50. The Ghost
The Ghost
The clock on the wall of Leo’s office says it is almost half past three in the morning when I enter.
That he hasn’t joined the more salacious activities of his guests surprises me.
At his desk, he’s reclined as far as the chair will allow, nursing a glass of whiskey. He doesn’t look up when I enter.
“You heard everything, didn’t you? You always do.”
My steps are silent across the carpet. But my path takes me to the cold fireplace, to the gilded vases decorating the mantel, to the portrait of some old man I can thank for my name who’s now rotting out in the cemetery.
“You know, I’m beginning to think you deserve each other.” He mumbles under his breath, but after years of eavesdropping, I can hear him perfectly. “Not that it’s saying much. You’re both ungrateful for everything we’ve done for you.”
The painting’s eyes follow my every move. If his ghost lingers in this house, we’ve never crossed paths.
“She’s a bit bland, isn’t she? But maybe that’s what you like about her. Makes it easier to have your way with them, doesn’t it? And here she is, demanding things go her way when she’s hardly done anything to deserve it. Just like you.” He laughs.
There’s a bracelet on the floor. Gaudy and polished silver, with a dozen charms. Definitely not Mariane’s.
I hear him stand, the erratic pattern of his shoes on the carpet, and then Leo has me by the neck, a drunken rage twisting his normally composed face. He’s finally looking at me, pupils dilating. “What are you doing here?”
Is this his weak attempt to stop my air flow? His fingers dig into my throat, but either he’s never choked someone before—and why would he ever get his hands dirty?—or he’s being gentle with me.
I shove him off easily.
It’s been a long time since he felt bold enough to put his hands on me.
He steps back, pretending he didn’t almost lose his balance. “You shouldn’t be out.”
“And why not?” I step closer.
“I don’t want to have to explain you to any of the guests.” True contempt burns in his eyes.
Leo hates me.
The feeling’s been mutual for a long, long time.
He spits his rage, his face pink with it. And the entire time I’m thinking only that he’s lucky I haven’t hurt him sooner.
“Where is your—?” He doesn’t want to say it, his pin-point pupils darting across my face. My bare face.
I haven’t seen my own face in a long time. But I’m sure if someone looked close enough, they would see the resemblance. They could pick up on how similar I look to the dead Arnie of fifteen years ago.
How I look like Leo’s son.
“Am I that hideous?”
He’s shaking his head. “You could ruin everything.”
“The mask is conspicuous. Besides, I can go wherever I want.” I step closer to him, and it’s that moment he remembers I am two inches taller and have strangled at least three people. “Can’t I?”
“Is this because of the tutor? I thought you would have been done with her by now.”
“So you could have her?” I take another step. “Like you went after the last one?”
I’ve hit a nerve, because instead of losing himself to his temper, he composes himself, schools his expression into something unbothered.
Mildly disgusted. He recedes a step, reeking of whiskey and his cologne layered over sweat.
“If you so much as look at someone wrong tonight, I may find a way to lock her in a room with me for a bit. Give her my feedback on Henri’s performance. See how well she otherwise performs.”
He says these things to get a rise from me, and I can’t deny that it’s working. “If you think she won’t sever your dick from your body—”
“That timid thing?” Leo laughs. “I could get her on her knees with one word. I’m sure you know.”
My eyes narrow. “Could you even get it up again tonight?”
“You’ve become such a disappointment.” His lip curls. “After everything. I’ve brought you how many people now? I’ve covered for you. I’ve never forced you out of the house. All of this, hoping one day you’d realize you could put this urge to good use.”
“To kill for you.”
“For yourself,” he says. As if we haven’t had this conversation endless times. “It’s convenient for both of us, and you know it.”
He thinks I’m stupid. That I don’t know at the first hint of trouble, he’d abandon me for the wolves. Let me take the fall.
“That’s what you have Desmond for.”
“I wouldn’t need Desmond if you would just cooperate.” Leo shakes his head. “This girl distracts you. We’re getting rid of her.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Mariane and I have already decided. She goes in the morning.”
It’s the muttered whore under his breath that almost has me losing my grip on my restraint.
There’s a sudden pain in my jaw—I’m clenching my teeth together too hard.
It takes everything within me not to lunge at him.
Not to tear his throat out at just a few words.
I let the pain arc through my skull for a few more seconds before relaxing, shaking off the rage.
That’s what he wants. He wants me to act out.
Give him a reason to send Desmond Mallary’s way.
“I’m not done with her.”
“You’ll never finish her,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “So she has to go.”
“What about Henri?”
“Since when have you cared about Henri? Whether she leaves or she succumbs to you, he’s going to need a new teacher.”
“Am I not allowed to take my time?”
But I am maskless, and I cannot hide my rage as easily. He’s telling me this now—unmasked—on purpose.
“It’s not like you.” He meets my stare directly. “You’ve wasted so much of your potential. First the music, and now this.”
I don’t move. Even though I know exactly what he’s going to say. I’ve heard it a dozen times before. But I don’t turn and leave.
“You know, when you first killed your nanny, I thought maybe, maybe, we could hone you to our needs. You could be useful to us. To the family. And yet.” The slow, disappointed shaking of his head, back and forth. “A girl has you wrapped around her finger and now you won’t let go.”
He knows I wouldn’t have kept her around so long for no reason. Not even for the flood of desire between us. Though, this is the first time sex has ever been part of the equation.
He just can’t fathom that I like her.
“Haven’t we tried enough?” Leo says. “We gave you victims. You play too much with your food. It’s time.”
“And you’ll let me out?” I advance again. He has to look up at me. “I do what you say and you’ll let me out?”
His lip is still curled, and I know he’s lying when he nods. “You kill her, you agree to listen, and we’ll discuss this with Mariane.” As if she’s the one calling the shots here.
My mother hasn’t cared for me in a decade.
He goes on. “Listen to your head, Arnaud. You’re smart, right? The punishment ends when you listen.”
Punishment.
He never let me out. He never wanted to.
I haven’t seen the world outside of the gates of this estate in fifteen years. And he wants me to believe that all I needed to do was let him use me as some sort of weapon.
“See, this is your problem.” Leo glances around—he’s looking for a weapon, something to stop my advancing steps.
Something to stop me. Always a liar. He’s never said one truthful thing in his life.
“You get so caught up in what’s right and wrong.
That’s why you killed the first few, isn’t it?
And now you can’t control yourself. You killed your nanny because of some misguided sense of justice.
That’s why you won’t kill her, huh? Because you don’t think it’s fair?
Her life is yours to take. We brought her in for you.
” He’s sputtering now, hands moving while talking.
The backs of his knees hit his desk. “All of this, within reach. Your freedom—an avenue to sate your urges and be free. But you won’t take it. ”
I shove his chest.
He falls into his seat, unsteady from the liquor. His face flushes red with outrage, then whitens in fear the moment I loom over him.
“Oh, Father. That’s where you’re wrong. I do take what is mine.”