Behind His Eyes: Truth
Page 23
Tony lay with her for a while, drifting in and out of dreams. Maybe Claire was right. Maybe this wasn’t real. As he held her sleeping body, he wondered if reality could truly be this amazing.
When he finally eased himself from her bed, he saw her black panties upon the floor. Picking them up, he fingered the delicate lace. He’d never imagined underwear could be so erotic. Inhaling her scent, he eased the panties back over her feet and up her sexy legs. Seeing her asleep, wearing only underwear made him hard again.
Tony shook his head. He was getting too old for this multiple-orgasm sex. Nevertheless, he couldn’t deny his obvious arousal. He covered the panties with her soft pants. Surprisingly, she didn’t wake as he dressed her. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy seeing her naked. It was that he needed to leave. If he didn’t cover her, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk through the door.
Once they were both clothed, she was sleeping soundly, and he was ready to leave. He brushed her lips with a light kiss. Claire didn’t wake, but he watched as the tips of her lips turned upward, and she nuzzled into her pillow.
Perhaps this was wrong on many levels, yet as he walked from her room toward the door, wrong wasn’t the feeling he entertained. They were both consenting adults. They could pretend it wasn’t real, that their feelings didn’t truly exist, but he would know and she would know that it was real and despite everything, they were and always would be one.
Tony made sure the door to her condominium was locked.
The wise man doesn’t give the right answers, he poses the right questions.
—Claude Levi-Strauss
Tony hadn’t called home during his trip to California. He wasn’t sure what to say. Had he called the night he and Claire dined, he would have laid Catherine out. Each moment his thoughts lingered on Claire’s prison delivery, the darker the consuming crimson became. He didn’t want to believe that it was Catherine, but yet, it had to be her. There truly were no other options.
While his mind searched for answers on the night of his and Claire’s dinner¸ sleep remained an elusive goal. Tony utilized his insomnia by messaging his contact at the Iowa State Penitentiary. Surprisingly, he received a quick response. Over the course of Claire’s incarceration, she received multiple packages and letters. The senders of those mailings were constantly either a J. Findes—someone with a Chicago P.O. Box number—or Emily Vandersol. Initially, Emily’s packages came from New York; later, they came from Indiana. One package, in October of 2012, had Emily’s return address, handwritten—as opposed to her customary label—and the scanned image showed a Cedar Rapids postmark. Tony had no idea who J. Findes was, although he wanted to find out, but he believed the one from Cedar Rapids was the delivery that Claire mentioned. His mind went into overdrive, questioning the contents and intent.
Catherine had been so concerned when Tony altered the course of their plan. She warned that bringing Claire onto the estate was dangerous. She mentioned more than once that Claire was a liability they shouldn’t have taken on, yet over time, she came around. Tony mused, it was Claire. She did that to people—penetrated shields and infiltrated thoughts. When Claire failed her final test, Catherine never gloated. On the contrary, she was as disappointed as Tony and was genuinely concerned about Tony’s condition. Her actions to rid the estate of Claire’s things were solely meant as an aid to help Tony deal with the situation.
He didn’t agree, but he understood.
Then, when Tony learned from Claire that the box she received contained pictures, articles, and a letter explaining his change of name and association with his grandfather and parents, anger intermixed with curiosity.
Why would Catherine send Claire information about his past? What did she hope to accomplish? Had she confessed her role? What did she expect Claire to do with that knowledge locked away for her entire sentence of seven years?
Not only did Tony want answers, he wanted to see Catherine’s reaction when he confronted her. If he’d called ahead, she would’ve been prepared for his arrival. Would she even suspect that Claire would share her knowledge? Tony intended to tread lightly.
After spending part of Saturday afternoon in California, it was quite late when Tony returned home to the estate. Once he did, he went straight to his suite, more specifically, to his closet and his box of memories. Claire had said there were pictures—he wondered if they came from his stash. As he removed the box, he marveled that this was the second time in as many months that he’d rummaged through these mementos. Other than to remove Claire’s grandmother’s necklace, Tony hadn’t touched any of its contents the entire time she was under his roof. After she failed her test, he didn’t want to look at it or remember any of it. He never planned to dispose of this record of his acquisition, but for the longest time he couldn’t bear to view it.
Setting the box near his sofa, Tony began to pull from its depths. Everything appeared in order as he removed file after file, each containing private investigative reports. There was a time when it seemed safer for his updates to be transmitted on paper, with photos that were glossy or matte. Paper clips connected envelopes to folders; each contained various numbers of pictures. When he turned over any given picture, Tony saw his own writing, as he’d painstakingly scribbled names on each back. With every envelope, Tony reminisced. Before long, he was lost in the past—Claire’s past.
Tony hadn’t taken the photos at her parents’ funeral, although he’d been there. He did take the ones at Emily’s wedding. Smirking, he remembered how easy it was to work his way into the church and reception. No one questioned a man taking photographs at a wedding—everyone was doing it. The majority of the photos and reports in the box were mostly taken by private investigators; nonetheless, Tony was the one to label subjects.
