There is some sexual content and strong language.
This is a fiction work. The names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Time Taken: Part Six
Previous Instalments:
- Time Taken: Part 1 – Starting Anew: Brett’s Journey After Prison
- Time Taken: Part 2 – Brett’s Journey: From Temporary Lodgings to Oceanfront Living
- Time Taken: Part 3 – Barbados Tales: Love, Trust, and Hidden Past
- Time Taken: Part 4 – Intimate Moments in Paradise: Brett and Kristie’s Romantic Journey
- Time Taken: Part 5 – Chasing Ghosts: Savannah’s Relentless Pursuit of Brett
The blood drained from Brett’s face. His usually bright eyes clouded over with a fear Davao had never seen before. His shoulders slumped, and the easy confidence that usually radiated from him vanished, replaced by a stark, unsettling vulnerability.
Brett’s life had been bliss. He’d found a new life, a haven in this small town, a new name, a new job, and most importantly, a woman he’d fallen deeply in love with. He trusted her implicitly and had finally allowed himself to be happy. And now, Savannah had found him. The past he’d desperately tried to bury threatened to explode into his carefully constructed present.
He swallowed hard, forcing a shaky breath. “Davao… I… I need to explain something. Can I maybe take a few days off? I need to… take care of this. Sort things out.” He didn’t need to spell it out. Davao understood. Brett needed to disappear, at least temporarily, to face whatever demons Savannah had unleashed.
Davao clapped him on the shoulder, his gruffness hiding a genuine concern. “Brett, you’re a good worker. Always on time, always helpful. If you need a little time, you take it. Just let me know when you think you’ll be back.”
Brett managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Davao. I appreciate that.”
He also found out that she had been on the Bambi tour. He also asked Bambi if he could have a few days off too
When the truth rears its ugly head
Savanna had been in St. Phillip’s for three days, and the relentless Barbadian sun was starting to feel less like a welcome embrace and more like a mocking spotlight. There was no sign of Brett anywhere. She’d followed what felt like a million dead leads, chased whispers that turned into thin air. Doubt gnawed at her. Maybe she’d been wrong. Perhaps she was barking up the wrong coconut tree, searching in the wrong part of Barbados.
But Savanna wasn’t about to give up. Not yet. This felt too important, too deeply rooted in… something. She pulled out her burner phone, the one she used for situations like this, and dialled Harry.
“Harry, it’s me. I need another week.”
The silence on the other end was palpable. Harry wasn’t known for his patience, especially when it came to deviations from the plan. “Another week, Savanna? We agreed on three days. This isn’t a vacation, you know.”
“I know, I know,” she said, her voice pleading. “But I’m close. I can feel it. Just give me one more week. If I’ve got nothing by then, I’ll cut my losses.”
Harry hesitated; she could practically hear him weighing the cost of her continued presence against the potential reward. “One week, Savanna. But that’s it. No excuses.”
Relieved, she hung up and looked out at the turquoise water. One more week. Time to dig deeper.
Meanwhile, across the island, Brett felt a familiar dread seeping into his bones. The nightmare had returned, sharper and more vivid than ever. It started subtly, a nagging feeling of unease, a shadow at the edge of his vision. Then, the images would flood his mind: flashing lights, screams echoing in the darkness, the weight of… no, he couldn’t think about it.
Kristie, sensing the shift in his demeanour, had been gently probing. “Brett, are you okay? You’ve been… distant lately.”
He knew he was acting oddly. He was jumpy, easily startled, and his sleep was a mess. He tried to brush it off. “Just a bit stressed, Kristie. Work’s been hectic.”
But Kristie wasn’t buying it, and he knew it. Her concern was genuine, her bright eyes filled with worry. He hated lying to her, hated the fact that his past was casting a shadow over their present. But he couldn’t tell her. The truth was too dangerous, too heavy.
He couldn’t hide indefinitely. He had to go back to work, force himself back into the rhythm of normalcy. The bar felt like a fortress, a place where he could blend in and disappear.
The first night back was surprisingly busy. The music was loud, the laughter infectious, but Brett stood behind the bar, his gaze scanning the crowd, a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest.
Then he saw her.
Savanna.
Standing near the entrance, her eyes sweeping across the room, a determined glint in them. Recognition slammed into him like a physical blow. He went a shade of Gray, his hands shaking so violently he nearly dropped a bottle.
