Page 4 of Wicked Games

He settled me onto his lap as the carriage lurched forward. Stroking my hair, he whispered into my ear over and over again, “Don’t worry, my love. I’ve got you. It’s only a dream. Just a dream.”

His words wrapped around me like a vise. Sucking in a pained hiss through my teeth, I felt the sting from the bleeding cut on my palm.

This is no dream.

CHAPTER 2

LIZZIE

Two months earlier

The Tube doors opened and I stepped out onto the open-air platform of Barbican Station. Allowing myself to be jostled by the crowd of commuters, I looked up at the hazy winter sky; its cloudless watery gray did nothing to improve the buildings it looked upon.

Many people didn’t like this part of London. With its post-war Brutalist architecture of depressing blocks of poured concrete buildings, it felt more like communist Soviet Union than Britain.

I loved it.

I loved everything about London.

Its buildings and parks. The people. The culture. Even the food. So many people think British food is only about fish and chips and meat pies but there is the wonderful India cuisine influence as well. My favorite was kedgeree. It was the perfect blend of the two cultures, with smocked haddock, rice, and curry.

Although I will never get used to pineapple and ham as a topping on a pizza. Despite living here for six months, I’m still an American after all.

Six months.

It was hard to believe it had been six months since I lost my parents in that awful car crash. My whole life changed in that moment. It was strange. There was nothing criminal or dramatic or even ironically tragic about the accident. It was just a car accident. On a bright, sunny afternoon for no reason at all, one car simply hit another.

And my whole world ended.

As an only child of two parents with no real family connections, I was immediately left alone. I suppose it would be far more tragic if I were a young kid who would now be forced into foster care or even a bride about to get married. But I was neither.

I was twenty-two and truth be told, a little lost.

Drifting from one odd job to another after high school, I was a source of constant worry and disappointment to my parents. Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be an actress. Constantly playing dress-up and putting on small plays and performances for my friends. My entire childhood was an endless round of dance classes, auditions, and recitals.

My parents of course loved it… when I was a child.

It wasn’t as charming when I became an adult and refused to stop playing dress-up. They worried about the stability and even the feasibility of becoming an actress. Countless times, I had been lectured about needing a career or some sort of degree to “fall back on.”

I refused to listen. Foolishly believing that I had to stay focused and true to my craft, which meant throwaway jobs that could be ditched at a moment’s notice if I got an audition or even better, an actual part.

It took them dying for me to finally listen.

The moment I had settled all their affairs, I enrolled in the University of the Arts Fashion Design program in London. With no family to hold me back, I needed a change. Learning how to become a costume designer was a pretty good compromise between my desire to be an actress in the theater and their need for me to have something more solid to hold onto.

Too bad I hadn’t thought of it when they were alive.

It was strange to think that my enrolling in school was what led to my biggest acting break. My flatmate Jane had heard of auditions for a Victorian-era play called The Lady Protests. It was about a woman driven mad by her scheming husband so he could get his hands on her fortune. I couldn’t have been more excited about the opportunity. I absolutely adored the Victorian era. It was one of the reasons why I became an actor. I loved the idea of being able to step back in time and feel as though I were actually living in the age.

We both auditioned. She got the role of parlor maid and to the surprise of both of us, I got the lead!

I played Lady Elizabeth Smythe, which was funny because my real name was also Elizabeth, although everyone called me Lizzie. My character was an American heiress forced to marry a cold unfeeling British lord who wanted her only for her oil fortune.

Between rehearsals, performances, and keeping up with my schoolwork, it had been an exhausting few months but tonight it would all end.

It was the final performance.

Swiping at my eyes as they teared up, I made my way down Beech Street.

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