A Very Gothic Christmas

  "I remember her coming in with gifts," Jessica acknowledged, shivering a little as the wind blew in from the sea. All at once she felt alone. Bereft. "Vivian stayed away from us, away from the twins. She didn't come home very often." Dillon had visited without her, but Vivian had preferred to stay in the city most of the time with the other band members.

  A peculiar fog was drifting in on the wind from the sea. It was heavy, almost oppressive. The dog looked out toward the pounding waves and a growl rumbled low in his throat. The sound sent a chill down Jessica's spine but Dillon snapped his fingers and the animal fell silent.

  "No, she didn't." Dillon shrugged out of his jacket and helped her into it. "She was always so fragile, so susceptible to fanatical thinking. I knew she was drinking. Hell, we were all drinking. Partying was a way of life back then. Brian was into some strange practices, not devil worship, but calling on spirits and gods and mother earth. You know how he can be, he runs a line of bull all the time. The problem was, he had Vivian believing all of it. I didn't pay attention, I just laughed at them. I didn't realize then that she was seriously ill. Later, the doctors told me she was bipolar, but at the time, I just thought it was all part of the business we were in. The drinking, even the drugs, I thought she'd tame down when she got it out of her system. I didn't realize she was self-medicating. But I should have, Jess, I should have seen it. She had the signs, the intense mood swings, the highs and lows and the abrupt changes in her thinking and behavior. I should have known."

  His hands suddenly framed her face, holding her still. "I laughed, Jess, and while I was laughing about their silly ceremonies, she was going downhill, straight into madness. The drugs pushed her over the edge and she had a schizophrenic break. By the time I realized just how bad she really was, it was too late and she tried to hurt you."

  "You put her in rehabs--how could you have known what bipolar even was?" She remembered that clearly. "No one told you that last year while you were on the world tour just how bad she'd gotten. You were in Europe. I heard them all discussing it; the decision was made not to say anything to you because you would have thrown it all away. The band knew. Paul, Robert, especially Brian, he called several times to talk to her. Your manager, Eddie Malone, was adamant that everyone stay quiet. He arranged for her to stay here, on the island. He thought with all the security she would be safe."

  Dillon let go of her again, his blue gaze sliding out to sea. "I knew, Jess. I knew she had slipped past sanity, but I was so wrapped up in the tour, in the music, in myself, I didn't check on her. I left it to Eddie. When I'd talk to her on the phone she was always so hysterical, so demanding. She'd sob and threaten me. I was a thousand miles away and feeling so much pressure, and I was tired of her tantrums. At the time I listened to everyone telling me she would pull out of it. I let her down. My God, she trusted me to take care of her and I let her down."

  "You were barely twenty-seven, Dillon--cut yourself some slack."

  He laughed softly, bitterly. "You always persist in thinking the best of me. Do you think she started out the way she ended up? She was far too fragile for the life I took her into. I wanted everything. The family. The success. My music. It was all about what I wanted, not what she needed." He shook his head. "I did try to understand her at first, but she was so needy and my time was stretched so thin. And the kids. I blamed her for not wanting them, not wanting to be with them."

  "That's natural, Dillon," Jessica said softly. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, wanting to connect herself to him, wanting the terrible pain, the utter loneliness etched so deeply into his face, to be gone.

  The fog thickened, a heavy blanket that carried within it the whisper of something moving, of muffled sounds and veiled memories. It bothered her that the dog stared at the fog as if it held an enemy within its midst. She tried to ignore the animal's occasional growl. Dillon, too engrossed in their conversation, didn't appear to notice.

  "Is it natural, Jess?" His eyebrow shot up as he looked down into her wide green eyes. "You're so willing to forgive my mistakes. I left the kids. I put my career first, my own needs first, what I wanted, first. Why was it okay for me, but unforgivable for her? She was ill. She knew she had something wrong with her; she was terrified of hurting the kids. She didn't need rehab, she needed help with mental illness." He rubbed his hand over his face, his breath coming in hard gasps. "I didn't come home much that year because of you, Jessica. Because I was feeling things for you I shouldn't have been feeling. Rita knew, God help me. I talked to her about it and we agreed the best thing to do was for me to stay away from you. It wasn't sex, Jess, I swear to you, it was never about sex."

