Fidelity by Aleatha Romig
“Judge Townsend?” I asked as the room waited for my answer. “When were you asked to perform this ceremony?”
He glanced from me to Alton and back. The beads of perspiration on his upper lip multiplied. “Miss Collins, do you take—”
“Was this planned?” I asked again.
“Alexandria.”
Ignoring Alton, I asked again. “Judge, when did you agree to marry us?”
“Alex,” Bryce said, “just answer the damn question.”
I looked him in the eye. “Don’t you want a real wedding?”
The door continued to rattle, the voices growing louder, telling us they were about to enter. Even Alton’s cheeks began to pale, the red fading to gray, a lighter version of his eyes, yet darker than his hair.
“Don’t you think we should find out what’s happening?” I asked.
“Alexandria, now,” Alton growled.
“Miss Collins, please,” Judge Townsend asked again, his tone verifying Alton’s threat. Not only my future, but also his career depended upon my answer.
“No?” My response was a question, not an answer.
Momentarily forgetting the outside commotion, every eye in the room zeroed in on me.
“No?” Bryce asked, his drunken stupor replaced with shock. The change temporarily loosened his hold of my side.
I freed myself from his grasp. “No… I’m asking, don’t you all think we should learn what’s happening?” It was then I noticed the darkened window. The fog that had settled in the lower grounds had risen. Beyond the glass was a cloud that made the outside opaque, a strange combination of white with a blue strobe.
“Mr. Fitzgerald?” Judge Townsend asked as I ran toward the window. Alton’s office faced the side of the manor, neither toward the driveway nor the lake. The view normally didn’t offer much, yet I stood mesmerized by the thick layer of condensation that hung in the air. I’d never seen fog that changed colors. It reminded me of a dance floor as different hues of blue filled my view.
“The ceremony is only symbolic,” Alton said behind me. “You will secure the license. The marriage occurred yesterday.”
“I can get it,” the judge said, “but they both need to sign.”
Hope at the commotion bubbled and mixed with the doom of its meaning. Were there police cars on the property? Fire trucks? Ambulance? Was this about Momma?
“Someone tell me what’s happening?” I demanded.
Suzanna’s face paled under the layers of makeup, giving her a strange yet gothic appearance, while Alton’s crimson returned, deepening to a blood red.
“The signatures aren’t a problem, are they?” Alton asked, expecting—no demanding—obedience.
Before Bryce could answer, I straightened my neck and turned toward my fiancé. “Is this really what you want?” I stepped closer. “What you want? Remember, this is all yours, or it will be. Do you want to become my husband in an office behind closed doors? Or do you want it to happen in a church full of witnesses?” I reached for his hand. “Do you want to join the Carmichaels and Montagues in private or in front of Millie and Ian and Jess and Justin?” As he was about to answer, I added, “Don’t you want Patrick to be there, to see it as this all becomes real?”
“Bryce.” Alton’s tone held the same growl it had with my name.
“Alton, really, the wedding, the church, the dress…”
For once I appreciated Suzanna’s input; however, as with everything else she’d said, no one acknowledged her.
“Mr. Spencer? Are you in there?” The voice came again louder.
“No, Bryce,” Alton said. “I order you not to answer.”
“Bryce… it’s yours… they probably need your approval.” I spoke softly, still holding his hand.
As the commotion continued, Bryce’s chest again inflated. Nodding my direction, he let go of my hand and took a step toward the door.
His shoulders squared as he narrowed his gaze toward Alton. “You order? You’re not going to allow…” He stressed the words. “…my decisions. I’ve got news for you, old man. My decisions are all that matter. Your time is about up. Once Alexandria and I are married everything is up to me. It’s time you got used to it.”
I took a step back as my two monsters collided.
“You fool! Don’t open—”
Bryce reached for the door’s handle, but before he turned it, he questioned, “Alex, tell me you’ll say yes in front of witnesses. Tell me that when you said no it was because now isn’t the right time.”