When he finally eased himself from her bed, he saw her black panties upon the floor. Picking them up, he fingered the delicate lace. He’d never imagined underwear could be so erotic. Inhaling her scent, he eased the panties back over her feet and up her sexy legs. Seeing her asleep, wearing only underwear made him hard again.
Tony shook his head. He was getting too old for this multiple-orgasm sex. Nevertheless, he couldn’t deny his obvious arousal. He covered the panties with her soft pants. Surprisingly, she didn’t wake as he dressed her. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy seeing her naked. It was that he needed to leave. If he didn’t cover her, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk through the door.
Once they were both clothed, she was sleeping soundly, and he was ready to leave. He brushed her lips with a light kiss. Claire didn’t wake, but he watched as the tips of her lips turned upward, and she nuzzled into her pillow.
Perhaps this was wrong on many levels, yet as he walked from her room toward the door, wrong wasn’t the feeling he entertained. They were both consenting adults. They could pretend it wasn’t real, that their feelings didn’t truly exist, but he would know and she would know that it was real and despite everything, they were and always would be one.
Tony made sure the door to her condominium was locked.
The wise man doesn’t give the right answers, he poses the right questions.
—Claude Levi-Strauss
Tony hadn’t called home during his trip to California. He wasn’t sure what to say. Had he called the night he and Claire dined, he would have laid Catherine out. Each moment his thoughts lingered on Claire’s prison delivery, the darker the consuming crimson became. He didn’t want to believe that it was Catherine, but yet, it had to be her. There truly were no other options.
While his mind searched for answers on the night of his and Claire’s dinner¸ sleep remained an elusive goal. Tony utilized his insomnia by messaging his contact at the Iowa State Penitentiary. Surprisingly, he received a quick response. Over the course of Claire’s incarceration, she received multiple packages and letters. The senders of those mailings were constantly either a J. Findes—someone with a Chicago P.O. Box number—or Emily Vandersol. Initially, Emily’s packages came from New York; later, they came from Indiana. One package, in October of 2012, had Emily’s return address, handwritten—as opposed to her customary label—and the scanned image showed a Cedar Rapids postmark. Tony had no idea who J. Findes was, although he wanted to find out, but he believed the one from Cedar Rapids was the delivery that Claire mentioned. His mind went into overdrive, questioning the contents and intent.
Catherine had been so concerned when Tony altered the course of their plan. She warned that bringing Claire onto the estate was dangerous. She mentioned more than once that Claire was a liability they shouldn’t have taken on, yet over time, she came around. Tony mused, it was Claire. She did that to people—penetrated shields and infiltrated thoughts. When Claire failed her final test, Catherine never gloated. On the contrary, she was as disappointed as Tony and was genuinely concerned about Tony’s condition. Her actions to rid the estate of Claire’s things were solely meant as an aid to help Tony deal with the situation.
He didn’t agree, but he understood.
Then, when Tony learned from Claire that the box she received contained pictures, articles, and a letter explaining his change of name and association with his grandfather and parents, anger intermixed with curiosity.
Why would Catherine send Claire information about his past? What did she hope to accomplish? Had she confessed her role? What did she expect Claire to do with that knowledge locked away for her entire sentence of seven years?
Not only did Tony want answers, he wanted to see Catherine’s reaction when he confronted her. If he’d called ahead, she would’ve been prepared for his arrival. Would she even suspect that Claire would share her knowledge? Tony intended to tread lightly.
After spending part of Saturday afternoon in California, it was quite late when Tony returned home to the estate. Once he did, he went straight to his suite, more specifically, to his closet and his box of memories. Claire had said there were pictures—he wondered if they came from his stash. As he removed the box, he marveled that this was the second time in as many months that he’d rummaged through these mementos. Other than to remove Claire’s grandmother’s necklace, Tony hadn’t touched any of its contents the entire time she was under his roof. After she failed her test, he didn’t want to look at it or remember any of it. He never planned to dispose of this record of his acquisition, but for the longest time he couldn’t bear to view it.
Setting the box near his sofa, Tony began to pull from its depths. Everything appeared in order as he removed file after file, each containing private investigative reports. There was a time when it seemed safer for his updates to be transmitted on paper, with photos that were glossy or matte. Paper clips connected envelopes to folders; each contained various numbers of pictures. When he turned over any given picture, Tony saw his own writing, as he’d painstakingly scribbled names on each back. With every envelope, Tony reminisced. Before long, he was lost in the past—Claire’s past.
Tony hadn’t taken the photos at her parents’ funeral, although he’d been there. He did take the ones at Emily’s wedding. Smirking, he remembered how easy it was to work his way into the church and reception. No one questioned a man taking photographs at a wedding—everyone was doing it. The majority of the photos and reports in the box were mostly taken by private investigators; nonetheless, Tony was the one to label subjects.
