Uncovering You 10: The Finale Page 2

  “Hugh?” I ask. “Did you love him?”

  “Oh, most certainly,” Rose admits. There’s not a sliver of hesitation in her voice. “Charles knows it, too. He saw us together in the past. That is why he reacted the way he did, I imagine. I should have been able to foresee it. But I thought—and my conviction was absolute—that Hugh had died a long time ago. When I saw Hugh alive, I lost all self-control.”

  “You have to admit” I offer, a little shyly, “that Jeremy orchestrated that night perfectly. The man loves surprises.”

  “He thrives on mayhem,” Rose agrees. “It’s simply who he is. You cannot change that.”

  “Trust me,” I tell her. “I’m not about to try.”

  “What about my father?” I ask Jeremy when he comes outside to find me. Rose left a while ago.

  Jeremy sits across from me on a small outcrop of rock. He runs his hands over his thighs. “What about him?” he queries.

  “You said you got rid of all the collars. Is his included?”

  “Yes and no,” he tells me. “Don’t you think the staff at Cedar Woods would find it odd if the device they assume monitors his condition were suddenly taken away? I had another one sent out without the…electrical capacity.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “You’re not shitting me? He’s actually safe?”

  “Well, safe from me, in any case,” Jeremy smiles. “That’s what you’re asking. Isn’t it? Knowing that I can’t shock him on a whim?”

  “No,” I say. “I mean, yes, that’s part of it, but…”

  “Lilly.” Jeremy leans over and takes my hand. “I have to tell you two things. Before I do, you have to know that I am telling you in full honesty. There are no deceptions. No lies. Only the absolute truth.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “What is it?”

  “The first is this. I only shocked your father once. The only time I did it was in the limousine with you. I am not sadistic without reason, nor do I take particular pleasure in causing people harm. I know, given everything you’ve seen, that might be a difficult pill to swallow. But everything I’ve done, I’ve done for my own reasons. It’s the lack of the common man’s morality that makes me capable of inflicting pain. It’s because I can remove myself from the equation. Disassociate myself from events.” He pauses. “You look skeptical.”

  I shake my head, not knowing whether to believe him or not—despite, deep down, having a strong feeling that he is telling the truth.

  “And the second thing?” I ask.

  “The second,” he sighs, standing and turning away, “might be more difficult for you to accept. It is this: Your father is, and forever will be, clinically insane.”

  Jeremy leans down and plucks a blade of grass. He examines it between his fingers. “What do you think I’m holding?” he asks.

  “Grass?” I frown.

  “Paul would see it as a caterpillar. Or a writhing snake. Or whatever his mind fancies at the moment.”

  Jeremy points at the house. “And that?” he asks.

  “Your retreat,” I say.

  “Paul would call it an igloo. Glistening in the sun. Standing tall. Not melting despite the ninety degree heat.” Jeremy turns to me, “I know,” he says, “because I brought him here.”

  Chapter Four

  My jaw falls to the floor. “What?” I breathe.

  “I brought Paul here a few days ago,” Jeremy says. “He’s in a room, upstairs, at this very moment.”

  I bring a hand to my forehead. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

  “I don’t want to set you up for disappointment,” Jeremy says. “Paul’s mind is truly gone. I know you think you can get through to him. I can see the determination in your eyes. I just want to caution you, Lilly, not to try. Or try, if you must, but know that the outcome has already been determined. Nothing can counteract the cumulative effect that years and years of drug abuse have had on his mind.”

  I surge up, suddenly angry. “How can you be so sure? How can you be so arrogant? You don’t know what he sees! You don’t know what he experiences!”

  “Calm yourself,” Jeremy snaps. “I do know, Lilly. I made it my mission to know. Remember: We are speaking of the man responsible for my mother’s death. Don’t dare think I left any stone unturned. I had to make him see, make him understand, what he was guilty of. Only when I had exhausted every avenue, and saw that it was futile, did I turn my attention to you.”

  “So, that’s your assurance?” I ask caustically. “Reminding me of why you went for me in the first place?”

