3. Leonor

3

LEONOR

“ A h, my Leonor. There you are. My sweet child, yes, that’s it. Come back to us, Leonor.”

My eyelids flutter as they try to force themselves open, blinking repeatedly to clear the darkness I’m wading in. I can barely make out the deep eyes belonging to Pierre, and the rest of him is still a blur, but I’d know his voice anywhere.

It’s slowly bringing me back to earth, but I don’t know where.

I’m on a bed. Not my bed, but I can tell that’s what it is.

I clutch my chest as I start to panic again, momentarily unable to recall the events that led me here, my pulse careening into cardiac arrest territory so quickly the rest of my body can’t catch up.

On reflex I start feeling for blood, for torn flesh or gaping wounds and when I find none, I search for a weapon. My hands grip the sheets, pulling and twisting until I feel my fingers sting.

“No, no, sweet Leonor. Breathe.” A pair of strong but gentle hands grab my wrists, and I practically choke on the scream trying to tear from my throat. “Focus on me, just breathe with me.”

My eyes snap to his much darker ones, and I begin to follow his rhythm. In through my nose, out through my mouth. My pulse gradually slows and my vision clears, and once I feel like I can, when the world stops spinning, I try to get to my feet.

“Leonor, take it slow. Are you ok? Do you have pain?” Pierre places his hands on my shoulders to prevent me from standing, and it helps ground me a little more.

“I’m ok, I don’t know what happened. I’m fine,” I lie through my teeth. I’m good at that, and there’s only one thing that would get me to where I am right now. Wow, my head is throbbing, and I feel sick. “I just need some water, and maybe a little air.”

My legs turn to mush the second I stand, but Pierre catches me and wraps his strong arm around my waist for support.

“You should rest a while. Get your sea legs back at least.” He looks thoughtful as he raises his brows slightly. “You know you have automatic sick days under this new contract. You could go to your loft and rest, perhaps? Justine and I could bring you dinner on our way home, maybe even keep you company for a while...” His words trail off as the two of us make our way down the first flight of stairs because we both know my answer. We both know what I’m about to say.

“Pierre, I’m fine. I just need to take a break. It was probably the chemical fumes or something. I must not have opened a window before I started.”

More lies.

I’m still not sure if there really was anyone else in the room with me and since everyone is already extremely concerned about my mental health, I think it’s better to keep my trap shut about the possible phantom figure I couldn’t even turn around to see.

Pathetic.

As we head down the second set of stairs we hear raised voices, most likely coming from just outside the library, which causes my hackles to raise for the first time in forever.

“I can assure you; this is nothing that you need to have concerns over. I don’t know exactly what happened, what exactly it was you saw , but it is not something that will negatively impact the restoration. Sir, I can vouch—” Justine says firmly before she’s interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.

“Maybe you can explain exactly what it was that I saw, then? One minute she’s sitting there, painting or whatever, the next she’s blacked out on the floor. I didn’t even have time to knock, and when I picked her up to put her on the bed? Christ, she weighs less than I expected. Is she on drugs? Going through withdrawal maybe and I walked in on a seizure?” The unfamiliar male voice huffs. “What is wrong with that girl? I will not have you putting this estate in jeopardy for some charity case, do you understand me? Not after all the trouble we’ve already had. I did not put you in this position so you can let your bleeding heart run wild. You are to hire competent and trustworthy tradesmen and women to bring this house out of its current state and restore it to its original standing. This isn’t a home for the down and out . If she isn’t gone by the end of the day, I will seriously reconsider your role here.”

The man’s voice is sharp and deep, slicing through the air with every condescending syllable. It hangs thick around us, mixing with the humidity, and it clings to every surface.

I don’t fucking like it one goddamn bit.

The unfamiliar man stops berating my friend and turns slowly the second Justine’s expression gives away my position on the bottom stair behind him. An obviously forced and practiced smile curves his thin lips into a perfect crescent shape when his eyes land on me, and I grip the railing to brace myself against the severity of it, Pierre still keeping a protective arm around me as I do.

