Dusk

by Romig, Aleatha

  “And when you show up, if that deal was rescinded without your knowledge, what will he do?” I asked. “Kill you on sight. Part of your agreement was to forget the Order and everything associated with them.”

  “Well, they didn’t give me the fucking drug, so the memories are there. For the last two years I’ve kept them buried, but who the fuck else would take my sister and be after my wife?”

  We were all certain that Laurel had been the target. It was the little bit of the puzzle that made sense. I let Mason’s words sink in as I thought about the Sovereign Order.

  It was difficult, if not impossible, to describe the power of the Sovereign Order in a few words, paragraphs, or even in numerous lengthy biographical tomes. For lack of a better description, the Order was a government-funded agency outside of the three known branches of government. It didn’t exist in the executive, legislative, or judicial branch. As far as elected officials were concerned, not one knew of its existence.

  Patrick was our expert with money. Give him a trail, let him follow a lead, and he’ll see patterns others miss. He determined that the agency was funded by the US government through pork-barrel expenditures enacted by the legislative branch and signed off by the executive branch.

  One or two sentences in a thousand-page bill would appropriate funding for what appeared as a benign beneficiary. Perhaps it was a philanthropic organization or perhaps it was an organization centered on the arts—whatever was hot at the time. One hundred thousand here. A million there. Over the years the amount of needed funding has increased as the operational costs increased.

  The reality was that in a trillion-dollar bill, a million was easily overlooked. If that million was further divided into smaller sums and the beneficiaries were not connectable, the Sovereign Order remained properly funded for generations.

  This wasn’t a new process.

  It didn’t begin with the current administration or the one before that. It wasn’t secured by funding proposals from one party or even always one of the two most commonly known. The clandestine organization succeeded beneath the radar because it did not hold any affiliation to man, woman, or party. It held no loyalty other than to that of the republic. The Sovereign Order existed to maintain a balance of power, to right perceived wrongs, and to do so without the scrutiny associated with our governing bodies.

  International terrorists were assassinated. Domestic threats were eliminated—at the Order’s discretion.

  The press reported the consequences without true knowledge of the actions.

  Sometimes erroneous sources claimed responsibility. The Order didn’t barter for the spotlight.

  Rarely were reports accurate.

  All in all, the Order operated by the old adage: the end justified the means.

  The way my brother-in-law became a part of the Sovereign Order was another of the Order’s less-than-transparent modes of operation. The government agency that doesn’t exist was primarily manned by soldiers who also no longer existed.

  It was the perfect combination.

  The Order saved Mason Pierce from death, not to return him to his life, but to give him life anew as a dead soldier walking. After all, what do dead soldiers with no memory of their life have to lose?

  The answer was nothing.

  Most soldiers in the Order’s army do not walk away. Again, how does one walk away from an agency that doesn’t exist? As had been and continues to be my brother-in-law’s modus operandi, he was the exception to rules and the forces of nature that by definition couldn’t be denied.

  Mason’s death that Sparrow witnessed wasn’t his death but his rebirth into the Sovereign Order.

  However, unlike others who had been like him, Mason’s unwavering blind allegiance to a covert organization was now severed.

  He’d come back to his real life, agreeing to leave the knowledge that was supposed to be known by no living person, in his past.

  The question now was, Did that past come back to claim him?

  “I’m going with you,” I said, looking Mason in the eye. When he didn’t respond, I did. “You didn’t bring me up here to clear my head. You brought me up here to tell me your plan. And you fucking knew how I would respond.”

  “What if something happens here?” he asked.

  “Patrick and Sparrow will be here. I wouldn’t let you do this alone last time; I’m sure as fuck not doing it now if it means Lorna’s life.”

  Mason nodded. “We need to come up with a plan. All four of us can’t fly off to DC.”

  As he spoke, he banked the small plane, turning back toward the direction of his ranch.

  Afternoon sunlight shimmered like a reflective gleam off of something on the floor of the canyon below.

  “Did you see that?” I asked.

  “What?”

  I lifted my headphones back to my head and nodded toward Mason. Soon we were again communicating without screaming. “Can you bank back around? It’s probably nothing, but I swear that I saw something.”

  The plane began to move as I’d asked, yet Mason’s reply was less positive. “We’ve been over this canyon before. It’s not far from my property line and isn’t even fenced. Out here is just wild land. Hell, locals could set up a campsite and it would take Seth a solid fortnight before he knew.”

  I saw it again. A glistening coming from the canyon floor below. If Mason were right and locals had camped, it could be something as simple as discarded tin foil. “Can you land?”

  Mason surveyed the land below. “Not without beating the shit out of the landing gear.”

  “Can you go lower?”

  A few minutes later we did a third pass and according to the gauge, our altitude was dangerously low at just over a thousand feet. I searched the area where I’d thought I’d seen the reflection. “Fuck, Mason. There’s something or someone there.”

  Lorna

  “Beginning...” I began. “I was born in Chicago, Illinois.”

  The woman’s lips curled upward. “You were born at South Shore Hospital. Your mother tested positive for cocaine upon your birth so you were released to the custody of your grandmother, Margaret Pierce.”

