“Carlan” Chapter 3- Book Untitled
by Mya Taylor/May 31, 2019
Carlan knew the moment that she stepped into the room that something was amiss; she smelled the evidence seconds before she saw it, though this did nothing to prepare her for the sight in front of her. She stood there, silently, and found herself suddenly paralyzed with shock and fear. Were they still in the house or had she walked into the aftermath long after it had so furiously been executed? She made it to the first of the his and hers sinks just as her breakfast came up and immediately wondered who would be responsible for cleaning it up. It was a silly thought to have considering the dangerousness of the situation and her proximity to the scene.
Instinctively, realizing that the police were not on their way, it dawned on her that the task of “cleaning” the entire scene would be left to Jacob. Poor thing, he’d attracted the ire of Benjamin Salinger the moment he’d walked into their home on his first day of work, and things had gone downhill for him rather quickly. Standing at nearly six and a half feet tall with piercing hazel eyes, a mop of unruly black, curly hair, tanned to the Gods, and with a physique most personal trainers would die for, Jacob was the epitome of an Alpha male. When he’d requested that “the agency” immediately send over a new replacement for the last bodyguard hired to protect her, Mr.”S.” (or Mr. Shithead, as he was named by the staff) had no inclination that life as he knew it, would forever be changed. That the Greek God who sauntered into his home on that balmy June afternoon, would inadvertently be the undoing of everything that he’d worked so hard to build and control.
She listened for any noises coming from inside the house and wiped her mouth with the monogrammed towel next to the sink. There was no way anyone would have lingered after committing the violence now left behind in the bedroom. No, of that she was suddenly sure, still, better to err on the side of caution; so she walked into the large closet which resembled a tiny boutique. Kneeling down on the left side of the “closet”, she began entering the code to the safe. It was the twins birthday and the single, greatest day of her life, particularly, after her lengthy struggles with infertility. Picturing her daughters faces, she picked up the pistol and closed the safe.
Despising guns and violence in general, she’d protested greatly when ordered to take self-defense lessons with the damned thing, but as time progressed, realized that she rather enjoyed the sense of power that she felt each time the Glock 19 recoiled slightly in her hands. Hitting her targets 90% of the time at the range didn’t hurt either and honestly, it was one of very few occasions where she was free from the prying eyes of his staff. His, because she’d never been allowed to have final say in who was hired and they all reported to him only. Her basic needs were met and of course they all adored the girls, but she was constantly reminded by the unyielding deference that the housekeepers, chef, and nannies showed to him.
She often felt like a caged bird with minimal outside contact, even with her family. He called constantly when she took the girls to visit her parents and the one time that she was bold enough to turn her phone off for the scheduled two-hour visit, she’d paid for it in spades later that evening. It would be the last miscarriage in her life, and though it had taken years to recover from, she was grateful that no more children would bear his last name.
Walking back into the bedroom, she stopped and stared at the grisly scene in front of her in disbelief. An odd, tingling sensation in her body gave rise to a new emotion, one that she was not at all familiar with; satisfaction. Carlan exhaled deeply, unaware that she had even been holding her breath and that is when the realization suddenly occurred to her. She was now the primary beneficiary of the Salinger Estate. Someone had made certain of that. But who?
Photo Credit: Deleece Cook on Unsplash