Erasing Faith

by Julie Johnson

  My eyes snapped open and I started running for the exit. I’d almost reached the door when it swung wide and two figures burst from the atrium, nearly colliding with me in their rush to escape.

  For one brief, fleeting moment I was relieved as I realized that these weren’t the bad guys, come to banish me to an early grave. I knew these men — I’d worked alongside them, under their protection, practically every day for the past three months. Marko and Istvan wouldn’t hurt me. They’d help me from the flames, guide me to safety, away from whatever madness was transpiring in the lobby beyond.

  As Istvan lifted the weapon and trained it on me, I felt my eyes widen in disbelief. Stunned, I stared into his familiar eyes — eyes now fixed so coldly upon me, I couldn’t imagine they’d ever held an ounce of warmth or welcome.

  I wasn’t sure what the two of them were more surprised to see — me, standing there in the hallway, or the wall of smoke at my back, blocking every other viable exit. Marko opened his mouth to say something but before he could get a word out, Istvan grabbed hold of my wrist and pulled me in front of his body. With his free arm banded tightly around my ribs, he pressed my back to his front like a human shield. His other hand, still firmly gripping his gun, lifted so the barrel was poised against my temple.

  Marko muttered a string of panicked Hungarian in Istvan’s direction, his voice laced with terror. I made out only a few words as I fought off the increasingly strong urge to cough up the smoke in my lungs. I held my breath and tried not to move.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Marko hissed. “We have to get to the surveillance room exit before the fire does. Leave her, let’s go.”

  Istvan turned me in his arms, gun still pressed against my temple, and looked into my eyes with such hatred it made my heart falter. Was this the same man who’d offered to take me to dinner only a week ago?

  “Please,” I whispered. “Let me go, Istvan.”

  “It was you,” he said, his voice cold. “You sold us out.”

  “What?” I breathed, more confused than ever.

  “You did this. That night after hours — I let you go. I should’ve known, then.” His eyes were crazed with fury. He shook me so hard my teeth rattled in my mouth.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I squeaked.

  “How long were you working for them?” Istvan yelled in my face, spittle landing on my cheeks.

  “Istvan, please.”

  “Istvan,” Marko said, tugging at his partner’s sleeve.

  “Shut up! Just shut up! Let me think.” Istvan had slipped over the edge of sane — I could see the madness in his eyes. There would be no reasoning with him. I heard the sound of splintering wood, and knew the fire was practically on top of us.

  “Screw this, I’m getting out of here.” Marko sprinted down the hall into the smoke without another word.

  Istvan watched his friend flee, then turned back to me. Lifting his gun, he brought it down on my temple so hard I fell to my knees and nearly lost consciousness. Dark spots exploded behind my eyes, even as I lifted them to look up at Istvan. Awaiting the final blow that would knock me out and seal my fate.

  But he wasn’t even looking at me. His head was cocked to the side, as if listening for something. My mind, still reeling from the blow, felt sluggish as I tried to tune my ears to whatever he was hearing. I blinked a few times and the fog cleared.

  Footsteps.

  A lot of them, growing closer by the second. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say they were just on the other side of the door, crossing the atrium quickly. Whether they were bringing me help or harm remained to be seen.

  Before I could so much as regain my feet, Istvan was gone — running toward the flames as Marko had done mere moments earlier. I scrambled upright, ignoring the pounding in my head, and cast my gaze back and forth from the door to the gathering smoke. Everything seemed to slip into slow motion as I stood there like the ghost of a girl — waiting, coughing, dying. It played out before my eyes like I was a spectator, watching the act from the sidelines.

  The guard sprinting away, a cloud of smoke engulfing him like death’s embrace.

  The door swinging open, men in black commando gear rushing into the hallway.

  The sharp crack of bullets, loosed from the swinging barrel of the fleeing guard’s handgun.

  The men shouting orders, taking cover from the fire.

  The girl reacting too slow, too late.

