Losing Angeline: London Calling Book Two (17 page)

It suited her. Despite her pounding headache, she knew there were decisions to be made. She was free from Edward. Her life and future was hers again, but she had no idea how to explain what she’d said and done to John. He would see through any flimsy lies she constructed. It was time to share the truth with him as she had done with Patrick and Alice.

Restless, she rose to gingerly walk to the restroom. After using the toilet, she faced the mirror to clean up. Blood still stained her hands. Small adhesive strips closed a wound on her forehead. A large lump swelled from the area, and the discoloration ranged from deep indigo to a mottled green. Her necklace was gone.

Tears welled. Not for Edward, never for him. The world was a better place today without him breathing in it. But the gravity of her earlier actions settled upon her.

She’d lied to John.
 

She’d left her precious daughter.

Limping back into her room, she perched on the edge of her bed. There, lying on the bedside table, was the tourmaline pendant sealed in a plastic bag. A chair was pushed close, as if ready for visitors. Edward’s backpack lay on the seat. Reaching over, she dragged it to the bed. As she lifted it, she realized her purse was beneath it, still in the chair.
 

Miraculously, the paramedics had rescued both.
 

Angeline winced as a smile cracked her dry lips. They couldn’t have known how important each item was to her. She opened her purse first, rapidly sifting through the contents until she closed her fingers over a velvet pouch. She untied the delicate strings and unwrapped her wedding ring.

She slipped it on, vowing never to remove it again. If it took the rest of her life, she would make John hear her out. He was a compassionate, deeply caring man. It would take time, and committed effort, but eventually he would forgive her.

Their love was singular and rare. It was so much bigger than any one man, no matter how destructive or sick he was.

Unzipping the backpack, she pulled out the folders inside. Sending up a fervent prayer, she hoped no one had opened the bag to discover its contents. She hadn’t realized it in the car, but there were actually three files. Two accordion files, one with the photos of her. Unraveling the string tying it shut, she flipped open the second packet.

Devon.

He’d taken dozens of photos. Angeline’s hands trembled as she thumbed through them, but she resisted the urge to fling them into the trash. Right now, they were all she had of her daughter. They were innocent shots, mostly captured the day Devon and Dominic had played in the park. A few included Dom, but mostly they were Devon. As Angeline rapidly flipped to the end, she realized he’d taken other photos on many other days.

By God, he’d deserved to die.

She couldn’t muster an ounce of remorse. Edward Pierce had been a scourge, and she’d eliminated him. It was as simple as that.

He’d underestimated her. If he ever understood her at all, he’d have known she loved fiercely and loyally.
 

She would die for the people she loved. Always, she’d appreciated this truth about herself. As a child and young woman, she’d needed someone to defend her, save her.
 

Now she knew she would kill to protect her loved ones, too.

Her actions may have been spontaneous, but she’d murdered Edward as efficiently and effectively as if she’d stuck a knife in his heart.
 

And she was not sorry.

She placed the photos of Devon back in the envelope, twisting the string round and round as she tried to decide what to do with them. Already, she desperately yearned for her child. But, because Edward had taken them, she couldn’t bear to look at the pictures of her daughter. As soon as possible, she’d destroy them all, including the lurid nudes.
 

Removing the final file, she ran a fingernail beneath the seal to open the flap. This packet was thinner and lighter, apparently containing official documents with an attorney’s letterhead in the top corner.

She read each page, her heart beating faster and faster. Stumbling to the window, she cracked it open, hoping the fresh air would beat back the nausea churning her stomach. She fell into the empty chair, creating a racket as it slammed against the metal bedside table. Frantically, she shoved the backpack and all its contents beneath the bed just as a nurse barreled into the room.
 

Angeline crumpled, hugging herself. The charge nurse took one look and bustled over, hooking an arm around Angeline and lifting her to her feet.
 

“Oh honey. You’ve had a terrible accident and it’s all catching up with you, isn’t it?”

Angeline’s vocal cords were frozen. Stricken, she could only stare at the other woman, hoping the woman’s warmth would somehow thaw the icy numbness surrounding her heart.

Together, they got her back into bed. Soreness from the accident stiffened her muscles, removing all her characteristic grace. She felt old and crippled, defeated before she’d begun to fight.

Her nurse tucked the sheets around her then adjusted the bed so she was partially sitting up. Pouring ice water from a nearby pitcher into a plastic cup, she lifted a straw to Angeline’s lips.
 

“Come on and drink some water, honey. You need to hydrate. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but this too shall pass. But I am so sorry for your loss.”

Angeline distantly thought how wonderful this woman was. She oozed compassion and caring, and all Angeline could think was how wasted it was on the likes of her or Edward Pierce.

Leaning back against the bed, she sighed, then gave the woman a small smile of reassurance.

“Thank you.”

“I’m going to step out, get some medication for you. You’re hurting and this will help you get some sleep.”

She returned before Angeline could acknowledge her absence. She carried a small paper cup with two pills inside. Angeline dumbly accepted them, swallowing the tablets with a sip of water and no questions.

Her gaze slipped from the nurse’s as she absently rubbed her wedding ring in an old habit.
 

After adjusting the blinds and shutting the window, the nurse switched off the fluorescent light above the bed. The rubber soles of her shoes made no sound as she pulled the door shut behind her.

Angeline rolled out of the bed, crouching on the floor to scrabble the folders back inside Edward’s bag. She bundled everything, including her purse, into a wardrobe cabinet before returning to lie down.

