Rachel From the Edge Pt. 09

Rachel From the Edge Pt. 09

by G. Lawrence

As Rachel recovers from her illness, everything changes

The Benson family is just beginning to realize that their association with Rachel is going to alter their lives in ways they can't imagine.

* * * * * *

Chapter Ten

NOT SO MEEK

"Rory, what's wrong? What's going on?" Pamela asked over the phone. The week since the funeral had been busy, her inbox filled with messages.

"I shouldn't talk about it," Rory said, on her shift at the medical center.

"I don't give a damn what you shouldn't do. I just got a call from Big Bob. It sounds bad."

"He shouldn't have said anything."

"Well, he did. What's happened to Rachel?"

Pamela heard an uncomfortable pause.

"Rachel melted down during her session with Dr. Belcher this morning. She started crying, and then stopped talking. Mr. McLane had to drive her home early."

"One of her hazes?"

"No, she wasn't in a haze. That's the scary part. I'm going over as soon as I can get free."

"Could it be the trauma Dr. Keller asked about? Something in her childhood that triggered her condition."

"No, it's not that."

"What is it, then?"

"Mom, it's kinda private stuff," Rory replied. "Rachel--"

"Goddamn it! Tell me what happened!" Pamela demanded.

"It's this whole thing about Rachel thinking she killed Dad. I've talked with her, and so did Johnny, but it hasn't helped. I know Rachel read that trash on the internet, but apparently someone confronted her about it. To her face. Accused her of fucking Dad to death for his money. Who would do that?"

Now it was Pamela who paused, remembering that day in Rachel's apartment.

"I'll talk to you later," Pamela said. "Mrs. Lincoln, have Sam bring up my car."

Forty-five minutes later, the limousine passed through the iron gate at Canby Place. Pamela found Bob McLane in the caretaker's cottage doing his consulting work.

"She doesn't want anyone in the house," McLane said.

"Martha?"

"Visiting her daughter in Laughlin."

"Rachel's alone?"

"Mrs. Benson, that little girl is always alone."

Pamela used her own key to get in the front door, going to the kitchen first. She knew Rachel liked to cook when under stress. The kitchen was empty, and the huge house was eerily quiet. She headed for the butler's quarters, but stopped outside the door to Daniel's bedroom. What she saw scared her.

"Rachel? Rachel, sweetheart?"

Rachel was lying on the floor, curled in a ball. She had stripped off her gray gym clothes, lying naked. She wasn't moving. Pamela briefly feared she might be dead. One of Daniel's old golf shirts was clutched against her chest. The engagement ring lay on the carpet, as if tossed away in a moment of despair.

"Rachel?"

Pamela approached slowly, finding Rachel awake. Her cheeks were wet with tears. Pamela went into the bathroom, finding a towel, and knelt to cover her. She was disappointed by this setback. It appeared Rachel was finally putting on weight. Her white skin was soft to the touch. Pamela had not known Rachel when she was healthy but sensed how sexy the young woman could be. It surprised her that Daniel had waited a year to get her into bed.

"Rory told me what happened. How can I help?" Pamela softly asked.

Rachel remained silent. Pamela sat on the floor next to her.

"Rachel, you need to speak to me," Pamela urged.

When Rachel didn't respond, Pamela wasn't sure what to do. She started to reach out, but Rachel pulled back.

"You've got to talk to me," Pamela insisted.

"I'm okay," Rachel finally said.

"You're not okay, and I know why. This is all my fault, isn't it?"

"It's not your fault."

"After finding out about the will, I stormed into your apartment and accused you of killing Daniel. I was lashing out that day, angry at the world, and I hurt you instead. I am so sorry. So, so sorry."

"I'm a grown woman. I don't make excuses."

"And you're a strong woman. But even a strong woman can be hurt by a thoughtless act. No one knows that better than me."

"Thank you for being nice, but you've done enough."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll sign Mr. Mendelson's paper for you and go away. I won't cause any more trouble."

"You aren't trouble."

Rachel rolled over facing the bed, still holding Daniel's old shirt. Pamela heard her crying. Occasionally she would cough. The pneumonia was still a problem.

"You can't just go away," Pamela said, creeping closer.

But Rachel wasn't responding. Her breathing grew shallow, coming in short gasps.

"Goddamn it, you need to talk. Don't shut me out."

"You should leave now," Rachel said.

"I'm not leaving."

"The new matrix probably wasn't going to work anyway. There's a smart kid at Cal Tech. Vijay Ramesh. He'll do the job better."

"I don't give a damn about any matrix. I don't give a damn about any of that. I care that I hurt you."

"You were only telling the truth."

"No! No, goddamn it!" Pamela shouted. She rolled Rachel back, forced her into a sitting position, and took hold of her arms. The towel slid off her, leaving only the crumpled shirt for cover. Pamela tried not to notice.

"Let's be clear here. You are going to listen to me. Listen to me. Are we communicating?"

Rachel stared in confusion. And fear. Pamela brought the towel back up, giving it a tuck. She needed to think. Appealing to Rachel's self-interests wouldn't work. She had too little regard for herself. But Rachel cared about others. Pamela knew what she needed to say.

