Chapter 19
NINETEEN
HAYAMI
PRESENT
The kitchen looks different in the daylight. Gone is the glow from the under-cabinet lighting. The rain has fizzled to a misty drizzle—no rhythm upon the windows now, just an ominous presence. The whisky has been returned to the cupboard, where, hopefully, it won’t be needed again.
After we’d finished our drinks last night, the Beast took me back to my room. He checked the cupboards, under the bed, the en suite—looking for what, I don’t know, seeing as there’s no one here but the three of us. Maybe he was just on autopilot, doing his job the only way he knows how.
I climbed back into bed, the sheets cold, the air stagnant, as if there was still a wisp of what happened a few hours ago.
But what did happen? A bad dream? A night terror? Whatever it was, I hope it was a singular event.
He stood by the bed, assessing me before he looked up at the camera. I wanted to ask him to stay. Fought the urge to beg him to sit with me, to hold my hand, to tell me he wouldn’t leave—because I was terrified that I’d have to endure that night terror again.
“I’ll be watching” was all he said before leaving the room.
That was the only thing that got me to sleep. Knowing that beyond the lens, he was sitting vigil in his little room under the stairs, watching.
I scour the pantry, trying to find something for lunch with the bizarre array of ingredients.
I love cooking. I learned how to in high school food tech, but I was never allowed to test my skills at home due to Leo, our chef, hissing me out of the kitchen, telling me he would not hear of me preparing a meal for myself, even if it was only a slice of toast.
Having staff in your house means it never truly feels like home. It feels clustered and busy, like a place of work. Not that I’ve ever had a job in my life, despite asking my father if I could get something part-time in between my studies.
He’d laughed in my face before the scowl settled, and he said one word. The one word that was not to be challenged. The one word that was not to be misunderstood or debated.
“No.”
I’m allowed to go to university because, and I quote him, “You need something to occupy you.” Not that I need to enhance my learning or my chances at understanding the world I live in, or that I might want to follow a path where microphysics, biology, or engineering is needed.
No. I just needed something to “occupy” me.
That’s when I looked at my mum and wondered what was occupying her, other than the drinks she pours and the pills she swallows.
Our parents should inspire us. We’re supposed to strive to be like them.
I don’t want to be like my father.
And I sure as hell am not going to end up like my mother.
Or am I?
Selecting a tin of coconut milk, some lemon juice, and dried parsley, I try to recall how to make chicken Alfredo when I hear sniffling coming from the dining room.
Placing the ingredients on the counter, I tiptoe over to the doorway to see Willa, her mobile clasped to her ear as she stares out of the window.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she whimpers.
I’ve never seen Willa upset. Annoyed, yes, but not sad. Her distress disturbs me more than it should, and I have to hold back from scurrying over to hug her.
“I love you. Please believe me when I tell you that I love you.”
I should leave, but it hurts to see Willa like this.
Her arm drops to her side, the phone clutched in her hand, and I have to speak.
“Is everything okay?” I edge into the room as Willa turns at the sound of my voice.
“Hey.” She sniffs, wiping her cheek with the cuff of her hoodie. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” She plasters on a Willa smile, but it’s fake. I hate fake.
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter,” I tell her, adopting one of my sterner tones.
“You’ve seen me at my worst, kicking and screaming, biting and scratching, sobbing and snotty, so please don’t give me the shit that everything is okay.
We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere with only each other.
Right now, I’m all you’ve got, so please tell me what’s going on. ”
She regards me before her head drops, and she bites her lip.
“That was Marta,” she says, her voice small. “She’s been to the midwife this morning, and they’re concerned about the level of protein in her urine. It could be a sign of pre-eclampsia.”
My stomach plummets. “Is the baby okay?”
“For now. But they’ve sent her to the hospital where they can monitor them both and take action if needed.”
“Take action?”
“They’ll induce labour or do an emergency C-section if they feel either Marta or the baby is at risk.” Willa’s voice trembles. “She’s scared. I should be there with her, with both of them.” Tears fall down her cheeks, and my heart cracks.
Then the anger arrives. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”
“Of course it is. It’s because of me that you aren’t with her now.” Rage swims in my chest as I take in Willa’s shaking hand, her swollen eyes, and her broken spirit, all because of me.
“You should leave.” It comes out as if I hadn’t meant it to.
“What?” Willa stares at me.
“We’ll take the Jeep. I’ll drive you to the airport so you can get the first plane out of here, and then I’ll drive back before the B—Fenrir starts his shift.”
“We can’t do that. You know I can’t leave.” She shakes her head.
“Why not?”
“I have a job to do—”
“Fuck that. Fenrir is here. Do you think he’s going to let anything happen to me? You know what he’s like. A cold won’t get within an inch of me if he’s got anything to do with it.”
“But he can’t watch you all the time.”
“I don’t need watching all the time. We have a security system. We’ve been here for days, and fuck-all has happened. Besides, what’s more important right now?”
Willa doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.
“I’ll lose my job.”
“So what? You’ll lose your job. Jobs are two a penny.
” I want to add that her job isn’t the only thing she’ll lose, but I’m not that cruel to point out the threat to her life when she’s upset over her wife and unborn child.
