My Golden Angel

As my profile reads, I write improbable romances, and this is one. I write because of having stories in me that I need to let escape.

I fell in love instantly.

The first problem? I was a mime. There was no way I could tell her without breaking character and that would end my dream.

The second and even greater problem? She was far too young for me at the time. I watched as she got three cups of beer from a vendor near our stage. Since the minimum alcohol drinking age in our state is eighteen, I was sure she was older than that because our venders were picky about ID. I was twenty-nine, a huge gap at our ages, and an aspiring actor who was good at being a mime, but little else on stage.

After many arguments, my ultra-rich parents agreed to allow me to join a traveling circus/sideshow for four months each summer. If it hadn’t been for my mother taking my side, I wouldn’t have gotten that. My stepfather had other plans. In return, I agreed to complete law school. I already should have graduated from college, but wouldn’t until next year. But I didn’t care. I loved the stage and I loved being a mime.

Scholarships and my parents covered the basic tuition. Money earned during the summers paid for my living expenses. That was important to me. After seeing the effect limitless money had on my older stepbrother and stepsister, I wanted to be as self-sufficient as possible.

Back to my dream girl. I saw her at Hillsdale first. This girl certainly caught my eye. Blonde hair that turned golden in the sunlight flowed down to her shoulder blades. Piercing deep, blue – almost purple – eyes. A charming face. And a smile that instantly captured my heart. She had a killer body already and both her parents standing nearby made me think she would get more beautiful even though I knew she was too young for me. She had delivered two cups of the drink to them.

We were performing outdoors. It was an interlude act to help keep the crowd from wandering away. At the time, I was presenting one of the longer segments of my set. The mountain climbing routine included music I’d composed and played, putting everything on a tape for the show’s sound system.

Up the mountain. Teeter on the top. Realize I’m over my head, literally. Reverse everything, including the music, so it looked like a film running backward. Big fall at the end. Bounce to my feet triumphantly and take a bow. That was my segment.

Over the din of the murmuring, inattentive crowd, I watched as she drilled her gaze into me, totally enraptured, crowding as close to the stage as she could. When our eyes met, it was like an electric current blazed between us. I almost forgot my stoicism at those times.

Along with learning to be a mime, I had learned to read lips. During a break in the noise, I watched her mouth say to her friends how much she liked watching mimes in general, but this mime the most.

Eventually, her friends dragged her away because of their boredom and her parents had left earlier.

She attended every show in the area I did that year and for several years thereafter. She completely captured me. Between going to school and my heart’s devotion to my golden angel, I had little desire to date anyone else.

Hillsdale became the highlight of my performance schedule from that point onward. Each year, her companions changed. The next year, the group was smaller and she was just one of them. No parents in sight. Her friends giggled and made fun of the mime. She stood quietly, focused on watching, trying to keep them quiet. Finally, they grouped up on her and dragged her away. I cried as only a mime can. The third year, it was only her and a boyfriend.

Each year her looks and companions changed. Now her beauty included her entire body. She always dressed down, but I could tell. Before the first of three shows that year in Hillsdale, I put on a bigger, thicker gaff to hide my constant erection.

At the same time, I’d seen the handwriting on the wall with the circus and sideshow. Harder and harder to sustain, the parent company was cutting performers. Show dates were being canceled or merged.

The final year I saw her, the show set up in a large tent midway between Adrian and Hillsdale. She was there, this time with a large diamond on her left ring finger. I had lost her without a word ever being spoken. Her eyes were sad as she made sure I saw the engagement ring. She still watched me as keenly as ever and when our eyes met, it was like nothing else in the world existed.

She shielded her face from her boyfriend and mouthed the words, “I love you, my mime. Sorry.”

The next year the joint show between Adrian and Hillsdale was canceled for lack of a venue. I was nearly through school at the time, and I worked only a few shows to concentrate on school and finish earlier. I would already be older than the average person when I sat for my bar exams.

After I passed the bar, the circus for which I had worked, decided to put on one last performance at Adrian-Hillsdale. I eagerly committed. She wasn’t there. My heart utterly broke.