"I practiced law for ten years before retiring to raise my family. I know the power of words. I know how destructive they can be. It was my profession. And I won't be able to live with myself knowing how badly my words hurt you. Please, you must help me. You must."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You need to help me make this right. You're very bright. If you don't know all about psychology, you could learn it in two minutes. This idea that you killed Daniel was planted in your head. Planted by me, and planted by some goddamn motherfucking assholes who deserve to rot in everlasting hell. So, look at me, and listen, and believe. What happened to Daniel wasn't your fault. It was never your fault. It's a delusion."

"But--"

"It's a delusion," Pamela said, gripping her arms harder.

Rachel gazed deeply into Pamela's eyes, feeling her strength. And determination. The tears slowed to a trickle.

"Are you sure?" Rachel asked.

"Yes, honey. I'm positive."

"Are--?"

"I wouldn't lie to you. I will never lie to you."

"It's not that," Rachel said.

"Rachel, you're burying yourself in the past. What about the future?"

"The future?"

"Yes. Losing Daniel is hard, but you must have had dreams before meeting him. And you can have dreams again. Please, let me help you."

Pamela noticed the shirt Rachel was holding still had Daniel's scent on it. She found the ring and put it on Rachel's finger, holding her hands. Rachel started crying again, but not in grief. She wiped her nose with her sleeve.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?" Rachel asked.

"I'm here with my friend. You'll be all right now, won't you? Do you need your medication? Should I call Dr. Belcher?"

"No, I think I'm okay," Rachel answered. "I should get dressed."

"Don't bother on my account," Pamela said with a gentle smirk. "Can I stay for dinner?"

"Do you like meatloaf?"

* * * * * *

"Rory, this is very sudden. Maybe I shouldn't be doing this?" Rachel said, seeing cardboard boxes stacked near the door.

"It won't be much longer. Once Sam finds a place to park, we'll get all this junk downstairs," Rory said. "Everything you've got will probably fit in the trunk of the limo."

"It's not that. What happens when I need to come back?"

"Why would you want to come back here? You have Canby Place now."

"Not for very long. After that, I'll be on the street again."

"Mom! Rachel's being Rachel again," Rory called out.

Pamela entered the bedroom, her light brown hair covered with a blue silk scarf. She wore rubber gloves that she removed with a sigh.

"I'm saying this for the last time. I don't mind packing a few things in your kitchen, but I'm not touching that bathroom."

"Not the bathroom, Mom. Rachel is thinking of keeping the apartment."

"Second thoughts again? Young lady, do you realize I am a billionaire in my own right? With a corporation to run? Yet here I am, helping you pack because you don't want strangers touching your things. Which, quite frankly, I perfectly understand. But it's time to let this place go."

Rachel climbed on the narrow bed, scooting back against the headboard.

"I don't want to be trouble," she said.

"Honey, you aren't trouble. No one is going to take Canby Place away from you. Isn't that right, Ro?"

"Mom's right. Dad wanted you to have it. We do, too," Rory said.

"It's so big," Rachel said.

"Well, yes. Canby Place is twelve acres, and here you have about four hundred square feet. It is bigger," Pamela said.

Rory checked the old dresser to make sure the drawers were empty, then looked in the closet, finding a large brown bag stashed in the corner.

"Almost overlooked this," she said, dumping the contents on the bed. "Oh, my. I'm sorry."

The contents were an old bedcover and four lengths of cloth rope. Rachel's eyes went wide with embarrassment. She covered her face with her hands.

"Don't be distressed, dear. We know about the games. It's nothing," Pamela said, a bit red-faced herself.

"Mom, look. This quilt has dried blood on it. A lot of blood," Rory said, showing the splotches. She spread the cover out to see better, scraping at the stains with a fingernail.

"What does this mean? Daniel was hitting you?" Pamela said.

"It's not what you think," Rachel replied.

"I think this looks bad," Rory said.

"Ro, it's not my blood. It's your father's blood," Rachel explained.

That had them confused.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Rory asked, hoping she did.

"It's not a fun story," Rachel quietly declined.

"Go ahead and tell us anyway. Don't keep everything locked away," Pamela urged. "Dr. Keller says--"

"I know all about what Dr. Keller thinks," Rachel interrupted. She reached for the bedcover, studied the stains with a sad frown, and clutched it to her chest. Then she picked up a length of rope and ran it through her fingers.

"I'm not so meek as you think," Rachel confessed.

"Well, yeah. Looking at this blood, we could guess that," Rory said.

"A month before I ran away from home, my father was on one of his Saturday night binges. He'd punched me a couple of times and got blood on my favorite jacket. It wasn't a big deal. I knew the blood would wash out. But then he tore it, and that got me so mad. I picked up his vodka bottle and bashed him on the head. It cut his ear. My mother demanded I apologize, but I refused. He beat me pretty bad that night."

"How old were you?" Pamela asked.

"Thirteen," Rachel remembered.

"My God, I had no idea," Pamela whispered, covering her mouth.