  I sat back and let out a long breath. “Well, you asked for the beginning. I don’t know any beginning before my birth, and it seems you’re well informed.”

  “Who is your father?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who fathered your siblings?”

  Siblings?

  She knew about Mason and Missy?

  “I don’t know,” I repeated.

  “Did you ever hear a name?”

  I scoffed. “I heard lots of names while growing up. I would suppose you could give me any name, Tom, Steve, John...and I’d say I heard it. My mother was a fan of men.”

  She nodded. “I’m not surprised you’re a bit more worldly. Your friend wasn’t. Despite her odd string of homes, she was...sheltered. That’s not you, Lorna, is it?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Tell me about your grandmother.”

  My grandmother’s face flashed before me, the gentleness in her gray eyes, and the love in her touch. I focused instead on the woman before me. “I have nothing to say about her.”

  “Was she abusive?”

  “What the hell is your problem?” Yes, I realized I was hardly in the position to argue, but at the same time, I wanted to know this woman’s endgame.

  “I’m going to assume your question is rhetorical?”

  “No, she wasn’t abusive. My grandmother was a wonderful woman. My grandfather, Clinton Pierce, was also a good man who worked hard. He died of natural causes when I was very young. My grandmother raised...me” —I wasn’t bringing my siblings into this— “until she died.”

  “Hmm.” The woman leaned forward. “Now, tell me about Laurel Carlson.”

  “Laurel...she is my sister-in-law. She’s who you wanted. That first day, those men asked if we were Mason’s wife.”

  “Very good. Why were
you at her home?”

  “She’s my sister-in-law as you know.” If this lady knew the hospital where I was born, I could assume her knowledge was more widespread. “We were visiting.”

  “Do you like her?”

  Her question took me aback. I had liked Laurel when we were children and her father counseled at the local Boys and Girls Club. I’d liked her when she went off to college and when I’d mailed her the news of Mason’s demise. And then when she showed up in the tower, I remember being shocked. Of course, I was even more shocked when I learned of her companion, my brother. As I watched the two of them together and I saw what she’d done to return Mason to not only me, but to himself, my affection grew from like to more. I grew to love her.

  I looked my captor in the eye. “I can’t recall ever not liking Laurel Carlson.”

  The woman scoffed as she leaned back in the chair and tapped the fingernails of her right hand on the armrest. Her nose scrunched. “Really? She’s not a bit too goody-goody for your liking?”

  “No.”

  “Her Little Mary Sunshine attitude doesn’t get annoying to you?”

  Instead of answering, I sat straighter. “How do you know Laurel?”

  “So you’re admitting she possesses the qualities I stated?”

  “No. I’m admitting that you seem to be speaking from your own experience. That isn’t how I see Laurel at all.”

  The woman’s head cocked to the side. “Come on, Lorna. Who are you?” Before I could answer, she went on, “You’re no one, nobody. You were born in a hospital that provides indigent care. Your own mother was too strung out to want you or pay for your birth. Until you met your husband, you made a living cleaning other people’s shit—literally. You worked in a cheap hotel. Before that, you waited tables. In high school, while Laurel was in physics club and Latin club, you were working weekend nights at an all-night diner to have money for food. I don’t mean lunch money. It was more than food. You were paying for a room in someone else’s house because no one besides you gave a shit if you lived or died.”

  I worked to keep my emotions at bay. I wanted to tell her she was wrong. Mason cared. He’d left for the military, but he was sending me money. I just was too stubborn to spend it.

  Before I could, she continued, “And your fr-ie-nd” —she elongated the word— “the one that you were so caring toward, what was she doing? Oh, she was at an overpriced private school in the mountains of Colorado.”

  I didn’t have an answer for this woman. Nothing she said was untrue, yet that wasn’t how it was with Laurel or Araneae. I’d never felt like a no one when I was with them. I never looked at their upbringing as making them better than me, only different. We all had different backgrounds. The men did too. It made our family eclectic and strong. Our bonds were formed over less superficial things than high school activities.

  I forced a smile. “I’m sure,” I began, “it’s the lack of nutrients, or maybe the drugs you keep feeding me, but I’m missing your point. I don’t hate Laurel or Araneae. One is my sister-in-law and friend, the other is my friend.”

  “Which one?”

  “Which one, what?”

  The woman sighed as she shook her head. “You figured it out, I want Laurel. You and Araneae were taken by mistake. Which friend do you believe deserves to be saved? The sun is setting on one of them.” Her smile grew. “And as their mutual friend, I’m asking for your advice.”

  I tried to make sense of this. “So, Araneae is safe?”

  “She could be.”

  “Her baby?” I asked as the door opened and the man from before entered.

  He was carrying a tray that looked like one that would be delivered to a hospital room. There was a water bottle and a decanter that could possibly contain coffee. Even just seeing it made my body cry out for caffeine—my temples throbbed and dark spots danced across my vision. A little over a year ago I’d tried to decrease the amount of caffeine in the tower. That didn’t last long. My intentions were good, but even I was in withdrawal. I’ve heard I could have pushed through.

