The truth about Rayk or Kjertan made one thing clear to me: I had to stop sinking into a stupor because life went on. It wouldn’t stop to wait for me. The death of Kjertan or Rayk reminded me of Stanton again. I had made him a promise that Grace and Sam would want for nothing and I would keep that promise. I had to keep it because it was a good reason to get up in the morning even if nightmares plagued me all night long. Even if I saw different ghosts than before. It was time to go home and face my father. I had to understand the cause of this hatred, the origins of this whole story. I had to get answers.
Lots. Infinitely many.
I asked the others to hold a funeral ceremony for Rayk so I could say goodbye. Rayk only because the twin was Kjertan today. That evening, we gathered silently around a campfire. Nathan had made a small white cross and stuck it in the ground. Usually, Nathan said, in Coldville, after the funeral, they told stories about the deceased, sang his songs, and the family cooked his favorite food. They would keep vigil all night, so we did also. However, we couldn’t say anything because we didn’t know to whom we were saying goodbye. So, we simply stood around the crackling fire in a warm night breeze with the spring constellations and the round, milky-white moon above us.
I secretly hoped that Kjertan would say something at some point, but he didn’t. So, toward morning, I said, “Your brother was a real hero, a simple, honest man with a good heart. He was a protector and a friend, and I will never ever forget him.” Then he started to cry but did so silently, and the next day I called him Rayk.
Chapter 13
Icame home in early June. The New York air was hazier than I remembered; the noise and the many cars, the constant honking, and the presence of so many people in one place made it hard to breathe.
Nathan and Ian had borrowed the beat-up Dodge from Mr. Callahan, the equine vet. He still didn’t know who I was. At first, the men had told him I was Ian’s sister and he swallowed it. A few days ago, when he came to check on me, they told him they needed to take me home. He immediately offered them his second car. According to Nathan, he suspected I was the victim of a gang war, the sister of a member who had been badly beaten to make a point and who now needed to recover away from it all.
They hadn’t contradicted that assumption.
We drove twenty-two hours from Cocodrie, Louisiana, to New York. And now, as we pulled onto the busy street next to the building complex with my father’s penthouse, my heart was pounding so hard that I wanted to drive back.
“Do you have the cell phone?” Nathan asked, sitting next to me in the back looking at me worriedly.
My fingers felt for the prepaid phone in my jacket pocket. “Yes.”
“I’m still against you going alone,” he stated, full of doubt. “Your father is a dangerous man. What if he doesn’t let you go again?”
“Then I’ll call you.”
He nodded, but his skeptical expression didn’t fade even though he tried to look confident for my sake. My pirate and my savior. He hated the thought of dropping me off at my father’s, into the lion’s den, as he said. He and Ian would wait for me in a youth hostel here in New York until I got my affairs in order.
“Repeat my number again, please. Just to be sure.” He hadn’t saved it as a precaution.
I rattled it off effortlessly. A line of cars honked behind us. “I have to go. See you.” Nervous, I forgot to say goodbye, got out, and slammed the door.
The smell of fries, exhaust fumes, and coffee immediately washed over me, triggering a flood of memories. Dad and I on the way to the Ritz. Dad and I on the way to the opera. Dad and I on our balcony looking out toward Long Island.
I felt the strands of my red wig that I had used to disguise myself on the way here. We didn’t know who was searching for me—even though the newspapers and the internet didn’t currently feature any news about me and Dad—so I arrived the way I had been snatched from the city and Dad. In disguise.
I glanced nervously at the palatial entrance. It seemed as if a century had gone by since I had last walked through those golden gates, yet it had only been a year.
A year. Memories flitted through my mind again. The men of the Agamemnon, the storm, the bald cypresses of Louisiana, and…
I shook my head, trying to banish the bad memories, and when I couldn’t, I simply displaced them with action.
The four security men looked at me strangely and were about to refuse me entry when I removed the wig.
“I’m Willa Hampton.Hisdaughter.”
Their eyes widened, and for a moment, they exchanged incredulous glances. I knew these men were not allowed to ask personal questions and I didn’t have the patience for lengthy explanations. Still, I would have loved to know what Dad had told them about my absence.
“Mr. Baker, it’s really me,” I said to the only one of them I knew, and rattled off my date of birth, my place of birth, and the number on my ID card, which naturally, I didn’t have with me.
After I recited the last digit, he smiled cautiously. “That wasn’t necessary, I recognized you. Welcome back, Miss Hampton.” He pulled out a radio. “I’ll let them know inside.”
I nodded gratefully to him, and after he had informed other employees, I walked through the immense reception area with my heart pounding. I held my head high and squared my shoulders, an epic performance that tapped into a large reserve of my newly acquired strength.
“Miss Hampton—are you really back?”
The voice of our doorman, Franklin, startled me.
“Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to frighten you, Miss Hampton. I’m simply surprised. We weren’t expecting you until August.”