"That wasn't the worst of it," Rachel reluctantly continued. "Two years later, when I was in foster care, Lucius Wilkins came home on leave from the army, making me his girlfriend again. He dragged me out to the tool shed and tried to ... He tried to put his thing in a part of my body where it didn't belong. I wiggled free, grabbed a claw hammer, and smashed his face. I smashed him really hard. Someone said I broke his jaw. I woke up two days later in a hospital."

Rory and Pamela gasped. Though there was often a fierceness in Rachel's demeanor, it was difficult to imagine her capable of such violence.

"You sound very calm about all this," Rory said. "Have you spoken to Dr. Belcher about what happened?"

"Why would I do that?" Rachel replied.

"Did we pack the wine already?" Pamela asked.

"Not yet," Rory said.

"Fetch me some, dear. And three glasses," Pamela requested.

Rory raced off, returning with a nice cabernet. Something Daniel had probably bought. The first glass went to Rachel, whose hands were shaking. Pamela scooted closer to calm her down.

"Daniel had played his games with me a few times at Canby Place," Rachel continued. "Always on the weekends. Being tied up by a large, lustful man is an acquired taste. I wasn't comfortable with it. But he kept everything simple. Just trying to make it fun. Then we came back here after work. It was a Tuesday. He ambushed me in the shower, which bothered me. My father had done that, the night I ran away from home forever."

"Your father?" Rory asked.

"I don't want to talk about that," Rachel coldly replied.

"You don't have to," Pamela assured her, taking her hand. Rachel calmed down, sipping her wine.

"Daniel tied my hands to the headboard, and my feet to the bedframe, and put a gag in my mouth. We'd never done any games here. Not in my apartment. I didn't like the idea, but he wasn't paying attention.

"Once I was helpless, he reached in his coat pocket and took out these metal clips. Made of silver. Clamps. He put one on one of my nipples, and then one on the other nipple. It really hurt, and I was trying to fight back. He hung a little chain between the clamps, tugged on it, and took out another clamp. He was going to put it lower on my body. Between my legs."

Rachel finished her wine quickly, short of breath. Her arms were crossed over her chest. Rory and Pamela were silent.

"I managed to yank one of the ropes on the bedframe free, raised my leg up, and kicked him in the face. Kicked him as hard as I could. I didn't break his nose, but not for lack of trying. Blood spurted everywhere. On his shirt. On the bed cover. On me. I tried to kick him again. I wasn't going to let him put his slave toys on me. I will never be anyone's slave."

Rachel was winding the rope around her hand so tightly that her fingers were turning red. Pamela made her stop.

"Daniel went in the bathroom. I heard water running in the sink. I closed my eyes. I was sure he was going to beat me the moment he came back. Probably bad. I fought to get my hands free, but the knots were too tight. My other leg wouldn't come loose. The gag wouldn't come out of my mouth. I was really scared, but when I heard him coming back, I got ready to kick him again."

Rory crawled up against the headboard to wrap her arms around Rachel's shoulders, visualizing the scene. Her father was a big man, and in such a small bedroom, he would have looked like a giant.

"Daniel had a wet washrag pressed over his nose. He avoided my foot, untied my other leg, and untied my hands. I rolled off the bed looking for a weapon, and found my parasol. There's nothing like a good parasol when the chips are down. I crawled back into the corner, yanked the gag out of my mouth, and waited for him to come after me. He looked at me with the strangest expression, and then left my apartment. I took the clamps off my body and threw them in the trash. I assumed I'd be fired. It was very depressing."

"Did he try to fire you?" Pamela asked.

"No. I stayed in my lab that Wednesday. Mr. Mendelson came by to check on me. He brought cheeseburgers and made small talk. I assumed Daniel had told him what happened, but he didn't say anything. I missed work on Thursday. I wasn't coping well. I just laid on the couch, not even reading or watching TV. Daniel came by that afternoon, carrying a big package. He asked to come in, though he didn't wait for permission. I almost ran out, but couldn't. I really liked Daniel. I felt heartbroken. After a few minutes, he called me into the bedroom."

"You must have been terrified," Pamela said.

"Yes. But I couldn't back down. Whatever happened, whatever he decided to do to me, I wasn't going to run away. I did consider taking my baseball bat."

Rachel laughed. Her eyes were moist.

"Daniel had bought me a new quilt. From Saks. And made the bed. I didn't know where the soiled cover went until Rory found it. Daniel made me lie down, and then held me in his arms for the longest time. He whispered that he was sorry. Nothing like that ever happened again."

"You are so brave," Rory said, squeezing her.

"I don't know. Men have wanted to dominate me my whole life. I'm not very big, and not very loud. But except for one time, I've never let them own me."

"One time?" Pamela said.

"It's hard to explain," Rachel said.

"Will you tell us someday?" Rory asked.

Rachel didn't answer her question.

Chapter Eleven

BILLION DOLLAR RABBITS

Daniel Benson walked into O'Casey's Tavern just after nine o'clock, waited for the patrons to recognize him, and raised his arms in victory.

"Danny! Danny! Danny!" the after-work crowd chanted, some who knew him personally, others just by reputation. Not always the best reputation.

