take the sick asshole out myself.”
My stomach twisted as Sterling handed a sheet of paper my direction.
“You were right,” Patrick said, “about Elliott choosing this tournament for an alternative reason.”
With trembling hands, I reached for the page. The top was blank, I turned it over.
It was a draft of a flyer advertising the entertainment following tonight’s tournament.
MADELINE ELLIOTT AS YOU HAVE NEVER SEEN HER.
The photo was of another woman with long dark hair, facing away. Behind her nude form, her wrists were bound with a red ribbon.
“This wasn’t circulated?” I asked.
Sterling shook his head. “I was only told because of what happened tonight. Apparently, after Elliott’s news conference about your mental instability, Boston Club decided to nix Elliott’s offer for his wife’s exhibition. They were concerned you weren’t competent to legally comply.”
My head shook. “Well, look at Boston Club, one of the oldest gentlemen’s clubs in our nation, having a more ethical standard than a former senator.”
“The climate is changing,” Patrick said. “Madeline Kelly, they’re gone. You’re safe.”
“I am, but what about so many others?”
Sterling shrugged. “That’s what the Sparrow Institute is about.”
I nodded. “Maybe one day I can face the world as I’m facing you three—with nothing but the truth.”
Patrick pulled me to his side. “One day…the future is open. Let’s go home.”
“Now? I figured we’d be staying overnight.”
“Fuck no,” Sterling said. “The sooner I tell Araneae the lockdown is over, the sooner she starts talking to me again.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”
Mason laughed. “Don’t be sorry, Madeline. You’ll pick up on it soon enough. Sparrow and his wife live for disagreements.”
“No, asshole,” Sterling said, “it’s the making-up part.”
I turned to Patrick. “Does that mean we’re going home?”
My husband reached for my hand. “Yes, Maddie girl, home.”
Madeline
Six months later
Patrick squeezed my hand. “You don’t have to do this.”
“It’s a little late to turn back now.”
His face tilted as concern shone in his eyes. “Araneae would understand.”
“I know,” I replied with a smile. “I will probably be a blubbering mess by the time I’m done, but I want to do this. There aren’t many in this room…” I looked out from behind the stage-left curtain to the room of chairs, filled mostly with survivors and friends and family who had somehow had the good luck of coming into contact with the Sparrow Institute. “…who I haven’t spoken to individually.
“Ruby was my biggest fear, and now she knows everything and is here too, sitting out there with Sterling, Araneae and her parents—all three of them, the others, and Mrs. Sparrow.” I smiled. “The woman hates me.”
“It’s okay. She hates all of us. She’s only here because Sparrow made her attend.”
“At least she’s civil to Ruby.”
Patrick peered beyond the curtain. “I don’t think Sparrow has given her a choice in that matter either.”
There she was, our daughter, now Ruby Cynthia Kelly. The court had made it official, granting Patrick paternity. Her beautiful blue eyes and smile glistened as she sat among her family, supporting her mother. She had always been my lifeline.
I turned and looked up to Patrick. “I’m alive today because of you.” When he started to protest, I lifted my finger to his lips. “We made Ruby, and she’s a part of both of us. I don’t know if I would have made it if I didn’t have that part of you—her—to fight for.”
“You’re here because you’re strong. I’ll be right here as you share.”
We both watched as Araneae nodded and reached over to her husband. A few moments later, Sterling stepped up the stairs to the stage of the auditorium within the institute. With a glance our way, he stepped to the microphone.
“Good evening. You may not know me. I’m Sterling Sparrow, the proud husband of the Sparrow Institute’s founder, my wife, Araneae Sparrow.”
Applause.
“While we wouldn’t be here tonight if it wasn’t for my wife’s dedication, our reason for this evening’s gathering is for someone else.” He turned our direction with a smile. The audience couldn’t see us, but Sterling could. He looked back out at the crowd. “Tonight, we’re here for a kind and compassionate woman I have recently had the pleasure of getting to know. If it wasn’t for her generous donation, this auditorium, dedicated and named Cynthia Doe Auditorium, would still be under construction.”
Applause.
“Many of you know her story and some of what she will share this evening. For others, it will be new and shocking. And for some, it will be hauntingly familiar. While it’s easy to get lost in the hows and whys,