May 12, 2001

Because of Love.

William threw the stupid article in the bin. No one would believe Ava. For all the world knew, she was just an attention-seeking journalist who spewed nothing but lies. But oh, how he wished he could wrap his hands around her small neck and wring her to death. She was sabotaging his plans.

Their plans.

"Did you think they'd believe it?" Jane asked, combing her silky dark hair in front of the bureau mirror. She'd been in this same cabin for months. At first, it was just a random, grimy house in the woods William retired to when he needed to think. But ever since her fake suicide, it quickly became Jane's lair. It was the only place they were certain she would not be found in. William spent a lot of money on refurbishing the cabin to suit Jane's expensive taste. He painted the walls, and replaced the thatched, leaky roof, and bought new furniture. It had cost him more than he'd budgeted for, but for her, he would do much more.

After all, he'd spent considerably more on her cover-up story. It was amazing the things money could accomplish. All he had to do to make the world believe Jane was dead was bribe greedy politicians, and promise reputable news sources millions of dollars. It was that easy, but truth-seekers like Ava Harrison who couldn't just let a case go were making it harder than it needed to be. If she didn't stop publishing those stupid articles soon, he would be forced to do something atrocious, to spill blood. Murder, after all, was nothing compared to the millions of dollars he'd devoted to the security of Jane's suicide story. He didn't understand what Ava had to gain by pursuing the truth anyway. She'd lost everything already. Her job, her reputation, and if she wasn't careful enough, she would soon lose her life.

"You worry too much." Jane stood behind him and wrapped her arms around his broad chest. She emanated a scent that was a mixture of strawberry and lavender. She bent her head and kneaded the soft spot on his neck with heavingly, watery kisses, and just like magic, his anxiety evaporated.

Throwing his head back with pleasure, William ran his hand up and down her arm. "I know. I just don't want that slimy bitch to screw this over."

"She won't." Jane kissed his cheek. "You've made sure of that, remember?"

William did remember, but was determined to forget. He was a man of good morals. His father, James Orlando had raised him up to be, had always said that a man without morals was no man, a disgrace, like an anchorless boat on turbulent waters which could be swayed here and there. But what James never mentioned was that morals meant nothing to love. His love for her, for Jane, stripped him of every iota of goodness, every modicum of nobility, every possible chance of going to heaven sinless.

He'd sinned too much in just a matter of months, and Jane was the foxy devil-serpent that had made that so, that had whispered tempting suggestions into his ears in the dead of night. He'd sinned by bribing the media authorities to lie that Jane had died. He's sinned by stealing his brother's lover. He still remembered Lewis's angered face when he caught William and Jane in bed together, red beyond the colour red. In a fit of rage, Lewis had lunged for William. But before Lewis got to him, Jane shoved a knife through his chest in mid-air.

 "It was the only way" she would say whenever he grieved over the loss of his brother, and he believed her.

It was the only way he would step up to be the owner of Starlight Academy. If his brother died. Not that he wanted the position, but Jane thought it best that he took the reigns from his brother. He was better suited to be the owner of Starlight than Lewis ever was. He was more strategic, much smarter than him.

"Now that Lewis is dead, I'm the legal owner again," Jane had said. "I can give Starlight to you. All of it. Just stop crying, Will. Your brother had to die. He was a hindrance, a bloody hindrance. We had to get rid of him."

"Then why did you marry him?!"

Jane looked seemed dumbstruck for a minute, but then calmed. "Because our fathers wanted us to! I love you, William. You, not him. I've never loved him, not for one moment. It's you. It's always been you."

Returning back to the present, William opened his eyes and shook Jane off him. "What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, a glint of hurt in her eyes.

"What are you hoping to achieve by faking your death? By Killing your husband? By—by all this!" he asked, something he'd never brought himself to ask, for the fear of losing her. He knew the risk of saying how he truly felt, that it might bore disagreements and that disagreements might cause separation, and he was too afraid, too damn afraid to be separated from Jane Camilla Anderson. She was—how was it said again—the flesh of his flesh, the bones of his bones. He loved her to a fault. 

