Lost & Bound (20 page)

Callum

“It’s okay.” I press my hand to the small of
her back. “You can go in.”

She enters Eric’s apartment hesitantly, the
same uncertain expression on her face. Eric stands on the other side of the
room, his hands hanging out of his pockets casually.

I walk over to him. He’s my best friend who
I thought I would never see again. He shakes my hand and claps me on the back.
I notice the expression on his face. It’s as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Is she okay?” He gestures towards Leila.

She’s sitting on the edge of the sofa with
her hands tucked tightly between her legs. She carries so much tension in her
shoulders and her expression is grim.

“She’s fine,” I say, not knowing if it’s
the truth. “Just daunting being out in the real world, you know?”

He nods his head. He understands. But I’m
not sure if either of us can truly understand what has happened, the damage that
has been done, both from being locked away for so long and for killing a
man—killing my father.

Eric turns his head to the side, his words
come out as a whisper. “You didn’t tell me she was hot.”

My fist meets the middle of his stomach.
It’s a soft punch that
makes him laugh. Leila looks in our
direction, her eyebrows reaching up her forehead as she wonders what’s so
amusing.

Eric walks over to her slowly, cautiously,
as if approaching a shy toddler. He hangs his hands by his sides as he crouches
on the ground before her.

“I’m Eric,” he says softly.

She smiles and then bites on the corner of
her lip. “I know.” She holds her hand out to him, her shoulders instantly
relaxing. “I’m Leila.”

Eric settles next to her and they make
small talk for a while. Their conversation is smooth, effortless. It makes me
happy to see them get along.

I silently walk to the bathroom leaving
Leila in Eric’s company. I lock the bolt behind me as I let my weight fall back
against the wooden door. My body slides to the ground, my ass hitting the cold
linoleum floor with a thud. I laugh into the emptiness, delirium finally
catching up with me. To an outsider I look like a crazy person, but I need this
moment, a moment to reflect and ensure I’m alive. And for the first time in
days, I feel as though I can actually breathe.

***

“I will be two hours, three max,” I tell
her. “Eric will stay here with you. Once I’m back, we’ll get on the road.”

I take Leila’s hand in mine and press a
kiss against the warmth of her palm.

“I have a friend in Seattle. We can head
there until we figure out what to do next.”

Eric’s friend came through with a fake
passport for Leila and now I can take her back to Brazil. She has already
phoned her mother to let her know she’s alive and well. The call took its toll
on her emotionally.

Her mother cried of course, Leila fielded
her questions as best she could, giving her a watered down version of what
actually happened.

She told her family she had been kidnapped
and taken to a house where she was held captive. She didn’t speak of being
raped. She didn’t think her mother could handle the truth in its entirety. She
said she was held in the basement until she finally managed to escape.

It was true for the most part. She just
withheld the vile details that we no longer spoke of.

As the story went, she made it to my house
and I took her in, fed her and made sure no one would harm her again. This part
she didn’t need to embellish, it’s the truth.

“Are you ready?” Leila asks, her face
somber when it needn’t be.

I look at my watch. It’s just after twelve.
I need to leave, but I’m stalling, delaying the inevitable. Leila studies me,
waiting for my response. Her brown hair perfectly frames her face, her eyes are
wide and full of kindness, and her lips are pursed ready to say something else.
“Callum,” she whispers.

“I’m in love with you, Leila.” The words
tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Her mouth falls open as she stares at me
blankly. It’s not how I planned on telling her, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I shake my head, grasping her hands in
mine. I can feel her body shaking just the slightest. “God knows I’ve fought
it,” I continue. “I tried to fight it, but I can’t anymore.”

I loosen my grip on her hands.

“Leila…”

“I heard you.”

It’s not the response I
anticipated,
but I can tell her mind is working
overtime trying to process my words, my confession.

She brings her finger between us, tracing
my bottom lip gently, her eyes trailing where her fingertip has just been.

She licks her lips before she finally
speaks. “You saved me,” she whispers. “You were sent here to save me and you
did, in more ways than one. You gave me my freedom, but much more than that,
you saved my life. You saved me from myself.”

A stray tear falls from the corner of her
eye, trickling down the rosiness of her cheek. I reach forward and brush it
away with the pad of my thumb.

“I love you, Callum.” She leans forward and
presses her lips to mine.

It’s a slow kiss, full of angst and need,
and promises for what’s to come.

I pull away too soon. Her lips remain
pursed, her eyes hovering closed.

“I have to go.” I let out a heavy exhale.

Her eyes snap open. She watches me stand
and adjust my blazer.

“Callum,” I sense the sadness in her voice.

Her eyes trail up my face. She bites on the
corner of her lip, toying with the pink flesh that I just kissed.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I’m sorry.”

I understand what she is sorry for and yet
she has no need to apologize. I take her in my arms and press a kiss to the
crown of her head before I turn and walk toward the door.

I draw in a deep breath and then let it go.
I’m ready.

I’m ready to bury my father.

I don’t cry. The entire service takes a
little over an hour and I don’t shed one tear. Various people from the town
took the podium remembering my father as a gracious, giving man.
Lies, all lies.

Harry spoke. It was brief and somber. He
didn’t mention how my father was a good man. He spoke of their childhood, a
time when they were both happy and free, a time when my father wasn’t a
monster.

The turn out is remarkable. Over two
thousand people filled the church and made their way to the cemetery on the
outskirts of Merling. Even as the rain
pours
down upon us, the people of the town are loyal to the very end. Paying
their
respects to a man who they barely knew.

The funeral took over a week to plan, which
gave my face time to heal. The undertaker took care of most of the details. I
was just there for show.