  There was so much pain in his voice her heart was breaking. She looked up at him and saw tears shimmering in his eyes. At once she put her arms around his waist, laid her head on his chest, holding him to her without words, seeking to comfort him. He had never touched her, never said a word that might be deemed improper to her, nor had she to him. But it was true they'd sought each other's company, talked endlessly, needed to be close. She could feel his body tremble, with emotion rising like a long dormant volcano come to life.

  Dillon was all about responsibility; he always had been. She had always known that. His failure was eating him from the inside out. Jessica felt helpless to stop it. She drew back cautiously, putting a step between them so she could look up at his face. "Did you know she was into seances and calling up demons?" She had to ask him and her heart pounded in time to the rhythm of the sea as she waited for his answer.

  "She and Brian would burn candles to spirits but there had been nothing remotely like devil worship, sacrifices, or the occult. I didn't know she had hooked up with some lunatic who preached orgies and drugs and demon gods. I had no idea until I walked into that room and saw you." He closed his eyes, his fist clenching.

  "You got me out of there, Dillon," she reminded gently.

  Rage. He tasted it again, just as it had swirled up in him that night, a violence he hadn't known himself capable of. He had wanted to destroy them all. Every single person in that room. He had beat Vivian's lover to a bloody pulp, satisfying some of his rage in that direction. He had vented on Vivian, his wrath nearly out of control, calling her every name he could think of, allowing her to see his disgust, ordering her out of his home. He had sworn she would never see the children, never be allowed into his life again. Vivian had stood there, naked, sobbing, and hanging on him, the musty smell of other men clinging to her as she begged him not to send her away.

  Dillon looked down to meet Jessica's vivid gaze. They both recalled the scene clearly. How could they not remember every detail? The heavy fog carried a strange phosphorescence within, a shimmering of color that floated inland.

  Dillon looked away from the innocence on Jessica's face. Staring at the white breakers he made his confession. "I wanted to kill her. I didn't feel pity, Jessica. I wanted to break her neck. And I wanted to kill her friends. Every last one of them."

  There was honesty in his voice. Truth. She heard the echo of rage in his voice, and the memories washed over her, shook her. He had learned there was a demon hidden deep within him and Jessica had certainly witnessed it.

  "You didn't kill them, Dillon." She said it with complete conviction.

  "How do you know, Jess? How can you be so certain I didn't go back into that room after I carried you upstairs? How can you be so certain, after I laid you on the bed with your heart torn out, after I knew that she had encouraged some lecherous pervert to put his hands on you, to write symbols of evil all over your body? When I saw you like that, so frightened--" His fist clenched tightly. "You were everything good and innocent that they weren't. They wanted to destroy you. Why would you believe that I didn't walk back up the stairs, shoot both of them, lock them all in that room, start the fire, and leave the house?"

  "Because I know you. Because the twins, the band members, my mother, and I were all in that house."

  "Everyone is capable of murder, Jess,
and believe me, I wanted them dead." He sighed heavily. "You need to know the truth. I did go back into the house that night."

  A silence fell between them, stretching out endlessly while the wind rose on a moan and shrieked eerily out to sea. Jessica stood on the cliffs and stared down into the dark foaming waves. So beautiful, so deadly. She remembered vividly the feeling of the water closing over her head as she went after Tara who had tumbled down the steep embankment. She felt exactly the same way now, as if she were being submersed in ice-cold water and dragged down to the very bottom of the sea. Jessica looked up at the moon. The clouds, heavy with moisture, were sliding through the sky to streak the silver orb with shades of gray. The fog formed tendrils, long thin arms that stretched out as greedily as the waves leapt and crashed against the rocky shore.

  "Everyone knows you went back. The house was on fire and you ran in." Her voice was very low. There was sudden awareness, a knowledge growing inside of her.

