by Lilly Wilder
“Didn’t Anderson tell you already?”
“Tell me what?”
“He usually has a big mouth,” Fynn manages a smile, and his entire face lights up, making him look at least ten years younger. “I’m surprised he didn’t explain my behavior.”
“Well, he actually did mention something, that you have a reason to feel this way, but he didn’t elaborate.”
“Yeah, he just picks at the wound then leaves it open for someone else to close,” he rolls his eyes, but I sense he means nothing bad by it. “I guess I might as well tell you what happened. Then, you’ll see this isn’t anything personal.”
I sit down at the kitchen table, and he does the same. He rests his elbows on the table, his sleeves rolled up. I notice a few scars on his lower arms, deep and healed, but they would probably never disappear. I wonder who or what made them, but he starts his story and I focus on his words instead.
“A while back, Anderson and I were sent on a similar job, just like this one. The girl… Reba… we knew her from before. She was a childhood friend, and I guess you could say even more than that, a childhood sweetheart. We lost touch as adults, but this job and her needing protection brought us back together. It was like everything lit up again, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Anderson went out one night, to get supplies, as we needed to stay hidden longer than we initially thought, so Reba and I remained alone at the safe house. I don’t know how, but one thing led to another, and we ended up… well, doing what no one should be doing under those circumstances. We had no idea we were being watched, and after it, I guess I fell asleep. I just remember her arms around me, and me drifting off to sleep. What I woke up to was her dead body lying next to me, with a note crumpled up in her left hand.”
“What did it say?” I whisper, not sure if I should say anything, but I couldn’t keep quiet.
“Stay awake next time.”
“Was it - “
“Sven, yes.” He sighed sadly, deeply. “So, you see he was mocking me. But, that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was right. Reba’s blood was on my hands. I should have kept her safe, and I failed to do that. I’m just wondering why they hadn’t killed me as well. They could have easily.”
I knew why they didn’t, but I doubted he wanted to hear that, especially now.
“That’s why I can’t relax,” he finally explains. “I can’t be like Anderson. I can’t chat about unimportant things, because I’m afraid that I’ll relax too much, and I won’t be on guard anymore. I can’t lose anyone else.”
“I trust you,” I tell him softly, surprised by my own words.
The realization of what he just told me touched my heart. He was responsible for someone dying. I couldn’t even imagine how that must feel, how it must keep him up at night. The sight of someone’s lifeless body next to you, someone whose life you were supposed to save. I shudder at the thought of knowing what that feels like.
“You should only trust yourself,” he corrects me. “Because, one way or another, we are all alone. We are born alone, we die alone, and occasionally, someone comes along, who might make that loneliness a little less tangible. But, life is one big solitude.”
“That’s a sad way of looking at things.”
“Sad or not, that way of thinking keeps you alive.”
“But, just because we talk about something in a nice way, doesn’t mean that we’re not being careful.”
“We’re being reckless. Our guard is down. We’re focusing on something else, something that isn’t a priority. We’re getting closer to each other, and that’s never a good thing under these circumstances.”
It saddens me to think this way, but I understand where he is coming from. He doesn’t want to get close to me, to anyone really, and I can’t blame him. But, at least, it’s good to know that it’s nothing personal. I haven’t done anything to cross him.
“I understand,” I smile. “I’ll let you do your job from now on, and I won’t be a nuisance.”
“I never said you were a nuisance,” his voice made me blush. “Just stop thinking I hate you. Please.”
“Deal,” I grin.
“Well, alright then, if everything is OK now, I guess I’ll go out on the porch, and just watch. Anderson should be coming later in the afternoon, maybe even in the evening. Do you need him to get you something while he’s in the city?”
“No, I’m good,” I nod. “But, thank you.”
He nods, with his lips pressed tightly together. I still can’t read him. At least, not like I can read Anderson. But, scratching on the surface of this reclusive man has brought me unexpected pleasure. Like he is a box that needs to be kept closed all the time, otherwise both good and bad things might come out of it.
As I watch him close the front door, I wonder what would happen if that box were to open. Would it frighten me? Or, would I welcome what comes with open arms?
Chapter 11
Early in the evening, I hear the same sound of the car once more, but I don’t rush outside. I’m still in my bed, reading my book. My legs are tingling. They want me to run into the kitchen, and start a conversation with Anderson. I want to ask him what he’s been up to. I want to see him smile, and tell me again that I shouldn’t worry about anything. But, I remember Fynn’s words. We shouldn’t get close to one another. None of us. We need to stay on our toes. We need to focus on the fact that this isn’t a vacation. He said so himself. We’re in danger, at any waking moment, and we shouldn’t do anything that prevents us from focusing on that.
I’m still holding the book in my hands, but I can barely focus on the plot and what the protagonist is going to do next. I couldn’t care less. My ears are pricked up, focusing on even the slightest noise coming from the outer side of my closed doors. Suddenly, I feel thirsty and I see that the little pitcher of water by my bedside is empty. I get up, without thinking and grab it, walking to the kitchen.