Silly? Perhaps. But my daydreaming introspective desires had led me into acting and being a mime because I could be anyone I wanted. Dating women was scary, especially as I grew older, because women wanted marriage and children which I did not.

Perhaps the sorrow of her absences contributed to my unhappiness. Six years of general discontent with my life and everything in it led me to pass up a promised junior partnership, leave the large law firm of Grantham, Endicott and Cronin in Cleveland and purchase a small practice along the shores of Lake Erie in Michigan. I wanted to get away from the big city to somewhere near Hillsdale and grieve.

At least that’s what I told people. My grief at losing my golden angel drove me into multiple women’s beds.

The truth was I had been sleeping with Rachel, the wife of the primary partner in the law firm, and her nineteen-year-old adopted daughter, Melody, in a threesome. Her husband decided that since Melody wasn’t a blood relative, she was fair game getting her drunk and fucking her in the marital bed. Our affair was Rachel’s method of getting back at her husband.

After I left, she divorced him and wanted to live with me. I told her the truth. I was still in love with my golden angel. She understood and went elsewhere. Last I heard she had married the girl’s birth father who was her first love.

My stepfather called me stupid for downgrading. He threatened to cut off my inheritance which would be substantial when he died. I didn’t care. I made enough money in my small practice and lived frugally.

I had received a trust fund when I turned twenty-five, set up by my maternal grandfather. My first act had been to withdraw all the money and put the funds where only I could access them. I guess my stepdad figured I’d spent it all like my stepbrother and stepsister would have. I prided myself on leaving the money untouched. The interest and earnings alone would have sustained me for six months with no other income.

In my free time, I searched towns near Hillsdale for my golden angel with no positive results. People started shaking their heads and avoiding me on the streets and in the taverns and restaurants. “Obsessed” was a word I frequently heard. “Tetched in the head,” was a phrase heard as well. People in our small town pretty much had to use my services because my rates were so cheap.

This continued until one day I saw an ad in the regional newspaper asking for mimes to audition. “Must have background music.” I periodically remained active as a mine. I had the music I’d recorded. I still longed for the stage.

I especially loved doing a mime act in the square near my old office and watching the harried employees I once worked with scurry by like worker bees. Saw the principal in the firm more than once stride by with a worried unhappy expression on his face.

Details of the auditions aren’t important except they lasted over three days and included Toledo, Grand Rapids, and Detroit, moving up a level each time. In Detroit, we appeared in front of a late-night audience at a bistro in one of the nearby resorts and got to stay overnight.

I became one of three finalists. Only then were we told where and for what event we were auditioning. It was a private party in the countryside of northern Michigan. Why we traveled to all those other cities wasn’t evident, at least at the time.

The final audition promised to be another strange event in an already bizarre string of auditions. We were transported individually to a large house — almost a castle — near Houghton on a Saturday. None of us would see the other two performers. None of us were told what to anticipate except an overnight stay might be possible so we should pack a small bag accordingly. We’d be told the results soon after we got home.

I arrived inside a blacked-out van at ten AM, the prescribed time. Once inside, I was shown to a small room. I was told by a woman, short and stout, wearing a nurse’s uniform, that I had seven minutes to prepare. With only a small hand mirror, I put on my white face and highlighted my eyebrows. I also took off my outer shirt, pulled up the suspenders I’d tucked into my pants and tied a bright blue scarf around my neck. I had suspected we won’t have dressing areas and I’d been prepared. I pulled out my digital recorder and performed the basic parts of my routine. As I continued to practice a door on the other side of the room opened.

Exactly seven minutes after she left, the nurse came in with another woman who was dressed very plainly in a dull gray housedress. Her coal-black hair barely reached the top of her neck and was stringy and un-styled. She wore large, black-framed sunglasses which struck me as odd. The whole effect was like someone trying to look ugly.

She had one hand resting on the arm of the nurse and I began to understand. She was probably blind which made the situation even odder. If she was in charge of the auditions, all this secrecy, all this expense, was worthless for obvious reasons.

By now they were standing in front of me. The nurse stepped away slightly and the woman raised one hand to hold it near my face.

