Betrayed - Alternate Ending Page 3

  "My wife will give you a statement when she's damn good and ready. Until then, stay away from her or I'll slap a lawsuit on you that'll have you and your publishers living in cardboard boxes under the Grand Street Bridge. And that's if you have a good lawyer."

  He closed the door gently and strolled to the other side of the car, shouldering a persistent reporter out of the way before sliding behind the wheel. Brook settled into the seat with a weary sigh. The meeting with Sheriff Hawk, the long drive to Denver, the hours at the police station reliving the details of her abduction and captivity, and the suspicion churning in her mind had turned her nerves raw. And, she missed Lance. She shot a Clark a guilty glance, watching his hands on the wheel as he pulled into traffic. At the heart of it all, there was the yearning for her lover. A yearning she had no right to feel. It had been a horrible day. And it wasn’t over yet.

  As soon as they were on the freeway, Clark started rapid-firing questions at Brook. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you let me know where you were? Do you know how worried I’ve been?” He probably would have continued in this manner if Brook hadn’t interrupted.

  “Clark.” Brook sighed deeply. “I know you need answers. And I’ll give them to you. But not here. Not in the car. Please wait until we’re home.”

  Clark opened his mouth to speak but Brook only shook her head. “Please?”

  “Of course. I understand.” Clark took one of Brook’s hands in his and held it tight for a minute before letting go. The remainder of the drive was spent with Brook staring out the passenger window and Clark slipping her surreptitious glances.

  At the guardhouse, Clark rolled down his window and spoke quietly to a surprised Jerry, whose startled eyes flickered over Brook and back to Clark's face.

  "The press will probably flock outside these gates like a pack of vultures," Clark warned Jerry. "I'm sorry for that."

  "I can handle it." Jerry ducked down and caught Brook's eye. "Good to see you again, Mrs. Parrish."

  Brook gave him a reassuring smile. She knew she could trust him; she knew he would do his job.

  When they reached home, Clark pulled into the garage. Brook stepped from the car, fatigued and torn by conflict. She walked into her home for the first time in months. Nothing had changed while she was gone. Breathing in the once-familiar smell, she was surprised to find it no longer held any comfort. Nor did she find solace in the surroundings as she looked around her. Everything seemed so grand, so pretentious, so cold.

  Clark followed her uncertainly as she moved through the house, touching one thing after another, feeling nothing for any of the items.

  "Brook?" Clark stopped in the doorway, a look of anguish on his face.

  Brook held up a hand, a gesture that silenced him. She paused in the middle of their luxurious front room, looking around as a realization struck her. This had always been Clark’s home, the place they had gone to get away from the memories of their lost baby, the place where they would supposedly heal their grief and reconnect to each other.

  Now, Brook knew they had only been putting up fronts. Artificial bright facades to hide the true emptiness. Sadness filled her as she mentally prepared for the confrontation with her husband.

  She decided a shower and change of clothes was in order even though she could still discern, very faintly, the scent of Lance’s cologne on her clothes. How tacky, she thought, to reunite with my husband while the scent of my lover still lingers on my skin. She shrugged and turned to Clark. “I’m going to shower. I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.”

  “Brook,” Clark said, ready to stop her. But the look on her face told him she wasn’t going to listen yet. Instead, he said, “I missed you.”

  Brook spared him what might be taken as a smile and continued up the stairs.

  Afterwards, clean and in clothes of her past, Brook returned to the lower floor. She looked out the patio doors over the lawn. The last remnants of snow shrank against the fence where it was shady. She felt her eyes glaze with tears. This homecoming was not as she had imagined it would be.

  "Brook," Clark said again. "Talk to me. Please."

  She went to her small bag and removed the tiny tree and her other things onto the bar and perched nervously on a stool.

  Clark approached cautiously, and sat on the stool next to her. He reached over the bar and grabbed a towel. Mopping his eyes and wiping his nose, he stared at her in astonishment, as if his eyes could not process the reality before him. “I thought you were dead. I thought they’d killed you,” he blurted, then covered his eyes with his hands. “I mean, I thought someone…”

  “Who, Clark? Who did you think killed me?” Brook’s voice was harsh. Tears shone in her eyes.

