Chapter Sixteen

Lost in the memories and task, Viv didn’t exactly notice whenever Aiden came out of the bathroom. But after finishing twelve of the portraits she glanced up, her gaze coming to a full stop on the couch. While the room wasn’t dark, they’d turned off the ones above Alex so he could sleep, and she was drawing by the light of a few bright lamps in what she could only term the sitting room of the situation. It was an open concept, but it provided a comfortable waiting area where they could still keep an eye on the patient.

Her fingers pulled a new sheet and started sketching before she realized what she was doing, frequently glancing up as she drew long legs stretched out on a coffee table. His pajamas and slippers were entirely black, and looked of high quality. He worked silently on a laptop, a few papers that looked like contracts scattered around him that he occasionally picked up to reference or sign with a beautifully carved black stone pen.

She couldn’t help but focus on his fingers, watching their elegant movements and remembering the feel of them on her lips. Shaking her head, she finished it off with his face. It had been a crime against humanity to hide it with camo paint, and his seemingly perfect proportions came out easily beneath her hands. His hair was a few inches long, neatly combed back in luscious waves of black that looked like they belonged in a hair commercial. His face held a maturity to it, but he was still clearly in his early twenties.

Finishing her sketch, she looked at it and felt she had barely managed to capture a tenth of his charm as he worked silently near her. Shaking her head to wrangle any wayward thoughts away, she tucked the drawing at the bottom of her clean sheets of paper and went back to her far more unappealing task of recalling the faces of dead women and the crimes of their murderers. Every so often, she’d glance up at Aiden to wash her eyes clean with something pleasant.

“Do I look very strange to you?” His voice was soft and low, more like a rumble as he caught her glancing up at him eighteen drawings later. She set down her pencils because her fingers were starting to hurt, and began to massage them as she replied.

“No, I’m just admiring a beautiful scene. Is that a problem?” She smirked, because honestly, the whole scene was picturesque. The large bay windows behind him lit up with the speckled lights of the city. They weren’t stars, but they still sparkled. The roses on the table seemed incongruent with his image, but somehow the understated elegance only enhanced it.

He looked amused as he replied, “I suppose it’s not.” Then he noticed the kneading of her fingers and asked as his brows furrowed, “Sore?”

She gave a tiny shrug, careful not to pull any of her stitches. “Just taking a break before they cramp. I’m not used to drawing for long periods.”

Setting down his laptop and straightening the documents into a lone pile, he got up, walking over to her new desk. Standing behind her, he picked up the pile of completed work, and she was inwardly glad she’d hidden his picture at the bottom of the clean papers. He flipped from the front to the backs, reading the information there as he finally said, “This is extremely helpful, but you don’t have to do it all at once.”

Rolling her eyes, she patiently rebutted, “The earlier the police get this information, the better. Then they can extract specific confessions from the perpetrators rather than just being complicit in kidnapping.” She wanted to slap every charge on them and make sure it stuck so they would never be able to hurt anyone again.

“True.” He admitted she was right, but then added, “But it’s fine. Even without these, the police will still make sure they’re taken care of. You don’t have to stress yourself.” It was a promise, and she understood he was putting pressure on them somehow. Whether it was for personal revenge because they’d taken Alex or because he wanted justice for the women, she didn’t care. What mattered was the end result.

It made her breathe easier, but she smiled. “I’m still going to do it, regardless.” For the families. She paused, then asked softly, “If I wanted to set up some sort of memorial for them, would you help me?” She didn’t want to take his patience with her for granted. It felt like she’d been pushing her luck quite a bit, and she still didn’t completely understand why he was being so accommodating. He was clearly a very busy man, but had been quite generous with his time and money for everything she asked.

Setting the pictures down, he agreed just as easily as before. “Of course.”

Shifting so she could look up at him, he helpfully grabbed the nearby chair and sat by her so she didn’t have to crane her neck to see his face. In the end, she decided to ask. “Why are you being so nice to me?” She added, “I mean to me, specifically. Why am I in this room instead of downstairs with the others?”

Raising a sardonic brow, he asked, “Were you not listening earlier when I told you what you’d done?”

Resting her chin on her fist, she sighed and blew her bangs out of her eyes. “No, I get that. But why am I here, in this room? I know there are a bunch of other really nice rooms on this floor. I saw them. It’s not for lack of space. Why are you watching over me personally?”

He looked amused at her questioning. “First of all, Alex seems very attached to you.” She raised a brow as if to ask ‘really, that’s your excuse?’ Running a hand through his hair and disheveling it, he went on. “You have to understand. Alex doesn’t get close to people. His mother died giving birth to him, and his dad is in the army most of the time. He’s the only grandchild of the family. When he disappeared, the entire family was thrown into chaos.”

Looking around at the mostly empty room, she asked softly, “Then where are they?”

Pursing his lips, he sighed. “His father is on a mission and can’t be contacted. My grandfather had a heart attack, and my older brother and his wife are caring for him. I’ll take him back to the capital with me to see them tomorrow.” Oh. They were leaving that soon? She supposed it made sense. They needed to go back to their regular lives. Patiently, he added, “You’re coming with us too.”

She blinked, then frowned. “Oh, am I? You just get to decide that without asking me?” While yes, she also wanted to get far away from this place and start a new life, tomorrow was…too soon. She couldn’t in good conscience leave while there were so many loose ends to tie up. Leaving the women and just gallivanting off by herself? No thank you. She felt a responsibility towards them to make sure they were on the path of healing.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He seemed surprised at her objection. “You don’t want to leave?”