  The shock of pain, searing into flesh like a hot brand to the gut.

  The blood, hot and sticky, flooding over her fingers like a river as they tried uselessly to stem its flow.

  The girl, falling to her knees in a hallway, clutching her stomach with grim acceptance as the world weaved in and out of focus.

  It couldn’t be me. Surely, I wasn’t that girl. Not the one there, dying in the hallway. Bleeding out on cheap carpet.

  I heard more shouting, but it seemed distant now.

  “Thompson! Go after those last two guards. Renley, watch his back.”

  “This place is a powder-keg. Time to bail, boys. It’s too late — anything that was here won’t be salvageable. Bastards torched everything with gas as soon as they saw us coming.”

  “We need body bags — we took out about six of Szekely’s men in the lobby.”

  “Someone call Abbott.”

  “Looks like there’s a civilian down over here. We need an ambulance.”

  Someone was prodding at my stomach. It still hurt, but not like before. Everything seemed numb. Dull around the edges, like listening to someone yelling messages deep underwater.

  “How you doin’ down there, darlin’?” The new voice was closer than the rest, but still seemed far away. I tried to open my eyes to look at whoever was speaking to me, but I couldn’t quite muster the strength.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of here,” the voice said. Hands were squeezing my abdomen like a vise. I heard the sound of fabric ripping.

  I tried to nod but the tiny movement was lost as I felt my body lifted off the ground into a strong set of arms. I tried to remain conscious but I was tired — so, so tired. I was drifting away, a balloon without a tether. Everything on earth was fading as I floated into the sky.

  “Please,” I mumbled incoherently, wishing I could sob but lacking the energy for it.

  “What is it, darlin’?” The voice asked gently.

  “Wes,” I managed to whisper, before the rest of the world faded away and I lost the battle to remain conscious.

  Chapter Thirty-Three: WESTON

  MY FAULT

  “Abbott.”

  “It’s Renley. Calling to report on the Hermes raid.”

  I paused, catching my breath. We’d finished our sweep of the compound only moments before and I was still winded. “Proceed.”

  “As soon as we got there, they engaged us. By my count, there were eight men. Only six at first, but two more showed up after we’d been trading rounds for a few minutes. Unfortunately for us, they’d been in the back rooms pouring gasoline and dropping matches like candy wrappers.”

  “Fuck,” I cursed quietly. “They knew we were coming.”

  “Sure as shit seemed that way, sir.”

  My eyebrows pulled together. “No one knew about this op except the guys on our team and Benson.”

  We were both silent as we considered what that meant.

  A leak.

  Neither of us voiced our suspicion, but the implication was there, hanging heavy in the dead air between us.

  Without another word on the subject, Renley cleared his throat and finished his report. “We took down six in the lobby but the two who’d torched the place skipped through the back doors. We pursued into the building, but we lost them in the smoke.”

  “Did they make it out?”

  “Not unless they were Olympic swimmers who can hold their breath for five minutes. That smoke was so thick, one good gulp was enough to kill ‘em.”

  “So we have no
thing.”

  Renley sighed. “Essentially.”

  “Fuck.” I gripped the phone tightly in my hand. “This is exactly why I wanted to wait. The whole fucking op was rushed because Benson and some pencil pushers at Langley wanted results.”

  “I assume you didn’t find Szekely or the prototype at the compound, then?”

  “No. Empty as a fucking church on Halloween.” I blew out a frustrated huff of air. “We’ll regroup back at base and debrief in an hour. Any injuries on your end?”

  “No, all our men are fine.”

  “Good,” I clipped, preparing to hang up.

  “There was a civilian casualty, though.”

  “Are you sure it was a civilian?” My mind spun.

  “Well, they left her behind. And shot her. So I’m assuming she wasn’t with Szekely’s men.”

  She. He’d said she. I felt my heart begin to pound.