Anderson is already there. He hasn’t even taken his jacket off yet. There’s a big, brown paper bag on the counter, overspilling with greenery and colorful bags.
“I know you guys didn’t say to get anything, but I figured we could do with some chips and salsa,” he grins at me.
“You’re reading my mind,” I say.
“I did get some fruits and vegetables, too,” he adds, defensively. “So, you don’t tell Hugo that we fed you only shit.”
I chuckle. “Your secret is safe with me.”
He starts taking out all the food and places it carefully in the pantry, and the fridge.
“Everything was good today?” he suddenly asks me.
“Yeah,” I nod. “Why?”
“Well…” He rakes his fingers through his hair, leaving half of the paper bag still full of food. “You were alone with Fynn, and last time we spoke, I didn’t get the impression you liked him all that much.”
“Yeah, that was exactly the impression I had about him,” I smile. “But, we talked. Really talked. And, I understand where he’s coming from.”
“You do?” My confession catches him off guard.
“He told me about… Reba? I think that was her name.”
“He actually told you that?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow,” Anderson seems shocked. “He doesn’t really talk about it, unless he really has to.”
“Well, I didn’t push him or anything…”
“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t. But, I’m just surprised that he’d open up to someone like that, someone he doesn’t know.” Then, he adds, with a little smile on his face. “I think you two have a positive effect on each other.”
“Positive?”
“Absolutely,” he nods. “It’s just that neither of you knows it yet.”
“I mean, I’m happy that we’ve cleared up the air and all, but I don’t really see us having much in common.”
“Well, you never know.”
“I doubt I’d ever find out, to be honest,” I shru
g. “And, it’s OK. I mean, he’s right.”
“About what?”
“The fact that we shouldn’t get too comfortable here, none of us. Chatting and getting to know one another is all nice, I mean, after all, we’re stuck here and we’ll probably be stuck here for a while, but we’re in grave danger.”
“He’s right, and don’t get me wrong, I agree with him. When it’s a situation like this, a single momentary lack of focus could cost us dearly. But, we can’t just walk around one another in this house. We need some social interaction, too, otherwise we’d go crazy,” he smiled with those big eyes, not only his lips.
“You know what I’m wondering?” I take up the brown bag and start unpacking it, since he seems to have totally forgotten about the rest of stuff still inside. He joins me, and together, we put everything back in its rightful place.
“What?” he wonders.
“How on earth you two ended up as partners?” I purse my lips, and my eyes widen for just a single moment of wonder.
“Oh, that,” he’s smiling, but I can tell he didn’t expect this question. Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked it.
“I’m sorry,” I immediately pull back. “I’m prying.”
I physically take a step back, feeling my cheeks flushing with a sensation of awkwardness, which now, unfortunately, I can’t take back.
“Let’s just pretend I didn’t ask you this,” I add.
“Why?” he gives a half-shrug, as he folds the paper bag evenly over then across, and then places it carefully inside a small kitchen drawer closest to him. “I mean, not like it’s something very intimate. Not like you asked me how many girls I slept with,” he chuckles, and to my horror, I blush even more.
Did I want to know the answer to that question? No. I don’t know. Maybe. But, probably not.
Then, why am I blushing?
“We’ve been partners for a long time now,” he continues, and I’m grateful for not dwelling on the previous comment. “And, where we come from, being partners is much more than just having each other’s back.”
“What do you mean, where you’re from?”
Anderson sighs heavily, then sits at the kitchen table. The soft light of the lamps over his head illuminate his soft freckles and an occasional streak of crow’s feet, which become more prominent when he smiles. And yet, it somehow doesn’t diminish his charm. It makes it even more prominent. I always believed that old saying of growing old like fine wine was very difficult to achieve, but Anderson is somehow managing it, very successfully.
“Well, I suppose you were bound to find out at some point,” he tells me morosely. “I mean, I’m surprised your dad hasn’t told you yet, but I guess he has his reasons.”
“You keep mentioning my dad,” I snap at him, a little more threateningly than I intend to. “But, then you pull back and you just leave me hanging there in the middle.”
“Sorry, that’s not my intention,” he speaks calmly. “I see you here, all a tangled mess, and I just want to help you clarify things, even if it’s not my place to do so.”
I slump down onto the chair opposite him at the kitchen table. I feel like this conversation would be best conducted sitting down.
“So, can you please tell me what I need to know?” My voice is pleading. Anything is better than not knowing, and whatever he knows about my dad is probably crucial to me.
“Fynn’s going to kill me, you know that.”
“I’ll protect you,” I can’t help but chuckle. “Now, spill it.”
“I guess there is no other way than to do just that,” he smiles, with a heavy sigh. “Fynn and I… we belong to an ancient clan of wolf shifters, and - “
“Wait, wait, wait.” I lift my hands in a gesture of halt, palms open towards him. “Are you saying you guys can turn into wolves? Like, for real?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” he nods, and there isn’t a flicker of a smile on his face.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I find it very hard to believe,” I snort.
