Chapter 148
After shutting the door, Vivian stared at the twin bed. She’d never heard of an adult using a twin bed for themselves. Gilbert was taller than her by a few inches and, if she stretched out on the bed, she would only just fit; his feet had to hang off the end during the night. How was that comfortable? Why not just get a double bed?
The room was as spartan as the rest of the apartment. A small table stood by the bed, a lamp on it and nothing else. What had to be a closet was at the far end of the room, and Vivian had a feeling if she snooped it wouldn’t have much in it, either. It made her room look well decorated.
How could he live like this?
Moving to the bed, Vivian stared at it for a second. The sheets were tucked in so tight a coin would bounce off of them. And he wanted her to sleep there.
With the life she’d lived, Vivian could sleep just about anywhere, given the opportunity, but the one place she always refused to sleep was another person’s bed. The floor ended up becoming her bed in those situations.
It wasn’t because there was anything inherently wrong with sleeping in another person’s bed. Due to the abuse she’d suffered in her early years, it’d taken her longer than the average child to stop wetting the bed, which became an issue for a second time after she’d become Vivian St Peters. The first foster home she’d been assigned to had her sharing a double bed with another little girl. The stress from what had happened, coupled with trying to understand how to exist in a new environment… The placement hadn’t lasted long. The other little girl refused to share a bed with her after the first night.
The issue had cleared up within the first year, as Vivian began to acclimate to life away from Paul, without her mother. Now all she worried about was waking up covered in a cold sweat; whether this was worse or not depended on who you asked. In her mind, leaving behind a human shaped wet imprint was still something she’d rather not need to explain.
So she avoided sleeping in beds that belonged to others.
Tonight would be no different. There was absolutely no way she was going to crawl into his perfectly made bed and sleep. Not a chance.
Annoyed that he’d forced the issue, and that she hadn’t stood her ground, Vivian threw the only pillow to the floor before removing the topmost cover. With this and the pillow she retrieved from the floor, she made a nest of sorts by the door. It wasn’t comfortable, but it would do; and this way, she might be able to eavesdrop on any conversations happening in the other room.
She’d only just settled in for a long night when someone knocked at the front door. The sound of Gilbert getting up and answering it reached her, but if anything was said it was too low to catch.
Footsteps came her way before stopping. A light knock on the door was followed by a second of nothing, then the knob turned. Jacques half stepped into the room before stopping when he caught sight of Vivian. A corner of his mouth quirked, and she waited for him to say something. Instead, he dropped the clothes he’d brought into her lap and left.
Vivian watched the door shut, but never heard it click into place. Deciding to worry about that in a moment, she checked out the clothes he’d found.
For Thanksgiving with the family, Vivian had chosen to wear a pale yellow, peasant blouse with a sunflower pattern; Jacques had found the same shirt, but gotten it in different colours. Why he’d brought three, when all she needed was one, was anyone’s guess. Maybe he wasn’t sure what I liked for colours?
There were two pairs of pants, also the exact same ones she’d worn earlier, though this time he’d gotten two different sizes. Seems he was comfortable guessing what size top she wore, but didn’t want to chance it with the pants.
Settling back into her nest, Vivian nudged the unlatched door open just a crack, suddenly able to make out what was being said if she paid close attention.
“Was she sleeping?”
“Nah. She was awake. I just dropped off the clothes and left. Didn’t seem in the mood to chat.”
A minute of silence followed.
“So, what’s the plan, anyway, old man? Gonna keep her here?”
“No.”
“Uh huh…”
More silence.
She heard Jacques let out a sigh. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”
“Why would I? Your job is being a runner. This has nothing to do with you.”
“He’s my boss, too, y’know.”
“I’m aware.”
“So let me help.”
“Not your job.”
Gilbert’s son made a noise of aggravation. “You’re impossible.”
Even more silence followed. Vivian was beginning to doubt anything interesting would be said, but there was nothing else for her to do until morning.
“So, what’s the deal with the kid, anyway?”
“Not your job.”
“You made it my job when you ordered me to pick her up. Can’t go back now. So, what’s her deal? She’s the boss’ kid, I get that, but she’s…”
“She’s what, Jacques?”
There were a few seconds where nothing was said, then, “She makes me think of you. She just sat there and told you that shit show of a story like it hadn’t happened to her, then… I don’t know, man, she just… she reminds me of you, and that can’t be healthy.”
“…she reminds you of me. Hm.”
“What, don’t tell me you didn’t clock it?”
The sound of a chair scrapping against the floor reached Vivian as she waited.
“The young miss suffers from, if I’d have to guess, complex PTSD, which is part of what you saw tonight. High stress events are what her body knows and understands, so when she experiences such an event, her first response is to remain calm. It’s what she knows best, what her body knows best. The way she reacted to the events of this evening is perfectly normal, for someone like Miss Vivian.”
This wasn’t news to Vivian. Her therapist from back in the day had come to the same conclusion, but with her unwillingness to take part in the sessions it meant nothing could be done about it. She’d just learned to live with it, by bottling up her emotions and saying she’d deal with them another day.
“Well… that blows. It’s no wonder you’re constantly worried about her.”
“What do you mean?”
“…you’ve got that big guy giving you daily updates, and you’re always looking into her past, aren’t you?”
“Mr White is my subordinate — it’s his job to keep me informed. And I’ve been in charge of the investigation into Mrs Devreaux’s disappearance for nearly fifteen years. Miss Vivian became a part of that the moment we learned of her existence.”
Jacques let out a low whistle. “Fifteen years to find someone, and you’ve got… nothing?”
Silence, but Vivian could feel the tension between father and son.
“It’s as though Mrs Devreaux was wiped off the face of the earth. There’s only ever been tiny scraps to find, and even those led nowhere. Whoever took her, whoever raised the young miss alongside her mother… They have access to resources I can only dream of.”
“So… ask ‘the young miss’ about it.”
Gilbert scoffed out loud, something Vivian was surprised to hear.
“Even if I were to ask her directly, she would never tell me.”
“So… use more persuasive methods.”
“…are you suggesting I cause harm to Miss Vivian?” There was ice in the man’s voice when he addressed Jacques this time. It made Vivian nervous. Not because they were discussing whether or not they could force her to talk, but because Gilbert’s voice held a promise of violence depending on the answer he received.