JACKSON

I feel hollow, like my insides have been scooped out, and only a man-shaped shell in expensive clothing is left. Who prepares for situations like this? I think.

Jerry goes back and scrolls through updates on his laptop.

I lean back and shut my eyes as I anticipate what awaits ahead at sea and whether I’m ready to face it.

By the time the jet lands, we walk out, and for the first time, there are no flashbulbs, no cameras, no questions waiting for me.

As the SUV turns onto the coastal road hours later, the world feels quiet. Too quiet, even.

“We’re here!” Jerry says, alerted, as he closes his laptop with a snap.

Sunrise Bay is exactly as I remember it. Isolated, nothing but cliffs for a while, the woods, and the drive that curls down into the estate.

The mansion appears suddenly, all pale stone, its windows dark, and it looks less like a refuge and more like something that’s been abandoned by time itself.

The house hasn’t changed, not a bit.

The scent of dry wood, sawdust, and salt hits my nostrils as I step through the front door. It reminds me of a version of myself I thought I had outgrown. The whole place feels foreign to me. I never thought life would unexpectedly force me back here.

The staff lines up in the entryway, three of them. Two I recognize: the cleaner, or housekeeper. The other face is vague but familiar.

They smile warmly as they welcome me home, like I’m some prodigal son who has just returned. Am I?

“Mr. Meliś… welcome home.” One of them said, bowing slightly.

Home, I think.

The word scrapes something in me.

“Evening,” I mutter, not smiling or slowing. Jerry will handle the pleasantries; that’s one thing I pay him for.

The high-ceilinged hallway stretches ahead; the house is certainly built to impress. Aurora loves it here, except for the million other things that ick her out; it’s one of her favorite places to be.

My shoes echo off the marble as I walk, and for a moment, I hate the sound. It makes me feel loud and exposed in a place meant for peace.

Then I see her.

The hand-painted portrait.

My mother, painted when she was about my age, hangs in the same spot it’s always been.

She looks down on me with that half-smile. Amused but gentle, like she knows something I don’t.

I stop; I can’t help it. My throat goes tight as I force back the tear that tries to escape.

She died before father built any of this. Before the jets and fleets of cars, before the condos and headlines, and even before materialistic, selfish women like Aurora.

She never saw me like this, and maybe, just maybe, that’s better.

“Fuck! You would’ve hated me,” I whisper before I can stop myself. My voice sounds off, so different, like it belongs to someone softer.

I shove my hands into my pockets and rip my eyes away, walking down the hall like I have somewhere to be.

Jerry’s voice echoes through the hallway as he orders the staff around.

I step into the library filled with Dark wood, cobwebs, and dust motes dancing in the air like ghosts, shelves filled with books I’ve never read. It was father who did the reading.

Decanters line the sideboards, crystal glasses catching the light from the chandelier. Rows of bottles stretch downstairs, enough to swim in.

But the thought of drinking here, alone, makes my skin crawl.

“Jerry!” I call out, my voice echoing through the hall.

I lean against the doorframe and feel suddenly exhausted.

“Yes, Jack?”

“This place is stocked with enough liquor to pickle me for decades, isn’t it?” I ask

“Yes.” He blinks. “The cellar, and every other part of the house is well maintained.”

“And yet I don’t want any of it. Fuck! Okay, great.” I let out a dry, humorless laugh, running a hand through my hair.

“I think I saw a bar down the road. Let’s get settled in there in a few hours. I need something, anything. As long as it clears my head,” I conclude.

“That won’t be a problem, but…” Jerry says, his right hand stretched out like he wants to drop another drum of reasons why it’s a bad idea, his tab tucked under his arm, a few buttons on his shirt undone, his tie equally loose.

He’s the definition of we’re in this together.

“No buts please! I need it, before I suffocate.” I know he wants to remind me that I’m supposed to be hiding, not parading around like a model on a runway, but Jerry knows better than to argue with me when I use that tone.

“Okay, it’s settled then. Go ahead, get refreshed and settled. We’ll leave by five p.m. I’ll have the car arranged,” Jerry assures.

I go into my room, and the smell of wood hits me like a truck. I shut the doors behind me and get undressed. I run my fingers across the table, but there’s no dust. The housekeepers really do their job.

I let out a huge sigh as I landed on the bed, facedown. Is it a relief? No, it’s something more, like safety, in the arms of my huge, soft bed with even softer pillows.

I turn my face upward and get lost in the illusory glow from my chandelier. The dripping crystal-like beads, like teardrops, are enough to carry me away. It screams luxury.

My stomach growls, my insides move around like the sea, rolling up and down, and it dawns on me that I haven’t eaten since last night.

I stand and slowly walk into the bathroom to freshen up. I reach for my body wash, and as I open the cabinet door, I see Aurora’s vanilla and lavender shampoo.

“Beets.” They’re her favorite brand, and she’s been using them for as long as I’ve known her. She takes them everywhere she goes.

Beets are famous for their hair care products. They have both treatments and growth properties. I love how she takes care of that hair. I don’t need to tell her, but it reminds me a lot of Amanda, my late mother.

A wry laugh escapes me. I remember how she gave me a bottle as a gift, and it grew my beard a little too much even.

My heart sinks. The thought of her walking out of the elevator coldly makes my head spin, my chest go numb.

“Fuckkk!!” I scream, letting out all my rage as my folded wrist slams against the mirror above. My chest aches, my heart pounds like I’ve just finished a hundred-meter race.

The shattered pieces get the best of me. As I watch my shaking hand bleed, I think, whoever did this really got to me.