Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen

Havermouth, Five Years Before

They hurried through the streets to Heath’s house, keeping to the shadows in case they encountered anyone, hoping to disguise the fact that Heath was naked. Aislen resisted the temptation to ask why he hadn't gotten dressed – she knew that there were no clothes, and that he had lied to her.

Through the touch of their clasped hands, she also knew that he knew that she hadn't asked the obvious question, and that the part of him which had doubted Rhett was now worrying over how much she could know and how she could possibly know it, trying to reason it out as impossible because her knowing was too big and too dangerous for contemplation.

Aislen held her tongue, Rhett’s words of caution sharp in her mind. “Don’t talk of it anymore, don’t talk of it ever again.” If she spoke of it to Heath, Cameron and Rhett would also know, and she would have proven Rhett right not to trust her, because she had not heeded his warning.

The side gate of Heath’s parent’s house was open, and they tiptoed over the lush, manicured lawn, past flowerbeds thick with roses, to a side door. He opened it and led the way down a hallway that smelled of beeswax polish and fresh roses, into a bedroom that was half the size of Aislen’s house.

The carpet was thick underfoot, and obviously expensive. A four-poster bed was pressed against a far wall between two other doors, and although it was king size, it did not dominate, as the room was so large. There was a couch facing a TV mounted in the wall, and a desk with a computer set-up that would be the envy of a professional gamer, she thought.

Heath crossed the room to the nearest door and turned on the light, revealing a walk-in-robe the size of Aislen’s bedroom. As he dressed, she wandered the room, not quite daring to touch anything, and telling herself that she wasn’t surprised. She had known that the Triquetra were considerably more financially better off than her family.

The river house’s shabby state had taken the edge off the fact that the Triquetra had their own house and land at a time when most teenagers were struggling to buy a run-down car to get around in.

What would it be like to belong to such wealth? She wondered enviously. With wealth came privilege, and the Triquetra manifested that privilege as if they were advertising it – no fear of speeding fines, of being caught with drugs, of being caught drinking, of walking the streets naked… No fear of sexually abusing and raping girls. There was no consequence to their actions, other than a reprimand from the pack, which Cameron, at least, had absolute faith that Heath could talk his way out of. Any other trouble, the pack or their parents would pay to have it disappear.

“Come on,” Heath said, keeping his voice low. “Let’s go.”

She followed him back out into the cold of the night, and across to where his car was parked next to a Mercedes SUV and a sleek Mustang. In the car, Heath turned down the stereo straight away, before reversing and turning, pressing a button to open the heavy iron gate, and then closed it behind them.

They flew through the night-quiet streets as if Heath owned the roads, with no regard for the speed limits, and were heading out of town towards the river house in less time than it had taken to walk from the graveyard to Heath’s house.

Heath did not speak, and a muscle ticked in the corner of his jaw as if he were chewing on his thoughts.

“Your parents fight a lot?” Aislen tried.

“Don’t all parents?” He replied dismissively.

“Mine do,” she agreed. “Do you wish that your parents would separate?”

He cast her a look that was just short of an eyeroll. “That’s never going to happen. We don’t make commitments lightly. You chose to make a relationship permanent - it remains that way for life.”

The way he said it was heavily laced with disdain for divorce or separation.

“Even when one person is abusive?” Aislen asked him. “Even when one partner does something so wrong that the other person could never forgive them?”

“Even then,” he replied. “But you don’t understand us,” he added, as he turned into the river house driveway. “The founding families of Havermouth, I mean. We have different rules and different standards to newcomers to the town. Rhett’s here,” he was worried. “Shit. What’s happened?”

He parked and was out of the car before she could respond. She followed hastily, trailing him along the balcony, around to the rear door, and down the hallway to the bathroom.

The candles were flickering, and Rhett looked up from where he leaned over the sink. His eye was swollen shut, and his lip was bleeding.

“What the fuck!” Heath exclaimed, pushing into the bathroom and immediately taking over wetting the towel in the sink and cleaning Rhett’s face and hands where the skin had split over the knuckles. “Your dad?”