“I’d show you,” he starts, “but, despite what movies will have you believe, it’s pretty darn painful to do. Our bones actually crack and readjust to make the new form. So, we don’t do it just for the heck of it. I believe that I myself have only done it a handful of times. Fynn, too. Only when there is no way out of a situation.”
I take a moment to try and let this realization sink in. But, it’s difficult. The man in front of me wants me to believe that he can actually turn into a wolf.
“Alright, let’s say that I believe you, just for the heck of it,” I continue, trying to be calm and composed, but I feel totally opposite from that, “you mentioned that you guys knew my dad from before. You aren’t going to tell me that he’s a wolf shifter as well, are you?”
“Um, no, not really,” he shakes his head and a few strands of his coal black hair fall over his eyes.
“Good,” I release a sigh of relief. “Because that I really wouldn’t be able to believe.”
“We know your dad from way before, when he didn’t have all his millions. He was just starting out, and unfortunately, he made a deal with the wrong kind of man. This man was a wolf shifter, and he started to blackmail your father. Your father then came to us, asking for help. We told him that he couldn’t give in. Blackmailers, especially like those, would dig their teeth into him and no matter how much money he paid, they would never let him go.”
“So, you advised him not to pay?”
“Yes,” Anderson nods. “And, even though I still believe we did what we were supposed to do under those circumstances, tragedy followed. It was a tragedy that might have been prevented, but I’m not able to foresee what others will do, so I can’t say for certain…”
I realize that he’s getting lost in his own thoughts, just talking, as if he doesn’t really want to get to the point.
“What tragedy are you talking about?” I urge him.
“It’s…. your mother.”
The mention of someone who is not to blame for any of this makes my blood boil. I feel my hands clenching into fists in rage, and I want to get up and smash the chair against the floor. Instead, I remain seated, as all the blood rushes to my head.
“What are you saying, Anderson?” I say under my breath.
“Sven was sent to kill your mother because your father wouldn’t pay up.”
I get up, and bury my face into my hands, as I still keep going around the kitchen. Somehow, I manage to avoid stumbling over anything, or hitting the end of the kitchen table. When I finally reveal my face to Anderson again, I see him looking worried and anxious.
“Are you alright?” he asks, dismayed.
I feel dizzy, like I’m about to lose consciousness. I look to my left and see the kitchen table. My hand reaches out to it, but I miscalculate the distance, and my hand drops down towards the floor, my body following immediately after.
“Maddie!” I hear him shout, but his voice is distant, it sounds like he’s stuck in a deep, dark cave, and he’s shouting for me to help him out. Or, is it me who’s stuck in a cave?
Darkness envelops me, and I can’t feel anything anymore. All I hear are the remnants of my mother’s voice, fragmented but still warm, caressing my ears, telling me that nothing would be alright ever again.
Chapter 12
Fynn
I’m sitting on the porch. It’s late, but Anderson just returned from the city, so I figured, I’d give him some time to rest. That coffee perked me up enough. I feel like I was thrown on the electric fence and had the good fortune to survive.
Sometimes, these missions weren’t that bad. Fresh air, peace and quiet, no one to bug you. That almost makes up for the fact that there’s someone out there trying to kill the girl, and us along with her.
I hear the front door open, with a slight cringe. I turn and see Anderson, looking apprehensive.
“Everything alright?” I repeat our current mantra, trying to figure
out what’s wrong with him.
“I think I messed up, Fynn,” he tells me, as he massages the back of his neck with his hand. He’s got that I-fucked-up-bad look on his face.
“Fuck,” I sigh. “What did you do?”
He doesn’t want to say it at first. He just looks at me, as if I have some fortune teller powers, along with my sense of smell. Telepathically, I urge him to spill it. It works.
“I told Maddie about her father.”
I frown. “Why would you do a thing like that?”
“She asked,” he gives me the stupidest answer, and I feel like punching him in the face right then and there. But, I don’t. Like so many other times before. Like the time he thought it would be a good idea to help an old lady cross the street while we were running after a perp. Or, like the time when he thought he’d have another smoke while the drug bust went horribly wrong and half the house was on fire.
Even now, I can’t help but think how incredibly lucky this guy is. No matter what he does, things always go his way. I never had that good fortune.
“Don’t you think Hugo had a reason not to tell her himself?” I sneer. “And, she asked. The fuck, Anderson. If she asked you to drive her back home, would you do it?”
“Of course not.”
“Then, why do this?”
“I felt sorry for her,” he tries to explain. “You and I both know what it’s like to be kept in the dark about your past.”
“This is not about us, Anderson, and you know it.”
“I know it, but she deserves to know.”
“To know what? That her father is indirectly responsible for her mother's death? Do you even hear yourself?”
I sigh, slumping back into the wicker chair, which has somehow gotten less comfortable in the last minute or so.
“So, now what?” I snort.
“I put her to bed, she felt dizzy when I told her, and almost fell to the floor.”
“Great,” I roll my eyes. “Just great. We’re trying to keep her alive, and you go and almost kill her with a skeleton in her family’s closet.”