Kingdom Come (Book 1)

Chapter Ten:

Twice in one night, Clayton made love to her. She was impressed with his stamina alone. He was so gentle, so patient and Alice easily melted against him with each passing second.

In between sex and the little sleep they had, they talked and laughed about anything and everything.

Clayton opened up, letting Alice peel back his guarded layers. His mom,  Jennifer, beat breast cancer, his father - hard as nails, but completely devoted to his family. How Clayton was raised Baptist, his favorite book was The Shinning. Hated avocado and olives. His favorite store, Home Depot - Alice couldn't keep a straight face when he mentioned that. He had a family dog, Duke, this constant shadow. In his childhood, he hunted with his father and grandfather, shooting his first stag at fourteen years old. Even saved his older sister, Emily, from the bullies at school when he was even younger, thirteen years old.

Alice was mesmerized, taking everything in.

******

Alice woke slowly, the corners of her lips curling into a soft smile as she lay stretched out in bed. Her arms rested above her head, and a faint soreness lingered in her muscles—a good kind, the kind that made her feel alive.

The bed beside her was empty, and Clayton was nowhere in sight, but the sounds of a TV drifted upstairs, accompanied by the enticing aroma of bacon. A sense of relief washed over her as she remembered Kevin's early morning call: June was stable, resting peacefully in the hospital, expected to wake by Monday. For the first time in weeks, it felt like things might be okay.

Sliding out of bed, Alice's gaze fell on the rumpled sheets, where faint smears of dried blood served as a private reminder—she was no longer the girl she used to be. With a brisk motion, she flung the covers aside, making a mental note to wash them later. Old clothes from her dresser ended up bundled in her arms as she made her way to the bathroom by the stairs.

She undressed in silence, stripped away the remnants of yesterday's makeup, and placed her jewelry neatly on the edge of the sink. When the hot water splashed against her skin, it felt transformative, as though it were washing away not just sweat and grime, but fragments of her old self. Alice felt different—her reflection in the mirror showed it too. She was happy.

Jeans and a loose, long-sleeved blue top suited her mood, understated yet confident. Her long hair settled gracefully around her shoulders, a quiet crown for her renewed sense of self. Returning to her bedroom, she set her towel on the desk chair—only for Clayton's leather bag to tip over, spilling its contents. Among the strewn papers was a bright yellow folder.

She froze, startled, until the bold letters caught her eye: Alison Marie Clarke.

Heart racing, Alice snatched the folder and sat on the edge of the bed, opening it with trembling fingers. Photographs spilled out, each one a frozen glimpse into her life: a solemn little girl in black beside her mother's coffin, her shoulders hunched under the weight of loss; glimpses of her laughter with Celia; images of her dates with Ethan and Hunter, moments she thought were hers alone. The photos went on—her guarded expressions at work, the hesitant steps toward foster families while Jeanne followed close behind, suitcase in tow.

Alice's breath hitched. Clayton had seen everything, cataloged pieces of her life she'd thought were lost to time. Each photo was like a whispered truth, intimate and unnerving. She flicked through them again, her mind spinning. How much had he known? And why?

IT HAD EVERYTHING!

She flicked through pages again, studying the indents of his handwriting, every little note he had made about her. It had her bank account information, the languages she spoke, a family tree, her Political Affiliation (not that she had any), a copy of her birth certificate, copies of her passports, police reports, Yolande's session notes on her, school grades, her driver's license and even her Social Security number!