The nurse startled me when she spoke. “She wants to know if it’s okay to touch you.” Staying in mime mode, I nodded approval. “You need to speak. She can’t see you,” the nurse said.

I said, “Hello. I’m a mime.” Stupid, I’m sure, but I was not used to speaking while in character.

The woman touched my nose, smiled slightly and began to run all four fingers lightly over every feature of my face: Across my lips, along my jawline up to my right ear, across the top of my head, back to my eyes and down my nose. She brought her left hand up to explore the other side in the same manner. She was close enough I sometimes felt the brush of her breasts against my chest. The contact made my breath catch.

I was perfectly mystified. Why would facial features make a difference? I was a mime. I wore a white face, blackened elongated eyebrows, a red and blue horizontally striped shirt with a blue knotted scarf, red suspenders and black pants like all mimes.

I suppose somewhere, somehow, I retained a small silver of hope that this was my golden angel. If she was, something extremely bad had happened because I couldn’t make myself believe this was the same woman. While she was evaluating me, I searched her face for clues. Her makeup concealed many things. What I did not know.

Now she explored my neck and shoulders. The nurse spoke again. “She wants you to perform some of your routines while she holds your shoulders. I know mimes sometimes stay motionless, but not this time, please. Just do the best you can. If you get separated, make some noise so she can relocate you.”

I did. A different act than the one I was performing the first time I’d seen my golden angel, but still one I’d done frequently.

I figured she’d lose track of me right away, but she seemed to know my moves like she’d watched me dozens of times. When we lost contact, I cleared my throat and realized the loss hadn’t been her fault; in the oddity of the situation, I had simply forgotten a part of the routine and left it out. Her hands were in the proper position where I should have been.

A spark of hope flared. A few seconds later I moved apart on purpose. A frown crossed her face. She began to hum, so low at first that I barely heard. As her voice grew louder and stronger, I recognized the tune. It was from one of my routines; music I hadn’t yet played during my impromptu practice today.

I joined her, filling in the places where she didn’t remember correctly. Now the corners of her mouth picked up. We moved together, both in motion and voice. When I stopped humming, she continued, switching to a little ditty I often sang to myself while I removed my makeup after a show.

No one in the public had ever heard that tune, at least to my knowledge. Whoever she was, she had somehow snuck backstage in the past.

I moved into another routine, and she joined me, humming and moving along perfectly. When I stopped, her entire face looked like sunshine after a storm and her hands traveled my face tenderly. She whispered in my ear as her head leaned against my shoulder.

“Is that really you, my precious mime? I’ve missed you all these years. I’ve searched and searched and finally found you.” Tears streamed from under the sunglasses as she removed them. Her eyes were dead, expressionless. They were still blue, but there was no depth, not even a hint of purple. When I moved, they didn’t track me; only when I made a noise, did they follow. Her face, even without the glasses, was foreign to me. If she was my golden angel, she looked totally different now.

But I knew. Deep in my soul. I knew. The movement of her lips was the same and it released passions that I’d suppressed for years. I started to speak, and she placed a fingertip lightly on my lips.

“Shush,” she said. “Stay in character for me, my mime.” She followed her hand to my lips with her mouth and we kissed, a deep kiss, filled with passion and promises, a kiss that made me harden like she was stroking me, yet she wasn’t.

I lost track of time and presence.

Meanwhile, the nurse had brought two chairs into the room.

“Please sit. I can’t stand for long periods, but I’m getting stronger,” she said.

“Tell me who you are, my mime? All I knew was your stage name, Silver Fox.”

I told her my name was Charlie Russell and that I was a lawyer on the coast of Lake Erie with a small practice after tiring of big city life and a large law firm.

“I’ve been looking for you for years. Where have you been, my golden angel? That’s what I named you.”

She laughed evocatively.

“As you can tell, I’m no longer someone who can be called a ‘golden angel’.”

“My name is Ashly Sherman. I know you saw the engagement ring that day. From there it’s a simple story. One requirement of a company saving merger was the marriage of a girl — me – and a boy. Everyone flies to Acapulco for the wedding. Plane crashes during takeoff. One survivor. Me. Again. Coma for a year or so. Loss of most memory. Surgeries that continued forever until I said Stop.

