Page 22 of The Fallen
“In here, honey,” I jest.
His frame dominates the doorway, and his brows pull together in a frown. "Not fucking funny. Do you want feeding or not?”
“Sure. Thank you.”
I pick up the blanket and wrap it around me to follow him into the kitchen. He’s pulling out containers of what looks like Thai or Chinese takeout. Rice, noodles, a couple of other dishes in sauces.
“I didn’t know what you liked, so just got a couple extra of what I order.” He starts scooping out items onto a plate and then retrieves two beers from the fridge. “Beer?”
“Um, why not.” I smile and take it, trying to remember the last time I drank a beer. We sit at the farmhouse table and start eating the rich smelling food.
“So?” Noah starts.
“So, what?”
“The details. I’ve already heard the sob story version. Now I need to know the specifics.”
“Sob story?” I question, annoyed that that’s the impression I’ve given him. “This isn’t about me wanting to feel better. This is about ensuring Lewis doesn’t hurt anyone else in my family.”
He keeps his eyes on the meal and doesn’t look up at me. “Spill. All of it, Neve.”
“What do you need to know?”
“I’ve told you, every detail, what you’ve already got on the guy and what you need to make it end.”
“That’s easy. I need Lewis to admit that it was him. His plan, his revenge and that he pulled the trigger.”
“Okay. So we just need to get you in the same vicinity as him and record a confession.” He looks up and takes a sip of his beer.
“And you think he’s just going to do that? Sit down for coffee and discuss what’s happened? He has a gun. He’s violent … he …”
I scoop a forkful of rice into my mouth and follow it up with some beef in black bean sauce, forcing time to pass before I answer my own question.
Noah puts his fork down and crosses his arms, waiting for me to finish. This is the first test. Can I trust Noah and tell him everything? I finish my mouthful and take a long draw on the bitter beer.
“He scared me.” No reaction. He just sits and waits. “He was manipulating. He played in half-truths and lies, only giving part of the story in order to benefit from my reaction. I played right into his plan and didn’t see it coming.”
Noah’s expression still doesn’t change, and I shift in my seat as I slide the plate away – my appetite now gone.
"This isn’t a sob story, just so you know,” I continue. “But you need to know the context, okay?”
He nods.
“Good. So, I told you that it was unusual for me to be social, be out at a party or have relationships. That’s my choice. I’m more comfortable on my own. People don’t make an effort very often to get to know me. They label me as strange, introverted, and even awkward and use that as an excuse not to get to know me. Lewis didn’t.” I look up and try to read his expression. He’s still sitting as if waiting for me to tell him something of interest. “He was very good at playing the victim. And at the time, I didn’t know the connection between the families. He introduced me to his grandfather. He was so kind and sweet and told me stories of my Grandma Elizabeth and seeing Seffi at the ballet. There was a connection to our family. There was no reason for me to doubt or suspect anything.”
“So when did that change?”
“Haven’t we been over this?” I protest, standing up from the table and retreating to the warmth of the fire.
His footsteps follow, and he joins me in the little room. “I told you, you have to tell me everything. Or the deal’s off. I’ll call Landon now.”
“No!” I answer quickly. I don’t want that yet, so I take a breath and continue on. “Analysing it now, I suppose he changed when he realised he wasn’t going to get a big fat cheque. And maybe, that’s not all he wanted after all. He went to a lot of trouble in the end.” I run the events over in my head as he sits and drinks more beer. Each meeting we had, remembering what his tone was like, how he phrased his words. “He led me along so completely that when he told me about the relationship between his family and ours, I was sympathetic. And furious as hell that this had been kept a secret for so long. I wanted to help. But Father wouldn’t hear of it. He said it must be lies and that I was naive – he wanted proof. Lewis didn’t like that.”
“Lewis wouldn't provide proof?”
“He had journals apparently, something from the past, but he didn’t show me. He said that we had all the proof and had buried it. Of course, that’s when I started to question things as well.”
“Well, at least you did at some point,” he states, as if all of this is so obvious for him.
