Danielle Steel - Vanished

When she left John, Marielle went upstairs to Teddy's room. She sat down in a rocking chair, and closed her eyes. It was dusk outside, and there were a few stars in the sky, she could just see them through his bedroom curtains. She thought of the nursery rhymes they had said, the songs she had sung him the last night she put him to bed, and as the tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, she heard a noise and turned to see her husband.

“What are you doing here?” he asked coldly.

“I came here to be closer to Teddy.”

“It won't do you any good,” he said evilly, “he's dead. Thanks to your ex-husband.”

“Why are you so cruel?” she dared to ask him this time. “And how can you be so sure he's dead? How do you know he won't come home to us sometime soon?”

Malcolm Patterson stood looking at her coldly. The mask had fallen since the trial had begun. He had lost his cover, and he no longer cared. He was going to divorce her. “If he comes back, Marielle, he won't come back to 'us,' or to you, you're not fit to be his mother.” It was exactly what Tom Armour had seen coming. He had consulted on the Vanderbilt case, and he knew just how those cases were built. And that's just what he saw Malcolm doing. The testimony from the nurse, the maid, the telegram from the mental hospital, all of it showing that she was unfit…just in case they found him.

“Who are you to decide that?” Marielle said sadly. “And why do you hate me so much?”

“I don't hate you. I have nothing but contempt for you. You're weak…and you let that Communist into our life to steal our son and kill him…”

“You know that's not true.” She had never moved from the rocking chair as he approached her.

“You're a fool, Marielle. A fool, and a liar.” His eyes blazed, but so did hers. “How do you expect anyone to respect you?”

“And Brigitte?” she said quietly. “Is she so much better?” The affront of it still hurt her. She realized now too that he had undermined her for all these years. But why? Why did he hate her? Had he done it for himself or Brigitte?

“Brigitte has nothing to do with this. We should never have gotten married.”

“Then why did we?” She no longer knew. She no longer understood anything about him.

“Perhaps if I'd met Brigitte before you, we wouldn't have. But I met you first. And I so desperately wanted to have children.” After two barren marriages, Marielle had seemed to be the answer to his prayers. And she had been so young, so helpless. He had liked the fact that she was alone in the world. She was his to control, and he liked that. In truth, he hadn't even minded about her history at the sanatorium. It would only serve to make her more dependent on him.

“Was it all about children then? About having a son?”

“Perhaps.” She'd been used. That's all she'd been. A tool to give him a baby. But there had been more, she knew it, and he did too, whether he admitted it or not. In the very beginning, for a short time, she had been sure that he loved her. And then…there had been Brigitte. Now she understood it.

“And what will you do now? Marry Brigitte and have more children?” He didn't tell her that Brigitte was unable to have children, and theirs was a genuine passion.

“What I do now is none of your business, Marielle.”

“I'll move out as soon as the trial is over,” she said calmly. But she was going to take Teddy's things…she had to take them with her… in case he came home again… for the first time in years, she began to feel the same confusion she used to feel at the clinic in Villars…that same strange pain somewhere in her head that made it impossible to think, or decide anything… all she could think of now was Teddy.

“Where will you move to?” His eyes seemed to take in her energy.

“It doesn't matter. I'll give the FBI my address, so they can find me… in case…when they find him.”

He looked at her scornfully. She was going crazy again. He could see it. And it never dawned on him that he had driven her to it.

“They're not going to find him, Marielle. Ever. Don't you understand that?”

“I'll stay at a hotel.” She ignored his question, and looked away, as Malcolm watched her. He had already told his lawyer how much money he was going to give her. He was going to buy her off, and she was probably going to wind up in an institution. Once he was gone, and Charles was executed, and she understood that she would never see the child again, it would probably kill her.

“I'm leaving on a trip anyway. You can get organized then.”

“Where are you going?” Her voice was very faint, as though she had to concentrate, and her hands were shaking.

“That's none of your concern.”

Suddenly, as she listened to him, she felt rising panic. Who would take care of her when he was gone?…who would help her take care of Teddy? But suddenly she knew she didn't need anyone. All she needed was time to recover from what had happened. She realized what was happening to her, and wrestled with all her strength to fight the demons. She made a superhuman effort to stand up quietly, and went downstairs to her own room. He could do anything he wanted. But he couldn't take away the memories of the child she had loved, or how much she had loved him. And knowing that, she suddenly knew she could survive it.

John Taylor called her that night. He was worried about her. He knew the toll the trial was taking. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. It was rough today.” And Malcolm had been even rougher. She was exhausted as she spoke to him, but she was also happy to hear him.

“It's going to be worse for the next few days. The closing arguments and the verdict are going to be killers. You just have to stay calm, Marielle.” And he would be there with her.

“I know…I'm all right…John, there's no news of him, is there?… I mean, of Teddy?”

“No,” he said softly, “there isn't.” He knew she was coming to terms with it now. After four months, there was really no hope, and he knew it. “I'll tell you if anything happens.”

“I knew you would.”

“Marielle…” He knew the phones were tapped but he wished he could tell her how much he loved her.

“I know…it's okay.” Her voice was so small and sad and he ached for her as he longed to hold her. But she sat alone in her bedroom with two lonely tears rolling down her cheeks. They were tears of exhaustion, as much as sorrow.

“Just be strong for a few more days. Maybe we can spend some time together when this is over.” He knew how badly she'd need to get away. He was afraid she'd break again, and she had come close to it that night, but she hadn't. “I'll see you tomorrow,” he said softly.

“Good night,” she whispered, and then she hung up the phone. And as she drifted off to sleep that night, Bea Ritter was thinking about calling Tom Armour.

Tom Armour had been polishing up his closing arguments since late that afternoon when he got home, and he was finally satisfied that they were exactly what he wanted. He stretched, yawned, read through it all again, one more time, and finally decided to make himself a sandwich. His apartment looked as though rats had been nesting everywhere, and when he opened the refrigerator, he remembered that it was empty. He was contemplating it hungrily when the telephone rang and he debated whether or not to answer. It was probably the damn reporters again, but then again it could have been something important.