I watch as they lower the coffin into its
final resting place, taking a handful of soil, I throw it to the mahogany coffin
that matches my mother’s. The procession follows suit, throwing handfuls of
dirt as a sign of their lasting respect.

I spot Rosa on the opposite side of the six
feet hole. I approach her slowly, my hands hanging out of my pockets. She
doesn’t budge. I offer her a soft smile as she stands in place.

“I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Callum,” she
mutters under her breath.

“Thank you, Rosa.”

I notice the expression on her face. One of
apprehension and fear, she knows what’s coming. “Why, Rosa?” I ask. “Why did
you let him get away with that all those years?”

Tears fill her eyes before she speaks.
“Because Mayor Mathers was the only family I’ve ever known.”

“And he was a monster,” I say. My voice is
soft enough that no one else will hear it.

I look toward the coffin as it travels
lower into the ground. People are starting to file away from the cemetery. A
few pat me on the back as they pass by. Most leave without acknowledging me at
all.

Tears stream down Rosa’s cheeks and my
first instinct is to comfort her, but I can’t. Even though Rosa gave me the
knife, the knife that killed him, I can’t forgive her.

“I knew he was a bad man, but I couldn’t
leave. He wouldn’t have accepted my resignation. I knew too much.”

Rosa looks up at me, tears streaking her
round face. “And he told me that no other family would hire me. He would make
sure of it.”

I try to fight it, but I do feel bad for
her. She was doing the only thing she knew how to do, care for her employer,
but that meant she was caught up in some nasty shit.

“I hope you get a fresh start now, Rosa,” I
tell her. I mean the words, even after everything that has happened.

“You too, Mr. Callum,” she says, her hand
squeezing mine before she turns her back and walks away.

The cemetery is practically deserted now.
The groundkeepers give me some space to pay my last respects. I walk the two
small steps to my mother’s gravesite.

Adored wife, loving mother,
t
he stone
reads.

I drop a rose on the headstone and even
though I fight it a few stray tears escape. I wipe at them. I promised myself I
wouldn’t cry today, but I’m not crying for my father. The tears are
for me, my mother and the lie we once
lived
.

This is the closure I need, our final
goodbye, and the last time I will ever step foot in this town.

Leila

I’m not in the room. It’s not dark. It’s
light and airy. This surprises me—confuses me.

I’m about to get on a plane, my cheeks hurt
from smiling. I am going to America. My dream is finally coming true.

I settle into my seat with my knees tucked
against my chest, my feet resting on the edge of the cushioned chair as I look
out the window and wait for take off.

I sleep for most of the flight, because
that’s how it happened. I wake up only at mealtime and even then, I’m too
excited to eat. My life is finally coming together.

The plane lands and I reach the exit. I
don’t have a bag to pick up, I only brought the backpack hanging over my shoulder,
a few necessities and that’s it. I see the sign.
Leila Nunes,
it reads.
He must be from the agency. I smile at the man, but he’s all business.

“This way,” he tells me in Spanish. I don’t
bother telling him I’m Brazilian, I can understand him well enough.

He’s wearing a tailored black suit and he’s
tall, so tall that it takes two of my steps to match one of his. He takes my
bag and tells me that we need to walk to the car. I follow him, I trust.

We reach the car, which is actually a van.
It’s an oversized black van with dark tinted windows. When I step inside I take
in the new car smell. The seats are soft and smell of leather. I settle in my
seat, the same smile still hung on my lips. I cannot wait for my journey to
begin.

I wait for the driver to get in his seat
and start the car, but he doesn’t. He’s nowhere to be seen. I peek my head out
the door and look both ways. Where is he? I step out of the van and round the
vehicle. I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach, something is wrong. My
eyes search the parking garage and then I feel his hands snake around me. Then
everything goes black.

My body is covered in sweat as I startle
awake. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize I’m in my bed, next to Callum
in our Seattle home. It was just a dream, but it felt so real.

“What is it?” Callum grabs my shoulder and
pulls me back into his arms. “Did you have another dream?” he asks, gently
placing a kiss on my forehead.

“Yes.”

“The same one?” he asks.

No. It wasn’t the same dream. This time it
was different. New. I haven’t dreamed this before and it brought the memories
flooding back. That’s how it happened. That’s how I ended up in that house, in
that basement. I trusted too freely and believed a girl like me could have a
fresh start.

“No. This time it was different,” I finally
answer.

He seems surprised. “Oh yeah, how so?”

“I dreamed about when I left Brazil, when I
boarded the plane and how I arrived in America.”

He rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin
of my shoulder. “What happened?”

“I got to the drivers van and then it went
black.” I think for a moment. “It was a memory and not a dream.”

He sighs softly. “That’s good, Leila.
Something to tell Dr. Pride next week.”

I nod my head as I snuggle into his chest.

Dr. Pride is my psychiatrist. I have been
seeing her for two months and we’ve made progress. She doesn’t say much really.
She just listens and tells me when my thoughts are irrational. The irrational
ones are usually about Callum. How I think he’s only with me because he feels
responsible for his father’s actions. He feels the need to fix me.

Dr. Pride says that there are no
indications of this. When Callum comes to our sessions he is nothing but loving
and supportive. She says that soon enough I will see the truth.

After three months of freedom, I’m still
afraid to leave the house. Anxiety and agoraphobia, Dr. Pride tells me. We work
on ways to face these fears, but most days I’m too afraid to go outside without
Callum. She says this is understandable and with time it will get better—easier.

Callum wraps both arms around me and kisses
the crown of my head. “Go to sleep, babe.”

And that’s what I do. I go to sleep, because
sleeping in Callum’s arms is easy.