Chapter Twenty-One
?
Claire inhaled—her chest felt tight—and there was a deep ache on her right side. She tried to remember. How did she get this way? She felt so weak. She tried to move her hand to touch Tony’s, even the attempt exhausted her. There was an odd feeling on her left arm. She turned her head to see what was making her arm feel strange. Everything blurred out of focus. The light in the room was so intense—she couldn’t see. Tony noticed her eyes squint, immediately got up from the side of her bed, and closed the drapes.
He returned and picked up her hand. His voice was soft, “It was too bright in here. I closed the drapes for you. Is that better?”
Claire tried to respond; she couldn’t speak. Her mouth was too dry. She moved her head ever so slightly, indicating Yes, it is better. The movement of her head made her dizzy, while the inability to speak frightened her causing her eyes to moisten. When her lids closed a tear escaped, sliding down her cheek.
“It’s okay, you don’t need to talk”—Tony’s tone was kind and loving—“Please open your eyes again. It’s so good to see your beautiful emerald eyes.” He held gently to her hand.
Claire opened her eyes and looked at the needle taped to the bend of her left arm. As if reading her mind, he explained, “That’s how you’ve been eating for almost two weeks, and it has some pain medicine too—to make you more comfortable.”
Claire started to remember…she was in the woods…she came home and Tony—oh, God! Tony!—The memory made her eyes open wide with panic.
She remembered.
Tony’s voice continued, gentle and comforting, “Can you remember what happened? You had an accident.”
Claire tried to say, “No, you did this,” but she couldn’t.
It may have been the dryness of her tongue—or the horror of the images—but she just stared as he continued speaking, “You had an accident in the woods. When we found you, your jeans and boots were all muddy, and you had multiple injuries. Did you fall? Did you slip? Did someone or something out there hurt you? We’ve had the woods searched. Nothing was found.”—he leaned toward her—“Claire, we’ve been so worried about you.”
The stiffness in her neck made turning painful, and the dizziness made focusing difficult. She heard Catherine. Someone was with her. Was it the doctor?
Whoever he was, suddenly, he was right in front of her; an older man with a very pleasant, encouraging, deep voice. “Ms. Nichols, I’m Dr. Leonard. I’ve been taking care of you since Mr. Rawlings found you in the woods. Can you talk to me?”
Claire lifted her right hand to her throat. The slightest movement tired her.
“Catherine, could you please get Ms. Nichols some water?” Catherine hurried for the liquid. Claire watched Catherine return with a glass and a straw. She handed it to the doctor, who put the straw to Claire’s lips. “Drink slowly; your stomach has been empty for a while.” Claire began to sip as the water cooled and refreshed her parched throat. While she continued to drink, the doctor spoke to Tony. Each sip soothed, while at the same time creating a buzzing sound which filled her head. She could see the doctor’s lips moving, as well as Tony’s, but she only heard the buzz. When he removed the straw from her lips, the buzzing ceased.
“Please, that was so good,” Claire spoke. The room went silent. Everyone turned to her.
Tony spoke first, “Claire, thank God. How do you feel?” As he leaned over her, she realized she wasn’t in her bed—it was a hospital bed. That made sense. She wondered how she’d sat up, but, she wasn’t in a hospital room—it was her suite.
“I feel…I feel…tired…and kind of dizzy,” her voice quivered with uncertainty and pain.
Dr. Leonard asked Tony and Catherine to allow him to examine Claire alone. Catherine agreed and began to leave, but Tony stayed, saying Claire wouldn’t mind him being there. Claire started to agree that Tony could stay, when Dr. Leonard continued, “Mr. Rawlings, I realize you hired me; however, as a medical doctor, I need to see and talk to Ms. Nichols alone. You’ll be welcomed back as soon as we’re done.” Tony stared at Dr. Leonard. The doctor continued, “Mr. Rawlings, she is not related to you. We must allow her some privacy.”
Claire watched and thought Tony can handle this—it’s his battle. However, surprisingly, he didn’t battle. Instead, he replied, “I’m sorry; you’re right. It’s just that it’s been so long since she’s been awake. I don’t want to leave her.” Standing, he continued, “I will; I’ll be right outside the door. Please call me when you’re finished.” He then leaned over, kissed Claire on her forehead, and left the room.