“I know this sounds crazy, but one of the few things I remember from my prior life was watching a nameless mime perform near Hillsdale. A man who attracted me so much as a teenager that I think I fell in love with him instantly. The psychiatrist who worked with me says that’s sometimes how the mind works. It seizes on a few simple things to help the person survive.”

As she continued to talk, this time it was me who placed my fingers on her lips.

“Shush. My brain is spinning just from what you’ve said. Let me think for a bit.” I held her hand, squeezing it lightly from time to time. She needed some form of communication.

“Okay. I’m thinking that we have a perfect opportunity here. All of us, every person alive, is different every day depending on external influences. But deep down, each person operates from a set of core values. We have a clean slate to decide what those core values are. Maybe they are ones you’ve always had but have forgotten. Maybe those values are something we learn or invent together.

“You mean like Eliza Higgins in My Fair Lady.”

“Yes. You’ll need to explain how you know that movie later

“For now, let me continue. You’ve got your four senses plus your mind.” I put a finger on her forehead. “True, you can’t remember much previous to recovering from the coma, but you don’t have much to forget either. Let’s make good new memories.” I touched her ears. “Your hearing.” I tapped her lips “Your sense of taste and a voice.” “And most of all, you still have your heart.” I touched her just below her collarbone.

“That’s too high for my heart, silly,” she responded.

“True, but it’s the only place I dare touch without prior permission.”

“Oh,” she said. I swear I saw a slight blush on her neck.

I moved her hand to my scarf.

“To start with, let’s get on common ground. I’ll take my scarf off, fold it until all sides are even. That makes it into a blindfold, and I can place it around my eyes. That way neither of us will be able to see. We’ll both have to rely on our other senses.”

One unintended advantage was to allow our faces to get closer together. I kissed her again. She moaned.

“Can we do on that a lot?” she asked. She grabbed my hand, moved it to her mouth and licked a finger. “Can we do this?” She pushed my finger in her mouth and sucked. I was the person to moan this time.

“Or this?” She pulled my hand to her breast and moved our thumbs over her erect nipple several times. “You have my permission to do this anytime you want.

“Or even this?” She moved to my cock. She squeezed it hard, then started rubbing until my shaft became steel hard. She made sucking noises with her mouth and laughed.

If she could have seen my face it would be covered with shock.

“Methinks my golden angel is a bit naughty. I like that. I’ll do anything you want. Just name it. I’m at your command,” I said in a tight voice.

“Anything?”

“Yes, anything.”

“Be careful what you agree to. One selection I got as part of my audiobook’s subscription was A Good Girl’s Guide to Bad Sex. I loved it. I play with myself every night. But that isn’t truly fucking and that’s what I want. I need a real cock inside me.”

“In due time, my dear. In due time.

“For now, we need to be careful. One of the many disadvantages of not seeing is we don’t know who’s watching. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m taking advantage of your handicap.”

She smiled wickedly.

“Ack,” I said. “This chair is killing me. Is there anywhere more comfortable we can talk?”

“Only my room where I sleep. You’re right. They watch me closely. All. The. Time. I’m not sure my room is a good place.”

“If it’s got a comfortable place to sit, we’ll make it work. We’ll leave the door open and invite to nurse to sit in the room far enough away. Anything to find someplace more comfortable.”

“I heard her open the door and come inside not long after we started talking so that won’t stop us. Can you check?”

I slid my blindfold up and sure enough, she was five feet from us, scowling like an angry woman whose best friend was being taken advantage of. Laughing, I stood up.

“I’ve got the blindfold pushed up. Can you direct me to your room?” I placed her hand on my elbow and we proceeded. On the way to the door, I purposely steered slightly off-direction.

“Knock it off. Change course to the left two degrees. You can’t fool me, you imp.”

Once through the door, she pushed-shoved me to the left down a hallway. I heard her counting quietly as we walked. “Stop. There should be an elevator to our right. Not 100 percent sure because you walk differently than I do.” We were spot on. Once inside she unerringly pushed the correct button for us to ascend.

