Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“Angel, are you okay?”
Valdemar’s voice fades into the background as I pull the phone from my ear and end the call. I can’t think with him on the other end of the phone, and my brain is struggling to fit this all together.
Twins.
Twins are hereditary.
Ellison Rue.
My mother appears in the kitchen. She isn’t sitting this time but standing by the table, her hands by her sides.
“Ellison Rue is my father, isn’t he?” I ask her.
I imagine tears streaming down my mother’s face. My eyes are a blur, so I don’t notice the shimmer behind her, but as I blink my own tears away, a man comes into focus, his hand on her shoulder, and I step back.
Slender frame, soft white hair, and ice blue eyes.
He has a striking resemblance to Victor Rue, the man I’ve just been googling. Same white hair and angled jaw. But what shocks me the most is his resemblance to Ed. The almond eyes, the slight nose. It’s like looking at an older Ed, everything mirroring my brother other than the thin lips, which are like my own.
This man is the ghost of Ellison Rue.
My mum lifts her hand to reach for his, and she smiles.
“Why now? Why come to me now?” I ask.
But neither of them can answer me. My back is pressed against the wall, and I slump down to the ground, tears obscuring the vision of my dead mother and father, my world altered so drastically, questions mounting so densely that I’m drowning in them.
The thudding inside my head startles me.
It takes me a second to notice I’m still sitting on my kitchen floor, but the sky has grown dark, grey clouds having overthrown the weak winter sun. My dead parents have vanished, and the thudding in my head is coming from my front door.
Unsure as to how long I’ve been here, I flinch at the sound of the voice coming from the other side.
“Are you in there? I suggest you open the door before I kick it in.”
Scrambling to my feet, I bolt to the door and open it before Valdemar resorts to breaking it in and alerting the entire building.
He’s out of breath. “Fuck, I thought you’d done something stupid.” He grabs my hand like he’s checking for a pulse.
It’s only then that I notice Wilson, the caretaker of the building, standing behind him.
“I couldn’t get into your building,” Valdemar explains.
“I’ll be off, then. Glad everything’s okay.” Wilson dips the brim of his baseball cap and wanders off down the hall, keys jangling on his belt.
Valdemar steps into my apartment.
“Why did you hang up the phone? I’ve been worried sick,” he says breathlessly.
“I was thinking,” comes my rather lame reply, but my head is still pounding.
“Well, you shouldn’t have been thinking alone.”
His huge frame pushes past me, and he searches the tiny foyer as if there might be intruders.
He heads to the kitchen, and I follow.
My laptop is still open, the screen black, probably from the battery dying, and my notes on Valdemar are scattered across the table.
“Working on a story?” he asks.
“Trying to find answers.”
He nods.
“They were here,” I tell him, noting the relief in my voice that I have someone to talk to, someone who knows the strange shit that goes through my head even if he doesn’t see it himself, and someone who will talk back to me.
“Who were?”
“My mother and my father.”
“Your father?” He holds my gaze as he answers his own question. “Ellison Rue is your father,” he guesses.
“Yes.”
He glances around the kitchen as if they might be hiding somewhere.
“I take it they’ve gone?” he says.
“For now.”
“What can I do?” He searches my face, still looking for signs that I’m hurt, injured in some way, but there’s nothing to see on my face. My turmoil is internal, my insides feeling like they’ve been wrenched out of me, rearranged, and then stuffed back inside.
“What is there to do? What do you do when you discover your whole childhood is a fucking lie? Do you know what bothers me the most, apart from the fact that Ed never told me he was looking into our family or what he’d already found out? That I have no idea who William Bransby is and why he’s pretended to be our father for all these years.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Valdemar picks up my phone from the table and hands it to me. “No time like the present.”
My stomach squirms, but he’s right. This can’t wait. I need answers.
The irony of searching for his name—“Dad”—in my contacts isn’t lost on me. He may not have been the greatest dad in the world, but to me, he’s always been my father. How do I even begin to unthink something like that?
The call connects and the phone rings as I select speaker, not wanting to hear what he has to say by myself.
“Evangeline.” My dad’s voice, William’s voice, echoes through my kitchen.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Are you okay?” he says.
“Not really. Look, I don’t want to draw this out. I just have some questions for you, and I would appreciate the truth.” I try to sound firm, try to dig out my journalist voice, but this isn’t work. This is my life.
“Sounds ominous.” He laughs nervously, and I wonder how long he’s been contemplating this moment.
I get straight to the point. “You’re not my biological father, are you?”