I swallowed the bile as his hand stilled on the knob. Whatever was happening on the other side of the door needed access. “Bryce, please find out what’s happening. It could be my momma.”
“You’ll say yes in front of witnesses.” It wasn’t a question, but a demand. “You’ll answer the right way so others won’t face the consequences as they will from tonight.”
His words reached inside and twisted my heart. I needed to know Chelsea was safe, yet by the look on his face and his not so veiled threat, I feared she’d been caught. The incomprehensible possibilities of that conclusion terrified me.
I nodded. “I will, but promise me there’ll be no consequences today. If you do as I ask, then I will say yes in front of witnesses.”
“Bryce!”
Alton’s warning faded as Bryce straightened his lips and nodded my direction. In the next second, he turned the handle. All at once, a wave of people pushed through the threshold.
“Mr. Spencer?” asked a man in a Savannah-Chatham Metropolitan police uniform. “Please confirm that you are Edward Bryce Carmichael Spencer.”
I nodded toward Bryce, encouraging him to respond.
Still primed like the peacock I’d created, Bryce replied, “I am and I’m in charge here. What’s happening? What do you need?”
All at once the officer spun Bryce toward the wall and patted his jacket and legs.
There were two women accompanying the male officer who was searching Bryce. The plainclothed one spoke. “We apologize for the interruption. I’m Detective Means…” She pointed to the other woman. “This is Officer Williams, and that’s Officer Emerson with Mr. Spencer.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Alton demanded.
“Mr. Fitzgerald, as I explained on the phone from the front gate, this matter couldn’t wait.”
“Of course it could wait. Can’t you see we have a party going on?”
Detective Means nodded and turned to Suzanna. “Ma’am, are you Suzanna Carmichael Spencer, the current owner of the Carmichael estate off McWhorter Drive?”
“Why, yes. Is there a problem?” She looked at Bryce. “What’s going on?”
Before the detective could answer, Officer Emerson pulled a small card from his breast pocket and began to speak. “Mr. Spencer, you are under arrest. I’m with the Savannah-Chatham Metropolitan Police Department. You have the right to remain silent. What you say can and will be used against you…”
Suzanna and I gasped, my hands forgetting to grip as my handbag fell to the floor. The tips of my fingers covered my lips. Bryce’s mouth fell open. Alton took a step forward.
“Don’t say a damn word, Bryce. Officers, Detective, there’s been a mistake.”
“Sir,” Detective Means said as Officer Emerson continued Bryce’s Miranda rights. “As I said, this matter is now a criminal investigation and is out of our hands—”
“Out of your hands? You’re the Savannah police. Of course it’s in your hands,” Alton insisted, each phrase growing louder as the crowd outside the door continued to build. “I told you on the phone we’d be glad to come to the station tomorrow. There was no need for this ridiculous spectacle.”
Criminal investigation? I watched in horror as I tried to make sense of the scene.
Alton turned toward the doorway, filling by the second with more sets of eyes. “Close the damn door!”
It was then that Patrick made his way through the crowd. Our gazes met, mine pleading for him to come
Alton commanded and people appeared.
Swallowing, I took in the room. Bryce’s cheek was against the wall. Alton’s fists were balled as he rocked from foot to foot. Suzanna’s expression paled in confusion. She appeared to be in shock, standing against the far wall with her arms around her midsection. Part of me wanted to help her, to help my mother’s lifelong friend.
And then, my hands dropped and a small smile fought to stay hidden. In the eye of the storm, I imagined her passing out and falling to the floor. The bitch wasn’t my mother’s friend any more than she was mine. I’d let her fall.
“Mr. Fitzgerald,” the detective continued, “as we explained, this case now involves not only our department but also the Evanston Police Department and very soon the FBI.”
Officer Emerson continued speaking, “Mr. Spencer, please place your hands behind your back.”
I didn’t know if I was just relieved or also going into shock.
