Anabel Unraveled (2 page)

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to call me ‘Miss Marilyn’ anymore.” There were tears welling in her eyes. “You look gorgeous.”

I smiled. “You’re just saying that. It’s very kind of you to lie.”

“No, I’m serious. You’re practically glowing, you look so lovely!” Although I stood a bit taller than she, she reached up and smoothed my hair. “I guess DC life is suiting you, huh?”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in contact with you,” I lamented. “I haven’t been allowed to talk to anyone. Sam and Alexis and all of their legal team are petrified I am going to say something wrong.”

She frowned. “What could you possibly say?”

A lot, actually, but I feigned innocence. “I don’t know, but every word that does come out of my mouth makes Alexis glare at Sam and hurl angry French curse words at me.”

“Oh, my,” she said, with laughter in her eyes.

“I wish I was making that up, I really do.” I beamed at her. “It’s incredible to see you! I’m surprised you are here though, they weren’t letting in anyone but those of us testifying and immediate family—” And then it dawned on me. “You’re here with Charlie, aren’t you?”

“Oh honey, I wanted to tell you.” She extended her hand, and I saw the thin gold band. “We got married!”

“That’s wonderful,” I managed, hugging her again. “Where is Charlie?”

“Right here,” he said, coming up next to her. “Hello, Anabel.”

“Hi Charlie,” I said, feeling shy. “It’s been a long time?” It came out as a question. I hadn’t meant it to.

He pulled me to him, but I still felt awkward. I stepped back and offered, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m really, really happy for the two of you.”

The both grinned lovingly at each other, and I was then spared from further discomfort by one of Sam’s many lawyers touching my elbow. “Miss Martin? They want you to sit over here.”

I smiled at the two of them, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt, and followed Mr. Benson over to one of the tables in the front. He seated me next to Sam, who touched my arm. “Are you okay?”

“Marilyn and Charlie got married,” I told him.

“How do you feel about that?”

“Are you my shrink now? I feel great about it. Fantastic. My father just died, why don’t we talk about that next?”

Sam looked hurt, and I instantly regretted it. “I’m sorry. I’m just on edge.” I slumped back into my chair. “Please tell me that we’re not sitting anywhere near that vile Jared Sorensen.”

“I missed you too, Anabel.”

Open mouth, insert foot.

“Get away from her, Sorensen,” snapped Sam, rising from his chair.

“Back off, Sam,” he said silkily. “I have no interest in upsetting your little sister.” He backed away and took a seat at the farthest end of the table. I tried to not look at him, but through many furtive glances I couldn’t help but take in his perfectly styled blonde hair, cool manner, and the suit that made him even better-looking than normal. My heart skipped a beat, and I scowled inwardly at myself. Now was not the time to lose my head. I’d lost enough to this man already. From then on, I kept my eyes focused on the floor, trying to calm the unsettling rage that was burning in my stomach.

My name is Anabel Martin, and I want Jared Sorensen to die.

A few more strangers wandered in, and then the members of Congress filed into their seats. Forgetting my resolve, I shot a sidelong glance at Jared, which he seemed to notice as he turned straightaway to focus on me. I averted my eyes and pretended to be concentrating on the table when Congresswoman Fischer brought the hearing to order.

There was a moment of tenuous silence, and then she began, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome. So that we are all clear, these hearings are to discuss the murder of Jonathan Martin on April 27th on the Caereon Storage Facility.”

Oh no. DO NOT CRY. I took a steadying breath, and Sam put his arm around me.

“I do not know,” Ms. Fischer went on, “what happened that night, but I am convinced that all of you have valuable information to present to the Committee. As the storage facility in Caereon is a government-run facility, the murder is a federal crime. While no charges have been filed against anyone here, it should be noted that anything you say in these hearings can and will be used against you in a court of law if the need arises. The testimony that all of you will be providing should take us back to your experiences on the island of Caereon. Leave out no relevant information.”

She took off her glasses. “Anabel Martin, where are you?”

I raised my hand. Ms. Fischer glanced at me. “Your brother has requested we let you go first due to some health issues?”

I nodded. Jared cleared his throat at and stared rather pointedly, but I looked up, glassy-eyed, at Ms. Fischer.