“My guardian insisted on building this monstrosity. He was worried about me falling on the stairs. Worry wort.

“The elevator not difficult. The button never moves. Braille on it too.” This woman sometimes used a minimum of words.

Once we were on the couch — which I would have called a loveseat because it wasn’t long enough to be called anything else — I looked around the nearly black room. The curtains were closed with only a silver of light around the edges. Except for a nightlight, probably so any sighted person could find their way around, nothing else added light.

Ashley laughed again. “You don’t still have that silly blindfold on, do you?” I told her I had it half on.

“Take it off. Open the curtains as well. I can tell between light and dark a little. I prefer as much light as possible most of the time, so I have a better sense of the time. The nurse closes the curtains at night and forgot to open them this morning. I’m used to dealing with sighted people. Once we’re in here, only the nurse can see us. Me bringing you here means I trust you and that means she can trust you too.”

The nurse stayed at the door for about thirty minutes before she announced. “I need to check on lunch. Do you want to eat here or in the dining room?”

“Here,” Ashley declared.

After we ate a delicious meal, the nurse disappeared, and Ashley scooted closer to me until we were almost touching. We talked all afternoon. I kept expecting her to start something like she had during our senses discussion, but she kept to herself.

“First things first. Is there really a party where you want a mime to perform?”

“Sort of. All of my advisors, medical support persons, trustees, you name it, gather once a month and we review my physical, mental and financial status. Not all at the same time. Most of the time they transport me into Grand Rapids. But this time I was adamant about holding the meeting here, to their dismay. It’s super boring, believe me. But it’s the only way for me to get everyone’s opinion at the same time and keep track of my finances.

“I wanted my favorite type of performer to help liven up the day with a performance after the sessions. It will be a surprise to most of them. So, if you don’t want to do it, let me know.”

I said I truly did. An audience is an audience.

“From the financial side, who will be there?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll tell you every name and field they’re in. But that’s all for now.”

We went back to talking about mostly me.

“When I first got interested in being a mime, I made everyone do things like play charades. I had cards printed that said Laryngitis. Can’t speak. Can you help if I write out my needs? I distributed the cards everywhere I went. Sort of like immersion therapy. It helped. I also learned to read lips so I could tell what you said. Not everything, but enough.

“You do know I loved you from the first?”

“Yes, I loved you from the first too. I’ve done immersion therapy. It does help.”

When I asked what her immediate goals were, in addition to trying to get her memory back, her face became wreathed in smiles.

“One of my therapists uses music to maybe help restore lost memories. But soundtracks and movies lack important ingredients for blind people. Things like colors mean nothing. We can’t see the dances or the costumes.

“So, I came up with this idea. What if I gathered fabric so blind people could feel it? What if I trained people in dances similar to the dances in the movies and had blind people dance along? What if I had food prepared like the food in the movies? And on and on. Use the other senses as you suggested.

“My therapist loved the idea. Not only using movies but other things people could smell, taste, hear and touch. We’re in the beginning stages now, but it holds great potential.”

I lost track of time and presence.

Suddenly, somewhere off in the distance, I heard a door bang and a voice shouting. She pulled away and even without being able to read her eyes, she seemed scared. She hastily put her sunglasses back on and making her face expressionless, she turned toward the newcomer. I glimpsed the nurse scurrying out of the room like a scared rabbit.

“Ashly, what the hell are doing? Damn it. I leave you fucking alone and you’re fucking kissing some stranger. God, what kind of fucking freak is he with all that makeup? He looks like a fucking clown. Where’s that fucking nurse?”

The man turned to me.

“I don’t know what your name is or why you’re here, but you have no reason to be. Get your stuff and leave.”

She grabbed his arm. In a different voice than how she had talked to me, a voice like a small child, she pleaded with him.

“He’s a mime. I told you all about my search for a specific mime.”

He stopped short and his voice hardened.

“Yes. You did. I’ve put up with your fucking foolishness long enough though. Especially when I come home and fucking hear about you fucking kissing fucking someone I don’t know.”