She rolled her eyes at him again. “Of course I want to leave. Just maybe not tomorrow.” She pointed to her pages. “I need to finish this. I want to make sure the women are adapting to their new circumstances and help in whatever ways I can. Also, I’m pretty sure flying with a head injury is very ill advised.” He’d been raring and ready to make arguments against everything, she could tell. Her last one brought him up short, and he frowned as he studied her. Defensively, she asked, “What? It’s just the truth.”

Nodding, he agreed. “You’re right. It is the truth. But how do you know it?” After a moment, he recited, “Under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloody, but unbowed.” He was watching her very closely as he went on. “Invictus is not something people just casually know. It’s lucky if they learn it in a university English course.” Ah. So he had caught her reciting the end of it earlier. She’d thought he hadn’t been paying attention as he busied himself getting the towel.

Should she feign ignorance? She hadn’t followed the exact wording, unlike him. Could she play it off as a coincidence? He’d already noticed way too many things that were off about her. Was he keeping her in this room because he found her suspicious and wanted to keep a personal eye on her, or was that just an extra reason on top of Alex being fond of her? He reached forward, tapping her forehead with a finger. “Stop thinking so hard. Whatever the reason is, it doesn’t matter. You led us to my nephew, and personally made sure he would come out of the situation unharmed. For that, my family owes you, and you will be taken care of. You have my promise.”

Thankfully, she could tell he meant taken care of in the positive way in that she wouldn’t lack for anything, rather than the more ominous version of getting offed for knowing too much or being too suspicious. She relaxed. He was basically telling her that he didn’t care if she knew things she shouldn’t, and he wouldn’t dig too deeply into it. He knew something was strange, and he was okay with it. He’d probably drawn the absolutely correct conclusion that whatever caused her strange circumstances was what allowed her to be proactive about the whole thing.

“Thank you.” Her voice was a mere whisper as she pondered the implications. If he didn’t care… she might be able to relax a bit. Would he help cover up her discordant identities?

He sighed, then said softly, “Just relax.” He still looked troubled by something, however. “You don’t remember anything about your family?”

The question surprised her. She thought over what she’d told him, and all she’d said was that she had a vague memory. “Director Heiliger said that my memories might come back once I’ve healed, but there’s no guarantee.” She paused, then added, “It’s hazy, but I remember playing the piano with someone, a boy I called brother.” Unfortunately, there was no guarantee he was actually her brother, given the culture of calling relatives, close family friends, and a myriad of other people by similar addresses as a form of respect . It never made sense to her, and she realized she’d fallen back into her habit of not using them from her first life once she returned to a more modern setting. Something she’d have to pay attention to.

Aiden looked thoughtful, then asked, “And the name Vivian…?”

He was surreptitiously asking if that was something she remembered, or brought forth from whatever her strange circumstances. She gave him a little shrug. “It just feels right to me.” A non-answer if she’d ever given one.

He seemed content to drop that line of questioning as ‘could go either way.’ Instead, he probed, “In that memory, do you remember what you were wearing?”

She paused, but immediately understood why he was asking. Picking up her pencil, she quickly sketched out a scene of a little girl and a boy sitting on a piano bench. The girl was wearing what she could only describe as a tiny pink princess dress, and the boy was immaculate in his little suit. In front of them, a grand piano took shape.

He watched the entire process, simply letting her work. When she stopped, he gently took the page and looked at it closer before nodding. “That actually narrows it down some, at least. It looks like you were from a well-off family.” He began to set the page down, noticing another pop of color from her pile as he pulled out the picture of the roses. He smiled as he asked, “You like flowers?”

Giving him a deadpan look, she asked, “Is there any girl who doesn’t like flowers, unless she’s allergic?”

“Plenty.” He quipped back immediately.

She grabbed the paper back from him, tucking it into the bottom of her pile as she retorted, “Well, I like them.”

“What are your favorites?” He asked in a curious tone.

Thinking about it, she mentally went through her options before she replied. “I like rosehips, dahlias, and lotus seeds.” She absently licked her lips, thinking about them.

Her answer seemed to take him aback, and he studied her. “Why do I feel like you want to eat them more than admire them?”

Laughing softly, she replied, “Probably because I named the edible parts rather than the flowers. However, I think the flowers are beautiful. All of them come in several colors, but I’m partial to the pink and purple varieties. They remind me of a beautiful dream.”

He’d listened carefully to her, then pulled out his phone, clearly searching for something. When he turned the phone to her, she was greeted by the beautiful images of different kinds of dahlias. “These are the ones you like?”

She nodded, smiling. “Yep.”

He asked casually, “Have you seen them often?” There was some sort of deeper trick to his question, but she didn’t know what it was. Her smile faded slightly and she nodded hesitantly. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said softly, “They’re only grown in the Americas.” North, south, central, it didn’t matter. She had just casually named a flower she should never have seen before.

“Oh.” That was her only response. He already knew something was up with her, and this just cemented it. Absently, she made a mental note to not mention dahlias again, even if it made her sad. They were a more expensive flower, but she’d enjoyed getting a small bouquet of them to brighten up her dreary workdesk every month or so. Just to treat herself to something beautiful. She’d even tried growing some herself at one point, but she had a black thumb when it came to keeping plants alive.

That brought up the question–what other things was she supposed to deprive herself of? Would her weakness for Italian food and French pastries become a problem? Did she have to pretend to be oblivious to the joys of a good taco, or sinking her teeth into a succulent steak? She’d already been deprived of some of her favorite foods for years just because there was no way to get ingredients.

The thought of having to hide it all brought her to despair…until she thought of his earlier words regarding Invictus. University. She could do a study abroad! Go somewhere where no one knew her idiosyncrasies and she could explain why she knew she liked all the delicious things.

Eyes brightening, she asked, “Can you get me a tutor? I need to go to college.”