  Clark stammered for a moment. “Look, I’m still in shock. I don’t even know what I’m saying. Your return took me by such surprise. Give me a minute; let me get my bearings.”

  “No! You slipped and said something you didn’t mean to say. I want to know more about it. Who did you think killed me? Maybe Jase? Or Benny?” Her voice rose in volume and her shoulders were rigid with anger. “Your buddies?” She paused at his expression. “Or are they your employees?”

  She pulled the sketches from her bag and laid them out on the bar. "Recognize these people? Do you?"

  Clark gave the drawings a cursory glance and shook his head. "No. Why would I?" He swatted impatiently at the papers and one fluttered to the floor.

  Brook picked it up and placed it on top of the others, stacking them neatly. Her hands trembled. "Just stop lying, please. After all I've been through, you owe me that."

  Clark’s shoulders sagged. “Oh, lord.” He held his hands to his temples, as if his head might explode. The confession bubbled to the surface and burst out. “I’m so sorry, Brook. I got in way over my head. You were never supposed to be harmed. Not in any way! They didn't know about you, weren't ever supposed to even see you! It was just the car. They were supposed to take the car while you were inside the bookstore.”

  Brook gasped, stunned by his admission. She decided to see how much she could draw him out, trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Just the car? Never me?”

  A great weight seemed to fall from his shoulders. "Right! Well! At least I'm glad it's out in the open. I've carried this burden all these months, and it's made me sick. Just sick, I tell you."

  Brook shook her head, trying to absorb the shock. Although her subconscious had been preparing her for this moment, it still rocked her to her very core. Clark was the reason she had been hurt! She stared at him, her face twisted with horror and revulsion.

  He couldn’t bear up under her gaze, and ducked his head.

  Brook surprised both of them by slapping him hard across the side of his head.

  "Good god, Brook!" Clark jerked back. He cupped his stinging ear and gaped at his wife.

  She stared at her hand as if it belonged to someone else, then raised her eyes to his. Her body thrummed with adrenaline. She blinked at Clark. "I don't believe this."

  "It's okay," he said. "I had that coming, I guess. But, don't do it again, Brook." He slunk away from the bar.

  "You idiot! I'm not talking about hitting you. What I can't believe is that you would do any of this!" Brook slid from her stool and followed Clark closely. “Why, Clark? Why would you be involved with thieves? Criminals?”

  Clark's head shot up. He stared at her in amazement. “Do you really think I can afford this life-style on my wages? Six cars? Swimming pool? Three thousand square feet of living space. The Club. Come on, Brook, you can’t possibly believe that I make that much money.”

  “How would I know how much you make? You never shared those details with me. The only thing I could possibly conclude from your actions was that you had money; lots of money.” She drew a card from the deck of hate and discontent with which they were playing. “Besides, you come from a wealthy family. You always threw that around like it was something special. What about your parents’ money?”

  “
What about it? That’s their money. Not mine. I may get some of it when they pass away, but they’re still fairly young. They could spend it all by then. And more power to them if they do. It is theirs, after all.”

  “That's true, but what about your trust fund?”

  “Trust fund?” Clark laughed ruefully. “My dad never believed in trust funds. He believes a man should make his own way in life. Jesus Christ, Brook.”

  “Okay. But…”

  Clark cut her off. “You know, most of this is your fault. I don’t need all this pretentious shit to live. I buy it for you. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t need more money than what the firm pays.” He stood and paced in front of her, hands in his pockets.

  “For me! For me? How dare you. I’ve never asked for a single thing you’ve given me. I never wanted this house. This lifestyle. This is all you. You’re a pretentious asshole and you can’t blame this on me.” She waved her hands to encompass their surroundings. “And as for the Club; well, I’ve never felt welcome there and I never will. This is not my life, Clark, it’s yours! This and The Club. Do you really believe I fit into that bunch of anal-retentive busybodies? I speak to exactly two—count them, Clark—two women in that hellhole and I don’t trust either of them. And as for the Ferrari. God save me for enjoying the looks of envy when I drove it; but you know the truth on that matter also. I never, never wanted that car. You wanted it…” Brook stopped dead.

