing to my back, my head hitting the kitchen floor with a smack. My eyelids feel so heavy, my body so fucking cold.

“Oh God, Jesse!”

Don’t panic, baby.

“Oh God, no no no no no. Please no!”

Come on, Ava. I need you to pull it together.

“Don’t close your eyes, Jesse.”

I’m trying, baby, but I’m tired. So fucking tired.

“Baby, keep your eyes open,” she snaps. “Look at me.”

Breathing is getting harder with each painful breath, even the lightest of inhales causing untold pain. “Ava...” Call an ambulance. “Ava...”

She hushes me, her tears falling and sinking into my shirt as she starts feeling around in my pocket. She pulls out my mobile, juggling it in her hands.

Calm down, Ava. Just calm down.

Fuck, I can’t keep my eyes open. But I can’t close them.

Because I’m terrified I’ll never see her again.

“I need an ambulance,” she yells, her panic making her words almost indecipherable. “Please, my husband’s been stabbed.” Her hand meets my chest, her eyes now just dark blurry dots. I’m losing her. “The penthouse. The code for the elevator is 3210. It’s the Lusso building on St. Katherine Docks. Please, he’s losing consciousness. He can’t talk. The blood, there’s so much.” Her voice cracks, and my heavy lids win, my eyes closing. “Please. Jesse, open your eyes,” Ava snaps, but for all the will in world, I don’t have the strength. “Don’t you dare leave me,” she yells, sobbing. “I’ll be crazy mad if you leave me.”

I can’t breathe. “I can’t b—” A wave of pain radiates through me, and I try to harden my body to stem it. Focus on breathing. I must keep breathing.

“Jesse!”

I fight with everything I have, use energy I can’t afford to lose, to open my eyes. She’s blurry but clear. And isn’t that the poignancy of our story? Would it be too much to ask my body to grace me with one more touch too?

Yes.

Is this it? Have I had my time? My happiness? My moment?

My love?

It would seem unfair if it wasn’t so symbolic.

It was me or Ava. And it was always meant to be me.

I stare at her, hearing her talking but not understanding what she’s saying, hearing music but not really knowing what it is. Something I recognize. “Unbreakable,” I wheeze, getting heavier and heavier.

I’m done.

I close my eyes and freefall into my darkness, feeling an odd sense of peace filling my broken body.

Because I can leave this world knowing my wife and children will be safe from my tragedies.