He couldn’t face her. Not now, not ever.
Later that night, back at his small apartment, Kristie brewed Brett a cup of chamomile tea. The silence was thick, heavy with unspoken questions. Finally, she sat beside him on the sofa, taking his hand in hers.
“Brett,” she said softly, her eyes searching his face. “I know something is wrong. You’ve been carrying this burden for too long. You can talk to me. I’m here for you.”
He looked at her, at the genuine love and concern in her eyes. He knew he couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. He had to trust her.
He took a deep breath, the weight of his past pressing down on him. “Kristie,” he began, his voice trembling slightly. “There’s something I need to tell you about my past…” He hesitated, then plunged in. He knew this confession could change everything, could shatter the life they had built together.
But he also knew that he couldn’t move forward until he finally faced the darkness that had been haunting him for so long.
“It’s time I told you about… about who I am.”Ok, I killed my wife”, straight out of his mouth, no build-up, no softening the blow, just straight out with it.
Kristie’s mouth dropped as she looked at him in horror, “No! Please, no! You need to tell me it all.”
“OK”
“It all started so fast, you wouldn’t believe it,” Brett said, his voice raspy, the flickering gaslight casting long shadows that danced with the memories in his eyes. He took a long pull from his beer, the amber liquid reflecting the weariness etched deep into his face. “As he flashes back, he begins his story.”
He leaned back in the armchair, “Julie… Julie was like a bolt of lightning. I saw her across the crowded pub, laughing with her friends, and…bam. I was gone. Love at first sight? Sounds cheesy, I know. But it was. It damn well was.”
He chuckled, a hollow sound. “We moved in together practically overnight. I was on top of the world, you see. Training like a maniac, on the cusp of getting signed to City United. Big money, big dreams. I could practically taste it. She was…enthusiastic, supportive. Always there after training with a hot meal and a smile.”
He paused, the smile vanishing. “My Aunt Jess, though… she never quite took to Julie. Jess always had a good sense about people, raised me that way – give everyone the benefit of the doubt until they prove you wrong. But something about Julie… it just didn’t sit right with her. She heard whispers, you see. Gossip from the neighbourhood, things Julie had said, stories about her past. Nothing concrete, just…worrisome.”
He paused, the smile vanishing. “My Aunt Jess, though… she never quite took to Julie. Jess always had a good sense about people, raised me that way – give everyone the benefit of the doubt until they prove you wrong. But something about Julie… it just didn’t sit right with her. She heard whispers, you see. Gossip from the neighbourhood, things Julie had said, stories about her past. Nothing concrete, just…worrisome.”
He closed his eyes, the image of Julie’s radiant face superimposed behind them. “I asked her to marry me, remember? Not even a month after we moved in. Crazy, right? But I was so sure. So damn sure.” He scoffed. “And she said yes. Instantly. No hesitation. Looking back… it was almost too quick. But at the time, I just thought she was as swept away as I was.”
He took another swig of beer, the silence punctuated only by the crackling fire. “She had this…vision, you know? Of what our life would be like. This picture she’d painted in her head. Future WAG, hanging out with the celebrities, dripping in diamonds, living in a mansion in… LA! LA, for Christ’s sake. I was thinking more like a semi-detached in Manchester, but hey, I was happy for her dreams.”
His voice cracked. “Then the knee went. Old injury never really healed properly and flared up during a training session. The doctors said… potential long-term problems. City United… they backed away. Just like that. One minute I was a star on the rise, the next I was yesterday’s news.”
The air in the room grew heavy with unspoken resentment. “Julie… the disappointment on her face. It wasn’t just disappointment, it was disgust. Like I’d personally let her down. Like I’d deliberately sabotaged her future.”
He clenched his fists, the knuckles white. “She didn’t say much at first. Just… silent. But the silence was deafening. The light in her eyes… it went out. The smiles disappeared. The hot meals turned into microwaved leftovers. The enthusiasm… vanished. She was livid. Livid.”
He stared into the fire, the dancing flames mirroring the burning anger in his heart. “That’s when I started to see… the real Julie. The one Jess had warned me about. The one I was too blinded by love–or whatever the hell it was–to see for myself.” He let out a shaky breath. “That was the beginning of the end. The end of my dream, and the beginning of my nightmare.”
