Page 67 of Save Me

“Ready?” he asks, before releasing his grip from my hand, only to offer his arm for me to link mine through. Give him his due, he waits for me to nod before signaling to the men on the door to open them.

As the doors swing open, I take in a breath which I forget to let out for a good long while more than I should do, causing me to feel uncomfortably dizzy. A large, crowded dance hall stands before us, decorated in the same ostentatious fashion as the doors, looking like something from an eighteenth-century ball. I half expect Prince Charming to glide across with Cinderella on his arm, sashaying past the golds, deep greens, and mahogany trimmings. Silence descends upon the guests, all staring at us in awe and wonder. The sight of which completely throws me off balance, so I end up gripping on tightly to Oliver’s arm. They are dressed in their finery, along with priceless jewelry and flamboyant hairstyles.

Oliver leads us proudly through a cleared pathway, enjoying the attention of his subjects, both young and old. A few of them nod in greeting, to which he smiles or completely ignores. He is not intimidated by anyone or anything. By the time we reach a small platform at the end of the makeshift path, I’m still looking like a stunned rabbit caught in the headlights and feeling completely overwhelmed by both the people and the surroundings.

Oliver stands before the crowd, stepping up to a microphone with me gripped firmly to his side where I stare at him, just like all the others. From his stature, it is obvious he is used to public speaking and is more than confident to spout out whatever propaganda he’s about to deliver to these people. He exudes assertiveness and is beyond self-assured in his own skin. There is no doubt he will make an effective president for this organization, albeit a bit warped and psychotic. Still, I stand and watch him, genuinely interested in what he is about to say about me to an audience of complete strangers.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I express my sincerest thanks for joining Beth and I tonight,” he announces before looking at me with adoration, which appears to be genuine, though I can’t be sure what he really thinks of me. I am merely a pawn in his campaign to get to the top. “I only met this beautiful, bright, young lady a few months ago, but she captured my heart instantly, and I knew she was the one. And now I am positively over the moon to be announcing our engagement to you fine people tonight!”

The crowd’s reaction momentarily tears me away from his speech as they erupt into loud applause with the odd cheer of congratulations. My brow is furrowed, completely at a loss as to why they would be so happy about this announcement. When I return my gaze to him, he’s looking at me like someone who is genuinely in love. It only shocks me more, so much so, I find it hard to swallow and have to fight the temptation to run as far away as possible.

He appears to find my perplexed expression amusing as he begins to join in with the clapping. I stare at him, feeling completely bewildered, when he suddenly leans down to whisper, “I mean it, Beth, I love you so much!”

Plastering on a fake grin that I’ve taught my face to pull when in his company, I feel myself blushing. Meanwhile, my inner monologue is screaming, ‘What the hell?!’ I thought he was unhinged before, but now he’s gone and surpassed my expectations of how truly crazy he is. As he turns back to face the crowd, I find myself wondering if he’s imagined this whole romantic love story inside of his head, and simply chosen to forget about the threats and abuse that he has subjected me to.

“Beth will make a fine Mayfield wife,” he continues to call out to the people before him, prompting the crowd to offer cheers of pride at the mention of their fucked-up club. “She is beautiful, loyal, dutiful, demure, obedient, and pure.”

The words, ‘Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with you people?’ are on the tip of my tongue, right alongside breaking the news to him that some of those things aren’t exactly true anymore. I may not be alive for much longer after announcing such a thing, but how satisfying it would be to say it anyway.

The crowd turns silent when an older gentleman steps forward and into the cleared pathway, telling me he must be someone of good standing to these people. All eyes fall to him, including Oliver’s as he studies me from head to toe, smiling at what he sees. I stare back and he raises his glass, as if getting ready to give a toast.

“To Oliver and Beth!” he announces, prompting everyone to repeat his words with a raise of their glasses too. “My granddaughter!”

Oh, God! This is him. My biological grandfather. The man behind my current plight to be beholden to the psycho on my left. The Carl Steele! My blood feels like it freezes as I remember what was said to me about how he treated my grandmother, forcing her to flee and hide her identity because he was that awful to her. The head honcho in the whole Mayfield operation. A man so vile she risked her life to get away from him.