Like a whipsaw, her voice changed into a drill sergeant. “Yes. I want time to talk to him and I’d like him to stay tonight. The staff already have a room prepared. I think he’s the one I’ve been looking for.

“Now, go to the back of the room. I’ll take some minutes to talk with him now, we’ll eat in the dining room, and then we’ll talk some more in the library. You can be in the same room to protect me, but I don’t want you listening. Understood.”

He nodded his agreement and moved to the back of the room.

“Sorry, but we don’t have long,” she whispered in my ear. “He’s already creeping this way, isn’t he?” I murmured yes. “Thirty minutes to him means ten minutes to everyone else. And vice versa. Everything is always his way. He’ll interrupt us soon.

“Mime, I fell in love with you from the first time I saw you in Hillsdale all those years ago. I sneaked backstage that year and heard you sing that little song. I was going to enter your dressing area, but a stagehand intercepted me.”

I started to talk, and she put her finger on my lips again.

“Just let me talk. Okay?”

I flicked my tongue against her finger and she giggled.

“The year I turned twenty-one, my parents set up an arranged marriage against my desires. They forced me to wear the ring you no doubt saw on my finger that year. Even now I can’t remember much of my life before the accident. I can only go by what people tell me and I hate it. One thing I do remember is you, my mime. I don’t remember how many times I saw you perform and even all the locations. But I remember you. That’s why I was able to hum along with you and move the same.

“How close is he?”

“About halfway across the room.”

“We’ve got even less time than I expected.

“My uncle turned my care over to Malcolm, his brother. I don’t know why and I don’t like it one bit. He’s verbally abusive, even more than you saw. He keeps me here as a prisoner. I can’t go outside the house unless he’s with me. I’ll be thirty soon, I think. One thing I haven’t told them I know is that I’m due to come into serious money on my thirtieth birthday. I don’t know how or why, but I know it’s coming. I’m worried they’re concealing that from me and are trying to influence me so they can still control the money.

“I got him to agree to search for a mime by saying I felt that was the key to all my memories. They were opposed, but between my therapist and my watchdog attorney, George Hamilton, they forced them to agree to the search. George has been my one hope. He’s the one who ran all the auditions for me. His power is limited, but he’s been the only person to stick up for me.”

By this time, Malcolm was right next to us. One look at his face told me it would be fruitless to try to make him give us more time. I followed him out of the room, holding my arm for her to grasp as I guided my golden angel who was golden no longer, at least on the outside.

I already knew she was Ashley from her introduction. But other than me sharing stories from my touring days and her telling me stories about her struggles with sightlessness, we didn’t exchange much more information that night. Malcolm monitored everything we said and did.

He even vetoed our conversation in the library. (Some of the F words will be left out from here on because they detract from the narrative.)

“I’m worried about your health,” he told her. “The doctor says you aren’t sleeping enough. It’s time for you to get off to bed.” When she balked, he had the nurse come in and they almost physically removed her. “Don’t forget to give her the sleeping pills,” he hollered at the nurse as she and Ashley disappeared.”

Once they were gone, I braced myself for the inquisition I knew was coming. I had to explain my entire life’s history. The only time he was even remotely impressed is when I mentioned my father’s name. Money always talks loudly. When I mentioned my father and I didn’t agree on much, he turned hostile again. Hatred oozed and underlined every word.

“I don’t know what you and that asshole Hamilton are trying to pull here but it’s not going to work. Do you understand? It’s not going to work. She’s my niece. I know what’s best for her and I’m going to get her through this trauma and the rest of you bastards can just fuck off.”

He kept on in that vein until I broke in and told him I was exhausted and asked where I was supposed to sleep. Telling me to follow him, he took me to a lower floor room that had been servant’s quarters. A small cot with a thin blanket was positioned on one side. On the opposite wall, a small dresser stood beside a door leading to a small room with only a toilet and a sink.

I heard him lock the door when he left. So here I was, a prisoner in the basement, without my bag, no clothes for changing, no toiletries for things like brushing my teeth, and no tissue for taking a dump. Not even a glass or cup for getting a drink of water. Prisoners were treated better than this.