"Thank you, thank you," Daniel acknowledged, shaking hands and slapping backs as he shuffled across the straw-covered floor. The charismatic billionaire was tall, broad-shouldered, and powerfully built. A formidable presence.

A pre-season Dodger game showed on the big screen TVs while two dozen corporate executives enjoyed exotic cocktails and buffalo wings. Old Mickey, the ancient bartender, handed him a Manhattan.

"On the house, Danny. Congratulations," Mickey said.

"You hear that?" Daniel shouted. "The Old Mick just gave me a free drink! He'll never do that for any of you losers. Mick, set up a round for my friends! The rest of you can go screw yourselves!"

Daniel enjoyed the applause, waved again, and caught the attention of an ambitious blonde at the bar. Intriguing blue eyes and a nice rack. Maybe he would get her number later. He strolled back toward his usual booth. The rustic walls were decorated with sports photos, mostly boxing and football.

"Looks like you did it," an old girlfriend said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

Sheila Marbury was tall, well-groomed, and attractive. Her curly black hair was cut short, showing off her diamond earrings. Her charcoal gray business suit hugged all the right curves while still being professional. The blue eyes were predatory, like a panther.

"I sure did, Sheba. And those bastards never saw it coming. What will Aunt Hattie say about this?"

"She'll be sorry she let you and Pam keep M & B. When we were divvying up grandpa's spoils, it looked like the smallest fish in the barrel."

"Not so small now. This is just the beginning. Every law firm in the country is going on notice."

"That Marbury & Benson can come after them?"

"Well, we won't be going after our own clients, will we?" he slyly grinned.

They went to their booth in the corner. Oliver Mendelson was already there working on a scotch and soda. Spike Williams, former L. A. Laker turned corporate raider, was with him, as was Dr. Lucas Oakley, who owned a share of the L. A. Rams. As Daniel did. They offered congratulations.

"Everyone remember Sheila? Pam's cousin?" Daniel introduced.

"Of course. You haven't been around for a while," Williams said. "Is it Sheila or Sheba?"

"Depends how well you know me," Sheila purred.

"Sheila is a rising star at Lesterman & Stevens," Daniel said. "She doesn't have to hang out with squalid pukes like you."

"That's a tough outfit," Oakley said. "How'd you get your foot in the door?"

"It helps to own 15% of the company," Sheila said, taking a seat.

"The value of Marbury & Benson is going to double," Oakley said. "What does Pam say about all this?"

"Pam hasn't involved herself in the business since the divorce," Daniel replied. "Too many bridge games and trips to Paris."

"That's too bad. She's a smart lady," Oakley said.

"Very smart," Oliver insisted.

"Enough about my ex-wife, it's time to relax. More booze. Get food. Food! Food for the king!" Daniel demanded, waving his hand for service.

"I still don't get it," Williams said. "Steinberg was totally screwed, and then you walk in at the last minute with Cameron's overseas ledgers? The ones they said didn't exist."

"Technically, they don't. It doesn't mean they couldn't be found," Daniel said.

"Raul Dyson is no rookie to get laid out like that. How did you do it?" Oakley asked.

"Gentlemen, when law firms need evidence to win a case, they come to Marbury & Benson, and we find them that evidence. Today we found the pharaoh's tomb. And tomorrow, we'll find another one. This wasn't a fluke."

"You'll have the big dogs paying attention now. No one is ragging about that Huddleston business anymore," Williams said. "Does this have anything to do with fractal girl?"

As the guys grinned, the smile disappeared from Daniel's face. He hunched over.

"Why would you say that?" he asked.

"Come on, Danny," Oakley said. "You've been bragging about bedding this crazy girl with nutty ideas about forensic accounting, and now you pull this rabbit out of your butt?"

"A billion-dollar rabbit," Sheila said. "How much will M & B's commission be? Fifty million? Seventy-five?"

"It will be substantial," Daniel said, leaning back as more drinks arrived. "Lady and gentlemen, a toast. To capitalism, and the sleazy laws that make it work."

"Here, here," they chanted.

"Speaking of fractal girl, are you still nailing that little mouse?" Williams asked.

"How long were you chasing her? A year? A year and a half?" Oakley said. "And when you finally got her, you couldn't shut up about it. Now you never say a word."

"Is she still in your ropes?" Sheila pressed. "Or does she prefer handcuffs?"

"No handcuffs," Daniel replied.

"That's patient of you," Sheila said.

"She's not like that. She's different," Daniel said.

"Don't tell me the great Danny Benson is going soft," Williams said. "The man who said no woman is worth more than an hour of his time?"

"You should have taken her that first day. Why the long hunt?" Oakley asked.

"I wasn't going to rape her," Daniel said.

"It's not rape if they don't say no," Williams insisted.

Sitting off to the side, Oliver gulped his drink and waved for another.

"Miss Montgomery is an employee," Oliver said. "I shouldn't need to tell anyone how inappropriate that is."

"Miss Montgomery? Aren't we getting formal?" Williams said. "Do you have a thing for her, too?"