Brett’s reflection in the darkened pub window was a stranger. Hollow-eyed, gaunt, a ghost of the man he once was. Julie had systematically dismantled him, brick by painful brick. The belittling comments, delivered with a saccharine smile in front of his friends, had eroded his confidence. The infidelity, whispered about in the small town, had eroded his self-respect. He existed in a perpetual state of humiliation, a low hum of dread vibrating beneath his skin. He had become a shell, devoid of the spark and ambition that had once defined him.
Tonight, he was there again, driven by a desperate hope, a pathetic yearning for the woman he thought he knew. He scanned the room, the smoky haze clinging to the low-hanging lights and obscuring the faces. And then I saw her.
Julie.
Locked in a passionate embrace with a man he’d never seen before. A casual, brutal confirmation of the rumours that had haunted me for months. A shard of ice pierced my heart.
I approached, each step heavy, his legs feeling like lead. “Julie,” I managed, my voice a strained whisper. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She didn’t even flinch. Without breaking the kiss, she pulled away just enough to sneer, “HIM!” and then plunged back into the embrace, her hands tangling in the stranger’s hair.
Something snapped. A raw, visceral rage surged through me, overwhelming the numbness. i grabbed the man’s arm, pulling him away from Julie.
“Fuck off, Brett!” Julie shrieked, shoving me back with surprising force. She grabbed the stranger’s hand, her eyes gleaming with defiance. “Come on,” she purred, leading him toward the back exit.
Brett, fuelled by a cocktail of anger and despair, followed. i pushed open the back door, the stench of stale beer and rotting garbage hitting me like a physical blow. And there they were, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of a single flickering bulb. The man’s hand was under Julie’s skirt, his fingers moving with a practiced ease.
The sight sent a wave of nausea through him. “Julie,” I choked out, my voice thick with disgust. “Go home. NOW.” I turned to the man, my hands clenched into fists. “And you… Back off.”
Julie’s laughter was sharp and cruel. “Going home? With you? A loser like you? I don’t think so.”
Something inside me finally broke. I had endured so much, swallowed so much humiliation, but this… this was the final straw. I lunged forward, grabbing Julie around the waist. Before she could react, I hoisted her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
The world spun for Julie. She screamed, kicking and flailing, her fists pounding against my back. “Put me down! You can’t do this!”
Her nails raked against my skin, drawing blood. Pain lanced across my back, but I didn’t stop. I ignored her struggles, her curses, the sting of her fingernails. I moved with a grim determination, my jaw clenched, my eyes fixed on the path ahead.
I carried her all the way home, the sound of her enraged shrieks echoing in the quiet night. I felt her nails tear at my flesh, but I didn’t release my grip. I was a man pushed beyond my breaking point, driven by a fury that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. I had no plan, no idea what I would do once he reached their house. I only knew that he couldn’t bear another moment of this. He couldn’t endure another second of being her punching bag, her doormat, her fool. The pain in my back was nothing compared to the pain in my heart, and maybe, just maybe, this desperate act would be the first step towards reclaiming the man I had lost. He carried her home not out of love, but out of a desperate need to reclaim some semblance of control, to finally put an end to the cycle of humiliation that had consumed me. I didn’t know what the future held, but I knew, with a terrifying certainty, that the old Brett was gone. And something new, something dangerous, was taking my place.
Two years. Two years for something that felt like it happened in a fever dream, a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. It’s been two years since the night he brought Julie home.
I remembered the relief he felt when I finally managed to get her into the house. She’d been incoherent at the bar, swaying precariously, and I’d offered to take her home, a gesture of simple kindness. I hadn’t expected this.
He replayed the scene again and again in his head, each time trying to find a way to change the outcome. He remembered the sudden, violent shift in her mood as soon as they were inside. The manic energy that pulsed off her like heat. He remembered the lunge, the searing pain as her fingers tangled in his hair, the sickening rip as a chunk was torn from his scalp.
I’d managed to pry her off, his heart hammering against his ribs, a primal fear clawing its way up my throat. Then the chair, a wooden projectile hurled with unexpected force. I’d turned, reacting instinctively, and she’d charged, a blind, fuelled rage behind her. I’d pushed, a desperate attempt to defend myself, and then the sickening thud as she landed against the unforgiving wrought iron spike jutting out from the fireplace.
The horror of that moment was etched into my memory. The gurgling, the blood, the vast, vacant eyes staring up at me. I’d never seen so much blood. I remembered babbling promises, useless reassurances as I frantically tried to stem the flow, knowing, even then, that it was too late.