  I didn’t.

  There was also a covered dish.

  I wasn’t sure what it contained or how it would taste, but its mere presence had my stomach grumbling with hunger pains.

  The woman stood and nodded to the man. He moved her chair to the table and set it before the tray. She walked toward me. “I tell you what. I’ll give you some time to think—not that she has much.” She lifted her chin toward the dark-haired man. “After I leave, Jet will untie you.” She shrugged. “You can eat or not eat. Your choice. But while you’re spending your time, think about which friend should be saved, which one deserves another day. Hurry, before it’s too late for Araneae.”

  I looked up at her. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Besides the obvious?”

  My head tilted.

  “Because I can.”

  “Why do you want Laurel?”

  Her nose scrunched again. “I could tell you, but then you’d know too much. If you choose wisely, maybe your days are without a near end.” She turned and nodded to Jet before she started walking toward the door. At the last moment she turned. “There’s nothing—no drugs—in the food or water. I have no reason to drug you at this moment. Of course, you don’t have to believe me.” With that she turned and left the room.

  I closed my eyes as Jet came nearer. I listened to his boots on the floor and inhaled as he came closer. There was a tug at my ankle. When I opened my eyes, he was holding a large knife and slicing through what appeared to be duct tape holding me to the chair.

  “Who do you work for?” I asked softly.

  His light brown eyes peered my way and then he silently went back to his work. I had no reason to assume this man would tell me anything or even be kind. After all he was the one who had awakened me to his slaps. Nonetheless, I was limited on options.

  “If you help me escape, I can pay you more than you make from her or whoever she works for. I can protect you too.”

  He didn’t respond, but his chin lifted ever so slightly.

  The woman may have been out of the room, but Jet’s minimal movement reminded me of the large one-way mirror I’d forgotten about. She was gone, but she was connected.

  “The offer stands,” I whispered even more quietly.

  “Don’t move until I leave,” he said as he stood, folded the blade back into the knife’s handle, and pushed it down into the pocket of his blue jeans.

  I gripped the armrests, willing myself to stay put.

  Once he was gone, I assessed the door. It didn’t make the multitude of clicks that the door on the cell had made.

  Did that mean it wasn’t locked?

  What would I find on the other side?

  Well, one possibility was Jet with his six-inch blade.

  I waited another thirty seconds before I stood. My muscles ached as I took a step and then another. I flexed my fingers and arms, celebrating my small slice of freedom.

  The first thing I reached for once I made it to the table was the bottle of water. Such as the ones in the cell, the seal clicked. I couldn’t be sure if the contents were safe; however, I knew that without the water, I wouldn’t last. The human body needed water to survive. Food was secondary, but lifting the cover on the plate, I knew I would eat whatever was there. This time it was what appeared to be too-orange macaroni and cheese, a slice of ham, and a pile of soft, overcooked green beans.

  “Boxed macaroni and cheese,” I said, thinking of Araneae. She’d joked about cooking that for Sparrow a long time ago.

  New tears saturated my cheeks and stung my newest lacerations as I sat and forced myself to eat and drink. There wasn’t any cream or sugar for the coffee. I wanted to speak to the window and tell my captor that if she’d really done her homework, she’d know I liked cream.

  That thought didn’t last long.

  “Which one?”

  Which friend should live?

  That wasn’t a question I cou
ld even consider.

  Reid

  Nine years ago

  My pulse echoed in my ears as I entered Lorna’s and my apartment. The day was here and I was stereotypically anxious. I wasn’t nervous. This was the right decision, the right next step, just plain right. That didn’t ease my fretfulness.

  For a moment, I stood in the front entry and stared into the living room and dining area of the kitchen. The sight before me calmed my thoughts. In the month’s time since Lorna had moved in, she’d made both obvious and subtle changes that together transformed this from my space to our home. I’d encouraged her every step of the way, prompting her to check out various shops and retailers. With the war we were currently fighting, I asked her to do as much online and over the phone as possible.

  She said the floor-to-ceiling windows and the fireplace should be the focal points, not the television. It was an interesting concept I was willing to explore, as long as the television stayed.

  Throughout all her virtual explorations, Lorna spoke about color in a way that brought a smile to her face. It was something that Mason had told her as a child. I couldn’t recall the exact wording, but in essence, color gave her strength, security, and serenity. That was why I was surprised when our new sofas were delivered and capos brought them up to the apartment.

  They were gray, sleek, and minimalist.

  It was the next box that brought the radiant smile to her face.

  Throw pillows in various bright colors.

  Oranges.

  Yellows.

  Blues.

  Reds.

  There was an array of shapes as well as shades.

  Lorna’s next addition was a dining room table. After all there was a light fixture on a chain. It made sense to put a table below it. I’d always eaten at the breakfast bar. We still did occasionally, but we now had options. Next, a centerpiece and placemats arrived; like the pillows, there were so many colors.

  There were many more spaces around the apartment that I was excited to have her decorate. Seeing Lorna’s vibrant personality come out in her choice of decor filled me with satisfaction like I’d never felt with this apartment in the past.