“Yeah,” Rhett’s eyes flicked to Aislen, and he frowned a little, before focusing back on Heath. “Fucker wanted to take out my lip piercing – didn’t expect me to fight back.”

“Fucking hell,” Heath murmured. “It’s the night for dads to be arseholes, it seems.”

“Your parents, too, eh?” Rhett replied softly, putting his hands onto Heath’s hips.

“Yeah,” Heath touched the lip ring and Rhett hissed. “What, did he try to rip it out of your mouth?” He was furious.

“Something like that. It’ll heal up ok, I think. Fucking hurts right now, though.”

“And no wonder. It looks nasty,” Heath said with sympathy.

“I need a drink,” Rhett grumbled. “It’s going to fucking hurt, but I need to get a good drunk on.”

“Alright,” Heath washed over Rhett’s face. “I think that’s reasonable. I’ll text Cameron. If he sleeps through it, he can pick up some groceries on his way in tomorrow morning.”

“It is tomorrow morning,” Aislen pointed out.

“You’re still in your school uniform,” Rhett commented, as he walked past her towards the bedroom. “What the fuck have you been up to?”

She shrugged. “Not much.” His question hadn’t meant that he wanted to hear the answer, she thought, the Triquetra had made it very clear that they didn’t particularly care about her home life. The only time that any of them had shown any interest in what happened to her was when her father had hit her, and she doubted that Heath would have said anything to Patrick about it, had Patrick not picked a fight with Heath first.

Rhett located a bottle of whiskey and pulled out the cork. He took a swig as he located the cigarettes and opened the window so he could climb over the ledge to outside. Heath lifted Aislen over the ledge effortlessly, flustering her, before climbing out, too. He took her by the hand to lead her after Rhett as he wound his way around the balcony to the firepit.

“I got my acceptance letter today,” Heath said, taking the whiskey bottle from Rhett.

Rhett cupped his cigarette to light it, blowing out a stream of smoke as he sat back. “Me too,” he said. “Part of the reason that dad is pissed. He wasted a bribe on a university I don’t intend to go to, and he knows that he can’t make me.”

“Mmm,” Heath passed the whiskey bottle to Aislen. She took a mouthful and swallowed, her eyes watering as it burnt its way down her throat. “That would do it,” Heath speculated. “On top of the reprimand we got over that party, and the other situation.”

“Yep,” Rhett blew a smoke ring. “It definitely did it well and truly for my dad.”

All three turned as headlights cut through the trees, and Rhett and Heath rose to their feet, something in their manner telling her that the new arrival wasn’t Cameron.

The police car parked, and the officers got out, walking with a slow swagger over to the fire pit. “Good evening,” they said.

“Good evening,” Heath stepped forward slightly. “Is there a problem?”

“Aislen Carter?” Their eyes fixed on her. “Would you come with us please?”

“Excuse me?” Heath placed himself between them and Aislen. “Why are you taking Aislen in the middle of the night, and do her parents know about this?”

“Aislen is being sectioned under Section Four of the Mental Health Act. We apologize for the late hour in which it has been actioned, but there was a four-car pile-up on the expressway this afternoon that took up all our resources.”

“And what is Section Four of the Mental Health Act?” Heath demanded.

“There’s nothing wrong with Aislen,” Rhett objected, flicking his cigarette butt into the ashes of the fire pit. “What is this about?”

“A medical professional has reported concerns about Ms. Carter’s mental health and believes that she is at risk to herself or to others, therefore we are obligated to detain her until the time that Ms. Carter can be evaluated, and a second opinion obtained. If Ms. Carter is found to be well, she will be released back into the custody of her parents.”

“And if she is not?” Heath asked.

“That’s up to the doctors,” the policeman was gentle and empathetic. “It’s not a big deal, son. Ms. Carter will be taken to the hospital, kept under evaluation until business hours in the morning, and then she will see both the concerned medical professional and a psychologist for evaluation.”

“Who is the concerned medical professional?” Aislen wondered, feeling as if her heart was clutched in an icy grip. She already knew the answer, she thought.

“The request was lodged this evening by Dr. Caitlyn James.”