The doctor spoke soothingly as he helped Claire remove her nightgown and removed tubes. Claire mindlessly thought the doctor’s breath smelled like coffee—she liked coffee. He pushed on her side and asked, “Does this hurt?” Next, he touched her face, her cheek, her temple, and asked if any of it hurt? He examined her head, touching her skull, front and back, and near the neck. Then, he focused on her arms and legs. Lastly, he touched her back, pushing harder in some spots. Claire saw the remnants of bruises on her arms, legs, and midsection and felt them elsewhere. Her back and midsection hurt the most from the doctor’s pressure, and her face felt tender. Looking at her legs covered in brown and yellow marks, she wondered if her face looked as bad as her legs. After he finished with his examination, and yes—no questions, he helped her put her nightgown back on.
“Ms. Nichols, I need you to be completely honest with me, do you understand?”
“Yes, but I’m getting very tired.”
“Please tell me what you remember from the night of your accident.”
“Dr. Leonard, I’m very tired and my memories are fuzzy.” As she spoke her head continued to buzz. Her throat once again felt raw. The combination made talking difficult.
“It’s all right. Let me put your bed back.” He pushed the button to recline the bed and continued to inquire, “Now, please, what do you remember?”
The fatigue overwhelmed Claire. Abruptly her stomach revolted against the water. Initially queasy, she instantly knew she would be sick. “Doctor, I’m going to get sick”—she sat up. He grabbed a basin, and the water she drank came back up.
“Miss Nichols, it’s okay. It’s normal—your stomach has been empty for too long.”
The vomiting made her shake, and suddenly her head and ribs throbbed. The fierce pain caused her to cry.
“Ms. Nichols, your pain medicine has started to wear off. I’ll get you some more, but I want you to be thinking straight. Please tell me what happened.” He was persistent.
Claire felt faint and her body felt limp. She wanted food, but her stomach wouldn’t even hold water. The doctor wanted to know what happened—and she knew. When she closed her eyes and felt the pain she saw Tony. She saw his rage, his fury, his unwillingness to listen. She remembered every terrifying minute until she blacked out. It happened two weeks ago, yet she still felt the agony.
The weakness, combined with the unsettled stomach, told her it wasn’t going to end anytime soon. Claire wanted to go back to her visions. Nevertheless, the doctor waited for the answer to his question. He gave her some more water but instructed her to only rinse and spit into the basin. It helped the terrible taste go away.
Once her mouth again felt moist, she spoke, “I went for a walk in the woods—I like the woods—It rained the day before—and the ground was slippery in some spots—I made it into the woods fine—but I let it get dark—I watched the sun set—I remember it being crimson and beautiful”—She laid her head back on the pillow and closed her eyes. Softly tears trickled down her cheeks. Dr. Leonard was determined; he asked her to continue. She did, but with closed eyes—“So it was dark by the time I headed back to the house—I remember getting to the clearing—which is about forty-five minutes from here—the sun—I mean the moon was bright—I tried to get back—Catherine had dinner waiting for me”—Her eyelids were heavy and her words slowed and slurred. She never remembered feeling so incredibly tired—all she wanted to do was sleep. Please God, she prayed, let me sleep.
“Ms. Nichols, did you make it back to the house?” Dr. Leonard spoke softly.
“I don’t remember.” Her decision was made. Telling the truth wouldn’t do any good. Actually, it would be a direct violation of Tony’s rules. She wasn’t allowed to discuss private matters. She’d learned her lesson well. As her ribs, head, and stomach ached, the lesson was reinforced. “I remember slipping in the mud. There were roots and limbs. It was very dark under the trees. After that, I just don’t know.”
“Please know, Ms. Nichols, anything you disclose to me is said in confidence. I’m bound by complete patient—doctor confidentiality,” he spoke quietly. Despite her physical exhaustion, Claire’s mind was astute. She knew every word they uttered was recorded and possibly overheard as they spoke.
“Doctor, I’m not sure what you’re asking me or what you’re implying, but I can’t remember what happened that night. Perhaps I hit my head?” Her eyes were open and brimming with tears. The exhaustion was debilitating. “Please, may I rest?” Her eyes closed and she slipped away.
Hours later, Claire opened her eyes to see Catherine holding a glass of her famous banana strawberry yogurt smoothie. She told the caring woman she was afraid it would make her sick—like the water. Catherine explained the doctor had put some medicine in her IV. It would help with the pain and nausea. Claire reached for the button to sit herself up, but before she could get to it, Tony did. His presence caused her to involuntarily tremble. His eyes weren’t dark; instead, they were soft like brown suede. He gently touched her face. “You need to listen to Catherine. Please try to drink the smoothie. You need to get better, and to do that you need to eat.” She looked at him and wondered if he knew about her recent confidential conversation. He continued to plead, “Please, Claire.”