“Miss Martin. Please give your account of the events leading up to when Mr. Sorensen arrived on the island.”

I took a deep breath. This was it. I caught Sam’s eye, and he gave me a slight, encouraging nod. So I began, and I said the first thing that came to my mind: “My name is Anabel Martin, and it is a confirmed fact that I am a b—.”

“Anabel!” gasped my brother. But the spattering of laughter around the hearing room gave me the courage to go on, and even Ms. Fischer looked amused. I slipped back into my former life, and thought about who I was back in April. I became that Anabel and was glad I could poke fun at myself now. I couldn’t then, you see. I used to take myself way too seriously. I closed my eyes as I spoke, and was home, back on the island.

So here I am, living with my father, who—nine months prior—fired my nanny. She wasn’t really my nanny anymore and rather had become a mother to me. I loved her, and my father took her away—and I hated him for it. Without Marilyn’s influence, I have become cold. Heartless. I am alone and carry around a quiet anger that burns steadily and refuses to subside.

Don’t get me wrong. Here, I have my uses. After all, I am the only female to traipse around Caereon Storage Facility, aside from Ida, who weighs 250 pounds, and Evelyn, who is old enough to be my grandmother, so I provide excellent eye candy to the hundred or so males who work here. Even though I consider the lower half of my body entirely too fleshy, and my bosom not ample enough, and I downright hate my hair, all of this was lost on the lonely men who probably while their nights away jacking off to pornographic magazines, or—and I shudder at this thought—images of me. It might seem that I’d be in a precarious situation here, knowing that the quantities of women are rather scarce, but all of them know better. You see, my father, Jonathan Martin, basically owns their souls during their stays on Caereon. One false move and they answer to my dad—which makes me wonder what he’s doing to Kevin Miller right now.

Kevin had the misfortune of actually talking to me. For the record, I warned him it wasn’t a good idea, so I take no responsibility for it. But—to my surprise—we became friends. Earlier this evening my father found the two of us curled up on a couch. Again, I refuse to accept any fault for this; rather, I blame it on my father, as I wouldn’t be hanging out with Kevin if my father hadn’t allowed him free time on the grounds for good behavior. But I digress. The point is that Jonathan was not happy about this at all. In between many vulgarities and columns of spit (my father has a lisp and stutters when he screams), he informed Kevin that he would in no way, shape, or form support his daughter’s fornication with a convicted felon, and despite my many protestations of innocence, my father grabbed Kevin by the ear and hauled him into his office. They’ve been in there ever since. I’ve been waiting anxiously on a bench outside the rather massive (and, unfortunately, soundproof) heavy oak door, straining my ears, but I hear nothing. These circumstances are unfortunate, because as I sit here, I’m starting to realize that I was growing very fond of Kevin. He was the only companion I had who was near my age, was literate, and didn’t stare at my chest all the time. I sat up straight. I had been deluding myself with Kevin’s friendship for a while, but the problem lay much deeper. The fact was, I was sick of being here, and I needed out.

I suppose now is as good a time as any to explain what Caereon is and why I detest it so much.

You won’t find Caereon on a map, but you wouldn’t want to visit anyway. It’s a tiny little island in the South Pacific that is often overlooked by any seamen who happen to pass by. From all appearances, it looks like a deserted island, overgrown by trees, brambles, and marsh.

But those of us who live here know better. The deserted island facade is the perfect hiding place for an extremely technologically-advanced socie—

No. Definitely NOT a society.

Caereon is a vault. We protect the most important assets that belong to the United States. On this small little island there is an enormous vault that is more highly protected than the Pentagon, the White House, or Fort Knox.

I made a sardonic smile at that. Much more so than Fort Knox.

Without Caereon, the United States as you know it would cease to exist. Your money would be valueless. You would be in debt with no shot at ever getting out. Consumerism and capitalism as they now are would be obliterated. I just think it’s funny that a place so integral, so key to the very existence of that nation houses roughly 100 convicts, a situation that arose after the closing of several prisons. Before, we were just a vault; now, we’re a vault and jail. Don’t worry, the irony of the situation does not escape me.

I will give the cons credit, however. Many of them are quite brilliant. You see, when you commit a crime, there are three options. They can release you, they can kill you, or, if you’re of the particularly twisted-yet-brilliant criminal variety, they ship you here.