In the peripheries of my vision, I can see Oliver leaning in to kiss me on the cheek, though I can’t feel it, I’m far too numb from shock. Everyone else collectively gasps over his admission before staring back at me as though they are trying to spot the likeness between us. Alas, I can see the man before me is almost a carbon copy of my father, albeit older and a little more terrifying to look at.

The somewhat personal reunion is beginning to play out in slow motion as he walks toward me, with the entire hall watching on in anticipation. Upon his approach, Oliver relinquishes his grip on my arm, only to take hold of my hand and lead us over to formally introduce me to my grandfather, my flesh and blood.

On Oliver’s signal, the crowd descends into talk and laughter and the orchestra begins to play. It only shows, yet again, that he has the clout to get these people to do whatever he instructs and with only a mere nod of his head.

I nervously clear my throat, feeling unsure as to what to say or how to behave before the man who I would have known as Grandad, had it not been for my grandmother’s bravery to flee the country. He’s still looking at me with a weird expression, like I’m a model waxwork that portrays its subject so life-like, it’s hard to comprehend that it’s only a lifeless imitation. I, on the other hand, look at him cautiously, just as Oliver holds onto my hand more tightly. The action signals that he nervous about this meeting.

“My God,” the old man finally says with a satisfied smile, “you look just like her, so beautiful.” He reaches out a hand to touch my hair, to check if I’m real and not just a figment of his imagination of a memory long gone by. “It’s lovely to finally meet my granddaughter,” he addresses me personally for the first time, then gently takes my hand to press his lips briefly to the back of my fingers. At this moment, he looks like any other grandfather, kind and gentle, with a bag of toffees hiding inside of his jacket pocket. But there’s no denying that there’s also a hint of something more sinister in his eyes. “Tell me, dear, what do you know about me?”

“I must confess I know very little about you,” I answer, trying to sound like a character from a Jane Austen novel because we all appear to be stuck in the past. “Only what Oliver has told me.”

“Well, we must remedy that, child,” he says with a soft smile, still holding onto the hand he had kissed a moment ago. “We must arrange to spend some time together…more privately. I was heartbroken when your father, my son, was stolen from me, but to learn I have a granddaughter? Well, it makes my heart soar.”

“Thank you,” I reply with a warm blush, not really knowing how else to reply to such a statement.

“And to know you are betrothed to this fine young man, a man destined for great things, well, that makes me proud too.”

I merely smile with my lips held tightly together. Opening my mouth might betray how I really feel about the matter, particularly as he was the one to play a major part in Oliver’s manipulation of my father and me.

“You are too kind, Mr Steele,” Oliver chimes in smugly, obviously feeling beyond pleased with how this meeting is going.

“Nonsense, Oliver!” He waves his hand at him but keeps his eyes firmly fixed upon mine. “You found my long-lost granddaughter and you are bringing her back into Mayfield where she belongs. I know you will look after her and that you can make her a fine Mayfield wife.”

They exchange an unsettling look, one that says Oliver will do whatever it takes and whatever he wants to make me the kind of wife he expects me to be. He’s already proved he is capable of forcing my will, and that there is nothing I can do about it but to oblige his every demand. The fact that he’s being given encouragement to do so by my own grandfather only confirms that Carl Steele is my enemy, nothing more.

“Of course,” Oliver eventually replies and lifts my hand to kiss it once more, offering affection over something that is anything but.

“Now, go and enjoy your celebration,” he says with a pat on Oliver’s shoulder, “I will arrange a meeting with Beth at a more private time. Until then, my dear.” He smiles and nods before kissing my hand one more time as a goodbye gesture.

While I plan on scrubbing my hand until it’s red raw at a more convenient time, I can’t help feeling like a puppet being held up by two very dangerous men. Carl Steele doesn’t notice me wipe my hand down my dress for he’s too busy walking away and being swept up inside of the crowd. I watch him go until I can no longer distinguish him from the other guests in the hall.

“Well done, my sweet girl,” Oliver whispers as he turns his whole body toward me, shielding me from the people in front of us. “That couldn’t have gone better. I am very, very pleased with you.”

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