Page 63 of Vow of Revenge
Safety.
My body jerked, my eyes flew open and my heartbeat took on a rhythm of its own. Freya was sleeping soundly, her pale skin glowing in the moonlight. After we christened a few other rooms in Hanley Hall, I carried her back to bed. Her used body pressed next to mine, giving me warmth and comfort. I loved falling asleep with this woman by my side, and I accepted that feeling for the first time, ever.
Now I was awake with confusion running through my head like a locomotive. The impulse to walk off my anxiety led me to my father’s forgotten car collection. After his murder, our family home was given over to a trust. I was too young to maintain it, or manage the staff needed to uphold its grandeur. I willingly allowed it to be handed over, dissociating myself from the place where it all happened – where the women wiped out his life.
His assortment of classic cars were transported to Hanley Hall for safe keeping until I could decide what best to do with them. I’ve never visited the collection, blocking them out as a reminder of a time I no longer remembered.
One counsellor told Uncle Sean I was suffering from a stress induced physiological response and labelled it as it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Apparently, I dealt with the snapshot of his violent end by detaching myself from emotions, numbing my feelings. He was talking nonsense of course, I choose to avenge my father’s death, I took on the task which required no emotion. I was in control – until she came along and weaved herself around every cell in my body.
They all tried to help me recall the missing pieces of my life, but it remained blank. There was only the short film of his treacherous murder that played on repeat.
Tonight, I had a burning urge to visit a part of my inheritance, once and for all.
The vintage cars were gathered in a large purpose-built hanger to the rear of the manor house. I tapped in the six-digit code and waited for the lights to automatically light up the vast space. Each car was lined up at the same jaunty angle as expensive ornaments.
The sprawling cars filled a half acre site, it was a maze of colours, shamefully hidden away. Perhaps I should sell them off to collectors who would appreciate their worth. Breathing in the smell of car polish and leather, I wandered around aimlessly and stopped at the glossy red Ferrari California Spyder. There were only 55 of this model ever made, but Daniel Kingston was in the know and bagged himself one for his personal museum.
I rounded the car and jumped into the passenger seat. For some reason it felt right to be in that seat.
“Please, call me Ana, my name is Ana Harte.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Ana, I’m Kaleb Kingston.”
Who the fuck is Ana Harte and why does my heart break for her? That smile… it warms my soul. There’s a connection to this woman, I just don’t remember.
“Why do you come here, Ana?”
“I love to pretend I’m a movie star driving around the Amalfi coast in this beautiful car, and mostly I write about my day. I find it peaceful here away from the house.”
She wrote. I saw her hide something. I remember seeing a notebook. She was here in this car, with me.
Panic burst open my heart, the beat pulsating in my skull. She hid it under her seat. Bowing down, I ran my hands under the latte leather, nothing. I crouched lower, pushing my forearm further. My search was rewarded, and I pulled out the small notebook.
Flipping to the first page it read:
My cruel life, my shattered dreams and my inevitable heartbreak.
Ana Harte
Slamming the cover shut, I held it close to my chest. I wasn’t ready to absorb her words. What would I find inside those old pages written by a woman who I don’t fully remember? I needed time to figure out who I really was and whether being with Freya was the answer.
I left the hanger, taking a detour to the front of Hanley to drop off the notebook. Hiding it in the glove box of my car, saved for another day. The sun was peeking out over the hills, cracking rays of light through the darkness.
With quickened pace, I ran through the house to the guest quarters, slipping back inside the sanctuary of her room. Freya’s face was relaxed, angelic. She was the only thing that gave me peace, that made me smile, that sparked my heart to beat with feelings of hope. She was a woman, and I needed her more than I needed to breath.
Resting in the bed beside her, I closed my eyes and a flurry of memories swallowed me.
“Ana, your wrist is bleeding?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I won’t let it mark the upholstery.”
“I don’t care about the car. I will tell father that you are hurt. You should see a doctor.”
“Your father has arranged for a doctor to see me this evening.”
“You’re always hurt, Ana. Let me help you. Please.”
“You’re helping me now, more than you know. Being here with me is like a lighthouse shining on the stark cold sea, guiding me home.”