I searched around and found another thin blanket in the small dresser and placed it over the clothes I had taken off and piled on the bed to keep me warm. That would keep everything in place.

Slumber proved hard to capture. I don’t know how long I laid there wishing for sleep. At some point, I heard a slight sound. I saw nothing in the dark until I noticed a small, alabaster hand, reaching for my head.

“Shush,” I heard. “We haven’t got much time now either. I didn’t take the sleeping pill. The reason I haven’t been sleeping much is that I’ve been exploring. There are secret passageways everywhere. I’ve heard some interesting things. I didn’t remember about the money coming on my thirtieth birthday; I heard my uncles talking about it. I did remember about my mime though. You’re my only hope. I’m not even sure I trust Mr. Hamilton although I haven’t caught him at anything bad yet. But he has conversations with my family where I’m not present, so I don’t have a choice.”

We heard the noise of someone walking in the hallway. “Shit. I’ve got to go. Malcolm will open the door to check on you. I don’t know why because it’s locked. There’s no way to escape. He doesn’t know about the secret passages. Make a fuss when he comes in about the blankets, anything. That will cover my escape long enough for me to get to my room and take the sleeping pill.

“I won’t see you tomorrow morning because I’ll be asleep. But Malcolm will have you taken out the way you came in. Prepare to leave early. If he gives you any food, it will be a slapdash sandwich for you to eat on the way. He doesn’t want you where you can see or hear anything at all.”

She gave me a quick kiss and was gone. Her inability to see was her secret weapon in the darkness.

From that point onward everything went just as my golden angel had predicted. When Malcolm opened the door, I went ballistic until he grudgingly found another blanket and some tissues in another room. He never apologized for them not being present in my room, for the crappy room or anything. I don’t think even the idea of an apology was present in his mind.

“Up early. The van is scheduled here at six AM. Same procedure as when you came. I know you can’t protest against anyone because of the non-disclosure agreement. That was my idea in case something like this happened. Don’t try to come back; don’t try to contact my niece, don’t try to do fucking anything concerning this family. Just leave us alone or you’ll regret it.”

I was compliant in the morning. If there was anything life had taught me, it was to pick my battles. Now was not the time. But on the trip back, I began plotting. My fight would involve me eating lots of crows, but I was sure it would be worth it.

When I got to Hamilton’s office, he pressed me for details. I told him I wasn’t ready to talk. “But I will be back. You can be sure of that. And I’ll be ready for battle like my life depended on it.”

I didn’t go home. I went to my stepfather’s office. He was shocked to see me. He was even more shocked when I explained what I planned to do. As I explained my grand strategy, his shock turned to smiles.

“Hell, I’m glad to hear you talk like this. I’m glad you’re getting some balls. This will take guts. I’ll help wherever I can. I know you and I haven’t gotten along in the past because I haven’t been the kind of father you wanted. I don’t expect anything in return; I’m just glad you are living up to the potential I know you have. I understand why you want to save that girl. I do. I would want to ride to her rescue if I were in your shoes. I used to do stuff like that all the time. Now, it’s all money and fashion. I’m getting tired of all that shit. This will be fun.”

I had my plan. Details of it aren’t important. Let’s just say it meant calling in a lot of favors that my stepdad had racked up over the years. Other lawyers, county courts, city and state records. You name it. Through it, all, my stepfather’s name worked miracles. If I hit obstructions, I called him, and he would give me the name of someone who got the doors to open. I even used a hacker to get into some medical records.

It took three months to get everything organized. I had a deadline I intended to keep. Every day I worried about Ashley, my golden angel. Despite her afflictions, she still fit that title for me. Several times I visited with Hamilton. We exchanged retainers so we had full legal protection. He reported her condition back to me. She was holding up, which made me feel more confident. She was a strong person. She wanted away from her family and its influence, and I was going to make her wish come true.

Then I proceeded. I had Hamilton set up a meeting with Malcolm and his siblings. I purposely left Ashley out of the meeting. For the first time, I sent a message to her via Hamilton to not worry about what she heard about her future. I had everything under control.