She drank some of the smoothie, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.
The next time she woke, her suite burst with flowers. They looked beautiful and their aroma permeated her dreams. Over the next few weeks, they were constantly replaced. It seemed as if they never wilted. They were meant to make her feel better, but mostly they reminded her of the funeral home after her parents’ death.
She even received get well cards and flowers from the Simmons’, Millers, and Bronsons. Apparently, Tony’s secretary, Patricia, called Sue to apologize; Claire had been so busy recently, and with her accident she hadn’t been able to call, but, she would when she felt better and got the chance.
It made Claire feel so much better knowing that even though she’d almost died, appearances were maintained.
Claire recovered slowly and gradually. Dr. Leonard continued to treat her, coming to the estate every day during the first week after she woke. After that, the length between visits steadily increased. He never questioned her memory again. He did push her to recover. He pushed her to eat, walk, and go outside. He wasn’t the only one pushing. Catherine pushed. She pushed Claire to eat, shower, and do her hair and make-up.
The prompting seemed necessary. Claire would have lain in bed all day if they would let her. The only motivation she possessed was to return to the visions she’d experienced during her unconsciousness. Unfortunately, they didn’t reappear in any of her dreams.
It wasn’t that she felt sad—she didn’t. She didn’t feel scared, and with enough medication she didn’t feel pain. Accurately, she felt nothing. Consciously or unconsciously, she’d compartmentalized everything away. Nothing remained. With each prompt she obeyed. She ate. She walked—with difficulty at first. Her muscles lost tone in just two weeks, and her weight dropped below anything she ever remembered. She showered, at first with assistance and then on her own. She conceded to Catherine’s pleas for hair and make-up; however, every activity tired her. Therefore, sleep became a natural and accepted escape.
The one person who didn’t pressure Claire was Tony; however, he was omnipresent—every day. Catherine told Claire he hadn’t left her side while she was unconscious. Now, he went to work but returned every evening. He spent most of his time in Claire’s suite, sometimes with his laptop, reading a book, talking, always willing to listen, and every night sleeping. While Claire stayed in the hospital bed, he slept in a recliner that was brought to her room. Once she made the transition to her big bed, he asked if he could sleep with her.
Claire said, “Yes, but…”
“I just want to sleep near you, if that’s all right with you?”
Dr. Leonard hadn’t given her the go-ahead on all normal activities. She’d suffered a concussion—which attributed to her unconsciousness and headaches; however, it was her broken ribs that caused the problem. Claire couldn’t lay in certain positions. Her own weight caused intense pain. She knew Tony’s weight would be agony. She didn’t assume she had a choice in his sleeping location and truly didn’t care—as long as she could sleep. He didn’t complain.
Each milestone—getting out of bed alone—walking to the bathroom alone—walking to the dining room—or going into the backyard—received a gift. Some were simple tokens: a book, a journal, or a scarf—apparently very in style this season—but others, like for her first dinner in the dining room—were extravagant. The dining room warranted a new journey necklace, with three diamonds in increasing sizes to represent past, present, and future. The entire carat weight was easily over three. It was remarkable, but Claire missed her grandmother’s necklace. Although she didn’t mention it, she remembered it too had been a casualty of the accident.
It appeared the giving of gifts gave Tony pleasure, so Claire accepted them. The journey necklace representing past, present, and future didn’t bode well. She knew even in her fragile state—she didn’t want any of the represented time periods. The jewelry was so excessive Claire began to think of it as costume—it made accepting it easier. She tried to act happy about the gifts and the attention; however, she felt like his eyes had been—devoid of emotion. There was nothing inside of her.
Catherine knew Claire liked being outside and encouraged Tony to take her out into the yard. The scene didn’t help her state of mind. The blue skies rarely shone, and the green of spring and summer had disappeared—like brown withered leaves blown away in the cool autumn wind. With the foliage gone, the outside was gray. All that remained was the black and white photo of landscape Claire saw when she was first brought to the estate.
One day, while walking the perimeter of the backyard, wearing warm coats and soft gloves, she asked Tony, “Do you have any idea when my debt will be paid?” The question obviously caught him off guard. She witnessed the fluctuation of his eyes—the intensity changing until it finally settled on light brown.