  “No deception. No lies. Remember?” Jeremy asks. “You said so yourself. Nothing is off limits. That’s how you wanted things.”

  “You’re right,” I admit, unhappily. I glance at the house. “But knowing that my father’s here, that he’s somewhere very close, when I thought he was in that little room in Portland? It’s a lot to take in. Particularly when I thought we were coming here to free Rose, Charles, and Hugh. Before finding out that was yet another illusion.”

  “The final one. I swear.”

  “Well, that’s good to know,” I say weakly.

  “I brought all the characters to one place, Lilly. I did it for you. No, that’s a fucking lie. I did it for myself, as well. I thought it would be cathartic, essential even, and long overdue. All the ghosts and horrors of our past are together in one place. For both of us.” He takes my hand. “We deal with them and move on. Now that we know where everyone stands. Now that you and I are on a single page. We can do it, together.”

  “What’s ‘moving on’, then?” I ask.

  “For me, it’s everything. And it depends entirely on what you want to do.”

  I take a deep breath. “I want to see my father.”

  Jeremy smiles. “I thought you would. I’ll let you.” He tugs me into him so our bodies touch. “Today, dear Lilly-Flower, is the first day of the rest of our lives.”

  Chapter Five

  “Okay,” I tell myself, taking a deep breath and trying to steady my rapidly pounding heart. “Okay, Lilly. You can do this.”

  I’m alone in the middle of an upstairs hallway. A closed door looms before me.

  My father’s in there. I once swore revenge on Jeremy for what he did to him. But if he used the collar only once…

  That’s just a big fat lie. Isn’t it? Jeremy must have shocked Paul before he did it from the back of the limousine. Otherwise, how would the staff at Cedar Hills have known how to react?

  Then again, Jeremy told me ‘no lies’. Maybe their efficiency with Paul was just standard protocol. They have other patients there, after all, and…

  I shake my head. I’m stalling. The last time I saw Paul, we had barely two minutes together after I learned I was his daughter. Now, I have unlimited time.

  Am I ready to face him? Do I even want to? Being away, I could pretend and make myself believe that maybe he is curable. Today, I might find out he is not.

  That frightens me.

  Jeremy is convinced. Realistically, he had every reason to make Paul see. And he had every possible resource available to him. If Jeremy Stonehart couldn’t do it, if his team of doctors couldn’t do it, what chance do I have?

  Then I remember the utter clarity I saw in Paul’s eyes when he called me his daughter. The complete lucidity. That’s not me being sentimental, either. It’s nothing that I imagined. It was there. It was real. It cleared the shadows from his eyes.

  With that thought firmly in mind, I grasp the handle and push the door.

  I see my father. My breath catches in my throat. He’s actually here—literally, right here—in the flesh.

  I recoil at the collar on his neck. Is it the new model, or the old one? There’s no way to tell. It’s just a thin black strip. Inconspicuous, sleek, thin.

  Awful. Reprehensible.

  Revulsion fills me at the sight of it.

  Paul looks at me. He’s seated by the window sill, a stack of empty light blue papers beside him. He has a pen in one hand and th
ere’s a notebook on his lap.

  “Oh, hello,” he says. “Are you the hired help?”

  I wince. Does he not even recognize me?

  I close the door softly behind me. Jeremy warned me not to make any sudden movements or loud sounds. He said they have a propensity to set Paul off.

  “No,” I say, as gently as I can. “No, I’m Li…”

  “Oh, you don’t matter then,” he says quickly, and goes right back to his work.

  Easy now, I tell myself. Remember, he’s delicate.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, in much the same way I would of a child.

  “Painting,” he tells me, not looking up. “I am drawing what I see outside.”

  “Can I take a look?” I probe.

  “Of course.” He gestures at the stack of blue papers and continues scribbling away. “Those are all complete.”

  I walk toward him, a nasty suspicion already forming in my mind. It’s confirmed when, looking over his shoulder, I see his hand making wild strokes all over the page—without the pen leaving any ink.