Already, her thoughts and movements slowed. As she adjusted the sheet and light blanket, she rested her head against the flat pillows, exhausted.
 

Edward Pierce had won, even in death.

The paperwork was copies of instructions to his attorney, drawn up before he’d fled Nebraska to come after her. In the event of his incarceration, he’d asked that the negatives of his entire catalog of photographic art be mailed to a handler in Missouri. Angeline knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’d included everything. All the pictures of all the girls over all the years.
 

Including her.

Almost as an afterthought, it seemed, he’d added the condition of his death. She had no idea how long it would take for Edward’s attorney to learn of his client’s passing, but already the photos could be on their way to St. Louis. As a last spiteful act, he’d sold the snapshots to a dealer in pornography. The man’s information had been included in Edward’s papers, separate from the legal correspondence.

A laugh croaked out, mirthless.
 

She’d never stood a chance, really. All her decisions had been made so long ago, and nothing she’d done since could have possibly changed the ultimate outcome.
 

She would never return to her husband and child. Not now.

John received the damning photos. That was bad enough, but now there would always be the risk that someone else would come knocking someday. She would not risk them, especially Devon. She deserved more than a mother who’d sold her soul in a pathetic attempt to gain acceptance and affection.

Angeline was poison, just as Edward had been. All the polish and outer packaging had never changed that essential truth.
 

On the inside, where it mattered most, she was soiled.

Her thoughts scattered, becoming more disjointed. As sleep beckoned, she was unaware that tears rolled down her face, dripping onto the cotton hospital gown she wore.

John mustn’t find her, not ever. She doubted he would look, not after learning of her lies and deceit. He would see the ultimate evidence of her shame, beyond the obvious exploitive poses and nudity. No, he would know the worst of her—that at one point, beyond reason or defense, she had loved Edward Pierce.

Angeline shivered, pulling the covers up tighter under her chin. Where would she go, she wondered. Drowsy, she recognized even her thoughts seemed slurred.
 

She could check out tomorrow, with or against medical advice. She would find a way to Atlanta, the nearest airport.

But from there, where?

Hurt, injured, and depressed, she needed a sanctuary. Somewhere with anonymity but comfort too.

As she drifted off, it came to her.

The perfect place, where she could heal and rebuild herself. A place she’d been happy once, if only for a short time.
 

Angeline would begin again. She would run, far away and fast, from the pain and chaos. She could never look back, knowing it would kill her to think of the daughter she’d left behind.

And John. She would never see him again, never touch him.

He was better off for it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

L
ONDON
WAS
EVERYTHING
Angeline remembered it to be.
 

From the bustling international hub of Heathrow to the rain-washed streets with their glossy black lampposts, she felt at home. Within a week of her arrival, she secured a position at the Victoria and Albert Museum with the help of her former gallery director in Savannah. He’d been generous with his praise and accolades, especially considering her rapid exit from employment.
 

Thankfully, he failed to mention that.
 

She’d completed six months working in the museum’s furniture gallery. Nostalgia curved her mouth into a warm smile. Every time she viewed the collection, including an exhaustive catalog of Chippendales, she couldn’t fail to think of John and how they’d met.
 

She appreciated the irony, even as memories tore away the numbness to leave her hurting and raw.
 

Finishing her shift, she walked down to the cafe, determined to enjoy a coffee before she left for the day. She ignored the cakes, pastries, and scones temptingly displayed behind curved glass cases. Adding a dollop of cream to her cup, she moved to find a table, hopefully near the large stone fireplace centered along one wall.
 

The space never failed to impress. Tile floors and ceiling sandwiched elaborate wallpapers and gilded archways. Intricately carved columns speared the open space, adding another layer of graceful elegance. Stained glass windows cast jeweled prisms of light in all directions, especially on days sunnier than the current one.
 

As was common, it was pouring rain outside.

The weather, in all its melancholy glory, suited Angeline. Just like working in the furniture gallery, it made her miss John. They’d traveled to England years ago, a special trip after being married. She’d loved London, enjoying the unique vibe of its modern population coupled beside the ever-present remnants of its bittersweet history.
 

John disliked it. He’d needed space, and air to breathe. The sound and fury of water. Angeline had simply needed John. So off they’d gone to Devon County with its stunning cliffs and sandy beaches. They’d shared a romantic week, traipsing the sun-dappled fields and breathing the tangy ocean air.

My God, how they’d loved each other.
 

Every day now was an homage to all she’d shared with him. Despite the ensuing pain, she forced herself to remember. He and Devon meant everything to her and with absolute certainty, she knew she’d never love like that again.

She endlessly walked the streets of her adopted city, cautiously meeting new people. At the gallery, she functioned at a high level, impressing her superiors with her knowledge of the pieces and her enthusiasm for new artists.

But she was a fragment of a person. Leaving John and Devon had hacked whole chunks of her heart and soul away. Like a phantom pain, the missing parts of her ached with the relentless cruelty of it all.

There was nothing to be done about it. She’d made the best decision she could for them. Knowing that, she could live with it. They deserved so much more than she had ever been.

She checked her watch. Soon, she’d splurge on a taxi to meet with a detective from the Metropolitan Police Service. After several failed attempts, she’d contacted him due to his work with exploited women and children. In particular, his focus was on the newly emerging Internet and how that enabled abusers to share and perpetuate pornography.