Glancing at Justine’s face, I find it full of fear and worry, tears brimming on her lash line, then my eyes shoot back to the unidentified man who was just lighting her up one side and down the other. But when I open my mouth to speak, to give him a taste of his own medicine, the words get caught as he extends his hand toward me, strangely offering his assistance to help me from where I’m standing.

I feel like I know him.

I don’t, I’ve never seen him before in my life regardless of the weird feeling in my gut, and that’s enough to snap me back to our less than cordial first meeting.

So, I straighten my spine and look up to make eye contact, wanting what I have to say burned into his brain for all of eternity, but I freeze.

His eyes are the most terrifying shade of ice blue I have ever seen, and his empty stare sends a chill straight down my spine.

I’m so shocked that I don’t even realize what I’m doing as I reach out and take his hand, allowing this stranger to lead me towards him with physical contact and a menacing vibe.

The only people I’ve had any physical contact with over the last three years have been Justine, Pierre or some sort of medical professional. And remembering that is why I quickly jerk my hand back, my fingers still tingling from the dark presence of his brief touch.

“Please, let me explain what you undoubtedly overheard. I’m Alexander Collinsworth.” He pauses as if I should know his name or face. “And you are?” Collinsworth offers his hand again, palm up in fake greeting, but I just stare at it.

Justine quickly steps up next to him and blurts, “He’s the benefactor who has graciously funded the whole restoration of the estate.” Nervously, she smiles at Pierre then looks to me, pleading to keep my big mouth shut.

But I’ve never been very good at that.

Especially when the people I love are involved and despite what I’ve become, I do still love Justine and Pierre.

“That wasn’t an explanation, it was an introduction,” I snap. Suddenly I’m fucking seething , the words flying from my lips without purchase. “And I’m the one who has been restoring all of the paintings in the house but based on what I just heard, I’m soon to be known as the one who formerly restored the portraits of raging assholes at the Bissonnette Murder House.”

I grab my bag from Pierre, shooting him a quick look of reassurance before turning back to those cold blue eyes that were boring a hole into the back of my skull.

“Pierre and Justine are fucking saints,” I spit as I step off the staircase, my knees trying to give out as I do, but I power through and pull from a long-dormant reserve of energy, placing my feet solid in front of this six-foot-tall lumberjack. “You can think whatever you like when it comes to me, but I can assure you, there isn’t anyone in the world further from jeopardizing your estate than these two.”

I brush past him, narrowly avoiding Lurch as I head for the door, ready to kick the damn thing open if I have to, when I hear Collinsworth chuckle.

He’s fucking laughing, and the sound is like nails on a chalkboard darting around in my head in the most infuriating way, my blood boiling at the noise and everything it sparks inside of me.

I spin toward him, ready to fire back, but he just smirks and cuts me off. “If you wanted to keep your job, all you had to do was ask.” His empty blue stare turns a shade lighter as his eyes crinkle with glee. “Despite whatever it was that I just witnessed, your work does appear?—”

“I could give a flying fuck what you think of my work, or if I ever step foot in this house again but let me give you a friendly piece of advice. If Justine brings Dirt Sack Danny, who in fact is a real person, into this house because he is the most skilled carpenter within a nine-hundred-and-fifty-mile radius—which he is—you better kiss this woman’s goddamn feet and thank the heavens above that she’s the one in charge.”

I push my shoulders back and try to stand tall. “Justine knows this property, this house and its history better than anyone short of those who actually lived it, and the last thing she would ever do is bring someone into it who she didn’t trust explicitly.” I pause and try to catch my breath because it’s been so long since I’ve yelled at anyone it’s wearing me out.

“Justine and Pierre also happen to know this city better than the majority of the population, which means they have connections running deep and can get anything and everything to make this restoration exceed your expectation without exceeding your budget. If I ever, ever find out you or anyone you are affiliated with speaks to her that way again, you can bet your dumbass I’ll be back, and I won’t be looking for a fucking job .”

