Aleatha Romig - Behind His Eyes

His fury had ebbed. On much steadier legs, he walked toward her. “Appearances, Claire. How many times have I told you? Appearances mean everything. There’s a picture, right here, of you sitting with her, the author. It doesn’t matter if what she writes is accurate. It’s believable because she’s seen talking to you.”

He wasn’t yelling; he’d regained some control, yet the aura of rage remained. Claire still didn’t look up. He wanted to see her face; instead, all that he could see was the top of her head. Some of her hair had come loose from the ponytail and hung in front of her eyes. “Get up,” he ordered.

She didn’t move—not a flinch.

His volume increased. “Claire, get up!”

Still looking at the carpet she begged, “P-please, Tony, I-I’m so sorry.”

He reached for her arm, lifted her, and said, “The entire way home I was praying that somehow this was another misunderstanding. You wouldn’t do this, not after I put my trust in you, but I knew if it wasn’t a misunderstanding, there had to be consequences. There had to be punishment for this blatant disregard for the most fundamental of rules.”

Claire wouldn’t look at his eyes. When he reached for her chin, she moved away from his touch. The red returned and filled every molecule of the suite. How dare she pull away from him! He moved again, not to lift her chin, but to strike her face. If she were going to pull away, he’d give her something to pull away from. His hand caught her pearl necklace, and Tony watched as the small pearl charm flew across the room.

He would do more than punish her physically for her betrayal. Next time, she would remember to follow his rules. Tony emphasized his control over her liberties as he continued, “I believe some time away from people, some time alone in your suite, will help you remember who and who not to talk to.”

The betrayal combined with the fear in her eyes was too much. She was speaking, but he couldn’t hear. She was fighting him or protecting herself. Tony wasn’t sure anymore. Nothing made sense.

It was like the boy at the Academy—only multiplied. It wasn’t right, but he couldn’t stop. Claire’s behavior caused him pain. At the moment, the only thing he could think to do was return the favor.

How long did he hurt her? Tony truly didn’t know. It wasn’t until she stopped fighting, stopped begging, and stopped moving, that the red disappeared.

When it did, the only thing that remained was Claire.

“Claire, get up.” She didn’t move. “Claire?” Tony reached for her shoulder as she lay upon the floor. Blood trickled from her lip, and her face was beginning to bruise.

Tony fell to his knees and shook her. She still didn’t respond. He tried again. This time his touch was soft and gentle. He wanted to shake her harder and wake her from this sleep, but he couldn’t. The rage and fury, which seconds earlier had consumed his entire being, faded into nothingness. Momentarily, his soul felt empty. Then, slowly, the void within his chest filled. It filled with fear—a fear like he’d never known.

“Oh, my God, what have I done?” he murmured. Reaching for her pulse, he said a prayer. Tony really wasn’t sure to whom, but at that moment he knew the thing he wanted more than anything else in the entire world was for her to live. Not because he didn’t deserve to pay for what he’d done. He prayed for her to live, because Claire didn’t deserve to die or to suffer as he’d made her suffer. “Please, don’t be dead. Oh God, help … Claire … please, please, let her wake up …”

Before his fingers found her pulse, the suite door opened.

“What have you done?”

His eyes met Catherine’s, but words failed him.

She knelt beside Claire and pushed Tony’s hand away. Finally, she said what he’d prayed to hear. “She has a pulse.” Catherine stood. Her stance straightened as her expression turned stoic. There was no understanding or compassion, only determination in her steel-gray eyes as she looked down at him. “Anton, you need to think straight. What are we going to do?”

Tony didn’t answer. His mind couldn’t process. Did Catherine actually think he wanted this to happen? Had that ever been his desire? Seeing Claire’s crumpled body, he couldn’t remember what they’d wanted or planned. Instead of answering, he scooped her petite, unconscious frame into his arms and carried her to her bed. Catherine exhaled audibly, followed, and pulled back the blankets. Tony gently laid Claire upon the soft mattress and watched as she lay still, exactly as he placed her. Sitting next to her, his shoulders heaved as his head fell to her chest. Catherine waited.

After a deep breath, Tony sat straight, turned toward Catherine, and said, “Call 911. She needs medical care.”