“My dear Claire, the last time you were on your own—which was for only a day—look what happened. I think you need me. I don’t want you to have more accidents.” And then he added, “Do you?”
Remembering to answer audibly, Claire shook her head, looked down and whispered, “No.”
They didn’t discuss her accident. They discussed travel. The idea of leaving the estate frightened Claire. She felt confident she could avoid accidents if she stayed put. Tony said that when she was better he’d like to have her join him while he traveled. He talked about Chicago, New York, Phoenix, San Francisco, and overseas destinations. Claire asked if she needed a passport if they flew on a private jet. Tony said he would have Brent work on getting her one.
On a Saturday, in mid-November, two months after her accident, Claire was technically pronounced physically well. She’d become stronger with time. Her bruises had disappeared, ribs totally healed, headaches less frequent, and she could eat—although she had no appetite. Dr. Leonard visited the estate the day before and released her from his care.
Tony decided they should go on a drive. Claire hadn’t left the property, or even the immediate house, since early September. Faced with the reality of getting into the car caused an explosive and unexpected trauma.
That morning, she obediently dressed in the clothes she found laid out for her, which had happened every day since she was well enough to dress. The sun shone and the temperature felt unseasonably warm. She anticipated going outside, but when Tony announced he had the Lexus out front—Claire panicked. Her reaction was quick and unpredicted. Not wanting to go, she started to cry and shake. For the first time since the accident, Tony pushed. He didn’t ask, he declared—they were going for a drive.
It was the best thing he could do. She needed to get out, but Claire couldn’t think straight. She sat on the front steps and refused to get up. Finally, Tony reached for her arm. She reacted in a way she hadn’t since the first days of her arrival. Her entire body filled with anguish. Violently trembling, she started to scream, “I remember everything! I know the truth! Please do not touch me!”—her torment erupted as her volume increased—“I hate you! Leave me alone!”
He looked at her with disbelief and she stared at him with vengeance.
Her screaming caused Catherine and Cindy to come running. By the time they arrived, Claire’s words were unintelligible, overlapped by sobs and whimpers. She sat on the steps, shaking, holding her knees, and rocking back and forth. Eventually her sobs subsided into freely flowing tears. She didn’t speak as Catherine gently helped her to her feet and calmly walked her to the car.
They began the drive in silence. Tony didn’t do or say anything. He drove and let Claire cry. It had been two months since her accident. She hadn’t cried or said a word—suddenly it all exploded.
Dr. Leonard had given his clearance. Tony had been patient. Claire knew what he wanted, and she was petrified to be with him again. He drove them to a meadow. She’d never been there before or even seen it. It was very secluded. Claire’s crying subsided. Tony tenderly helped her out of the car, and while holding her hand he offered his overdue apology. “Claire, I’m sorry.”
She looked up at his eyes, they glistened light brown. “You’re sorry? Why are you sorry?”
His tone was remorseful and sincere, “I’m sorry for your accident.” She didn’t respond and looked away from his eyes. He continued, “Yes, I admit what happened that night was me. I admit I lost control—something which doesn’t usually happen. I admit I feel terrible—and Catherine has made me feel worse. I admit I was beyond furious with you and the article by Meredith Banks. I wasn’t thinking straight.” His eyes were getting darker. “I trusted you. I believed you wouldn’t betray my confidence and then—” His shoulders stiffened and then relaxed. “Claire, I would do anything to have that night to do over.”
They stood by the car, no longer touching. The breeze gently rustled the tall grass, blew wisps of hair around her face, and filled her lungs with the smell of impending winter. Claire watched his expression as he spoke. It had been so long since she’d felt anything. Suddenly, she fought the rapid mixture of emotions stirring inside of her.
*
Tony watched as her eyes, which had been dull and dead. They now contained a small spark.
“Tony, I remember. I remember what you were doing and saying. I remember you saying I would need to be alone for a while—to think about who to talk to and who not to talk to.” Tony nodded his head. He’d said that. Claire’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Is that still coming?”
He reached for her shoulders. He intended to be gentle, but Claire backed away—tripped—and fell onto the ground.
*
His eyes said tender but she remembered anger. She didn’t know what to think or feel. Not feeling was so much easier. Confusion, apprehension, anger, and dread all bubbled up inside of her. From Tony’s expression, they also showed in her eyes.
He followed her to the ground. “Claire, please stop.” He knelt beside her. “No—that isn’t coming. I don’t think you need any more reminders on how to behave, do you?”