  Dillon caught her chin, looked into her eyes, forcing her to meet his gaze, to see the truth. "After I left your room I went outside. Everyone saw me. Everyone knew I was furious at Vivian. I was crying, Jess, after seeing you like that, knowing what you'd been through. I couldn't stop ranting, couldn't hide the tears. The band thought I'd caught Viv with a lover. I stalked out, huddled in the forest, walked around the house a couple of times. But then I went to find your mother. I felt she ought to know what Vivian, her friends, and that madman had done to you."

  "She never said a word to me."

  "I told her what happened. All of it. How I found you with them. What they were doing. I was crazy that night," he admitted. "Rita was the only person I could talk to and I knew you wouldn't tell her about it, you kept begging me not to, you couldn't bear for her to know." He raked a hand through his hair again in agitation, the memories choking him. "Rita blamed herself. She knew what Vivian was doing, had known for some time. I yelled at her when she admitted it, I was so angry, so out of control, wanting vengeance for what had happened to you. Looking back, I can see that it was my fault, all of it. I blamed everyone else for what happened to you, and I hated them and wanted them dead, but I was the one that allowed it to happen."

  Dillon studied her face as she stared up at him with her wide eyes. He reached out, brushed her face with his gloved hand, his touch lingering long after he dropped his hand. "I went back into the house, angry and determined to avenge you. Rita knew I went back. Your mother believed I murdered Vivian and her lover. She thought the fire was an accident, caused by the candles being knocked over while we were fighting. She knew I went back into the house and she believed I shot them but she never told anyone."

  Jessica's green gaze jumped to his face. "She didn't believe you killed them." She shook her head adamantly. "Mom would never believe that of you."

  "She knew my state of mind. There was so much rage in me that night. I didn't even recognize myself. I had no idea I was capable of such violence. It consumed me. I couldn't even think straight."

  Jessica shook her head. "I won't listen to this. I won't believe you." She turned away from him, away from the pounding sea and the heartache, away from the thick, beckoning fog, back toward the safety of the house.

  Dillon caught her arms, held her still, his blue eyes raking her face. "You have to know the truth. You have to know why I stayed away all those years. Why your mother came to see me."

  "I don't care what you say to me, Dillon, I'm not going to believe this. Seven people died in that fire. Seven. My mother may have kept quiet to save you because of what Vivian did to me, but she would never stay quiet if she thought you'd killed seven people."

  "But then, if the fire was an accident, it wouldn't have been murder, and those seven people who died were having an orgy upstairs in my home, using Rita's daughter as the virginal sacrifice for their priests to enjoy." He said it harshly, his face a mask of anger. "Believe me, honey, she understood hatred and rage. She felt it herself."

  Jessica stared up at him for a long while. "Dillon." She reached up to lay her hand along his shadowed jaw. "You will never get me to believe you shot Vivian. Never. I know your soul. I've always known it. You can't hide who you are from me. It's there each time you write a song." Her arms slid around his neck, her fingers twining in the silk of his hair. "You were different enough at first that I was afraid of who you had become, but you can't hide yourself from me when you compose music."

  Dillon's arms stole around her. It was amazing to him, a miracle that she could believe in him the way she did. He held her tightly, burying his face in her soft hair, stealing moments of pleasure and comfort that didn't belong to him.

  "My mother never said a word to me, Dillon, about what happened to me that night. Why didn't she talk to me about it all those years? The nightmares. I wanted someone to talk to." She had wanted him.

  "She told me she waited for you to come to her, but you never did."

  Jessica sighed softly as she pulled away from him. "I could never bring myself to tell her what happened. I felt guilty. I still go over every move I made, wondering what I should have done differently to avoid the situation." Her hand rubbed up and down his arms. She felt the raised ridges of his scars beneath her palm, the evidence of his heroism. A badge of love and honor he hid from the world. "How could Mom have thought you were guilty?"