There’s a shaky silence before he answers, his voice soft and low. “No, I’m not.”
“I know about Ellison Rue, but I need you to tell me exactly what happened to avoid me having a mental breakdown.” I push my hair back, feeling like that breakdown has already begun.
There’s a rustle down the phone line, and I imagine my dad swapping the handset to his other ear or adjusting his posture.
“Before I tell you, and I will, I need you to know that I love you. I’ve always loved you and Ed, and I know I’ve not been the best of fathers. I tried to do the best I could for you both, but it was hard.” He clears his throat. “God, I’ve been dreading this conversation, but now it’s here, I’m actually quite relieved. Are you sure you want to do this over the phone?” he asks.
“I’ve waited thirty-three years, and if this was a film, this would be the part where you jump in a car to come and reveal the truth and get hit by lightning before you reach me, so no. Tell me now, please.”
“Of course. I suppose I better start at the beginning. You got a stiff drink?”
Chewing the side of my lip, I watch as Valdemar opens the cupboards until he finds a bottle of whisky, then takes a cup from the draining board. He pours a slug and hands it to me.
“Yes,” I reply, and he begins.
“I met Ellison Rue in my twenties when I was working for the medical firm his brother had set up. Ellison was the one who inducted me, introduced me to my new team, and settled me into the company. He was ten years my senior, and I looked up to him. He was nice, unlike his brother, who was cold as ice. Anyway, the years went by, and Ellison and I became close friends, both in and out of work. He became more than just a boss. And there was a time when I thought we could have been closer, but it wasn’t meant to be.”
Closer. That word dances in my brain. Little things begin to fall into place. The reason why he never seemed to move on after losing my mother, why he didn’t even date anyone. And I always thought it was because no one could ever replace her, that he could never love anyone other than her. But this? This feels like it should be a huge revelation, like I should be shocked by it, that he was in love with a man, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel new; it feels like it’s always been there, and I’ve just never seen it.
“After about nine years of working for him, Ellison met Lenore in a bar where she was working as a waitress. Lenore was beautiful, and not just in a glamorous way. She exuded this aura that affected everyone around her. Even I could appreciate the effect she had on both men and women, so it came as no surprise when Ellison told me he’d fallen in love with her. She had no family, had been left at birth on the steps of the local hospital and had bounced around the welfare system from foster home to foster home until becoming an adult, so it was no wonder she fell for Ellison, this great man, someone who finally wanted her, loved her, and offered her the chance of happiness.”
There’s a pause, as if my dad is gathering the words he’s held on so tightly to and is now finally setting free.
“Then she got pregnant. Lenore was thirty-nine, Ellison forty-two, and I think they thought this might be the last chance they would have to start a family. Victor wasn’t happy. He told Ellison he was rushing into things and that having a child would interfere with the running of the business. But Ellison paid no attention to Victor.
“It was a difficult pregnancy due to it being twins and Lenore being classed as an older mother. She was constantly ill, in and out of the hospital with no end of problems right up until the final weeks, when they decided that you and Ed were at risk if they didn’t bring on the labour. So, they took Lenore in to induce her, and Ellison went with her. He said he would call me once the babies had been born. I waited for him to call to say that everyone was healthy and that they were the proud parents of twins.”
There’s a silence down the line, but I wait, hanging on his every word.
“I never got that call. Instead, I got one from a nurse asking me to come to the hospital right away.
“It was the worst car journey I’ve ever driven. All the possibilities were jumping through my mind as to what had happened. So, when I finally got there, I was overwrought. The nurse ushered me into a small room, and I knew whatever she was going to tell me wasn’t going to be good news.”
My stomach squirms, as I know where this is heading. I’m finally on familiar ground.
“She did her best to tell me gently that Lenore had died in childbirth due to complications and blood loss. Ellison had to decide whether to save Lenore or his children, a decision no one should ever have to make.
“The nurse told me that Ellison had named you both right after delivery and asked her to call me with the news, as he was too bereft to do it himself. But before she got around to calling me, Ellison collapsed and was rushed into the emergency room.
“Within the hour of you and Ed arriving in the world, Ellison suffered a massive heart attack. I was shocked. He’d been the picture of health, and I always believed he died of a broken heart, but it turns out he had a congenital heart disease that had been brought on by an infection, the symptoms of which he’d ignored, as he’d been so focussed on Lenore and her failing health during the pregnancy.”
My hand feels cold as it grips my phone. Two deaths. Ed and I are now responsible for the loss of both our parents, because if my mother hadn’t died giving birth to us, my father would still be here. We killed them both. Us. Together.