  Holding up her hand in recognition, Brook spoke slower. “You wanted it. The car! You planned this from the very beginning, didn’t you? You doubled your investment. Sold the stolen car, then turned around and collected the insurance money. Oh my god. I can see it clearly now!”

  “You don’t have a clue, Brook.” Clark walked around the bar and poured a scotch and water.

  “I don’t have a clue? I’m not the one breaking the law. I’m not the one who set up someone I supposedly loved to be taken by animals. To be abused for days. They raped me, Clark! Those filthy pigs raped me! They planned on killing me.” She sucked in a ragged breath, anger and heartache warring inside her. “I do have a clue. You don’t!” Brook’s voice broke and tears ran down her cheeks. “They hurt me so badly! Over and over again, Clark." She took several deep breaths. “Wait! Let me think. Oh lord! Please tell me you didn’t actually plan for them to take me too. That you didn’t plan to collect the life insurance on top of the auto insurance.” Sick with new feelings of suspicion and dismay, Brook sank onto the nearby sofa and dropped her head into her hands.

  “Brook…” he reached out a hand, beseeching her, but she slapped it away.

  "Don't you touch me!"

  Clark backed up a step, but continued his line of thought. “It was never supposed to happen, sweetheart. Of course I didn’t plan on you being taken.” He gritted his teeth and approached the subject he’d avoided so far. “Those bastards! I hate the thought of their hands on you.” He stopped as a frown passed over his face. “I suppose you fought them?”

  “No, Clark. I just laid there and took everything they gave me. I smiled and asked for more. I enjoyed it.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. Brook sprang to her feet, overcome by bitterness. She felt as if she would vomit. "But what the hell does that have to do with anything? What if I hadn’t fought? What if I couldn’t? How can you even ask something like that?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that you don’t look injured to me. What am I supposed to think? Have you been with them this whole time? My god, Brook. Where were you?”

  “With them? You think I spent this entire time, with them? God! No, I wasn’t with them the whole time. I would have been dead long ago.” Brook was astounded. "You want to hear it all?” Not waiting for a response, she spoke; hate overflowing for the men who had hurt her and for Clark. "I went to a bookstore to get a book for my loving husband. You remember him, don’t you? Well, seems as if he set me up. Sent me to the worse part of town to fend for myself. If I hadn’t gotten scared and returned to the car, where I was abducted by the car thief you hired, I might have been accosted by one of the men on the street.” Brook clenched her fists, remembering. “Yes, Clark, it was that bad where you sent me.”

  Brook inhaled through her mouth and breathed out through her nose, trying to calm herself enough to continue the story. “So I got back into the car and before I could close the door, a man rammed a gun in my face, shoved me into the passenger seat, and took me away. I almost got away once, while still in town, but they quickly tackled me, brought me down in an alley, and loaded me into another car.”

  Brook gave an ironic laugh. “Now it gets really good." Brook grabbed the copies of photos from her bag on the bar and shoved them at Clark. “Look at these.” Clark tried to push them aside but Brook was insistent. “Look at them, Clark. Look!”

  He collapsed onto the sofa as he flipped through the pictures showing Brook’s damaged body. He wept. Carefully, he turned the pictures upside down and placed them on the cushion next to him.

  Brook relentlessly continued her story. "After they raped and beat me, for three days mind you, I finally managed to escape. Naked, in the freezing cold, I stole one of their cars, and escaped. Or so I thought. But fate had more fun up her sleeve for me that night. A deer stepped in front of the car and I lost control. Just before the car went over a cliff, I dove into the muddy road. Then, I lost my footing and followed it down.”

  “Brook. Stop! That’s enough. I understand now.” Clark was sobbing, hand over his face.

  “Look at me, you coward. You haven’t heard it all yet.”

