Broken Prince: A New Adult Romance Novel Page 13
The sun pulled west along with us. As we flew on, Louis pulled down a blind to shade our eyes, but after a couple of hours had passed the sun began to drop slowly beneath the horizon. The color of the sky changed to periwinkle and the clouds caught orange and red, burning brightly against the sky. It was like hovering inside of a glass prism that was slowly turning. The Atlantic beneath us was as dark as ink, with only a few flecks of white where the wind whipped the waves into frothy crests.
We followed the sun to New York. I only had eight minutes to make it from one airport terminal to another on the opposite side of the airport. It would be close.
Louis escorted me inside and through customs to speed things along, and he shook my hand at the gate.
"Goodbye, Brynn," he said. "Good luck with everything."
"Thanks," I said, swallowing hard.
I raced through the terminal, bypassing the moving walkways overstuffed with people. Nearly slamming into a businessman texting on his phone, I turned the corner and ran to the other terminal's entrance. Sweat tickled my neck and my leg muscles burned, reminding me that I needed to work out more. Giant screens with arrival and departure times rotated through the flight numbers, but I had no time to stop and look.
From the overhead speakers came a last call for boarding just as I skipped forward into the gate. I showed the airline worker my ticket and glanced up at the television screen in the terminal waiting area while she checked my passport. Then I looked again. The screen showed the Budapest skyline.
"This is an American news station, right?" I asked. The airline worker looked up from my ticket.
"Yes," she said, confusedly.
The news reporter came on screen and began to speak.
"In Budapest, Hungary, a suspected serial killer has been caught."
I moved closer to the screen, riveted.
"Miss? Miss, this is the last boarding call." The airline worker was talking to me, but my attention was elsewhere.
"The suspect allegedly killed eleven women over the past two decades, but Budapest officials say that the details of the murders were never revealed to the public due to the ongoing investigation."
The footage was of a man in handcuffs being escorted out of a worn-down apartment complex. I stepped closer to see his face. He was older than I had imagined, his short hair specked with gray, his face wrinkled. His dark eyes turned toward the camera, and for a moment it seemed as though he was staring straight at me, through the screen, across the world. There was no emotion in those eyes, only a stark coldness that chilled me to the heart. I looked down at his hands handcuffed in front of him. Something was wrong with them. They were dark, too dark.
I strained to hear the Hungarian words underneath the English of the reporter who was translating, but they were speaking too quickly for me to understand.
"Miss? The plane is leaving. You have to board now."
I squinted. There was something wrong with the screen, maybe. The light, or—
"Under pressure from the Assembly after a recent killing, Budapest police redoubled their efforts to find the suspect—"
"Miss!"
"I'm coming," I said, my eyes still glued to the screen. The man was being put into the police car. As he held onto the car door for support, I realized what was wrong, why his hands seemed so dark. His fingers left streaks on the car door that were unmistakable. I was hypnotized by the red.
His hands were covered in blood.
On the television, the policeman put his hand on the suspect's head and guided him into the car. From inside the car window, the murderer looked out toward the news camera. His eyes were still looking at me, or at someone else, perhaps at all of the survivors left behind, the families he had left in ruins. His face was pressed to the window and he was still looking out as the police car drove away from the apartment. The screen switched back to the news reporter.
"Miss!"
I wrenched my attention away from the television and took the boarding pass back from the airline worker. The jetway loomed in front of me, the tunnel bending down and to the left. I wanted to watch the man who was responsible for so much of my life's pain, but no wolf would keep me from going home to see my grandmother. I stepped forward into the maw, leaving my mother's killer behind me for good.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Eliot
"A person starts to live when he can live outside himself."
Einstein
It had started to storm while the board members discussed the mathematical proof, and Eliot cursed the rain as he drove to the airport, his fingers clenched white on the steering wheel. He'd called Otto's pilots, but they hadn't answered. Two hours. That should be plenty of time. He could talk with Brynn and still make it back in time for the board's questions.
Taking a trick he'd learned from Marta, he left his car running next to the curb, ignoring the airport worker who yelled at him as he ran around the side of the terminal to the private tarmac where Otto's jet was kept. He pulled his jacket over his head and ran forward, looking toward the hangar where the airplane was normally kept. The plane wasn't anywhere to be seen outside of the hangar.
The handle of the hangar door was slippery, but Eliot managed to open the aluminum side. He switched on the light.
Empty.
He went back outside and looked down the runway. The sky was dark, and as he watched, he saw Otto's jet taxi down to the other side of the airfield.
He ran.
Eliot was no athlete, and he was dressed for the board presentation. His dress shoes slid on the slick tarmac and he almost fell more than once as he ran along the airport terminal toward the small jet preparing to take off. He could catch it. He knew he could catch it.
Rain dripped down his hair, down the back of his neck. He abandoned the idea of trying to keep dry, his jacket flapping damply in his hand as he pumped his legs. He stepped in a puddle and almost twisted his ankle.
"Sir! Sir, you can't go there!"