I feel raw, numb, and I want nothing more than to hang up, to end this call, but I can’t. I have to see this through.
“Victor was notified of his brother’s death, which he took hard. But there were decisions to be made with regards to your future. The thought of Victor deciding your fate made me feel ill. He wasn’t a family man where children were concerned and would have had you brought up by some agency nanny. I asked if I could take you both home, but it wasn’t that simple. As your only next of kin, Victor was given the option to take you in as his own, but he said he didn’t want either of you, so you became wards of the state and were put with a foster family until I petitioned the court and was granted custody of you both. There was no battle in fighting Victor for your adoption. His already cold heart had frozen at the loss of his twin, and he blamed Lenore for Ellison’s death. You already had your mother’s eyes and Ed your father’s, and I knew that Victor would also see this, and you’d be a constant reminder of his loss. I feared he would come to hate you both.”
The line goes quiet, and I can hear my dad swallowing hard as if he’s trying to hold back tears. My own are lodged in the back of my throat, threatening to strangle me.
“Why did you never tell us any of this?” Anger threatens, the numbness gone for an instant. Why have I waited so long to learn this? Would I have ever learned the truth if it hadn’t been for Valdemar? Years and years of lies. My life a lie. My past a lie. I’m not sure how much more I can take.
“It was hard enough telling you that your mother had died giving birth to you. I always wondered what growing up with that knowledge did to you both. You were always so insular, so reliant on each other, and the thought of adding your father’s death to that was too much.
“So, I told you I was your father. That way you could grow up having one parent, at least. I wanted to give you as much of a chance at life as I could, and I thought that was the best way. What you need to understand is that I loved your father, more than as a friend, a love he simply couldn’t return, and that was fine. I never held it against him, and it didn’t undermine our friendship. But when you love someone in that way, you would do anything for them, and I knew he would have wanted you both to grow up being loved and cherished. And you and Ed were all I had left of him.
“I always intended to tell you later on in life, but there never seemed to be the right time or the right place, and the longer I left it, the harder it became. And then when Ed died, I truly believed that your heart couldn’t take any more.” His voice breaks, and my chest tightens.
There’s a part of me that wants to scream at him, to shout, to let the beast of betrayal out, but I don’t have the fight in me. Instead, I reply flatly, “Thank you for telling me the truth, no matter how hard it’s been.” My voice sounds robotic because I’m numb, angry, reeling, but also deflated by it all. I can’t take all this in. It’s too much to process. I’m not sure what to do with it and what bearing this has on everything that’s going on with Valdemar and my brother. I’m too consumed with the lie I’ve been living.
“I’m just sorry I never told you sooner and that you had to call and ask. I wish I was there with you. You’re not alone, are you?”
My gaze goes to Valdemar. “No, I’m not alone.”
I wonder what my dad—William—would say if I told him that the person standing in my kitchen and being my emotional support is the man who shot my brother.
“I’m here if you need me. I will always be here. I know I’ve not been the best of parents; grief, as you know, does strange things to you, and I wasn’t ready to have children. I’d gone from being a single man to losing the only man I ever loved and gaining a family in the blink of an eye. But, at his funeral, I made a promise to Ellison that I would always be here for you, and I feel like I failed Ed. I wasn’t there for him like I should have been, and I often wonder if what happened was my fault.”
Valdemar swallows hard.
“No. Don’t ever think that. His death is not on your hands.” I’m shocked at how quick I jump to his defence after what he’s just told me, but deep down, I understand why he did what he did. And I’m glad he took us in and didn’t leave us in foster care, but I just wish he’d told us all this sooner.
“I think any parent always feels responsible for the death of their child,” he says.
“It wasn’t your fault. Promise me you’ll stop blaming yourself,” I tell him.
“I’ll try, and that will have to be good enough.”
“Okay, Dad.” My voice is hoarse, my mouth dry.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” I lie. And as desperate as I was ten minutes ago to speak to him, I want nothing more than to end this call because I need to be alone. I can’t process this right now. I need quiet, calm, a darkened room, and time. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart. And just so you know, you’ll always be mine, my sweet little girl. Even if we don’t share the same blood, we share the same love in our hearts, and I love you, my little Evangeline.”
“I love you, too, Dad.” My voice trembles.
He ends the call, and my arm drops heavily to my side, the phone a dead weight in my grasp.
Valdemar stares at the floor, and I see what he must be going through, the realisation of just how many people were affected when he pulled that trigger.