"No, I don't have a thing for her," Oliver said. "She's a nice girl. The hardest working girl I've ever met."

"With Daniel breaching her walls, I bet she's working a lot harder," Oakley said, making everyone but Oliver laugh.

"Well, she's just another notch on Danny's bedpost now," Williams said.

"When she's not tied to it," Sheila added, poking Daniel with her elbow. "Can I watch next time?"

"No watching, Sheba. And let's not bandy her name around," Daniel said.

"Who would care about your speechless little intern?" Oakley asked. "Are you saying there's more to fractal girl than we know?"

"Don't call her that, either," Daniel said. "The work she does for me is confidential, and I don't need any goddamn busybodies sticking their dirty brown noses in my goddamn business. Are we clear?"

The table grew quiet. For all his good nature, they knew Daniel could be unpleasant if crossed.

"Okay, we won't talk shop," Oakley said. "But that doesn't mean we can't talk about important things. Does she like being on her back or on her knees?"

"Sounds like she prefers being on top," Sheila said.

"You guys are disgusting," Daniel said, ordering another round.

Chapter Twelve

CONFESSIONS

"Hello. My name is Sheila Marie Marbury. I've come see Miss Montgomery," Sheila said outside the gate of Canby Place. The security monitor identified her through facial recognition, ran a scan of her new Aston Martin convertible, and texted Big Bob McLane. The gate slowly opened.

"Thank you!" Sheila happily shouted, waving her hand to the camera.

The parking circle was big enough for twelve cars, but there was only one. A three-year-old CRV, likely belonging to the maid. Sheila went to the front door carrying a shopping bag. She noticed many of the nude statues in the atrium had green tarps thrown over them.

"Hello. Martha. You remember me, don't you? I was a friend of Danny's."

Sheila was wearing a nice but not extravagant navy-blue business suit. Her makeup was modest. The short black hair was brushed but not styled, and she had dispensed with her diamond earrings. All carefully crafted.

"Of course, Miss Marbury. You were always welcome here," Martha said, taking her coat.

"Is Rachel in? I haven't seen her since the funeral."

"The little hurricane is in the kitchen. You might want to stand back and visit with her from a distance."

"Danny warned me. Have you considered having guests sign a waiver?"

"Sounds like a good idea. I'll mention it to Rory," Martha said, going back to work.

Sheila went up the ramp to the north level, stopping in the kitchen doorway to watch. Rachel was standing on a footstool stirring a large pot of beef stew. She added pieces of tomato and potatoes. Sliced pieces of chuck roast were laid out on the counter soaking in spiced sauces. Sheila noticed Rachel was wearing a long yellow country dress with a red and white checkered apron. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail.

"Hello, Rachel. Remember me?" Sheila said.

Rachel turned, momentarily startled.

"Welcome to Canby Place, Miss Marbury," Rachel said, putting the wooden spoon down.

"Is it safe to enter?" Sheila asked.

"I haven't stabbed anybody in weeks," Rachel replied. Sheila was pretty sure she was joking.

"It smells great. Are you making lunch?"

"No, this is for the women's shelter," Rachel said, pointing to several large empty jars waiting to be filled.

"Good, because I brought cavatelli from Baroni's. Hungry?"

"I like cavatelli," Rachel said, lowering the temperature on the stove.

Sheila claimed that, as the guest who provided the food, she had the right to serve. Rachel hadn't heard that rule before, but sat at the dining table sipping red wine while Sheila made a fuss over her.

"We haven't really talked in months," Sheila said, finally taking a seat.

"Not since you tried to buy my contract from Daniel."

"Which he wouldn't sell."

"And now that Daniel is gone, you want to shop me around."

"I don't really look at it like that. There are research institutions that would benefit from your talent, and they could provide you with support. It's a--"

"Win-win situation. Yes, I'm familiar with the formula."

"What do you think?"

"Conditions have changed."

"I realize Daniel's death--"

"Miss Marbury, I'm not a valuable commodity anymore."

"You'll get better. You just need time," Sheila assured her.

"I'm thinking of moving back to Palmdale. I can get a job there."

"Is Edward's Air Force Base looking for programmers?"

"Cooking. The coffee shops on Highway 14 are always hiring."

Sheila waited for the punchline.

"You're kidding? Right?" Sheila finally asked.

Rachel wasn't smiling.

"No, that can't happen. Too many people need you."

"Lawyers were doing fine before I came along," Rachel said, taking another bite of the cavatelli.

"It's more than that. You know it. Danny said you could do great things. He said you could change the world."

"He's dead now."

Sheila slid closer and dared to take Rachel's hand. She saw Rachel wasn't drifting, but she wasn't quite all there, either.

"Rachel, you don't know me, but I feel like I know you. I was Danny's best friend. His best female friend. He had dreams for you."

"I know a little about you," Rachel sheepishly replied. Sheila realized that by taking Rachel's hand, and speaking to her by name, she had brought her back a little.

"Yes? And what do you know?" Sheila asked, blinking her long eyelashes.