And that would be the death of him.

"I already told you Will," Jane said, kissing his neck again.

"But—"

Jane cut him short by placing her lips on his, as she usually did when she wanted him to stop talking, to not say anything that would cause them to fight, and William knew the consequences of that, of hindering words that should be, but were not said. Yet he didn't care.

Jane's kisses were like that. They stripped you of all ability to care about anything other than her lips.

They blinded you.

*****

William woke up the next day to discover that Jane had departed without any announcement of where she was off to. She just left a very vague note taped to the fridge.

I went for a while, but I'll be back. Oh and don't forget that my fake funeral's today. Cole Trent would be coming to take ownership of our baby. My letter to him is on the desk. Hand it to him when he comes.

Bye, for a while,

Love you :)

William read it over and over again, wondering why her note felt so rushed, so unreal, Shrugging, he tucked it in his pocket and headed to prepare for the funeral.

The day of her fake funeral was the worst day of his life. He had to bear the repulsive ignorance of the attendees, had to soothe them when they cried over Jane's empty grave. It was the type of ugly, grieved crying you could not help but want to stop, and it had been in William's power to stop it, to stop the grief of over a thousand attendees at that funeral that day. All it would take was for him to say that singular statement, "Jane's not dead", and bleeding hearts would heal. But he didn't say anything. He just stood there and listened to people lament.

"Jane was my sister!"

"She was my friend in highschool."

"She helped me with algebra in college."

"She babysitted my boyfriend when he was five years."

Eventually, not being able to take it anymore, William retired indoors and locked himself away from the revolting scene. He sat in the living room and was about to pour himself a glass of whiskey when he felt a presence. He realised there was someone in the room with him. Four actually.

All four of the tuxedo-clad men sat side by side on the couch. William studied their faces. He recognised them, all of them, all influential men. There was George Gilbert, the politician who had run for mayor for years on end; and Fred Churchison, the famous owner of the Marveleuse restaurant; and Michael Benson, the avowed Los Angeles guitarist. Willaim recoiled at the sudden jab of their powerful auras. He couldn't believe it, that all these powerful men were in his home. But curiosity overshadowed surprise.

"Can I help you?"

They looked at each other with knowing.

"Yes, Yes, you can," Gilbert said. "Do you by any chance know where Jane is?"

William rose his brows, confused. How was it possible that they knew she wasn't alive. He wanted to lie but he was stopped before he could.

"You don't need to lie to us," said Fred. "We know she isn't dead. But we're not threats to that secret. Now if you don't mind, would you mind telling us where she is?"

"I actually don't know where she is. She left this morning... why are you looking for her, again?"

They looked at each other again. "She might've promised us all something."

"Which is?"

"Ownership of Starlight Academy."

William's world seemed to stop spinning at that moment, his head becoming a hot barrel of confusion. "No, I'm pretty sure she promised me that."

"And who in hades are you supposed to be?" Gilbert asked, sticking his chest out in preparation for a fight.

William stepped back. He wasn't going for that one. He'd seen the man fight on Tv, and it was ugly. None of his opponents ever came out uninjured. "I'm—I'm her lover."

"Lie!" George stomped his foot on the ground. "I am her lover!"

Fred slapped George at that, a wide-palmed slap that seemed to drown out the boisterous wailings of people at the funeral for a minute. "What the heck are you talking about? I am Jane's lover!"

"No, man. I am!" Michael inputted, throwing a vase at the wall.

And it was then, when William wanted to join the men in their jostlings, that he caught a glimpse of Cole Trent entering the gates of the funeral. Then William finally understood.

"Guys, let us not resort to violence," William said, and they stopped pulling at each other's tuxedos to give him their undivided attention.

"I believe something very disatrous has happened." He looked up to the ceiling. "I think we are all Jane's lovers..."