  Clark turned his tear-streaked face in her direction as she went on. “So there I was. Already beaten and tortured by those three monsters, and now battered by a mountain. I'll spare you most the details of how I struggled through the forest, how I survived the first night of snow, and how my bare feet were bloody and torn by the rocks."

  "Thank you, Brook. I really can't take anymore." He looked a little green, as if the details were making him squeamish. He'd never been able to handle blood and gore.

  "Oh, I'm not through yet." Brook's face took on a look Clark couldn't understand. It softened. "Then, when I thought all was lost, I was rescued by a man. A good, kind man. He took care of me, cleaned me up, and kept me safe. He lives way up on a mountainside in the forest. I couldn’t get off the mountain until the snow melted.”

  Clark jumped over the horrid details of Brook’s ordeal and clutched at these last words, as to a life-line in a raging river. “Well, whoever he is, I’d like to shake his hand. I’d like to thank him for helping you. I can hardly believe you're really here."

  Brook was amazed. He didn’t listen. He didn’t listen. She gaped as he spoke on.

  "But Brook, you need to take a minute to see my side of things. You have to realize this isn’t the way it was supposed to go down. I never wanted you to be hurt! The thought of it makes me…" Clark rubbed his hand over his face. He rose to his feet and began walking back and forth as he talked, as if trying to dispel his nervous energy “I swear, I almost lost my mind when you disappeared. It wasn’t as if I meant for you to be involved. I don't think you realize how hard this has been on me.” Clark reached for her hand, but Brook pulled away. He stared, hurt, then resumed pacing.

  Brook started to speak, but Clark cut her off. “You just don’t understand. Maybe my need for money isn’t your fault. But, lord, Brook. You can’t imagine the thrill of setting up these deals. The money that flows from those rich bastards overseas… It’s like a drug. I imagine it is similar to shooting heroin. The rush! But it was supposed to be my private indulgence, my secret. I never intended to drag you into it or involve you in any way. Don't you see? I’m sorry you got hurt. I truly am. I would never hurt you, not for a million dollars.”

  “No, Clark. Not for a million. You did it for a lot less.” The anger had suddenly drained out of her, leaving her exhausted and miserable. She gathered the images of her tortured body from where they lay, ignored now, beside Clark. The conversation
illustrated how self-absorbed he was. Why hadn’t she seen it before? No comments on the life-shattering evidence she had shown him. No questions from him about her physical condition, the location where she had spent the last several months, or even about her abductors. He focused on nothing but his own interests, only superficially engaged beyond that. She should have been stunned by his self-centered responses, but somehow, she wasn't.

  "I'm tired. I'm going to bed." Brook got to her feet and picked up her things.

  "Wait, you can't just walk away now. Brook!"

  She paused at the staircase, considering his words. Without turning around, she sighed and continued up the stairs.

  Brook entered the master bedroom and stared at the bed she had shared with Clark. There was no way she would ever sleep in that bed again. Going to the dresser, she pulled out some nightclothes. Entering the master bath, Brook gathered the clothes she’d shed after her shower and carried everything into the guest room. Locking the door behind her, she picked up the clothes she'd borrowed from Lance, folded them carefully, and ran her hands over them. She lifted the shirt to her face and inhaled. Lance's scent was fading from the fabric, and she was momentarily bereft.

  She heard Clark knock on the bedroom door several times, but she ignored him. She wept into the armful of old clothes, her misery spilling out in hot tears.

  Later, in bed, she hugged her pillow and longed for Lance. After the warmth and comfort of his cozy cabin, her own house felt like a mausoleum. She cried for her marriage that had turned out to be an empty union. She cried for the hurt she had endured. And she cried for the one man who knew how to take away her pain. Lonely as she had ever been, Brook finally drifted into a restless sleep.

  Chapter 55

  That first night, Lance thought the ache in his heart would get the best of him. He reached over and touched the empty space where Brooklyn had lain and felt tears behind his eyelids. He wondered how she was doing, pictured her walking the floors of her fancy home. Against his will, he envisioned her in the arms of her husband, and punched the mattress with his fist.