Page 20 of Wreckin' Amethyst

“Write down your bank details and I’ll see to it personally you have nothing to worry about come tomorrow. You don’t want to work here, trust me.” She only hesitates for a moment, but let’s face it. If I were looking for my next scam, it wouldn’t be from someone who has nothing to offer. Scribbling down her details from memory, probably because she’s had to stare at her bank statements, scanning each and every charge, she thanks me generously and leaves via the kitchen. Folding the page, I tuck it into my waistband, ignoring Carter and Sebby’s curious looks.

“What was all that about?” Carter begins but I cut him off.

“Next!” The Elites have only just walked away and are forced to clip-clop back, opening the door to the next girl who shimmies her way through a riot starting to take place on the other side. Tall, slender, a hint of muscle. Good fashion sense, in a jumpsuit with sunglasses propped on her blonde messy-bun. I almost like her, until I see the thickly coated lipstick and match it with the leather fingerless gloves on her hands, no doubt hiding rashes.

“Hang on, what’s the name?” Carter is sifting through the stack of files. I still his movements.

“Don’t bother – exit is that way, thanks for coming.” I smile sweetly. Blinking in confusion, the spunky blonde allows an Elite to lead her away before I turn to whisper to Sebby. “Syphilis lips,” I circle my mouth with a finger and then shudder.

“This is turning into utter chaos,” Carter groans. I sigh also, all energy I had from the coffee buffet quickly zapping from my bones.

“For once, I agree with you. Let’s just speed it up, shall we?” Snatching a random file and taking the pen, I walk around the large table to the doors and slide them wide open. Then, I step into the lioness’ den.

“Nope. No. No. Oh my god, who were you kidding?” I work my way through the women, picking off the gold diggers one by one. It’s not that I condone the life Myles has, but since it’s not of his creation, I can at least make sure the view from the top is a decent one. Call it a lapse in judgment, or repayment for getting rid of the evidence of what I did last night. Either way, by the time I’ve ensured only the genuine and free-of-butt-implants remain, I spin to find two girls sitting on the sofa beside Charley. A wide smile spreads across my face.

“Your turn,” I jerk my head. Charley stands slowly, her leather mini skirt creased. Batting the material smooth, I readjust her netted top over the lacey black bra poking through. A quick ruffle of her chocolate brown hair and I deem her fit to enter, whilst quickly adjusting the info in the file. “Here you are, a decent candidate at last. Enjoy,” I chuck Carter the file and make my leave. Charley doesn’t need me hovering over her shoulder. She wants to be one of his prissy maid/fuck buddies, she can manage the interview on her own.

Carter mumbles behind me that I’ve ruined his system while I click the pen top and leave it on the now clean breakfast bar. Between running back and forth, the Elites have cleaned every trace of the fun-filled morning Myles and I managed to have. Seems like days ago already, and something I doubt Carter will let happen again. I hate to admit this, but it was sort of fun while it lasted, but watching Myles spray liquid everywhere and scrape his tongue free of the taste was like one of those recurring videos you can’t help but leave on replay.

Meandering through the lower level, I drag my feet. Sunlight beams through the expansive windows, not leaving a trace of a chill on my bare legs. The swish of my purple hair against the back of my arms becomes a dance, a swaying drift until I pull my ribs too far and groan. Shuffling nearby draws me through into the west wing.

“What are you doing all the way back here, Miss Piggy?” I bent low, stroking her back. Pig’s pink nose is too invested in a particular section of the baseboard to care who’s trying to drag her away. Frowning, I lift her by the collar, scooping the wriggling puppy into my arms.

“Seriously girl, what is it?” Like an optical illusion, once I see it, it’s so glaringly obvious. A gap between the floor and wall, less than a centimeter in diameter. Following the line along and upwards, a slip of a crack separates the wallpaper. Strategically dark, hosting a wood-like pattern, I could have walked past the wall a hundred times and never noticed anything different about it. I bet many have.

I release Pig back to her sniffing, rasping my knuckles a few times. Hollow. Then I hunt for an in. A push release, an object on the nearby table to trigger the lock. Anything cliché, but when all else fails, I go in hunt of a blunt object and return with six. Screwdriver, butter knife, spatula, crowbar, nail file, and if all else fails – a hammer. All of which is unnecessary. Pig snuffles and grunts, prying up a corner of the wallpaper to reveal a bolt underneath. Lifting it, the door swings inwards to a dark and eerie hallway. Cocking her head, she whines and runs away. Pussy.

