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I pushed him to the door, and he chuckled as he twisted the brass knob to exit. I followed him and we walked hand in hand into the dining room.
My mother’s Christmas meal didn’t disappoint, as usual. I wondered if I would ever be as good a cook. I wouldn’t if I kept ordering out. She served a beautiful golden turkey, honey glazed spiral ham, cornbread stuffing, baked ziti, meatballs, orange cranberry sauce, buttermilk biscuits, roasted asparagus and several other dishes. By the time we finished, I was sleepy.
Dessert was an assortment of desserts, including macrons that Oliver had his pastry chef from The Diamond Square make special. My mother loved strawberry cheesecake and the chef chose the largest and sweetest ones she could find before she poured the glaze on top.
Trouble and Blackie made out like two bandits. They got plenty of tidbits from the table while we ate and opened gifts from everyone. Our apartment was becoming overrun with balls, chew toys, rawhide bones and squeaky toys. I would have to do a purge of the old ones with the haul Trouble got today.
We said goodbye shortly before 7 p.m. Vlad was waiting in the driveway for us without Brenda who was only working a partial day. I never asked if Vlad had a family but if he did, they were patient with his work schedule. Oliver practically had to carry me to the car and since he wasn’t at full strength yet, he wouldn’t be able to manage that well.
I dozed against Oliver as we drove from Westchester back to the city. Traffic was light and flurries were starting to fall as we entered Henry Hudson Parkway. Oliver cuddled me, pulling me against his body and planting kisses on my hair.
“I love you so much,” he whispered.
“Love you too,” I mumbled before I dropped off to sleep.
My baby, where is he? I woke up to my son’s cries. He was no longer in the bassinet near my bed as I rose up from my pillow. I was frantic, calling for him. His cries faded as stepped out into the hall, hitting the light switch on the wall but it wouldn’t turn on. I flicked it up and down to no avail.
“Oliver?”
I got no answer. He was beside me when I went to bed. I called again and heard a sinister laugh from the dark. The light that was usually on over the kitchen sink was off too. In fact, no lights were on in the penthouse. In my haste, I tripped over something, sprawling to the floor.
It was large and warm. I touched it and felt something sticky and wet. It coated my hand and then there was a flicker of light. I turned to see a face illuminated by the flame, a face I wanted to soon forget. It was rotted and teeming with worms that oozed from its loose flesh. I screamed and it echoed off the high ceilings. I couldn’t stop as the thing advanced on me and I scrambled over what I had tripped over… the bloody body of my husband. I couldn’t stop screaming and…
“Dammit Ryleigh, wake up.”
My lids flew open to the concerned face of my husband. I almost breathe a sigh of relief when I saw him. He wasn’t dead and that thing wasn’t after me.
I wiped sweat from my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“You were screaming so loud you woke me out of a deep sleep. What happened?”
“It was horrible and not worth repeating,” I said tearfully.
He cupped my face. “We’ll be home soon. We still have some gifts to open.”
“I don’t want to do that. I want to just crawl into bed and cuddle.”
“That can be arranged.”
I yawned and snuggled against him but didn’t close my eyes. I was afraid to after the horrible dream I had.
Chapter 20
We spent New Year Eve alone, toasting it with glasses of sparkling cider as we sat in bed with the patio lights on and the bedroom lights off. It was lightly snowing, and we watched the flakes hit the pavers as soft jazz played in the background. It was better than any party we could attend because we were together alone.
Oliver went back to the office full time after the New Year. He was itching to get back into the swing of things. I reluctantly followed him even though I loved the setup we had working from home. I knew he loved rolling his sleeves up and paging through negotiations and contracts. He could do that at home but interaction with his staff would be limited.
My husband liked to gauge moods and reactions by standing face to face with the person. On the first Friday of the year toward the end of the day, I heard yelling coming from Oliver’s office. I’d been nodding off at my desk but now I was wide awake and jumped up, worried that it was something serious.
I found my husband standing at the entrance to his office being held back by security while Tim Stoddard was being restrained back by Henri. Apparently, today was Tim’s termination. They screamed at each other and when Tim saw me, he pointed and said words that threw Oliver into a rage.
“You fucking cunt. This is your fault.”
Oliver ripped free of the security guard, got around Henri and punched Tim so hard in the jaw I could swear I heard his bones crunch together. He slumped to the floor in a heap, and I put my hand over my mouth before Henri ushered me into my office and closed the door behind him.
“Oh my God. Let me out,” I cried, trying to get around him.
“Mrs. Fox, I must insist you stay inside,” he said calmly.