"You graduated from Vassar. Spent a year at Cambridge, then attended Columbia. Married three years to Preston Foster Smith, founder of Mega Com. Dated Baron Osprey de Graft. Your golf handicap is 12. It would be better if you played more."

"That's all on the internet."

"You started bondage when you were eighteen, with Joey Michaels, in his garage. You enjoy being whipped a lot more than I do. You prefer men in bed but have a flexible attitude. Sharon Zimmerman was your favorite in college. Your father secretly paid Joshua Bennett to delete a porn video you made. When Mason vs Hamersley was being litigated, you were the plaintiff's confidential source. You have a mole just inside--"

"Okay, okay, that's enough," Sheila protested. "How could you know all that?"

"Curiosity."

"Did you really know about the mole?"

"I may have guessed about the exact location."

Sheila reappraised her prey. Rachel looked sad, yet here she was poking fun at her. And displaying a frightening ability.

"You've got more grit than I realized," Sheila said.

"Grit can be useful," Rachel replied.

Suddenly, Sheila found herself being studied, and it wasn't a trifling inspection. Rachel's brow was bent, her eyes searching. There was a sensation of gravity in the gaze that had Sheila squirming. An intensity that was almost physical. When Rachel finally looked down and resumed her lunch, Sheila was short of breath.

"There is a project I've been contemplating," Rachel casually mentioned. "It's outside of Marbury & Benson's parameters. It may be controversial."

"It sounds juicy. Can I get in on it?"

"I don't have any money. I'll need an advance to make ends meet."

"I'll give you $500,000."

"I was thinking $2,500."

"I'll get you a lab. A staff. Whatever you need."

"Would you write me a blank check?"

"Yes."

"You don't even know what it's for."

Sheila refilled Rachel's wine glass and topped off her own.

"I have a confession to make. A horrible one. I want everything out in the open before this goes any further."

Rachel nodded. She was enjoying the cavatelli, but thought the sauce could be a little richer. Perhaps a touch more basil.

"Just after Danny died, I went to Pam and tried to make her sell Marbury & Benson. To get you. And I denigrated you to incite Pamela into selling. Some of the things I said were very bad. It was a deliberate strategy and I won't apologize for it. I know who you are, and she didn't. That was her fault."

"Daniel considered you enterprising and aggressive. He liked that."

"There is something else. Danny and I were--"

"Daniel's love for you does not make me jealous. You had a relationship for many years. He confided in you. He called you the smartest woman he'd ever known."

"Some people think you're pretty smart," Sheila said.

"I would not wish to compete with you in the marketplace."

"Danny loved you, too. And he believed in you. So do I. Am I forgiven for playing that game with Pamela?"

"You are cousins. It's not my place to interfere."

"Can we be friends?"

"Yes."

"How can I help you?"

Rachel gazed around the house, wondering if it could ever be her home. Wondering if she'd ever have a home. Sheila saw the longing in her eyes.

"Something inside feels gone," Rachel admitted. "I don't know if it will ever come back. But if I can get past this, there are things I'd like to talk about."

* * * * * *

Sam waited in the limousine as Pamela went to the front door of Canby Place. Martha answered.

"Looks like October is going to be chilly," Martha said, taking her coat.

"Is Rachel awake? I'm hoping to treat her to lunch," Pamela said.

"Miss Montgomery is on the patio with Miss Marbury," Martha said.

"Miss Marbury? Which Miss Marbury?"

"Miss Sheila Marbury."

"Jesus Christ," Pamela said, running through the house and out the back door.

She found Rachel and Sheila sitting at the picnic table, bundled against a light breeze. They seemed to be getting along well. Too well.

"Good afternoon, ladies. Am I interrupting?" Pamela hopefully said, taking a seat across from them and helping herself to Sheila's wine.

"Rachel just signed with me. We're going into business together," Sheila said.

"Rachel is in business with me. She doesn't need you," Pamela insisted. Pamela looked angry. Sheila was having fun.

"Don't be mean, Miss Marbury," Rachel said.

"Sheba."

"Don't be mean, Sheba."

"Okay, cousin, I may be exaggerating," Sheila confessed. "Rachel said we might do great things together, but only if I get your permission first."

"My permission?" Pamela said.

"Rachel won't make any decisions without your approval. She's been firm about that."

"Thank you, sweetheart," Pamela said, "but if there's really something you want to do, I won't stand in your way."

Rachel stood up, gathering the empty wine bottle and glasses.

"I am not sure what will happen. The numbers are frustrating," Rachel said. "If a new matrix is feasible, implementation will require significant resources."

Then she went inside the house, careful not to drop the glasses.

"She's in a mild state today," Pamela said.

"Yes, it's common with dissociative disorders. Have you conferred with Dr. Keller at the Swiss Institute?"

"What the hell do you know about dissociative disorders? And Rachel? You called her a bitch. Trailer trash. A psycho chick who talks to ghosts. By the way, I'm not sure she even likes Albert Einstein."

"I thought you'd sell her cheaper that way. What was I supposed to say? That the sweet little girl you were trying to destroy is worth a billion dollars?"

"You might have tried."

"You wouldn't have listened. You're a great talker, Pammy, but not a good listener."

