Newborn Deceit

  Newborn

  Deceit

  Newborn Deceit

  How far would you go for the truth?

  Copyright © 2020 K T Lyon All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 9798597104805

  www.ktlyonauthor.com

  For

  Albert

  &

  Robert

  Loved and missed dearly every day

  We will always wake up with you both in our hearts xx

  Prologue

  Cassandra

  Hushed whimpers circle around the darkness in my head. I can’t open my eyes, but I know they’re near me.

  He’s here. He’s here, safe. I hear him, my baby.

  All the pain has gone, but the bed is cold and wet. I’m exhausted—my body drained of energy. I struggle to open my eyes. My eyelids are so heavy. I fight with every ounce of my being to open them, to catch just one glimpse of him, my beautiful baby boy. He’s finally here. I quickly forget the horrific pain when I hear him, his gentle whimpers reach out to me, he needs his mummy.

  I try to lift my arms, to summon him to me but fail, some invisible force weighing me down, pinning me to the bed. Why can’t I move, what the hell is wrong with me?

  The whimpers break into a cry. Please, I say. Please give him to me, but the words sit on my tongue, too weak to speak. I don’t understand; I didn’t have any drugs, no pain relief. I refused everything so I wasn’t groggy after the birth, to have a clear mind and remember my baby boy being brought into the world.

  God, I’m so tired. I’m still laying in darkness—shuffles of feet, heartfelt cries of my baby boy echo over voices in the background. Voices I don’t recognise. I try to move, my eyes flicker open and closed, then again long enough for me to catch a blurry vision of a woman at the side of the bed.

  ‘She’s coming round.’

  I think that’s the midwife, I can’t remember her voice. Or her being dressed in pink. I can’t think clearly. Who was in the delivery room earlier? Where is… Then I feel his hand clutch mine, but I can’t reciprocate.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay,’ he says, his voice choked but protective.

  ‘Our baby,’ my voice is low, strained. ‘Our boy, is he….’

  ‘Shh, everything’s going to be okay,’ he answers. His other hand is gently running through my hair, calming me.

  The noises are fading, I’m falling asleep again, I’m exhausted.

  Please, no!

  Stay awake, stay awake! Just for one hold, one look at my boy but I can’t fight it, I’m forced against my will to let go into silence.

  One

  Stephanie

  Saturday, March 9, 2019

  Am I still a dead woman? The question haunts me less than it used to, but my mind still wanders with fear of the unknown.

  I feel out of place—uncomfortable. My bones are tense as I sit facing out to the town, studying all those mysterious faces rushing by in the pouring rain. I wish I was one of them; I envy them almost, but instead, I’m sitting here in an unbearably awkward silence.

  Everything about me feels off today. My senses tingle, alerting me. But of what? Eliza continues to sit in ignorance across from me, shuffling her paperwork back and forth, scanning every page through her thick-lensed reading glasses. Torturing me, just because she can. She looks that type.

  The light bursts of air from swaying paper are hypnotising, I tilt my head back slightly and press my eyes closed. Busily quiet conversations overrun the room, mumbled words being exchanged from one table to the next, but I can still hear dead woman, dead babies, murders, clearly in my mind over all the chaotic whispers. I drop my head and open my eyes, trying to shake off the thought.

  Eliza’s old school mannerisms are intimidating. Her black outfit screams funeral rather than business lunch. I’ve probably been to livelier funerals than this. If it weren’t for the luminous glow of fairy lights stretched over the restaurant ceiling, I’d be watching the door for the Grim Reaper turning up for lunch reservations. My caramel brown hair pulled tightly into a ponytail, making me feel exposed. My hands fidget nervously with my crisp white table napkin, wrapping it around my fingers over and over like it’s my safety blanket, creasing the once perfectly ironed cloth.

  Hm, a tiny safety blanket that wouldn’t shield us from anything.

  Ah, my unwelcome psyche, peering her sarcastic opinion in when it’s not wanted.

  Piss off.

  Charming.

  Sorry, piss off, please!

  I wouldn’t have called the restaurant a classy place. Stretch your arms out and you would violate the next table’s personal space. I’ve had the urge to tell the heavyweight of a man behind me to pull his chair in and give me breathing space since I sat down, but I won’t. I’ve lost the gift of confrontation.

  The walls wear shades of scarlet red and pure brilliant white, now pure brilliant dull. Dining tables dressed to perfection in sterile white table linen and sparkling tableware. Kept in beautiful glory by the military like waiting staff with their professional posture and eye for detail, ready to pounce at anyone’s command. Floor to ceiling windows connecting to the main entrance projects it’s not a place for privacy but still charming.

  The lack of conversation kills me, I squirm uneasily in my chair with her hush leaving an opening for me to overthink what she could be thinking, my thoughts wandering into places I try my hardest to avoid.

  Screw this.

  ‘How is everything looking, Eliza?’ I lean forward, trying to catch her attention with a forced smile, but a grey sparing moustache catches me.

  I’m mesmerised by it. The last time I saw that much facial hair draping over a woman’s top lip was at my Great-Aunt Annie’s funeral when I was sixteen.