Come to think of it, I’m really not sure why they sent Kevin here. He’s smart, but not stellar. He’s got a wry sense of humor but he lacks a certain quickness and clarity that marks the other fallen members of society who live here. Moreover, he’s a decent person, and his crime was neither murderous nor cunning. He’s just a doctor who euthanized a celebrity out of pity for her intense suffering. She was dying of a plethora of diseases and had begged him not to prolong her pain. He wasn’t even her doctor; he was a gynecologist who struck up a friendship with the poor woman. Despite what I thought about assisted suicide, I couldn’t help admiring Kevin. He put everything on the line—his job, his freedom, his life—for this woman.

Truth be told, Kevin’s probably the best person I know.

The door to my father’s office swung open and Kevin stepped out, his face ashen. He closed the door, shaking his head. His eyes fell on me. Neither of us spoke for a minute.

“I’ve gotten you in trouble, haven’t I?”

He came and sat beside me. “That’s not it at all.”

“It is,” Ialleged. “My father cannot stand the idea of me actually enjoying myself.”

“Stop it, Anabel. Besides, you knew that this would probably happen anyway. I shouldn‘t be here.”

I looked at him, horrified. “They’re not kicking you out!”

His face was grim. “Jonathan is recommending that I be placed into a secure facility.”

“Kevin, no,” I protested. “They can’t. They wouldn’t—”

“They can and they will,” he said. His hand reached up and brushed a tear away from my eye. I hadn’t realized it had fallen.

“I’ll get you out,” I vowed. “I’ll get you to stay here. I’ll arrange it—”

“There’s no way Jonathan would go for that, first off. Secondly, how would you do it?”

“I have connections,” I pointed out. I then looked at him, anxious. “You do want to stay with me, don’t you?”

He grinned. “Of course I do, silly. Among other things, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had.” He kissed my forehead.

The moment was broken by someone clearing her throat. I looked up and saw Evelyn, the vile woman who ran our household affairs, glaring at me. “Yer father is wantin’ to speak with you, Miss Anabel.”

Kevin stood up. “I should be heading back to my bunk anyway. I’ll see you later, Anabel. Goodnight, Mrs. Evelyn.” He turned and slowly walked down the hallway, a defeated man.

I glared right back at Evelyn, the old bat. She turned away from me and bustled down the hallway, muttering in Polish. I slid off of the bench, squared my shoulders, and prepared for confrontation. My steps were bold, and I pushed past the door and marched over to my father’s desk.

My father’s office, like my father, was large, imposing, and just a tinge menacing. Gigantic bookcases lined the walls, filled with long-forgotten literature and lore. A picture window at the far end of the room provided light, and in front of that sat my father’s desk. I stared at the back of a leather chair, which was turned to face the window.

“Hello, Daddy,” I murmured.

The chair slowly swung around, an act that I somehow always felt was rehearsed, and I came face-to-face with Jonathan Martin. His hair had turned a deep silver, and his dark brown eyes peered at me over horn-rimmed spectacles. “Anabel.” He gestured with his arm. “Have a seat.”

I sat down and stared him in the eye. “What you’re doing to Kevin is ridiculous, cold-hearted, and just plain mean.”

He sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Understand what? Kevin and I are just friends, Daddy. There was no ‘fornication,’ as you called it.” I glared at him.

“Precisely my point. My daughter, friends with a convicted felon?”

I threw my hands up in the air. “Kevin is a doctor. He did what all doctors do, he helped a patient.” I crossed my arms. “Besides, who else is there on this blasted island to be friends with besides convicts? You took Miss Marilyn away from me, isn’t that enough?”

“You were too old for a governess. There was no sense in keeping her.” He waved an impatient hand. “We’re straying from the subject here.”

I jumped up. “No, I think we’re precisely on subject. Any time there is someone I can actually tolerate, you get rid of them!”

“Your social needs are adequately met,” Jonathan intoned.

I scoffed. “By whom? I only see you when you’re angry. Evelyn only speaks to me to scold or chastise, Ida disgusts me, and you barely let me see Charlie anymore. The men who work at the control tower are a nuisance, and you won’t let me talk to the soldiers or the other workers.” I flipped my hair in disdain. “So who is it that I socialize with? This I really must hear.”