"What's this deal you're talking about?"

"I'm not sure. And at the moment, details aren't important. Danny spent hours with me talking about Rachel. Not just that he loved her, because he did. He wanted her to realize her potential, and he wanted to be at her side. That dream is gone, but her talent isn't. We need to help her get it back."

"You say that like you mean it," Pamela said.

"Rachel would know if I was lying."

"I'll talk with her. If there are opportunities you can help with, then we'll discuss it. At the right moment."

"Can't ask for more than that," Sheila said, preparing to leave. "You've done a good job with her."

"At controlling her, the way Danny did?"

"I don't mean that at all," Sheila replied.

Pamela walked Sheila to her car, glad to see her leave, and went looking for Rachel. She found her in the butler's quarters, curled up in bed.

"Having a rough day, honey?" Pamela said, sitting next to her.

Rachel put her head in Pamela's lap. She'd been crying.

"Want to tell me what's wrong?" Pamela asked, stroking her hair.

"The numbers are spiking. They say more than I understand."

"I hope Sheila didn't disturb you."

"We need her."

"Can you explain?"

"I will know soon. I hope."

"You're safe with me. You'll always be safe with me," Pamela said. Rachel tugged the blanket up and went to sleep.

* * * * * *

Rachel told Mr. McLane he could drop her off in front of the Mitchell Building, where the bus stop was, but he'd have none of it. He parked the heavy sedan in the underground garage and walked with her, staying watchful. When reporters in the lobby tried to ask questions, Rachel ran for the elevator, anxious to avoid them. Having a fearsome bodyguard helped.

"Thank you, Mr. McLane," Rachel said with a relieved breath.

"No problem, missy. Your first day back is a special occasion."

"It's scary."

"After I upgrade your security, I'll be taking off for a while, but I'll be back at five."

"I usually work much later than that."

"My orders from Rory are not discretionary. I am to bring you home on time."

"Yes, Mr. McLane."

"You should call me Big Bob. Everyone else does."

"Yes, sir," Rachel agreed.

They reached the glass doors of Marbury & Benson on the 12th floor. Rachel needed to gear up her courage.

"Missy, there's nothing to be afraid of. Half the damn place belongs to you."

"The last time I was here, it wasn't a good day."

Rachel entered the lobby just a few minutes before eight. Some employees were still arriving. The main room had two dozen cubicles for the researchers. The periphery was filled with private offices, meeting rooms, and the break room. Far to the right was her private lab, buried in the corner.

"Rachel, we're so glad you're back," Patty Cummings said, rushing to greet her.

"Yes, so glad," Debra Fobrovsky said, reaching to take Rachel's hand. Both were near Rachel in age, smartly attired and attractive.

"Thank you," Rachel said, starting for her lab.

"No, wait. We should get together. Maybe for lunch?" Patty said.

"We have a lot to catch up on," Debra added. They looked friendly, and eager.

"No thank you," Rachel said, shaking Debra off.

"Hey? What's wrong?" Debra asked.

Rachel found it hard to understand her question. How could they not know?

"Are you too good for us now?" Patty said.

"The high and mighty corporate executive? Exalted over us lowly peasants?" Debra added.

Rachel stepped back with a frown.

"The last time you saw me, Daniel had just died. I was sick. Heartbroken. Instead of saying hello that day, you turned your backs on me. Even a smile would have meant so much. Don't pretend to be my friends."

She started for her lab again, but the executive secretary rushed toward her, a tall buxom black woman in a sharp blue suit.

"Mrs. Benson wants to see you," Keisha said.

"Thank you, Mrs. Lincoln. Please tell Mrs. Benson I have work to do."

Rachel was relieved to finally reach the door to her laboratory, entering the security protocols that protected her projects. She saw the lab had largely been left alone while she was gone. As there were few people who understood her work, she wasn't too worried about espionage. She was concerned about ignorant meddling.

The lab had been designed by Daniel especially for her, having torn out three private offices to make space. Six large monitors relayed data from half a dozen Summit A9000 computers. The best M & B could find. Rachel also liked to keep chalk boards for the free flow of ideas, the equations largely illegible. The small kitchen had jars of cookies, a refrigerator for sandwiches, and a microwave for her tea. A blanket and pillow lay in the corner for when she needed a nap.

Rachel sat down at the main station to bring up the summaries. The systems had continued in her absence, but without guidance, progress was slow. She began an analysis to determine the most efficient way to bring the matrix up to speed.

What if I can't do this anymore? she thought. What if my focus never comes back? Is Melvin's hiring?

She considered going into the system. Her headset was on the console. The connections active. But once she allowed herself to be absorbed into the layering, disengaging would be jarring. She was out of practice, and she didn't know how Dr. Keller's medication might affect her ability to reassociate. She decided not to battle the fractals on her first day back, even though it felt cowardly.

A dashboard light signaled. Someone was seeking admittance to the lab. Rachel switched on the camera, seeing Mrs. Lincoln outside the security door. Rachel locked down the control panel and found her sweater.