  ‘Fine at the moment,’ she answers.

  She doesn’t lift her eyes from the paperwork, I’m thankful because I would talk more at her moustache than directly at her. Not much of a conversationalist, is she?

  ‘Miss Shenton, don’t be nervous. You have a solid business plan here.’

  Oh, she can speak in full sentences! Instantly I’m relaxed, she’s a little less scary when she speaks.

  Eliza beams, her eyes skimming every word, her smile growing wider with every new page she turns. ‘A very good business plan,’ she mutters into herself.

  Plans to build a sports centre, with a large, heated swimming pool, a small gym and health room complete with a jacuzzi and sauna. All funded by me and my silent partner, who wishes to remain anonymous.

  Your silent partner who is also giving you a massive discount on the building work, I’m slyly reminded.

  It’s a small plan, but I need Eliza’s signature for the building work to start. Her words, not that there were a lot of them, gave me the boost I needed to hear. My psyche finally happy and giving the air a high five with our success, feeling like everything after so long was finally falling into place. I pick up my coffee cup, smiling, happy and slightly smitten with my successful outcome.

  ‘Tell me, Miss Shenton, how long have you been in Valdez?’

  ‘Um, almost six months now, I think.’

  Eliza’s eyes widen with shock and curiosity. ‘Really? I thought you had just moved here. You’ve done a good job of keeping out of the limelight, so to speak.’

  ‘I like a peaceful life,’ I answer quietly, not sure of her line of q
uestioning.

  ‘And what brought you here, of all places?’

  ‘I like cold countries. My daughter and I came for a holiday and never left because we loved it so much,’ I tell her.

  Rubbish, but I love the cold.

  Her eyes spring open in surprise. ‘Really? Where did you live beforehand?’ Eliza asks.

  Geez, it’s turning into an interrogation. Eliza has hardly spoken this whole meeting about my plans, and now she’s interested in my life. Obviously just nosey, not curious. I want to tell her to mind her own business, but I don’t have the balls. I spare her feelings and continue to answer her questions. A new trait I’ve adopted. I hate it.

  ‘Britain.’ I think that narrows it down, although my British accent probably already told her where I’m from.

  She leans forward, her dark beady eyes fixed on me, and she asks, ‘Your family must miss you both terribly?’

  ‘I don’t have any family, only Ava,’ my voice now uncomfortably low.

  ‘Husband?’

  ‘No!’ I reply more sharply than expected.

  Nosey cow.

  I let out an exhausted sigh, coughing lightly to clear my throat to let her know I don’t want to continue with her line of nosey questioning, but her eyes fix on me, her lips slightly parted as though another question is about to release. I glance forward over my coffee cup to break eye contact. A face at the window catches my eye, drawing me to him, and I find myself unable to look away.

  The face perched on a lifeless body, standing between the crowd of customers queuing outside. Rain drips rapidly from his jet-black hair. His dark marble eyes stare through me, as though he’s looking through the window at an empty room.

  I remember that face.

  The collar of my dusty rose shirt grows tighter, squeezing my throat whilst I wait in anguish for him to move. My whole being is unsteady, throwing me off guard with my heart failing. A face that haunts me, making my nightmares become a reality, and I suffocate in his glare.

  The background chatter in the restaurant dies, an eerie silence flare’s and suddenly I’m alone. My heart thumping so hard and fast it’s in rhythm with the buzzing in my ears. I sink further and further into my mind, my breathing frenzied beyond my control.

  Breathe, for Christ’s sake, breathe!

  My vision blurs, I close my eyes tight, trying my hardest to focus on my breathing. Inhaling deep breaths through my nose, exhaling through my mouth, my hands trembling, trying to grip onto each side of the oak dining chair to ground myself. Squeezing tighter and tighter, until my fingers drain of colour and feeling.

  Breathe!

  I try desperately to revive myself, focusing on where I am, who’s beside me. I’m not alone, I’m not alone! Focus. I’m at lunch, I can smell freshly brewed coffee, I can see a cup sitting in front of me, the cup I was drinking from. I ease my grip of the chair and loosen my top button with my aching fingers. My breathing calming slowly, I hear voices again, muffled in my ears.

  ‘Stephanie, are you okay?’ Eliza asks, panic clear in her voice.

  My vision adjusts, and I can see her face clearer, a young blond-haired server standing behind her, looking startled.

  ‘Will I get the manager?’ the server asks, unsure of the procedure for dealing with anxiety attacks by crazy customers.

  The mumbled conversations circulate the restaurant again. My breathing still troubled, along with my subconscious. My persistent mind still behind, trying to gather my thoughts. Wrapping my arms around myself, feeling vulnerable.

  ‘I’m sorry, I think I just became overwhelmed with everything,’ I say, my breathing exhausted, my heart regulating, leaving the start of a pounding headache forming behind my eyes.

  ‘Are you sure? I thought I’d lost you for a minute?’ Eliza asks, her face squinting to look at me, apprehensive of my useless excuse.

  I’m not insane, I’m fully aware of the prying eyes watching me from the surrounding tables. Panic builds inside me again. I need to get out of here now.

