Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
She goes limp in my hold, her body succumbing to the mercy of unconsciousness.
Scooping her up in my arms, I carry her downstairs—as far away from the upstairs office as possible—and lie her down on the sofa in the staff room. I push a cushion under her head and cover her with a throw, making sure the ends are tucked beneath her body.
When I’m sure she’s comfortable, I step outside and call Roch.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me Sabella came to George?” I ask when he answers.
He sounds baffled. “In George? She’s at her sister’s place in Stellenbosch. She hasn’t left the house since she arrived. Her car is still in the driveway. I’m looking at it as we speak.”
I scan the street. Matilde’s car is parked on the curb. “She took her sister’s car.”
“Fuck. I couldn’t know that. She tricked me.”
“Get your ass down here now. Edwards is dead. Sabella walked in on the scene.”
“Fuck,” he says again. “I’m on my way.”
“She’s in the office building. Make sure she stays safe, but keep your distance.”
“If she saw what you did, why don’t you take her with you?”
“Because she deserves a funeral,” I say in a clipped voice before hanging up.
I glance at the Mercedes that’s parked on the opposite side of the street. My father’s profile is visible through the passenger window. He’s waiting, expecting me to carry out his order.
I’ve never disappointed him. I’ve always done as I was told. This is the first time I disobey him.
Making my way to the car with brisk steps, I send a text message to Ryan, informing him where to find Edwards and Sabella.
Chapter
Five
Sabella
* * *
I wake up warm and comfortable, not cold and shivering like…
Like when?
Caught between a deep, dreamless sleep and wakefulness, I stretch under the blanket that covers me. No, not a blanket. A throw. Not a bed. A sofa. In my father’s study. Wait. This is his office. I’m lying on the sofa in his staff room.
And then it all rushes back—the nightmare. I’m relieved it was just a dream. At the same time, the most horrible fear that it’s real cripples me.
When I sit up and plant my feet on the floor, it feels real, but that’s how dreams are. You believe they’re true until you wake up. You’re trapped in the dream, dreaming you’re awake.
I’m no longer warm and cozy. I’m frozen to my core.
Pulling the throw around my shoulders, I stand. I’m wearing my socks. My sneakers stand next to my bag on the floor.
I pad through the room and enter the reception area. The light is on. It’s dark outside. I can’t tell the time because it gets dark early in winter, already around five-thirty.
My legs carry me up the stairs and down the hallway under the canopies of industrial lampshades. Every step takes me deeper into the dream. My heartbeats fall out of rhythm, each thud hurting my chest.
I clutch the ends of the throw not because of the cold but because I need to hold on to something. My mind screams at me to stop. I don’t want to go farther, but I have to know.
A shadow falls over the threshold of my dad’s office and bleeds into the hallway. Petrified, I freeze. I’m terrified the owner of that shadow is Angelo. I’m praying he won’t appear like a scary vision from my dream. I’m praying the man attached to that shadow is my dad, that he’ll give me a delighted smile and a hug before asking what I’m doing here.
Please, wake up.
Ryan exits the office, wearing his habitual weekend attire of jeans and a sweater, but the way the clothes sit on his frame is wrong. Askew. His face is pale and his hair disheveled. The unsettled look in his eyes is out of place. It doesn’t fit his stoic disposition.
He steps over the spilled food littering the floor and stops short when he notices me. “Jesus, Bella.” The words gush from his mouth. “You’re alive.” Quickening his steps, he closes the distance and fastens his hands on my arms. “Sweet Jesus.” He hugs me tightly. “You’re all right.”
That’s when it hits me. The truth crashes into me when I realize I’m alive but not all right. When I admit that it’s not a dream, reality settles like the aftermath of a violent storm, cold and cruel.
I try to move forward, but my brother holds me back.
His voice is firm. “No, Bella.”
“Ryan.”
“Shh.” He rubs my back. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”
It’s not what matters. I pull away and lock my hands in his sweater. “I saw him. Them. Angelo and his father. They… It was them. I saw it.” From a distant corner of my mind, I register that I sound hysterical. “We have to call the police.”
“No.” He curls his fingers around my biceps and catches my gaze. “You have to forget what you saw.” His manner is steady, forcing calm. “It’s a suicide.”