The meeting was in Hamilton’s offices. I asked him to get security help and he brought in Tiny who was a former linebacker in the National Football League. The family and Hamilton gathered first, and I entered later. When I came in, Malcolm reacted so strongly that Tiny grabbed his arm and forced him back into a chair. He and his sibling’s faces went white. I figured my research had kicked up some dust and they knew something was up.

In a nutshell, her grandparents on both sides of the family had willed her all their estates effective on her birthday which was two weeks away. That meant the house I was where she lived, two other houses, one in Grand Rapids, hundreds of acres of land and more than a billion dollars in stocks, bonds and other cash-related assets. Ashley was golden in more ways than one.

Malcolm and his siblings had colluded to prevent her from knowing. They also conspired with several doctors and pharmacists to fill her prescriptions with placebos. The drugs that would make her feel better and perhaps help with the return of her memory and eyesight did nothing for her.

When I finished, they sat there dumbfounded. I didn’t expect them to fight back because I proposed an escape for them: The house in Grand Rapids and ten million dollars to each of them. I told them they didn’t dare contest anything and that I wanted them to vacate the house where Ashley lived immediately. They would be allowed to return individually to collect personal items only.

Next, I wanted to meet with her. Hamilton and Tiny accompanied me.

We encountered resistance at the house from the nurse and an armed guard posted outside the front door. Hamilton explained what was going on to the nurse and Tiny took care of the guard. Both disappeared soon thereafter.

I found her after twenty minutes of searching. Fearing they intended to kill her, she had crawled into a secret passage that opened in her room. If I hadn’t known about that feature, I might never have found her.

We took her straight away to a private clinic Hamilton suggested. As she gained consciousness, I moved her to another private clinic my father recommended. While Hamilton had been a useful ally, I still didn’t 100 percent trust him. He told me he understood, that while he would never tell there were others in his firm who didn’t have that strong of ethics.

It took a year of medical treatment, therapy, immersion training for her blindness and other types of help to get her on the right track. I learned a lot too because we went through things together as much as we could.

We were near the top of the list to receive a guide dog. Learning they had a financial shortage she donated several million earmarked for training new guide dogs. We both insisted that our donation didn’t bring us special privileges, but it did help eventually to have more dogs and trainers. We expected to get a guide animal within three months.

Every day she was able I worked with her on her estate. Some I had to have Hamilton handle as there was too much for me to do and still spend time with her. Plus, I’d hired a lawyer to staff my coastal office. I still needed to pay attention to what he was doing. Eventually, I sold him the practice for a small amount.

Most of the property was turned over to an estate manager and the money was put under the care of one of my father’s companies that had a high ranking. The interest alone from the investments would pay for a good life for us with plenty of money for charities.

“I don’t want any of it, but I guess I don’t have a choice, do I.” That was her constant statement. “I’ve seen firsthand what unlimited money can do to people and I don’t even want to take that risk.”

My parents loved her from the first. We had to explain some hard facts about blindness to them, but they learned quickly when to help her and when to allow her to stand on her own two feet. She soon accepted them as her parents. She had cut off any communication with all her family members involved in the deceit, dictating everything had to be handled through Hamilton’s office.

My stepdad and mom undergone some long discussions and had pulled back from the social circles that once seemed to enslave them. Instead of being a predatory businessman, my father started giving more money to charities, especially ones that helped people with core needs. He also started divesting some of his businesses and he admitted to me several times he simply had more than he knew and wondered why the hell he’d ever purchased them all.

My stepsiblings? They and my parents had a big argument and my stepfather banished them from the house.

My parent’s home truly became a home; a place to cherish, to be with people you loved. My parents also helped Ashley understand that wealth itself isn’t bad; it’s what a person does with it. That didn’t change her overall intentions to withdraw as much as possible from the management of it, but it did make her feel better about the amounts.

We’d always had strong trust between us, but that trust grew over that year. I didn’t push her for intimacy. She’d been the subject of so much trauma, deceit and outright loss of privacy plus mental abuse, I figured I had no other choice.