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Yeah, the producer later admitted he may have fucked up, even commissioned a study to see if he had—the kid could have climbed aboard at any moment in my opinion—but that’s not the point.
I had to make myself watch that movie, for that one scene. My stomach goes nauseous, the haunting memory that constantly plagues me creeping up from the depths of where I keep it buried.
Bachman men would die for their women. When we marry, we place a sword pendant around our wives’ necks, a symbol that we would both kill and die by the sword to protect her.
To protect any woman we love.
The cold ocean tide rises around me, threatening to choke me. The icy feel of dread surfaces in my gut.
It never leaves.
Only ebbs and flows.
Sometimes it creeps out, moving far enough to be tolerable. Other times, like now, it rises like a tsunami, threatening to wipe out my existence.
“You alright?” Her gentle words bring me back to dry land.
“I’m fine.” I’ll try to keep her safe even though I may not be capable and she’s the one who decided to breach our world.
There’s a lull in our conversation, both of us drifting into quietness, lost in our own thoughts as the runway clears and we finally taxi to the hangar. The jet slowly rolls to a stop.
“Sorry,” she says, softly. “About not being able to do the engagement thing.”
I stand to leave. Let Arie take care of her now.
“If you won’t do as I ask, fine. Meet with our lawyers. Sign the papers they give you. When I’m done with my business in the Parrish, then I’ll take you home.”
She gazes up at me. “And where will I stay?”
“You’ll be imprisoned for the duration of your stay. Under lock and key. Every breath you take will belong to me.”
I leave her without another word.
I step off the jet into the warm air of a seaside afternoon. With the long flight and time difference, it’s a whole new day.
I walk slowly, trying to get myself together.
This girl’s presence has dredged up so many emotions. I hate it. I catch my breath, walking briskly now, to my place. I take the bedroom on the first floor. I’ve instructed my staff to give the girl a room on the second floor, so our paths won’t cross for the duration of our stay.
Unless I say so.
See? Back in control.
As much control as I think I have, my body suddenly demands to call the shots. My eyes are heavy, my limbs ache from the plane. I go to my place and pass out. After a few hours of being dead to the world, I wake with the sun to relieve Sasha.
I go to my dad’s place.
He’s not doing well, no change since Aunt Sasha called me to fill me in on his condition. She hugs me tight, tears in her eyes as we say our goodbyes. She boards the same jet I arrived on, headed for another branch of our family’s tree, the Hamlet, a self-sufficient town in Connecticut where many of the Bachman families move to when they are ready to start a family.
Later that afternoon, I’m brooding, sipping a whiskey in the library back in my home, when the idea comes to me. I mull it over, wondering, like with all decisions, if it’s a good or bad one.
I come to the conclusion, why not?
I could use a pretty toy to distract me right now.
“Apollo.” I call to the man who runs my house here in Greece.
“Yes?” He appears in the doorway of the library. “How can I be of service?”