  "I told her what went on and the entire time I was breaking things, threatening them, swearing like a madman. She was sobbing; she sat on the floor in the kitchen with her hands over her face, sobbing. I went back upstairs. I didn't know what I was going to do. I think I was going to physically throw Vivian and her friends out of the house, one by one, into the ocean. Your mother saw me go up the stairs. I stood on the landing and could hear Vivian weeping, shrieking to the others to get out, and I knew I couldn't look at her again. I just couldn't. I went back downstairs and out through the courtyard. I didn't want to face your mother, or the band. I needed to be alone. I walked into the forest and sat down and cried."

  She could breathe again. Really breathe again. He wasn't going to do anything silly such as try to convince her that he had actually shot Vivian. "I've always known you were innocent, Dillon. And I still don't think my mother believed you killed them."

  "Oh, she believed it, Jessica. She stayed silent at the trial, but she made it abundantly clear that I wasn't to go near you or the children. I owed her that much. For what happened to you, I owed her my life if she asked for it."

  Jessica felt as if he'd knocked her legs out from under her. "She never said anything but good things about you, Dillon."

  "She knew I wanted you, Jess. There was no way I would ever be able to be around you and not make you mine." He admitted it without looking at her.

  His tone was so casual, so matter-of-fact, she wasn't certain she heard him correctly. He was looking out to sea, into the thick veil of mist, not at her.

  "And I would have let you." She confessed it in the same casual tone, following his example, looking out at the crashing waves.

  His throat worked convulsively; a muscle jerked along his jaw at her honest admission. He waited a heartbeat. Two. Struggled for control of his emotions. "Someone has been attempting to blackmail me. They sent a threatening letter, telling me that they knew I had gone back into the house that night and that if I didn't give them ten thousand dollars a month, they would go to the police. I was supposed to transfer the money to a Swiss account on a certain day each month. They used words cut out of a newspaper and pasted onto paper. To my knowledge Rita was the only person who saw me go back into the house that night before the shots were fired. That was the reason I asked her to come here, to discuss the matter with me."

  "You thought my mother was blackmailing you?" Jessica was shocked.

  "No, of course not, but I thought she may have seen someone else that night, someone who saw me go back into the house."

  "You mean one of the security people? The staff? One of the groundskeepers? There were so many peo
ple around back then. Do you think it was one of them?"

  "It had to be someone familiar with the inside of the house, Jessie." He raked a hand through his hair, his gloved fingers tunneling deep, tousling the strands in his wake.

  Jessica glanced back toward the house. "Then it has to be one of them. A member of the band. They lived there on and off. They all survived the fire. Robert? He and Brenda need the cash and it's a plan she's capable of coming up with. I doubt if blackmailing someone would bother her in the least."

  Dillon had to laugh. "That's true--Brenda would think she was perfectly within her rights." His smile faded, leaving his blue eyes bleak. "But they all need money, every last one of them."

  "Then it's possible one of the band members killed my mother. She must have seen someone, maybe she confronted them about it."

  Dillon shook his head. "That's just not possible. I thought about it until I thought I'd go out of my mind--it just isn't possible. I've known them all, with the exception of Don, all of my life. We were babies together, went through school, went through hard times together. We were family, more than family."

  Her hand went to her throat, a curiously vulnerable gesture. "I can't imagine someone we know killing Mom."

  "Maybe it really was an accident, Jessie," he said softly.

  She just stood there looking up at him with that look of utter fragility on her face, tugging at his heartstrings. Unable to stop himself, Dillon reached out, pulled her to him and bent his dark head to hers. There was time for a single heartbeat before his lips drifted over hers. Tasting. Coaxing. Tempting. Kissing Jessica seemed as natural to him as breathing. The moment he touched her, he was lost.

  Dillon drew her into his arms and she fit perfectly, her body molding to his. Soft. Pliant. Made for him. His tongue skimmed gently along the seam of her lips, asking for entrance. His teeth tugged at her lower lip, a teasing nip, causing her to gasp. At once he took possession, sweeping inside, claiming her, exploring the heated magic of her. Where she might have wanted to be cautious, with him she was all passion, a sweet eruption of hunger that built with his insistence.