  Apologising profusely, I push my chair out and try to stand up with my trembling legs, leaving me unbalanced. The heavyweight man behind me offended with my surge of strength, firing him forward in his chair and nearly into his plate of lunch. I think he can afford to miss a meal.

  Eliza stands with me, but I ignore her, gathering my bag and jacket, leaving as quickly as I can.

  ‘I’ll call you, Miss Shenton.’

  Eliza’s voice echoes behind me as I weave in and out from the cramped tables, my legs still trembling. The stares of strangers pushing me to walk faster. I rush out through the door, banging past the messy line of customers. I stand for a few minutes in the rain, trying to breathe in the cold air. Looking right and left, then again, over and over. Looking for his face, it’s disappeared from sight as quickly as it appeared.

  Was it really him?

  The judgemental stares from strangers choke me, my unsteady legs feel like they’re about to buckle under the pressure. I need to get away from here. Without looking, I run across the street. Blasts of horns loud in my ears, but I don’t dare turn around, focusing on my car straight ahead. My hands tremble, desperately trying to start the engine, and finally, I pull away, semi-hysterical. Before I realise it, my car has come to a stop in a familiar place I have been so many times before, in the frantic panic I’ve driven to my safe haven.

  Two

  Stephanie

  Sitting fretfully dreaming out of the side window of the car, I watch as the glistening frost forms after the rain has stopped. Stunning, perfectly imperfect shaped crystals cover the glass from the last days of winters frosty breath. The inside of the car so cold, when I exhale my breath turns to fog. But still, I sit here with the ignition turned off. Sharp chills of cold gushing through my skeleton, my wet ponytail dripping down my back, analysing my very public anxiety attack, not to mention my hallucination.

  Hallucination or reality?

  Shit, I don’t know the difference anymore. The first time I thought I saw him wasn’t like today, or any time after, but this time was horribly real, too real for me to process.

  I would see his face blending between strangers in busy crowds, standing on street corners watching me as I drove past. Almost every night, my dreams would quickly snap into nightmares. His wicked face would come to me, standing firm wearing an erroneous smile that was shielding his evil mind.

  ‘He should be in jail,’ I mutter under my breath with apprehension, banging my head against the leather-bound steering wheel.

  But what if he’s not?

  ‘He should be.’

  And even if he isn’t in jail, how could he possibly have found us?

  I try to calm myself, taking deep breaths in and out, over and over. Telling myself no one knows where we are, no one should know where we are.

  I enjoy being hidden here, invincible between the snowy Sitka Spruce trees. The trees so high that when you look up, you can’t even see the lonely blue winter sky above the grey mist surrounding them.

  My favourite time of the year, winter. The crisp fogginess of the dark mornings and early dark nights, sitting beside a hot burning log fire with the smell of searing wood circulating in the air. I love to sit and watch the snow falling outside. Winter all year round, or near enough. To me, it is simple perfection. How could I not settle here? Give me minus zero temperatures over a scorching sun any day. I was never one to lie on a beach with my pasty skin frying in the sun. Lobster red wasn’t a colour that wore well on me.

  My body’s aching with the bitter cold, I turn the key and fire up the car engine. Rubbing my hands together vigorously, waiting for the heat to circulate the inside of the car. I should drive back to the cabin, but something is stopping me. What if it was him and he’s waiting there for me? Maybe I should drive to Olivia’s?

  I feel sick.

  The bile has been swirling in my stomach since I woke up this morning, I couldn’t even look at my breakfast. Probably nerves. My overly embarrassing
anxiety attack hasn’t helped much.

  My head tilts up and rests against the driver’s seat, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. A memory of his touch flashes over me and a shudder of gut-churning regret follows. My eyes spring wide open. What the fuck was that?

  Another memory follows. His weight on top of me, his heavy breath soaking into my neck. Fighting with myself not to cry, shadowing any sign of remorse. Bile swirls faster in my stomach, and it burns as it travels up my throat. Stinging wears over my skin as my mind floods with repressed memories I had locked deep down in the darkest hole of my mind. Sitting in the bathtub scrubbing my skin over and over and over until it bled. The blood diluting with the scalding water running from the showerhead, onto my disgraced body, then sucking away down the drain, along with his fingerprints and his scent. No matter how necessary it was to get that book from him, I will forever hold a fierce mortification in my heart for letting him touch me.

  My arms console me in shame. Wrapping them around my shaking torso, begging my psyche to lock that memory back in the pit of my mind again where it belongs.

  Rain begins again, fiercely smashing down around me. It had to be my mind playing tricks on me after Eliza quizzing me. It was my anxiety spiking under pressure. My heart races, I feel it thumping through my chest again as the scene from the restaurant sticks on replay and I’m unable to stop it.

  A surge of bitter memories run instantaneously, forcing me to remember them. Ache clinging to them as they swirl unbidden in my throbbing head. My sanity fading as I’m abruptly thrown into a comatose of regret and sheer panic, wondering what has happened back home.

  I need away from here. I can’t be on my own. I’m driving down the highway towards Olivia’s before I can catch my breath.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  ‘Stephanie, breathe. What’s wrong? What’s happened? Is it Ava?’ Olivia sounds worried.