Leaving the objects filling my arms on the table and permitting myself entry, I’m two steps inside the hallway when I hear muffled voices. Concealing myself inside, I walk on silent feet, ducking beneath low hanging rafters which hold up the manor itself. The hallway opens into a circular space around a central beam, various pathways spanning in all directions. I follow the low voice I can still hear, echoing around me like a softly spoken tease.

“What’s wrong, Myles? You seem restless today.” A male. Licking my lips, I approach the stark glare of light penetrating through yet another crack in the inner wall. Too strategically placed to be an accident. Lowering onto my knees, I peer through to see Myles sitting on the floor, his elbows leaning on his knees.

“It’s her,” he sighs and I still. He’s facing my direction, his amber eyes lazily scanning the wall. Could he really see the presence of my shadow through such a tiny crack? Yet as Myles throws his head back on the classic, shrink chaise, the tightened band in my chest lessens. “I’m consumed with wanting to know where she is, what she's doing. It’s driving me insane.” The therapist sitting on an adjacent chair sits forward, placing his reading book down to pick up a notepad and pen.

Holy shit. I’ve found the master peep hole into Myles’ life, and it turns out, there truly is no privacy where Carter is involved.

Chapter 14

Slottingapieceofjigsaw into another, I puff out my cheeks and push the table away from it. I’ve done this particular jigsaw a hundred times over, since Gillian became my therapist. I stopped trusting therapists after the last one took all of my inner thoughts to the press. Now the job entails sitting around in the study with me, lost in our own hobbies until Carter deems it time to release the door. Walking across the room, I drop down onto the floor with a huff, throwing my arms over my knees.

“What’s wrong, Myles? You seem restless today,” Gillian comments. He’s nice enough, in his fifties with salt and pepper hair. Lowering the glasses perched on his straight nose, he looks at me with genuine curiosity. In all these years, Gillian has never pushed me. Forced me to open up, pried in my thoughts. If there was ever a time to confide in someone, this would be it.

“It’s her,” I sigh, losing myself in the mural painted upon the opposite wall. Two ships sailing against choppy waters of the night, the sea a vicious collision of the deepest blues and white highlights beneath a full moon. Facing each other head on, sails billow from tall masts. The only visible crew members are captains, at the helm with deadly intent. I’ve often pondered upon the piece, wondering if the captains are unable to see each other, or if this is where they’ve come to battle under the guise of the night to decide their fates.

“Her, as in your mother?” Gillian asks. I know he’s here to help, but my heckles rise even further. I know what month it is. Almost nineteen years since my mother’s suicide and something Carter has been reminding me off incessantly. He thinks my fascination with Ami is a fleeting distraction. He couldn’t be more wrong.

Throwing my head back on the cream chaise lounge, I decide I’ll never know the answer, and I can no longer push aside the raging ships of my own thoughts for the siren who has captured my mind.

“I’m consumed with wanting to know where she is, what she's doing. If there’s something I could help her with. A way to prove to her I’m worth spending time with. It’s driving me insane.” Gillian shifts, setting down his copy of War of the Worlds to pick up his notepad.Finally, he’s probably thinking. Something worth listening to.

“I’m presuming this is the girl with purple hair I saw you with in the kitchen when I arrived?” Gillian asks. I nod.

“Amethyst.” A protective streak presents itself in a low grumble. I’ve heard Carter refer to her enough as ‘that girl’. It is important people know her name, and know that she’s with me.

“Amethyst,” Gillian nods, writing on his page. “Why don’t you start from the beginning? Tell me how you met.”

Pushing myself up to lay back on the chaise lounge, I relay the entire story to Gillian, not missing a single detail. Not about how I hunted for her on the streets, what I did to Art for touching her, how I convinced her to come here. Through it all, he’s silent, making notes. I should be worried about any and all of this information leaving the room, but I’m genuinely in need of advice. Understanding, unbiased advice.

“So…what do you think?” I inquire when the silence after my story stretches too long. Risking a look at Gillian, his gentle eyes are watching me. Stoic, unjudging, as he sets his notepad aside.

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