“No! You can’t do that. Don’t you know what will happen to you?”

Slowly, he covered Claire’s body with the blankets and tenderly placed her hands above the covers. Taking her hand in his, he momentarily caressed her soft skin with his thumb. Next, he smoothed her disheveled hair away from her battered face and gently kissed her forehead. His thoughts moved much slower than before, as if all his adrenaline were gone. Even his words sounded far away. “She looks like she’s sleeping.” He looked to Catherine for confirmation. “That’s it, isn’t it? She’s sleeping?”

“We can take care of her, like I took care of—”

“No,” he interrupted. His determination was back. “She needs a doctor.”

Catherine moved near Claire’s head and touched her cheek. This situation wasn’t negotiable; he wouldn’t compromise. After a moment of obvious internal debate, Tony saw Catherine’s shoulders droop and heard the slightest hint of compassion. “Then we need a story. You helped me. I’m here to help you.”

“Well, there’s a difference. When she gets better, she’ll be able to tell someone the truth. Unlike before, they never got that chance.” Tony reached for his cell phone.

Before he could dial, Catherine touched his arm. Her voice was calm and reassuring. “Listen to me and listen carefully. Claire went for a walk. The ground was wet; she slipped; she didn’t come home. I called and told you. We were worried. You rushed home. You went looking for her and found her—like this. Maybe someone else was out there?”

Tony looked around the suite. It was as if he were looking at the path of a tornado. How did this all happen? The picture that usually hung near the fireplace was lying on the carpet. The pages of the news release were scattered near the sofa. Shaking his head, he replied, “No, I deserve whatever she tells the authorities.”

“If she’s able to tell them.”

“She will be. I’ll spare no expense. We’ll get her anything she needs. One day, she’ll have the opportunity to send me away for this.”

“And maybe she won’t. Why confess now? Let’s see what happens first.”

Tony caressed Claire’s right cheek; the left one was turning a darker shade of purple by the minute. “I need to get her help. She didn’t deserve this.”

“Then call Dr. Leonard. If you call 911, the police will come. Just call him directly.”

Tony nodded. Telling the authorities would be Claire’s decision. He needed to get her well enough to do it. Searching his contacts, he found the doctor’s number. Moments later he heard a voice on Dr. Leonard’s private line. “Hello, Dr. Leonard, this is Anthony Rawlings. I need you to come to my estate immediately. There’s been a terrible accident …”

You usually have to wait for that which is worth waiting for.

—Craig Bruce

Tony stroked the side of Claire’s arm as he mindlessly listened to the conversation behind him. Dr. Leonard spoke softly. “Ms. London, I’m obligated to call the authorities.”

“Doctor, Mr. Rawlings has already contacted the Iowa City police department. They currently have officers combing the grounds for signs of the assailant—if there was one. We don’t know for sure what happened.”

He cleared his throat. “Then Mr. Rawlings won’t mind if I speak with them, too?”

“You’ll need to discuss that with him. However, I don’t believe now is a good time. As you can see, Mr. Rawlings is very distraught over Ms. Nichols’ condition.”

“Yes, I see that.”

“Can you tell me again what you believe happened?” Dr. Leonard inquired.

“We don’t know. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Ms. Nichols likes to go for walks in the woods—she does it frequently. When she didn’t return, I became worried and called …”

Tony blocked out their voices; he knew each word before Catherine said it. He’d told the same story multiple times. After summoning Dr. Leonard, he’d called the police. While the doctor assessed Claire, two seasoned officers arrived at the door and took Tony’s statement. He met with them in his office and gave them his statement: got home—woods—found her—unsure. They’d worked for ICPD for years, were well aware of Anthony Rawlings, and unquestioningly took Tony’s statement at face value. When they asked to speak to Claire, Tony explained that she was with the doctor and unconscious. They thanked him for his time, shut their notepads, and promised to comb the grounds for clues. Tony explained that his security team was already searching, but the ICPD was more than welcome to join the hunt. There were probably more footprints in the back woods than there’d been in a decade.

Not surprisingly, nothing was found; however, each time the contrived story was retold, the fiction became more plausible. At some point, even part of Tony began to believe it—until he looked at Claire.