  “How many have you done?” I ask. I reach for the “finished” stack—the one with all the sheets completely bare. He snarls and snatches them away.

  “Don’t touch those!” he snaps. “The paint has yet to dry!”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. Implicitly, I know better than to remind him he gave his permission just seconds ago. A deep sadness fills me. “That was very rash of me.”

  “Very, very rash,” Paul tells me. “Most improper.” He scowls. Then the expression is replaced by one of complete surprise. “Oh, did you hear that?” he asks me. “The kettle’s boiling. And you’re a guest. I must offer you some tea. Would you like some tea, Lilly?”

  I give an unintended, short little gasp. He knows me. Then why—

  I stop short. I cannot pose questions involving “why” around Paul. I need to watch, absorb, take it all in. And draw whatever conclusions I may after.

  He has jumped from his perch and run past me before I can reply. I turn my head, following him, and stare at his back as he busies himself making “tea” before an empty wall.

  “May I sit?” I ask cautiously.

  He glances back. “Yes, yes, of course. Where are my manners? My, but if you’re not the help, then you must be a guest. I have always prided myself on being a most excellent host. Would you like some shortbread? It’s quite good. Reach down under the seat. You’ll find it.”

  He turns away, having dismissed me, and begins humming an unfamiliar tune.

  Despite myself, I glance down at the spot he mentioned. I am totally surprised when I spot a box of Ladyfingers peeking out from under the edge.

  I reach down and pick them up. Paul looks back at me, nods, and then smiles. “I had a daughter like you once,” he tells me. “Very rare. Very beautiful. She was my precious little girl. Growing up, she just loved her Ladyfingers.”

  Dad? I want to say. Instead, I ask: “What happened to her?”

  “A bad man came and took her away. A very, very bad, very evil man.”

  “Paul,” I say softly. “You know me. Don’t you? Why pretend?”

  His back stiffens. He goes absolutely still.

  “Appearances must be maintained,” he quotes, automatically.

  I gasp. That phrase is all too familiar to me.

  “What did he do to you?” I wonder aloud.

  Paul turns around. His eyes have taken on a glazed, faraway look. “Dr. Telfair saved my life,” he says. One hand twitches up, toward the collar on his neck. He stops it and looks at his fingers in horror. “He taught me who I am. I owe everything to him.”

  “Paul.” I say his name softly. “Who brought you here? Where do you think we are?”

  “The good doctor’s home, of course,” he says. “Oh!” He jumps. “How rude. I forgot the kettle. It’s important to be a good host. Would you like some tea? I can’t believe my manners. I can’t believe I forgot to ask…”

  He trails off and turns away, busying himself with imaginary plates and trays and cups on the empty wall behind him.

  I stare at his back. He’s not… not completely there. But he’s not fully gone, either.

  He’s stuck somewhere in between. The collar, and whatever Jeremy did to him obviously affect him. How much? Is it reversible? Those are the important questions.

  “Paul?” I say, softly. Carefully. “You already gave me my tea.”

  “What?” He spins around and looks scandalized. “I didn’t. No, it’s right here…” He starts to gesture behind him. Halfway through the motion, he stops. A strange expression of profound confusion flickers across his face. Then he seems to snap into himself. He stares at me with wide, horrified eyes. His pupils are small and black. Tight. Constricted, as if in battle with some internal demon.

  “Huh,” he says, finally. “You’re right. You do have it before you. I must have brought it and then—” He blinks rapidly. “—forgot.”

  “No.” I shake my head. ‘You didn’t forget. You didn’t bring it. You didn’t bring it because…” I take a deep breath. “Because it doesn’t exist.”

  He gasps and staggers back. “How could you say such a thing?” he demands, full of vitriol.

  I stand. Paul looks around the room, almost like a cornered animal. His eyes dart to the door.

  “It’s locked,” I tell him. That’s a lie, but I’m counting on his believing me.

  I take a cautious step forward. “Paul,” I say again. I’ve been emphasizing his name to try to make him understand. “You know who I am. Don’t you? And I know who you are.”

  He tears his eyes away from me. His left arm twitches once. He takes hold of it with his right, staring at the floor.