The security officer yelled after him as he ran past, but Eliot ignored him. Otto's jet was turning, the engines firing up to take off. Eliot's lungs burned as he ran, but the plane was still a few hundred feet away. He yelled, waving his arms.
"Wait!" Eliot cried, running forward. "Wait! Brynn! Brynn—"
His words were cut off sharply as he was tackled from behind. He fell forward, bracing himself with his hands, and rolled, the security officer still on top of him. He gasped for air.
"Stop!" the officer said. "Stay down! Hands on the ground!"
"That's my brother's plane," Eliot yelled, pushing the officer's hands off of him. "Otto Herceg."
"Herceg?" The officer's face dawned with recognition as he looked at Eliot's face, taking in the scar, the dark hair. "Dr. Eliot Herceg?"
Eliot extricated himself from the man's clutched hand.
"I have to go," he said, pulling himself up from the ground. "I have to—"
But as he turned to look, the plane was already rolling down the runway. He took a step forward and watched as it gathered speed and took off, the lights of the jet blinking into the cloudy sky.
Brynn was gone.
Brynn, the only one whom he had been able to trust. Brynn, who had been so sweet and so innocent, and so damaged. She had helped him heal, but now all of his wounds had torn back open. He stood there, his heart wracked with longing. If he had only been able to hold her, to tell her how much he loved her and needed her. If only he had realized how much she meant to him. If only...
"Shall I radio the plane for you?" the security officer asked? "Dr. Herceg? If you'd like to come to the radio control tower—"
"No," Eliot said. His eyes tracked the motion of the small jet as it rose and was swallowed by the clouds. "No, it's too late now."
The rush of adrenaline that had sustained him all the way here was gone, sapped by his failure. The rain fell on his head, but he did not feel it anymore.
He returned to his car and did not even reply to the guard who was
writing him a ticket for parking on the curb. He drove off, the man yelling and waving his citation pad in the air. Eliot did not care. He drove back to the Academy, his head replaying all of the moments he'd shared with Brynn.
The day they'd gone for a walk to explore the forest, and found the dead deer. She'd been so sad, her eyes filled with hurt.
The morning he'd found her in the alleyway holding a scrawny half-dead kitten. He'd taken the damn thing for her, saved its life.
The night she'd kissed him and taken his hands, placed them on her body. The desire in her eyes.
And most of all he remembered the moment when he had first seen her, an insecure student standing in the snow, holding out a cup of coffee for him, a stranger. She was so kind. So sweet. He didn't deserve her.
Walking up the steps of the Academy, he ignored the stares of the students. His suit was dripping wet, clinging to his body. His expensive leather shoes squished wetly under his feet. He walked down the hallway and opened the door to the room where the board was meeting.
The men of the board turned to look at him, falling silent where they sat. Eliot came forward and picked up the papers that he had left on the table. He sorted through them to put them back in his briefcase.
"Dr. Herceg," the head of the board said, "Are you ready to explain your results now?"
"No," Eliot said.
There was a pause during which the only sound that could be heard was the shuffle of papers in Eliot's hands.
"Excuse me?" the head of the board said.
"No," Eliot repeated. "I'm not ready to explain."
"But...but..." the gray-haired man sputtered. "Your presentation isn't concluded."
"It is," Eliot said.
It was all over. His reputation didn't matter now. Nothing mattered here, in this place with its marble hallways and learned men walking the halls. Brynn was gone, and the absence seared through his heart, sealing it against any other pain.
"If you don't finish your presentation here," the head of the board was saying, "then we can't move forward. We have no choice but to deny your reinstatement."
Eliot nodded and put the last of the papers back into the case. His work was finished. He had almost completed the entire proof, but he could not bring himself to care.
"Dr. Herceg?"
"Yes?" Eliot asked, not looking up.
"Did you hear me? You will not be reinstated. Your professorship will be over." The man slapped his hand down on the oak table in front of him, as if to emphasize the finality of Eliot's decision.
"Yes," Eliot said. He closed the clasps on his briefcase, the brass locks clicking shut over his work. He turned to go.
"Wait!" the head of the board cried out. Eliot paused at the doorway, his face set in a neutral expression.
"We have some questions," another professor said. "About your work."
Eliot looked across the room sadly, at all of the suits lined up in front of the elegant table. He would not be one of them, not ever. That was not his place, not anymore. He'd tried to make it work, for himself and for Brynn, and he had failed. He had failed her, he had failed himself. No amount of success in mathematics would alleviate that. He swallowed.
"My work is finished," Eliot said. "I have no more answers."
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Brynn
“In rivers, the water that you touch is the last of what has passed and the first of that which comes; so with present time.”
Leonardo da Vinci
America did not look so different from Hungary when you were miles above, flying in the air. The mountains loomed with their white tips above the countryside. The farmland passed below, patched in different shades of green and yellow.
My nose pressed to the window, I thought about the killer and what he had done to my mother, and to the other women he'd murdered. I thought about my Nagyi, sitting in the hospital, sick and dying. I thought about Eliot and whether I would ever see him again, or Lucky.