Barely audible, she replied, “No—no I don’t.”
“Claire, may I please touch you?”
Her trembling resumed. Sobs again resonated from her chest.
His voice, still gentle was also firm, “You know I don’t need your permission to touch you. I don’t need your permission to do anything.”
Claire’s eyes closed as she tried to swallow her sobs. She nodded her head knowing too well her permission wasn’t necessary.
“But, I’d like to have it. Please, may I have your consent?”
She braced herself and opened her eyes. She looked at him, his expression, and his eyes. She closed her eyes again and meekly replied, “Okay.”
He scooted next to her, sitting on the cold hard ground, and softly placed his arm around her back. She tried to hide the tension, but she couldn’t control her anxiety at his touch. He gently bent down and tenderly kissed her lips, very lightly brushing his lips against hers. She didn’t back away. His mellow tone whispered near her ear, “Have I told you how much I like the highlights in your hair?” She shook her head. He lightly stroked her hair. “I think you’re amazing. You’re so strong and resilient. I don’t deserve your forgiveness for what I did, but you deserve to hear me ask for it.”
She didn’t want to look at him. Her emotions were too raw—she wanted to forgive him.
He didn’t touch her, instead he moved himself in front of her so they were eye to eye. “Claire, I’m sorry I hurt you.” She felt the tears as she tried to maintain eye contact. He gently took her hands. “I ask that one day you’ll consider forgiving me.”
He kissed her hands.
When she looked into his eyes she saw sadness and remorse. The swirl of emotions that had so violently erupted at the estate now settled into her chest. She wanted the sadness to go away. He’d been so patient. He was being so tender. She didn’t forgive him, but she began to respond to his advances. It started with kissing, he kissed her and she began to kiss him. Then she felt his warmth as her hands caressed his arms and shoulders.
Tony bulged with excitement, yet he didn’t rush or push. He stayed compassionate and tender.
“Tony, I’m scared,” Claire confessed.
“I promise I’ll be gentle.” Although she had every reason to not believe him—she did.
“Can we please go home—to a nice soft bed?” He quietly stood and helped Claire to her feet. She took the hand he offered and walked back to the car. This time, she got in willingly.
When they pulled up to the house, Claire leaned over. “I really want this, but please be gentle.”
He parked, walked around to her door, and helped her out of the car. They walked up the front steps hand in hand where only a few hours ago, had been the scene of her hysterics. When he opened the door, he scooped Claire into his arms. Instead of going up to her suite, he carried her to his room. While he held her, she closed her eyes and nuzzled his neck. The aroma of his skin and cologne intoxicated her.
She had never—in all the time she’d been there—been in his bedroom. It was grand—almost royal. The walls were covered with cherry paneling and ornate carpentry. One wall was covered with a large screen framed like a picture—like the one in his office. His bed was massive—tall and larger than a normal king-sized. There were even steps to reach the height of the mattress. He gently placed her on his bed.
She watched as he slowly removed her shoes. Then, he unbuttoned and tenderly removed her jacket, her blouse, and her jeans. He removed his own clothes while she observed his every move. He was gorgeous, and his moves were slow and sensual. He softly kissed her, causing her to lie back. She looked up at the beautiful ornate ceiling. She felt his lips move down her body. They lingered at her neck, at her breast, stopping to lick and suckle her nipples. Claire’s back arched, and she pressed her breasts toward Tony.
He continued to touch her warm body, taste her skin, and inhale her scent.
She hadn’t realized it before that moment, but after experiencing satisfaction routinely, the void of the past two months left her wanting. Her body was now alive—on full alert—with every nerve electrified. He fondled her breasts and gently twisted her nipples. When she moaned in ecstasy, he stopped. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry. Do you want me to stop?”
She pleaded, “No, God no. Please don’t stop.”
He allowed his lips to move from her breasts to her flat stomach and over her protruding hipbones. As he tenderly spread her legs and kissed her inner thighs, she feared she would explode before he reached his destination. Next, his mouth affectionately awakened her desires. He satisfied every need she’d ever had and ones she’d forgotten. He moved slowly and deliberately, sensual and romantic, compassionately and lovingly.
He was patient and remorseful. His pleasure came by pleasing her. Now, it was his turn to experience a favorable consequence. His actions had taken everything away—and now his actions brought everything back.
Nothing is more common on earth than to deceive and be deceived.
—Johann G. Seume