Page 44 of The Second Ending
Instead, she took a gulp of air that threatened to strangle her, and she ran from the room, feeling the glares of her fellow choristers stabbing into her back like a thousand knives.
CHAPTER 23
CONFESSION
Ashleigh couldn’t remember exactlywhat happened next. The world was a mess of tears and anger and horror and fear, and she allowed Gordon—she thought it was him, anyway—to take control. He led her to a quiet room and helped her into a large and comfortable chair to rest for a few minutes, and then, with great care and gentleness, helped her into a taxi to take her home. He must have called for the ride while she was staring into the void; she certainly hadn’t heard him.
“You’re sure you’ll be alright?” he asked for the tenth time. “Masako or Elise can come with you. Is there anyone else you’d like me to contact?” She shook her head, the gesture meaningless by now. No, she wouldn’t be alright, but she needed to be alone. She couldn’t stand the thought of being the object of anyone’s pity.
“I’ll call tomorrow,” he shouted as the car door closed. “Please pick up, okay?”
She nodded, and the vehicle drove off. Gordon must have given the address, because the driver seemed to know where he was going, and Ashleigh allowed herself those few minutes to wallow completely in her own misery. Once she arrived at home there would be those little ordinary tasks to draw her back intothe world—unlocking her door, washing her face, turning on and off lights—but for now, she had no demands upon her other than to sit in the back seat of a taxi and be one with her wretchedness.
After some indeterminate amount of time, the taxi pulled to a stop in front of her house. Had it taken minutes to get there, or half a day? Time seemed meaningless. She fumbled for her purse, but the driver brushed her attempts aside.
“The guy at the other place already paid,” he announced.
A little drop of light pierced the darkness inside her. Gordon was a saint. He must not think she was completely hopeless to offer such a kind gesture. She would thank him profusely tomorrow when he called.
“Thank you.” She found the straps to her bag and wrestled herself out of the car, watching as it disappeared into the growing twilight.
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, but it was not yet completely dark. Deep shadows gathered under trees and between buildings, and unlit doorways gaped like hungry maws, portals to the netherworld. As she began the huge trek from the sidewalk to her own house’s main door, something from one of those black pits moved and began to approach her.
She let out a gasp, and then a small cry.
“Marcus! What…?” Was he here to berate her for not convincing her father? Was he here to cajole her to try harder? “I’m sorry… What are you doing here?”
“Oh, God, Ash, I’ve been so worried. Gordon called me. What happened?”
She screwed her eyes tight and shook her head.Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
Tears flooded from her eyes, despite her admonitions, and suddenly, she was enfolded within a pair of strong arms.
“Ash, sweetheart, don’t cry.” He murmured gentle words into her hair, soothing and low, a sweet balm on the ravaged wounds in her soul. “It’s alright. Let’s go inside. I’ve got you.”
Taking the bag from her shoulder, he let her lean against him as they made their way inside to the small and tired floor of the house she called home. The door creaked open, and the two slipped inside. Only the dregs of daylight that hung in the sky illuminated the space, slinking in through the slats of the faded blinds, showing only the barest outlines of shapes inside the apartment.
“Sit. I’ll fix things.” Marcus let her fall onto the sofa, and he disappeared to the small kitchen that opened off the side of the cramped living room. He returned in a moment with a glass of water and, of all things, a candle, which he proceeded to light. Where did he find that?
“It was on the table next to the coffee maker,” he explained, answering her unvoiced question.
Yes, of course. It had been part of a birthday present from Liora, but she’d never thought it the right time to light it. Now its delicate flame was just enough to light the space without demanding too much from the eyes, or the spirit.
“Drink up, and then tell me what you want to eat. I’ll phone in an order.”
Food. When had she last eaten? It must have been yesterday, before she spoke to her damned father. This morning’s attempts at breakfast still sat, untouched, on the kitchen table. He must have noticed the dry toast and barely-touched tea and realised the fact of the matter.
“Something easy, I think. Can you handle pizza? Just cheese, nothing too heavy.” He pulled out his phone and tapped at the app for a moment, before turning to her with emotion-filled eyes.
“So, what happened? Gordon told me a bit. You can tell me the rest.” He curled up against her, pulling her close against his side, his arm heavy and comforting around her shoulder. He didn’t say a word as she unburdened herself, letting her talk uninterrupted, until the pizza arrived.
Food helped. The aromas of tangy tomato sauce and cheese were too tempting to ignore, and her stomach had unclenched enough to let her eat. Her brain, too, relaxed with the meal, and at last, she could form coherent thoughts and sentences. They talked of easy subjects while they ate. The weather, the summer theatre season, an exhibit at the art gallery. Marcus carried much of the conversation, letting her ground herself once more, until they’d finished their late meal and returned to the couch.
Now, sitting half-sideways and turned towards each other, Ashleigh voiced her biggest concern.
“I have to ask again. Why are you here? I thought I was useless to you.” She pulled in a deep draught of air, waiting for the inevitable response.
His reply was immediate, a crease of confusion on his handsome brow. “No! Useless? Never. How can you think that?”