  “Don’t you?” I repeat. I take another step toward him. His lips move rapidly but no words come out. He sneaks a glance at me from under his brows and gives a short, terrified sound, almost like a mew. But he doesn’t move away.

  “Don’t you?” I’m close enough to touch him. I reach out and take his hand. I feel it trembling. “Don’t you… dad?”

  He stops shaking. His eyes, glued to the floor, fill with tears.

  “Yes,” he whispers. A single teardrop trails down his cheek. “Yes. Of course I do. But I…” He gives an involuntary twitch, and then his free hand jerks toward the collar.

  “I can’t,” he finishes on a pathetic mutter.

  I tighten my grip on his hand. “Dad, look at me. Yes, you can”

  And then I reach up and unhook the hidden latch on the backside of the thin plastic strip. Just the way Jeremy showed me before I came here.

  Paul gasps. “No!” he exclaims. He jerks back and away. Before I know what’s happening, he’s snapping the collar in place again, running his hands over it, again and again.

  “Safe,” he repeats, over and over. “Safe. Safe. Secure.”

  I step toward him. “Dad—“

  “NO!” he screams. “Don’t approach me! Don’t—oh God! What have you done?”

  Without warning he drops to his knees and starts to rock. Back and forth. Back and forth. He clutches his head with both hands. “Oh God, oh God, oh God. They’re back. They’re back. They’re all coming back!”

  “Who’s coming back? Paul—dad—talk to me!”

  “No,” he says. “No. No, no, no.” His voice has become hysterical. “No!” he screams. “The voices. The images. The visions! They’re all—they’re all back!”

  He collapses on his side, curls up in a small ball, and begins to sob.

  “No, no, no, no,” he keens over and over.

  It’s the most pathetic, most frightening thing I’ve even witnessed. Paul’s hands run over his collar. He twists it around his neck, like it’s his lifeline, like it’s his life vest. “Safe,” he mutters. “Safe. Safe, safe. Secure.”

  I stare. Uncertain. Terrified. Jeremy warned me that this could happen if I tried to alter Paul’s world. He said it would threaten his sense of reality, and that he might relapse.
Retreat.

  I refused to believe it…until I saw it with my own eyes.

  There was a glimmer of hope. A shred of potential. When Paul said he knew who I was. I thought we’d passed the danger zone.

  I’ve never been so wrong in my life.

  I’m lost. I don’t know what to do. I kneel beside him and place a hand on his shoulder. “Dad…”

  “No!” he screeches and bolts away from me. “Don’t touch me! Don’t come any closer. Don’t! Don’t! Don’t!”

  My heart freezes. He does know who I am. But I’ve disrupted his equilibrium. And now he can’t stand the sight of me.

  It doesn’t fill me with sadness so much as…despair.

  “Okay,” I say. I hold up both hands. “Okay, I’m not going to come any closer.” I rise, slowly. I’m shaken. But I’ve had enough experience with Jeremy not to show it. “I’m going to leave now. Okay? You don’t need to worry. There’s no threat from me.”

  He stares. “You’ll leave?” He wrings his hands and touches the collar again. His eyes fall. Instantly, he looks immensely downtrodden. “I’m weak,” he mutters. “I’m weak. I lost all I had. I can’t—I can’t let you do it to me again.”

  “Okay,” I assure him. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I can entertain his delusions. For his sake. “I won’t. I promise, Paul.”

  “You do?” He stills. He looks toward me, but not exactly at me. It’s one of the strangest sensations I’ve experienced. “You give me your word?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m sorry for coming. I shouldn’t have…”

  “No!” He bolts up and runs toward me. The fear is gone, the terror vanquished. He smiles so widely, so enthusiastically, that it’s like the last few minutes never occurred.

  Maybe in his mind, they did not.

  It’s a complete transformation. Instead of being excited, I’m…repelled.

  This sort of instability does not sit well with me. Not because I’m afraid of it—not exactly—but because it’s confirmation of Paul’s mental state. Of what I did not want to admit to be true.