Chapter 12
Deep into the night, the Marlowe residence was still ablaze with light.
When Damien kicked open Juliet’s bedroom door, the wind he brought in caught the flight itinerary on her desk. It was a ticket from Novara to Dunmoor.
“What the hell is this madness now, Damien?” Henry grabbed his arm, his expression filled
with fury.
He couldn’t understand what was happening now that Juliet had finally let go and chosen to leave. It was bad enough that Damien wasn’t by Callie’s side at the hospital, but he was also tearing down the Marlowe residence in the middle of the night like a lunatic.
Damien couldn’t hear a word Henry was saying. Rain dripped down his face and pooled beneath his feet. His eyes darted around the room, only to find white dust covers draped over
the furniture like the place was uninhabited.
Disbelief took over him. The room’s layout hadn’t changed, but it was no longer the place he
knew.
The closet was half-empty, and only an empty tin box sat on the vanity with its lid ajar.
Dejectedly turning around, he caught sight of a housekeeper carrying out a bag of trash by the door. That was when a loud alarm rang off in his mind. He lunged forward to tear the bag apart, and its contents spilled across the floor.
A movie ticket fell out with a line of words scrawled on its back. “First date with Damien.”
Next came half a page of diary, where the ink was blurred by tears. “Today, he complimented the lunch I packed for him!”
At the bottom lay a folded square of chocolate wrapper that had dried blood on its edges. It was the piece of chocolate he had tossed to her when she was 14.
Outside, the storming rain still pounded against the windows. Damien grabbed his phone and started dialing Juliet’s number like mad.
This time, a different reply came from the cold, mechanical voice on the other end of the line. “Sorry, the number you’ve dialed is currently switched off…’
Henry’s expression was indifferent and cold as he eyed Damien kneeling on the floor.
“Henry… where’s Julie? When did she leave?” Damien’s voice was hoarse and weak as if it might vanish completely with the next breath.
“Now, you’re looking for her, huh?”
Henry stepped over the crumpled pages at his feet and continued, “When she scraped her
knees bringing you tea for your hangover in the middle of the night, you were busy picking out a wedding dress for Callie. When she made you a birthday cake while burning up with a fever, you were out shopping with Callie…”
Each word struck Damien like a dagger coated in venom.
Closing his eyes, Henry softly murmured, “She kept that chocolate for eight years. Do you think you have the right to touch it now?”
“I…” Damien’s lips parted weakly. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled to form a complete sentence.
In his hand, the chocolate wrapper burned, and the image from the alley when she was 14 appeared in his mind. Juliet was clutching the chocolate pieces he had tossed, blood from her scraped knee staining her school skirt.
And now, that old brownish mark on the wrapper was a blaring sight that burned his eyes.
Damien fell silent as he held onto the items. “I’m sorry…”
Henry took a deep breath and fought off the fury in his chest. “Damien, I don’t know what triggered you tonight, but you should be at the hospital with your wife right now-not acting like a madman in my house.
“That apology shouldn’t be for me, and it shouldn’t come now.”
It was too late.
Damien clung to the door that Henry tried to swing in his face and pried it open once more. Rain and sweat dripped from his hair as he pleaded, “A-At least tell me her flight number. Please, I’m begging you, Henry.”
Henry answered with a brutal kick and sent Damien sprawling into the muddy puddle in a wretched mess. His eyes were cold as he announced, “Quit dreaming. Julie’s gone, and don’t even think about seeing her again for the rest of your life.”
As the rain slowly died down, the first light of dawn broke over the horizon.
Damien stared down at the sketch in his hand, which showed him standing by a basketball court and wiping sweat from his brow. The date scribbled in the right bottom corner marked the week before Juliet’s 22nd birthday. It was the last time she had ever called his name with a
smile.
