Twisted Passion

The Drive Home

Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Nathan drew the collar of his coat closer around his throat. The temperature had dropped since he’d been inside the bar and the wind had picked up, turning the rain into sleet. His driver opened the door and Nathan stepped inside, seating himself. It would take a few minutes to scrap the car’s windows. The chauffeur murmured an apology for the delay but Nathan Williams-Taylor never heard it. He did not turn on the heater—the cold suited his mood perfectly, tempering his fury to some degree. Unfortunately, it was also starting to sober him up.

The ten-minute drive to the estate was uneventful. For once, he did not rebuke his driver for not going faster; he had other things on his mind.

“Would you like a hand inside, Mr. Taylor?”

“No. I think I can manage to walk the ten feet to the door. Go back to the city. Leave me alone.”

Nathan entered the foyer and as soon as the door closed behind him, he put his back against it and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply and slowly through his nose and waited for his heart to stop pounding. Once he was in control of himself again, he wasted no time in going upstairs to the bathroom, taking the stairs three at a time.

His stomach roiled unpleasantly from the excruciating pain in his head. His migraine was now full blown. From long experience, Nathan knew that the only way he could get it under control was to take more painkillers than usual. He opened the medicine cabinet and took out a small orange bottle, popping open the cap and shaking out seven Percocet in his palm and swallowing them with a mouthful of water. Because of their size, taking that many pills would have gagged most sufferers, but he had done it too many times before. He took another swallow of water and glanced at the pill bottle. It was almost a quarter full. Had he really taken nearly two hundred pills in less than two weeks?

His head continued its relentless pounding, making it difficult to think. He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Who the hell did that little bitch think she was, talking to me like that? And those others! They were actually laughing at me! Laughing with the little slut as if she had said something that was funny? How dare they?”

Angrily, Nathan removed his clothes and tossed them on the floor. At any other time, he took excellent care of his clothes but tonight he was too drunk and angry to see straight, let alone put his five thousand dollar Savile Row suit on the rosewood suit stand. He took a pair of pajama bottoms from a drawer in the walnut highboy and pulled them on, his hands working by instinct.

“She called me old! Can you believe that? I watch what I eat. I work out and ride when I can.”

Nathan preened at himself in front of the mirror. He was proud of his body for unlike other rich men his age that let themselves go, he did not. He exercised daily in the gym in his home. He was an excellent horseman; that strenuous exercise toned his body very nicely.

/You may eat what you are supposed to, but how about the pills? The booze? That adds years to your face./

“So I drink too much and pop a few? So what? That doesn’t make me old!”

/Pop a few pills? Who are you trying to kid? You’ve gone through nearly 200 Percs in two weeks./

“I take them as I need them,” Nathan muttered.

/You are singlehandedly making Brian rich at the same time./

“Who gives a shit about Brian? I’m talking about that…that tart!”

/Call her whatever names you want, but it all comes down to the cold hard fact that in her eyes, you are old enough to be her father. Do the math for yourself if you don’t believe me./

“I am not that old!”

/Yes, you are and you know it. Is that pride pricking your conscience? It’s the truth. To any woman in her twenties, any man in his late forties, rich or poor, is old./

“Go to hell! How dare she look at me with that damnable face of hers and…Goddamn her!”

He swept the dresser top clear of the stack of books and files that were kept there. He braced his arms on the polished wood and tried to get his anger under control. “I thought….” Nathan’s voice broke.

/Thought what?/

“That she had come back. Her face, her body, everything was the same…”

/You are the only one responsible for Marjorie’s death./

“No, no,” Nathan moaned. His knees gave out and he slid to the floor, drawing his knees up and putting his arms around them. He rested his forehead on his forearms and breathed heavily. As a child, he had learned that if he curled himself into a tight ball, he could avoid the worst of his father’s kicks and punches. His father and the beatings were gone, replaced by the voice in his head, battering at his brain, drudging up old memories but until the pills quieted the demon, Nathan had no choice but to listen.

/She was buried thirty years ago tomorrow. Valentine’s Day./

“Don’t you think I fucking know that?” The room resonated with the sound of his anguish but Nathan didn’t care. Only within the confines of his house could he be vocal with the thing that lived inside his head.

/You should know it. The day she was put into the ground was much like today. Cold and damp. One minute it would rain, the next it would snow. Before they closed the coffin lid, you couldn’t resist kissing her one last time, so you bent down…/

“I don’t want to remember. It hurts...”

/…and that’s when you realized she was dead./

“NO!”

/She was the only person in the world who ever gave a damn about you. And how did you repay her love? By raping her night after night. She told you ‘no’ every single time but you didn’t care. All you could think about was satisfying your lust. You might as well have put that knife in her hand yourself./

Memories of a white cast-iron claw foot tub filled with bloody water and Marjorie’s lifeless body floating just under the surface flashed before his eyes. “STOP IT!” Even though he knew it was useless, Nathan clapped his hands over his ears. “I don’t want to hear any more!”

