Mallory's Melody

Chapter 44

WHEN WILLIAM SAID THE "END", Mallory angrily shoved her chair backwards and headed for the exit. That was how ridiculous William's story of Jane had sounded, how improbable. There was only one version of the story as far as Mallory was concerned, that Jane Camilla Anderson, sweet-hearted and benevolent as she was, was subject to a life of cruelty, and as such, liberated herself by falling off a cliff. But in her demise, she left life, left a seed of hope in the form of a little baby. That baby was her. Mallory Trent—or Anderson, whichever made more sense.

William's story was diametrically opposed to this version, and she was not stupid enough to believe it.

"Where are you going?" William jumped in front of the exit before she had a chance to walk right through it. Mallory wanted to push him aside, but reconsidered it. He possessed twice her strength, and she also wasn't really ready to leave yet. She wouldn't leave until she made sense out of his story, or rather, until she made William believe he was full-blown crazy.

"Do you really think I'm that stupid?" Mallory asked, looking at him square in the eye. "I'm seventeen, William, not a toddler. That story—that story was bullshit!"

William seemed dumbfounded for a while. Whether it was because of her use of language or by her sudden boldness, she didn't know, and frankly, she didn't care. She felt deeply insulted by the story William had told, because it demeaned Jane's innocence, and she was more worthy, far more worthy than how William had portrayed her.

"Believe it or not, Mal," William said, "all i say is the truth."

"Truth needs proof!"

William rose his brows. "You're clearly in denial. Your mother is not who you think she is."

"My mother is dead."

William shook his head somberly, as though he could not stomach such ignorance. "Did you pick anything from my story, Mal? Your mother is alive. Jane Camilla Anderson is alive, and she wants you—"

Mallory rose her hand to cut him off. She walked around his office, right to left, forward and backward, in all directions. That was the current state of her being, disorientated, confused. Nothing was making sense. Her life was not making sense. And there was nothing that drove a human the quickest to insanity other than feeling as though one's life had been lived upon a lie.

"It was year 2000, Mallory." William took a step towards her, "Everyone believed she'd died. Everyone except me and the three men she'd entrusted her secret with—and one journalist who was too intelligent for her good. Point is, Jane wanted everyone to believe she died, and for seventeen years, she achieved just that."

"Doesn't make any sense, "Mallory said more to herself, than to William.

He strode over to his table and yanked out one of the lower drawers. Loads of envelopes spilt out from it, thousands of them. Mallory knelt on the floor and thumbed all the envelopes her finger was chanced to find. They all had the same texture, all smelt of lavender, and all came from the same sender. Jane. Jane Anderson.

"We kept in touch for years." William picked one of the letters and sniffed it. "Not one day passed by without her sending me one of this...She's a terrific woman, that Jane, so lovely. She loved me, and loved her."

Mallory fought the compunction to hit her head against the wall, in the hopes that all the gears in her head would come together to make sense out of this, to bind all the broken fragments of information into coherency. First Jane was dead, then she wasn't. Then Jane was in love with Cole, and then, William? Mallory didn't believe what William was saying. It sounded like delusion, but she was still curious about where she fell in this mushy picture.