“You’re an educated woman with a skill set to rival most employees.
You’ll easily get another job. And do you really want to be working for my father when your son or daughter arrives?
You’d never get their birthday off or their first football game or their first dance show, because if my father wants you to work, you’re working.
Is that what you want for your family? For Marta? ”
“I can’t just quit. We have bills. Marta will be on maternity pay.”
“Okay, then don’t quit. But if you don’t go be with your wife and child, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
“Your father—” Willa begins to argue, but I cut her off.
“Doesn’t even have to know. Look, if you leave now, you can go be with her, support her, and be there for whatever happens. You could be back here within the week, and no one has to know.”
“But Fenrir will know.”
“And he won’t say shit.”
“Of course he will. He’ll report it straight away.” Her voice quivers.
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” I tell her. “I can be very persuasive.”
“Hayami,” Willa warns, but I bat her away.
“Come on. I’ll help you pack, and we can work out the details after you’ve seen your wife.”
I set off for the door, but she doesn’t budge.
My shoulders settle. “Do you love her?” I know it’s a cheap shot, a low blow when she’s looking so terrified, but sometimes you just have to go for the balls. I’ve read enough romance novels to know that this is the moment where the word love needs to be used as ammunition.
She glares at me. “Of course I do.”
“Then you’d do anything for her, right?”
“Anything,” Willa confirms.
“Then what the fuck are you waiting for?”
* * *
It felt strange, driving Willa to the airport. I never drive myself anywhere and had only managed to convince my father to let me get my licence because it’d give me something to do over the summer break.
For the forty-minute journey, Willa is a jumble of nerves, constantly telling me to keep to the speed limit, keep my baseball cap down, and watch the rear mirror for anyone tailing us.
We’d deliberated over leaving the Beast a note, telling him where we were if he were to come out of his room, but then the idea of leaving a paper trail seemed like a bad idea.
Willa had argued that he might call my father if he found us gone, but I knew he wouldn’t.
The Beast doesn’t follow protocol. So we’re chancing it, hoping I’ll return before he realises we left.
“No one knows where I am,” I tell her. “This is an impromptu journey, not planned, and no one knows where we’re going, so stop stressing. If there’d been a sniper waiting to ambush me, then they’d have shot me the minute I stepped foot out the door, not when I’m driving on a busy road.”
But the roads aren’t busy, even when we reach the small airport. They’re eerily quiet, the grey drizzle having kept everyone indoors.
“Go straight back to the house, no stops,” Willa tells me as we unload her bags from the boot. “And be careful on that road back up the mountain. There were some pretty sharp bends.”
“Stop worrying about me. You have enough to worry about, and I know how to drive. I’ll take it steady. I promise.”
She hugs me. Considering the number of times Willa has had to restrain me, I’m no stranger to her physical contact, but this feels oddly intimate. “Look after yourself, and don’t drive Fenrir mad. You know what he’s like when he loses his temper. Be nice to him.”
“I will,” I assure her as she picks up her bags. “Text me when you can, and I hope Marta and the baby are okay.”
“Thank you.” She turns to leave, then swivels, her expression serious. “It’s selfless, what you’re doing. Putting Marta’s and my needs before your own.”
“No, it isn’t,” I tell her. “It’s just being human.”
I watch her until she disappears inside the airport, and then my shoulders drop, and the tendrils of anxiety wrap themselves around my gut.
What if my father finds out? What if he punishes her?
But I know I’m right. Marta and the baby are more important right now; they’re all that matters.
Willa would never forgive herself if she’s not there for them.
I send out a little prayer to whichever god is listening before I get back into the car and drive back to the house.
As I cruise down the deserted roads, I feel a strange sense of wonderment. I’ve never driven a car on my own, never been alone outside my house before. This is all so new, so refreshing that I can’t help but smile.
How easy it’d be to just keep on driving.
The temptation to flee overwhelms me. But then reality sinks the dream. What would happen to Willa and Marta if I ran? Who would my father blame? Who would he punish?
Instead of running, I roll the windows down. Liberated by the fresh air and the drizzle that sneaks into the car, I enjoy that no one is telling me to roll the windows up, or to pull my cap further down over my face, or to do anything.
I’ve spent my whole life feeling trapped and alone, but this is the first time I’ve ever been alone yet free, and I love it.
Driving up to the house, I see it now in all its splendour.
The pitched roof, the arched windows, the pale stone, and the gnarled trees that look like an old person bent over with arthritis.
Nothing is welcoming about this house. I could leave this place now, just turn the car around and put my foot on the gas, never to return.
But then I remember him.
After parking the car, I let myself into the house, keeping my steps light, like a teenager having snuck out for some illicit rendezvous—something I’ve never done, and would never have been able to do if not for today.
I tick off another first on my bucket list. Today is shaping up to be a day of firsts.
The house is still and quiet, as if it knows what I’ve done and is keeping shtoom.
I figured that if the Beast had risen whilst we’d been out and discovered we weren’t here, I’d know by the fury that would be permeating the walls—the devastation he’d have left in his wake if he’d found out we had gone. Especially after I’d confessed to having thought about running away.
Entering the sitting room, I sit on the window seat and wait for him to wake, for him to discover what I’ve done, and to face the repercussions.