Narrowing my eyes on the smirking asshole in front of me, I make my final threat with whispered words. “I want to be very, very clear; you have hit the fucking jackpot with these two, so don’t fuck it up on account of some uneducated judgement you passed on a charity case and how she came to be.”

Turning around, I whip the door open, practically ripping the thing off its hinges before I bolt out of the house like a bat out of hell.

I can hear Collinsworth laugh as Pierre begins talking, nervously trying to fix whatever I just ruined. I feel bad but I’m fucking furious, my blood pumping through my veins like lava, my adrenaline taking me to a place I haven’t been in close to three goddamn years.

Must be the damn meds.

They haven’t worked in a long ass time but apparently they did today, and I’m sort of grateful for it.

“Leo! Leo, wait! Leonor, stop !”

Great .

Justine is chasing me.

But I don’t stop.

Not until I get to my car, open the door and toss my bag on top of the fucked-up doll in the passenger seat. I fumble to pull a cigarette from my pack then struggle to light it because I’m angrier than a fucking bull in a ring, but also because I’m scared to turn and face Justine.

What I just did could have cost her everything.

But I know I have to, so I slowly turn, still fighting with my lighter and drop my cigarette when I’m met with tears. “ Fuck me.”

Just as I bend to pick up my smoke, Justine throws her arms around me, sobbing into my shoulder while she tries to crush my bones to dust. I hug her back out of reflex and begin apologizing for the same reason but there is no amount of regret able to fix my explosion.

“Leonor, stop. Stop apologizing. Do you have any idea what you just did?” Justine can barely get the words out as she sobs, hiccupping them all over my face while she cups my cheeks.

“I have a pretty good idea, which is why I’m apologizing. So, unless I started having audio and visual hallucinations again and none of that actually happened, I’m in an incredible amount of shit.”

She smiles through her tears. “Oh, Leonor, my sweet child. I don’t care about that. Don’t you see what just happened? You felt something . Don’t you see? You got mad! You got downright furious! And you were sarcastic and snotty. You were even disrespectful.”

Is she seriously smiling right now?

“I don’t understand. I could have completely destroyed everything that you have worked your whole life for… and you’re happy ?”

Then her words start to sink in.

Justine is right. I felt things.

I felt something other than empty or broken, something other than panic or fear. I felt defensive in a way other than fight or flight .

I had more rage toward Alexander Collinsworth than I’ve spent on the full emotional spectrum in the last three years. I was even protective of Justine and Pierre. And she may not know it, but I also felt some weird feeling of doom surge through me, a warning, a sense of Deja vu while I was ripping into that charismatic douche bag.

I’m fucking dumbfounded .

Justine lights my cigarette for me and hands it over. “You really should give that up.”

I shrug and take a long drag, still not entirely sure what I should be saying right now.

“Pierre will handle Mr. Collinsworth, everything will be fine. And I’m sure he’ll get your job back; I mean you weren’t even technically fired but I know Pierre will smooth things out.”

“I don’t want my job back,” I spit out so quickly I don’t have time to think. I’m still pissed and the last thing I want is anyone begging on my behalf, or to let that dickhead think he won.

Justine smiles but it’s a little more fearful this time.

“I don’t mean it like that, I need to work, need to do something , I just don’t think this is what I should be doing.”

Her smile becomes genuine as she sighs in relief. “Well, we can agree on that. You know exactly what you should be doing but until you’re ready to do that, you need to do this.” Justine hugs me tightly, allowing me to really breathe in her sweet smell of jasmine and lavender for the first time in a long time. “I love you, my sweet Leonor.”

“ Moi aussi .” Me too. And I mean that.

Justine watches me get in my car and drive away, waving from the carriage house until I’m no longer able to see her in my rear view while knowing in my gut she’s still there.

I appreciate her, so much more than she’ll ever know, but goddamn, I am mad.

All I want to do is go home and break things.

And I’m only pissing myself off more as I keep replaying what that bastard said. The way he made me feel so small, so insignificant.

The way my stomach twisted when my predator radar went off like a fucking fire alarm.

That guy really fucking sucks.

Bastard .