My shoulders sagged, chest caved, and lungs fought to fill. No longer were my thin heels capable of supporting my weight. Reaching for a nearby chair, the tips of my fingers blanched as I gripped the soft leather and tried to make sense of it all.
Did this have to do with Chelsea? Was this a ploy to save me? Had Deloris helped her file some charge of battery?
And then it hit me: I hadn’t heard the charge.
“What’s the charge?” I finally managed to ask.
Instead of answering me, everyone’s attention was on Bryce.
Backing away from the policeman, he said, “Handcuffs? No! Why? You can’t arrest me. I didn’t do anything. Evanston police? FBI?” His eyes widened. “I’ve cooperated. I’ve given them statements. So has Chelsea.”
Alton spoke over him, telling him to be quiet.
“Alex,” Bryce yelled. “Go get her. Go get my whor—Chelsea. She can tell them!”
“Shut up!” Alton screamed, stepping closer to Bryce. “Cooperate.”
“Call her!” Bryce said, nodding his head toward the floor.
I followed his gaze to my handbag. I did have my new phone, but I couldn’t call her, not if she were gone.
The room was a cyclone of voices and activity.
Clinging tightly to the chair, my stomach twisted as I tried not to get lost in the uproar. The world grew fuzzy. Maybe it was the fog. Maybe it was a special effect. I realized it couldn’t have been Chelsea who pressed the charges, whatever they were. Her charges wouldn’t involve the Evanston police or the FBI.
“Sir, step back,” the second officer said to Alton. “I don’t want to have to arrest you too.”
“How dare you talk to me in that tone, in my home, in Savannah…”
Phrases flowed, their volume growing as I tried to follow. If this were a movie, it was poorly scripted. Too many things were happening. Too much to follow.
I thought back to my classes at Columbia. The Savannah police wouldn’t dare enter Montague Manor without evidence. The FBI wouldn’t be involved if they didn’t know something. Yet in all the chaos, I still hadn’t heard the charge.
I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, Officer, what are you charging him with?”
My question caused Bryce to look back my direction. The psychopath from yesterday was gone. In his place was my childhood friend, the boy who was afraid of the fictitious monster living in our lake. The man who’d asked for my help. He looked down at my purse and back to me.
“Alex, you’re a law student. Do something.”
I shook my head. “Evidence?” I asked. “Do you have evidence?”
“Miss,” a female officer said, “we’re not at liberty to discuss anything at this time. Just know that if there weren’t sufficient evidence, we wouldn’t be here tonight. We’re taking Mr. Spencer to the Savannah-Chatham station where he’ll be formally charged.”
“Charged with what?” I tried again.
Detective Means turned toward Alton as Officer Emerson again instructed Bryce to place his hands behind his back. “If there’s another way out of this office rather than through that crowd, we’ll be happy to oblige. We don’t want to make this worse than it is.”
“You don’t want to make it worse,” Alton mocked.
“No, you can’t…” Suzanna cried. “Are the handcuffs really necessary?”
Neither officer responded. It was as if only I heard her words. Maybe she’d slipped into another of Montague Manor’s dimensions.
“Give me a second.” Alton lifted the receiver from the phone on his desk and pushed a button. Almost immediately he started barking orders. “Move everyone to the rear of the house. Clear the hallway and entry. I don’t give a fuck how you do it. Do it now!”
His commands had momentarily sucked the air from the room. We all stood in silence as the receiver slammed against the telephone.
With his hands now secure, Bryce turned toward Suzanna. “Mom, I didn’t. You know I wouldn’t.” He turned my way. “Alex, you know me. Remember what I told you about the last time I was arrested. I can’t do this again.” His pleas went toward Alton. “Get me out of there. Don’t let me spend the night.”
Each time Bryce spoke, Alton’s complexion became a deeper shade of red. “Shut up!”
It was then I noticed Judge Townsend. He’d quietly moved as far away from the mayhem as possible. My guess was that he didn’t want the police to notice him. I waited until the phone on Alton’s desk rang again before I made my way toward the judge.