I had taken a backpack with only the things I'd brought to Hungary. The book of myths and legends that I'd kept with me since I was a child, since my mother had read to me. The small key Eliot had given me, the one that unlocked the music room back in California with his piano. The jacket on my back was one Marta had bought me, but I felt bad taking anything else that had been paid for with Eliot's money. All of the beautiful dresses and shawls, the ridiculously expensive shoes, all the jewelry, would have to be returned.
I thought then of the necklace Eliot had bought for me, which I had lost last year. I'd told Nagyi all about it, told her that I would show her when I came home. Now I was coming home with nothing to show. No academic paper, no degree—I didn't know if Eliot would even vouch for me at the university, after all I had put him through.
These were the thoughts going through my mind as we landed in California. The air was dry and warm as I waited on the curb for a taxi, anxious to get to the hospital. It was strange to hear English being spoken all around me after spending so much time in Hungary. The words and sentences intruded in my thoughts. When I walked down the streets of Budapest, I had floated amid clouds of foreign phrases, letting them pass over me. Back home in California, I could not escape the spoken words of strangers.
The taxi driver taking me to the hospital tried to make small talk, but I wasn't interested. I had one goal: to see my grandmother. I hadn't gotten a wink of sleep in the plane, and I was beginning to nod off against the window. I blinked hard to keep myself awake and turned my phone on. There were four voice messages from Eliot. I turned off my phone and leaned my head back against the window, looking up at the starless California night sky. There was nothing more that I needed to say to him. Our relationship had been wonderful and I was grateful to him for everything he'd done for me, but I was no princess. And I never could be.
At the hospital, I pleaded with the nurse to let me in.
"Visiting hours are over," she said.
"I need to see her," I said, my voice cracking with tiredness and sorrow. "Please. I came all the way from Budapest."
"Let me check," the nurse said, her eyes softening at my desperate tone. "I don't want to let you in if the doctor says not to wake her."
"I won't wake her," I said. "I promise. Please."
"What's the last name?"
"Tomlin," I said, hope rising in my chest.
The nurse pulled out my Nagyi's sheet and scanned the lines. Her eyes widened a bit, and she pressed her lips together.
"Alright," she said, her tone much more sympathetic. "She's very weak, but it looks like she's been in and out of sleep all day. It shouldn't be too bad if you wake her for a while. Just don't startle her when you do. And try to keep the noise down."
"I will," I said.
"She's already had two minor strokes since she's been admitted, so if anything happens, just press the call button and I'll be right there."
"She's not... she's not going to be okay, is she?" I had to ask the question even though I was afraid of the answer.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," the nurse said. "At her age, there's not much we can do. I'm so sorry."
"Okay," I said, even though it wasn't okay, even though nothing was okay, nothing would be okay ever again. "Where is she?"
"She's in room 206, down the hallway to the left," the nurse said.
I forced myself to walk, not run. The hall seemed interminably long. The fluorescent lights on overhead gave the place an alien, timeless quality; it could have been night or day. But Nagyi's room was dark except for a small lamp on her bedroom table, and the blinking lights of the machines around her. I drew a breath as I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me.
My Nagyi had always been so strong. Living on her own, she'd spent her time gardening and cooking. She'd watched over me in my childhood, taking the place of my mother after my father abandoned me, and I always thought of her as a marble pillar, standing strong against any force of nature. She protected me, after all. She could do anything.
I pulled a chair over next to the bed and sat down. Her hospital gown had been crumpled up and her sheet had fallen down, exposing her side. I tucked the sheet back in and took her hand gently, trying not to touch the needles. Her skin was as thin as tissue, her veins blue. Her long white hair lay tangled and mussed on her pillow. She was old.
"Nagyi," I whispered. "I'm here."
I squeezed her hand slightly and she shifted on the bed. Her eyelids fluttered.
"Nagyi?"
"Brynn!" Her voice was soft, but the excitement in it was palpable. Her eyes opened wide. I scooted forward in my chair and smiled, although the way she looked made me want to cry. "Brynn, you're back in America. America..." Her words trailed off and she looked a bit confused.
"Yep," I said. "I'm back here for good. How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," she said, her smile stretching thinly on her face. "They are all very nice here. I do get a bit dizzy."
"What happened?" I asked, trying not to show my worry. "Did you not get your medicine?"
"I did," Nagyi said, patting my hand. "Thank you so much. You and your prince, both. What was his name again?" She frowned.
"Eliot," I said. "But your stroke—"
"Sometimes there is good luck," Nagyi said. "Sometimes bad luck. This was bad luck."
We sat in silence. What was going through my Nagyi's thoughts as she lay there in the bed? Surely she knew that she was not going to leave this hospital. But she lay smiling, peaceful. Her breath rasped through the tubes.
"How is Eliot?" Nagyi said finally.
"He's...he's doing well," I said. "He finally finished the proof we were working on."
"Your mathematics!" Nagyi said. "You finished it!"
"Yes."