I’d told the paramedics everything, vomiting the truth out in ragged gasps. I hadn’t tried to minimise his role, hadn’t tried to spin the story. Julie was dead, and he had pushed her. The words were simple, devastating.
Prison was a brutal awakening. I was a quiet man; I didn’t belong in that world. I kept to myself, haunted by the image of Julie’s vacant eyes, the echo of the thud against the fireplace.
I’d insisted that Jess not visit. The thought of her seeing him in that place, behind those bars, was unbearable. I’d told her to sell the house, the furniture. He knew he was being cruel, but the weight of my guilt felt too heavy to share.
I knew Jess was worried sick. She sent letters filled with news from their small town, saying that she was holding everything together. I responded sparingly, his words clipped and devoid of emotion. I couldn’t bear to burden her with the truth of prison life, the constant anxiety, the fear that I would break.
I knew Jess couldn’t understand how he could have killed someone. I’d never raised a hand in anger in my life. I was the gentle giant; the irony was almost unbearable.
Now, two years later, I was being released. I had nowhere to go. Jess had sold his as he had instructed, a practical decision I’d supported from behind bars. I had no job, no possessions, just the clothes on his back and the crushing weight of his past.
I knew it would take a long time, perhaps forever, to heal truly. But in that moment, I held onto the thought of my aunt Jess’s embrace; I finally felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to live with the ghost of Julie. He knew the road ahead would be long and arduous.
As Kristie gently touches his arm, he jolts back into the present. Washing away the murky flashbacks that had threatened to drown him. “So, there it is.
“You can run for your life now.”
“I’m not running anywhere Kristie said, her voice soft but laced with a steel
he’d just laid bare, painting the story of a night he’d tried to bury so deep; he’d almost forgotten it himself.
He looked at her, at the unwavering gaze in her kind, intelligent eyes. “I’m not running anywhere, ” she repeated. It was a tragic accident; you didn’t mean to kill her, did you? We all have a past.”
He saw a flicker of something in her eyes, maybe fear, maybe pity. But it was quickly replaced with that steady, resolute gaze. “No, but I did kill her.”
The words hung in the air, stark and heavy as the silence that followed; then she spoke them. “I love you, Brett.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Do you know what we should do?”
He didn’t. He was lost in a labyrinth of guilt and fear. “What should we do?” he echoed, his voice hollow.
She leaned forward, her hand covering his on the table. “What?” he prompted, his heart pounding in his chest.
“We, well, you should take that interview and lay it to rest for the last time.”
He frowned, confusion warring with the unsettling calm that had begun to settle over him. The interview. The one everyone had been hounding him about. The one he’d been avoiding for years. The interview about her.
He’d been dodging it, convinced it would shatter the fragile peace he’d painstakingly built. Expose him for the monster he believed himself to be.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his throat tight.
She squeezed his hand. “Brett, you’ve carried this weight for far too long. It’s eating you alive. This interview is a chance to speak your truth and be honest, finally. It won’t be easy, but it will be freeing, I promise. And I’ll be right here, every step of the way.”
He looked at her, honestly looked at her. He saw the unwavering faith she had in him, a faith he desperately wanted to believe in himself. He thought of all the nights she’d held him while he battled nightmares, all the times she’d listened without judgment.
He felt a surge of gratitude so intense it brought tears to his eyes. “You are the second most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”
She raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk gracing her lips. “Who is the other?”
He managed a small, watery smile. “My aunt Jess. She made me the man I was, Kristie laughed, the sound light and bright, momentarily chasing away the shadows. “Okay, I’ll happily share the podium with Aunt Jess. But seriously, Brett, think about it. This interview…it could be the start of your new beginning.”
He took a deep breath, the air heavy with the weight of his past, but also tinged with a glimmer of hope. He looked into Kristie’s eyes and saw not just love but courage.
Maybe, just maybe, she was right. Perhaps facing the darkness was the only way to step into the light at last. He squeezed her hand back. “Alright,” he said, his voice barely audible, “alright, I’ll do it.”
The following day, they went to find Savannah, and Brett gave her a blow-by-blow account of what had happened three years ago. She smiled and thanked him, but she also told him he’d been a hard man to track down.
Thank You for Reading
Deborah C Langley
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