“The exit is clear,” Alton announced, his entire demeanor seemingly resigned.
“No,” I whispered to Judge Townsend.
His eyes met mine.
“My answer is no. I do not take him as my husband.”
The judge’s lips thinned as he nodded before quickly returning his gaze to the scene before us.
“Alton!” Suzanna pleaded.
“We’ll have Ralph Porter at the station before you get there,” Alton reassured Bryce. “Don’t worry and for God’s sake, don’t say another damn word. Keep your mouth shut. If you do that, you’ll be home tonight with your new wife.”
As Officer Emerson opened the office door to lead Bryce away, the detective turned my way. “Oh, new wife? Mrs. Spencer, I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head. No, this couldn’t be happening.
As her apology faded away, with my arms around my midsection, I leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. Behind my closed eyes, the chaos dulled and the footsteps disappeared.
I thought of Nox. I remembered my escape.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe I could still slip away. I imagined easing into the crowd of guests, my presence going unnoticed as they murmured amongst themselves, the rumors growing by the second about what had happened.
“Alexandria, dear,” Suzanna said as she touched my arm.
My eyes sprung open and I looked up. “What?”
She held out my handbag. “Come on, dear, we need to go.”
I shook my head. “Go? No, I can’t leave.”
“Alexandria, come with us.”
Alton’s demand hung in the air. I scanned the office, now relatively empty. Only Alton and Suzanna were there, both staring down at me.
“Where are we going?”
“To the police station, dear,” Suzanna responded. “Your husband needs you.”
THE IMPACT TRANSCENDED my fist, sending shockwaves throughout my body. The crunch of breaking bones became music to my ears and the scent of blood a delicacy to my nose. One solid punch to the man’s cheek was all it took. Unlike the anxiety brought on by the tranquil sounds of the Georgia estate, the brutal connection focused my attention, taking me back to the octagon, to the combination of exertion and satisfaction. With one clean hit, adrenaline flooded my bloodstream and the guard dropped to the hard Georgia clay.
Flexing my fingers, I took a step back and surveyed his limp body. Damn. He f
From the moment I received news that Charli had gotten into that damn limousine with her stepfather, I’d wanted to hit. My fists itched with the need to collide with something—with anything. I’d longed to hear the whoosh of air as it was expelled forcibly from someone’s lungs and sense the impact as bone met bone, and even to witness the spray of blood as a nose broke.
That euphoria brought on while watching someone fall to their knees, as their muscles lost tension and their brain switched off, was second only to the best and most satisfying orgasm. Both were powerful drugs to my system. I could do without them—abstain—but once the high was within my grasp, like an addict I needed more.
My head whipped from side to side as I sought out another victim. Through the low-lying fog, only stripped stalks of tobacco were visible in one direction and clusters of trees in the other. To assure myself of the guard’s unconsciousness, I kicked his side with the tip of my shoe, the dust upon the leather leaving a mark on his dark jacket, the one with the Montague emblem. He didn’t flinch or even groan as I reached down and moved his battered face from side to side. Two fingers to his neck confirmed his pulse was strong. It was then as I leaned down that I heard a soft static-filled plea coming from his ear.
Reaching inside his pocket, I pulled out the transmitter and then removed the Bluetooth device from his ear. Holding it near, I listened as the plea came again.
“Stan! Stan! Can you hear me? Did you see someone?”
I cleared my throat and spoke, elongating my words with a hint of a Southern accent. “No. Damn fog. All’s clear.”
Holding my breath, I waited for a response, praying that I hadn’t fucking blown my chance to free Charli from the manor. I glanced up toward the house. From the lowland of the field, it was a blur of warm yellows and cool blues. The strange combination created an impressionistic masterpiece that I didn’t have time to interpret. All that mattered was that the manor was within reach.
I should have expected sentries. How had Chelsea made it undetected—or had she? Had they watched her? Did Fitzgerald know what was happening?