"Good morning, my dear, good morning," Pamela said when Rachel entered her office. "How is your day going?"

"There are a lot of interruptions," Rachel said.

"Don't be cross with me, I know you take your work seriously. But know that I won't let you exhaust yourself. I've been reviewing your timesheets, which regularly exceed the legal limits. You could have the labor department coming down our throats."

"Bribe them."

"It really doesn't work that way, except in the movies. Have you seen a movie lately?"

Rachel needed to think about it. When was the last time she'd seen a movie? Or done anything? About two weeks before Daniel died.

"It's been a while," Rachel conceded.

"Come with me," Pamela said, taking her into the executive suite.

It was a fancy room. Big windows looked out at the harbor. There was expensive furniture, a gas fireplace, a full bar, and a giant TV screen. Many of Daniel's sports souvenirs were still on display.

"I'm sure you've been here before," Pamela said, making tea.

"A few times."

"Only a few? You and Daniel--"

"Kept our business lives separate," Rachel interrupted.

"I didn't mean to imply otherwise."

"But you were thinking it. You were wondering if Daniel brought me back here for sex. He didn't."

"It's a natural curiosity. Please forgive me."

"I have work to do," Rachel said, turning to leave.

"Dear? Dear, what's wrong?" Pamela said, pulling her down on the couch.

"Level 12 is behind schedule."

"No, it's more than that. Talk to me. Rachel, please talk to me."

Rachel got misty, needing a tissue.

"I don't know where I fit in," she confessed. "Everything feels alien. And I was mean to Patty and Debra. I don't know how any of this is supposed to work."

"You just need a little time, and don't worry about the employees. I'm the boss here. I'll take care of the business. In the meantime, you will consider the executive suite your own. I'll stock it with all your favorites. Come in here to rest whenever you need to."

"Thank you, Mrs. Benson. I'll try to do better."

Pamela looked in Rachel's eyes, seeing she was engaged, but her anxiety level was high.

"Honey, it's not about doing better. You're doing fine. Please don't let the world weigh you down."

"I'm trying. It's difficult."

"You need to have some fun. Tomorrow, after work, you and I are going to the ArcLight. They're screening a new version of Mansfield Park."

"You've been studying my weaknesses," Rachel said.

* * * * * *

"I know this sounds hard," Pamela said.

"Hard? Rachel doing a press interview?" Rory replied.

They were enjoying a quick lunch on the patio at Costello's, the marina quiet following a brief November storm. Rory wore her nursing uniform, having a shift later. Pamela was elegantly attired in a crimson Ralph Lauren suit.

"Rachel is finally talking to us without ducking her head all the time," Rory said. "She hardly says a word to strangers."

"She's getting better. The ladies at my bridge club love her."

"Your bridge club?"

"Rachel's been going with me. It turns out she's quite a good player, once we explained bluffing to her."

"Rachel was at your bridge club? At the Royal Titans?"

"Yes, she's been to the club several times. Now I won't claim she talked a lot. Except when Laticia mentioned her horoscope, and Rachel explained how each constellation has its own unique gravitational signature. Did you know that Gemini--"

"Mom?"

"Sorry. I know Rachel still needs a lot of help, but she's making the effort. What she needs is encouragement."

"But talking to the press? It's too much."

"I'll speak with Ruth Sparrow. She appears on McMillian Today once or twice a week. She can arrange a closed set, and maybe some editorial control."

"You might need a lot of editorial control. Rachel is so sweet when she's being Rachel, but every once in a while--"

"Yes, I've felt her temper, too," Pamela said. "Her childhood has left a lot of damage."

"Have you discovered what triggered her condition? Dr. Belcher says Rachel still won't talk about it."

"No, but it must have been terrible. That's why it's even more important that we never give up on her, like so many others have."

Rory paused, taking a longer look at her mother.

"You have a lot more patience now than I remember when Johnny, Billy and I acted out."

"Did you ever doubt that I loved you?"

"No. Well, not more than most adolescent girls."

"I've been asking a lot of Rachel. Trying to instill trust. Give her confidence. Sometimes it's big things, like meeting with an investor. Sometimes it's little things, like having her do the ordering at a restaurant. But every time, she rises to the occasion. I believe in her, even if you don't."

"Mom, it's not that I don't believe in her, I just don't want to see her hurt."

"Daniel's been gone two months now. Rachel is finally putting on weight. She swims in the mornings. She's in her lab again. Life is almost normal. At least, as normal as it gets for her. An interview now will free her from the stigma of Daniel's death."

"Or it could make her condition worse than ever."

"I'm a gambler. A gambler who likes big stakes. And it may surprise you, but Rachel is a gambler, too."

"Can I be part of this decision? If Rach nose-dives, I'm stuck picking up the pieces."

"Yes, that's only fair. No interview until Rachel says she's ready."

"No interview until I say Rachel is ready," Rory said.

"You drive a hard bargain, dear."

* * * * * *

Rachel appears to be turning a corner, but before we see her take on the media, the next chapter will step back a bit reveal more of her origin story. How did she meet Daniel Benson? And how did a short-order cook from Palmdale get admitted to Harvard?