Page 55 of Jackson
“Indeed. To the outside world, Brett Walker is a wonderful man. He brought up two children, owns a very successful privatebank.”
“Jackson said something about his wall. I can’t remember the exact words, something like hell masquerading asheaven.”
“The father would wheel out the kids for public appearances when necessary, he was the doting dad at those times. The confusion Jackson must have felt would have beenimmense.”
We fell silent for a while. Alfie quietly made his way towards us with a fresh pot of tea for me and a jug of homemadelemonade.
“I wished I’d know some of this a long time ago,” I said, as I sipped mytea.
“What would you havedone?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do now. I’ve never faced anything like thisbefore.”
“Jackson is a complicated man, there are many layers of guilt to shed. The rational part of him knows he could have done nothing to prevent his mother’s death. But that rational part is often so overwhelmed by the irrational. I think we’ve talked enough for now. You’ve a lot to thinkabout.”
“Can I ask one question? The Honey thing, the rough…You know what Imean?”
“I do. It’s a way of releasing anger for Jackson. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement in the beginning. She has a need to be dominated, to be controlled, and forced anal sex. She can’t do vaginal. I’m not breaking a confidence, she’d tell you herself if she were here. He has a need to dominate, to control. For him, and I have no idea if you’ll understand this, the anal sex is a punishment. It’s a primitive act without feeling or emotion for him. He isn’t making love to that woman, he isn’t, and I hate the term, fucking even. There is no sexual emotion involved, for either of them. It’s debasement, it satisfies his need to degrade in the ultimate way, in his mind ofcourse.”
“Does he…I don’t know if I can say this. Does he imagine that Honey is his father, when he’s doing that?” I swallowed the bile that rose to my throat and took a sip of tea to cleanse the taste from mymouth.
“That’s an interesting question. He doesn’t visualise his father at all. He has no sexual urges towards him. He’s not bi, he’s not homosexual, but somewhere in his fucked up mind, he’s robbing his father of his power. The Romans did it frequently. It was perfectly acceptable then for men to have sex with male slaves. Jackson doesn’t see Honey as an equal, he sees her as below him, the way his father degradedhim.”
“She knows about him, doesn’tshe?”
“No, not as far as I’m aware. You, me, and D-J know nearly everything, no oneelse.”
“She said, ‘daddy’ and it was that word that kicked himoff.”
“She stumbled across a couple of trigger words, words that are also significant for her, she built on that. She wants to punish herdaddy.”
A wave of nausea washed over me, I held my hand to my mouth as I dry-heaved. Tears welled in my eyes and such a depth of sadness washed over me, for Jack, for Honeyeven.
“Do you think Honey would talk tome?”
“I’m not sure that’s a good thing right now, but maybe later, she doesn’t have any friends, as you canimagine.”
“Can you work with heragain?”
“She needs more than I can offer. I’m not licenced in the U.S. to practice. What I do would probably put me in jail.” He chuckled slightly but I saw the sadness in hiseyes.
“I think that should be all for now. You’ve a lot to digest,” headded.
“I’m exhausted, the time difference, late nights, and his mood swings are killing me,” I said, trying to inject some light into the darkconversation.
“Why don’t I show you to your room, take a nap, and I’m sure Alfie will let you know when dinner isready.”
“One last thing,” I said. “I called Jack asick fuck, that probably hasn’t helped hasit?”
Dexter exhaled a slow breath. “No, he now believes you see him in the same way as he seeshimself.”
I let the tear that had built up roll down my cheek. Dexter gave me a small smile and squeezed myshoulder.
I followed him to a bedroom off the hallway. It was a nice, light, and airy room, but I missed the sliding doors to the deck and the beach that I had at Jackson’s. I missed Jackson. I set down a small holdall I’d brought and placed my toiletries in the en suite shower room. I placed my phone on the bedside table and felt a pang of sadness that I couldn’t speak to him. Dexter had said that Jack needed to believe he’d lost me. The reality was, in a little over a week, I was returning to the UK. Neither of us could afford a long distance relationship, flying back and forth. One of us had to give up our life and move, and I suspected that would have to be me. I had parents, loving parents, back home. I needed to find a job; I’d given up work when Dane had died. I simply wasn’t able to function for a while. And I needed to push through the sale of theapartment.
I pulled off my sundress, threw on a cotton shirt, and lay on the bed. I closed my eyes. I saw his smile; I heard his laugh and the song he had sung to me. I felt his arms as he held me to his chest when we’d sat on the daybed. My lips tingled at the memory of his kiss. Absentmindedly, I placed my hand over my tattoo. Although the skin was dry and flaking, I let my finger run over his name. A tear rolled down my cheek. Despite what I knew, what I’d seen, I hated to be away from him. D-J had offered me a ride to the airport, and I’d said I would make some calls to rearrange my flight. I wasn’t sure I wanted to do thatanymore.
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