Even since the voice had come to him in his late teens, it helped and comforted him, but now, it only wanted to hurt him and cause him pain. Hot, scalding tears flowed down Nathan’s cheeks. He gave into his grief, sobbing openly. After a long time, his heartache subsided. He got to his knees and with a grunt of effort, stood on his feet.

Angry with himself for losing control and with nothing better to do than wait for the pills to take effect, Nathan rocked back and forth on the bed, his arms clasped around his knees. When he felt the first sign of numbness dull his body and mind, Nathan sighed with relief.

The thing in his head was finally silent.

The insistent booming of the enormous grandfather clock in the hallway as it struck the third hour of the morning brought him back to the present. Nathan tossed and turned in his king-sized bed, unable to get a moment’s peace. He lay under the covers, listening to the nighttime noises of his house. No, he mentally corrected himself, not a house, a mansion. He was the proud owner of one of Rockland County’s most prestigious homes. A vast, twenty-two room palace where the main parlour was twice as large as the rat-hole in which he grew up.

Mansion or not, it was still an empty house. Day after day, the silence of the cavernous house was deafening, the stillness only broken by the sound of the cleaning staff or the occasional tradesman.

When he first arrived in West Haven, he relished the sound of his footsteps on its polished hardwood floors as they echoed through his house, but as time went on, Nathan began to despise the silence. It was at this time that he discovered the Wheeler’s pub and began to look forward to entering its noisy and bustling atmosphere every chance he could, despite the fact that the quality of the liquor in his own home was far superior to anything that Irish-American drunkard who owned the place could serve.

He resented having to go there to get his daily dose of human companionship. He had many acquaintances in West Haven, but no one he could call a friend. Of course, there was Brian Howard, the town’s only physician…however, he was more of a drug provider than an actual healer.

In the space of thirty minutes, the focus and purpose of his entire life had changed. By a twist of fate, a girl nearly thirty years his junior had come into his life. Unlike the other sycophantic girls in the area who knew who he was, this one was a welcome breath of fresh air. A second chance at life. A second chance at love. However, almost as soon as he felt hope for a promising future flow through him, doubts began to creep in.

What if she was already involved with another man? Other than several silver bracelets that dangled on her right wrist and a cheap watch on her left, he had not seen any rings on her fingers.

Nathan shrugged, unconcerned. That was the least of his worries because even if she was involved with another man, it did not matter. He could be bought off easily enough. He had done so before when a particular woman had caught his eye but had a boyfriend or lover in the picture.

What if she had a sexually transmitted disease? In this day and age, fucking the wrong woman could have deadly consequences.

What if she was a lesbian?

What if she was only passing through the area?

No, Nathan thought, I am getting ahead of myself. I will go back to Wheeler’s tomorrow night. From what I saw, she knew those girls at the booth—it didn’t appear as if they all just happened to sit at the same table. If I don’t know the answers about who she is or where she comes from, I know those who do. I will not ask those bimbos unless I have no other option. No. If anyone can tell me who she is, it’ll be Frank.

She is a dead-ringer for Marjorie and if her attitude is any indication, the girl has the same free spirit that Marjorie did. No matter what it costs me, I have to meet with her again.

Nathan opened a drawer in his nightstand and took out his most prized possession: a sterling silver-framed photograph of his first and only love.

He traced his finger over the image of her face through the glass and saw the sadness behind her eyes. During the last months of her life, she never seemed to smile anymore, consumed from within by an all-encompassing sorrow; sorrow that filled her heart and soul. The child that was growing inside her was the final straw. Driven to desperation, their baby forced her to take her own life.

She was only thirteen years old when she was placed in the coffin, her pregnancy barely visible unless you looked closely and saw how her growing breasts strained against the white fabric of her best Sunday dress. Her flowing red hair framed her face with such delicate beauty…So innocent, so pure. Marjorie lay in her coffin, draped with flowers, looking angelic and so much like a bride his heart nearly broke with the sweetness of the idea. He hadn't been able to resist…one last kiss.

Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss on her lips. But as soon as he touched the cold and rigid flesh of her lips with his own, he realized that she truly was dead. She was never coming back. She would not open those lovely green eyes and look at him again.

“Why? Why didn’t you tell me? It was my baby too. You had no right!”

Sheer exhaustion coupled with too much alcohol and drugs, were finally taking effect. Nathan’s eyes closed and he clasped the picture frame protectively against his chest.

“We could have run away and raised the baby. No one had to know we were brother and sister…,” he moaned softly before sleep overcame him.