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The fact that an optimistic person such as Mae has this dark defective image in her mind is... fascinating. The contradictions in her persona are alluring. Almost like the splashing of blood from a carved artery.
My demons are right. This seems like a version of them. Perhaps this is the exact reason why I refused to let Mae out of my sight ever since I saw this painting in the college’s workshop.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
My neck arches to the woman who stands beside me. Her bloodshot eyes are fixed on the painting, a pale smile curving her lips. Her ivory dress is in complete harmony with the same skin tone she passed down to her daughter.
“Yes, it is.” I turn my gaze to the painting. “The artist has admirable imagery.”
“She does,” Mae’s mother says, her voice low as if speaking from another dimension. Anguish crosses her gaze as tears stream down her face like an unstoppable oozing of venous blood. She ignores them, seeming lost in the painting.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She sniffs and gives a weak smile before using the tissue in her hand. I can see her struggle. I can see hopelessness and desperation at the bottom of her gaze. But I can’t feel it. I’m not allowed to feel it. That infected unwanted part of myself was cut out a long time ago.
Unnatural paleness bleaches the mother’s skin and her lips tremble. Her feet flutter and I clutch her by the arm before she falls.
Probably anaemia. Less likely dehydration or malnutrition.
“Thank you.” She tries to stand on her own and fails, falling back into my arms. “I’m just a little dizzy.”
“Sweetheart.” A male voice calls from our side as I set Mae’s mother to her feet.
The middle-aged man envelops her shoulders, brows furrowing. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She wipes her tears and motions at me. “This kind gentleman helped me.”
I took your daughter, lady, and I don’t feel the least guilty about it. I’m anything but kind.
“Thank you.” Mae’s father smiles. “My wife isn’t doing well.”
“It’s fine,” I say in the most diplomatic voice I can offer. “My pleasure to help.”
“You seem familiar.” His eyes squint. “Have I seen you somewhere?”
I didn’t want to take it this far, but hell. Who cares if I introduce myself to the family of the girl I kidnapped? I reach inside my jacket and pull a business card before handing it to him. “My name is Aaron Rhodes.”
He eyes the card. “Rhodes & Hart, Rhodes?”
Not to be arrogant— although probably yes— but everyone in the business world knows about our family’s conglomerate. We trade and deal in almost everything, from stocks to banking to imports, exports, cars, and even medical equipment. So whoever works in economic should be aware of us.
I smile. “Indeed.”
“I knew you looked familiar.” Mae’s father’s smiles. “You’re Arthur’s son. A spitting image of him.’”
That’s the worst thing anyone can tell me. But since I’ve taken his only daughter, we’ll call it even.
I force a smile. “Thank you, Mr...?”
“William Wilson.” He offers his hand and I take it for a brief shake. “I went to college with your father. He always came the top of the class no matter how hard I worked.”
‘Tell him that neurotypical people can never measure up to us, Son.’ Father laughs. ‘They will always run over by superior humans like us.’
I maintain my smile. “Yes, he was quite competitive.”
Someone choke me. I’m talking about my father. With Mae’s father no less.
Isn’t he supposed to be grieving? His wife is half dead, why is he chatting about an old colleague?
The same blueness of Mae’s eyes cloud as he holds eye contact. “I heard about the fire. I am sorry for your loss.”