  “The offices weren’t open,” I said, sweat beginning to bead on my forehead. “No one should’ve been there.”

  “Well, she was.”

  “It was a woman?”

  “Yeah. Young girl, maybe twenty. One of the couriers, I think. She was wearing a uniform. Probably just got caught in the crosshairs.”

  “What happened?” I asked through suddenly clenched teeth.

  “We sent her off in an ambulance. I think they’re taking her to the hospital by City Park. Thompson’s with her, in case she wakes up. Pretty doubtful she will, though. She was covered in ash — she’d been baking in that oven for a while. Wouldn’t be surprised if the smoke inhalation killed her before the bullet in her stomach did.”

  “What did she look like?” I forced the question from my lips.

  “Thin, pretty. It was hard to tell with all the smoke, but I think her hair was reddish-brown.”

  Reddish-brown.

  Fuck.

  Red.

  Before Renley could say another word, I hung up and sprinted for the van. I’d never run so fast in my life. Thoughts clawed at each other in my mind like wolves, each more feral than the last.

  Faith, Faith, Faith.

  I had to get to her.

  This was my fault.

  If she died…

  It would kill me.

  Chapter Thirty-Four: FAITH

  THE IN-BETWEEN

  I drifted for days in the in-between.

  Like a child on a seesaw, I wavered between the ground and sky on whims that were not my own.

  Up, down.

  Earth, clouds.

  Life, death.

  I was in and out of consciousness. The bright lights, the doctors’ sharp voices, the nurses’ kind hands, the rhythmic beeping and whirring of machines as they pumped blood and life back into me — I saw it all through a fog. Far-removed and floating outside my body, as if it were happening to someone else.

  The sounds were more of a nuisance than anything. As time slipped by, I felt myself dissipating into the ether.

  But then, he came.

  His voice was the anchor I needed. He tied me down so I couldn’t float away. He gave me something to hold on to.

  I heard the panic in his tone, the fear. Guilt poured off him in waves, a tangible thing.

  I wanted to tell him it was all right — I was still here. That, for him, I’d stay.

  My useless, unconscious mouth refused to cooperate.

  I felt his lips on my forehead, his teardrops on my cheeks.

  “Don’t leave me, Faith.” He sounded hollow. A lonely man and a lost child, wrapped up in one empty form.

  Don’t cry, love. I’m still here.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered against my hair, his voice suffused with grief.

  Don’t be sorry, love. It’s not your fault. Do you hear me?

  “This is all my fault.” His words were pain embodied.

  I love you, Wes. Can’t you feel it?

  “I love you,” he said fiercely, his hands cupping my cheeks, which were damp with his tears. “I will always love you.”

  He loves me.

  “Goodbye,” he breathed.

  Goodbye?

  He pressed a final, gentle kiss to my lips, his hands sliding into my dirty, smoke-stinking hair. A sound escaped his throat — one of indescribable sorrow. Half sob, half scream. Like he was being torn apart from the inside out.

  And then, he turned and walked away.

  Out of my room, out of my life.

  My tether was gone.

  I began to drift once more.

  Chapter Thirty-Five: WESTON

  NUMB

  “Are you listening to me, Abbott?”

  Benson’s voice was even more annoying in person. It normally would’ve pissed me off, but at the moment I wasn’t capable of feeling anything but numb. He walked several steps closer to where I sat. I continued to stare at the grains in the hardwood floor.

  “Abbott. I’m not fucking around. Did you hear a goddamned thing I just said?”

  I lifted empty eyes to his face. “You have a lead on Szekely via your sources in Turkey. Got it.”

  “I need you in Istanbul,” he snapped. “There is no room for error. With this fuck-up of a mission, we’ve blown any element of surprise we might’ve had. This op is going to be a long-haul. Deep cover, little contact. No more half-assing it.”

  I was silent.

  “I need to know your head is in the game, Abbott.”

  “Yeah. Got it.”

  Benson stared at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  I laughed, the sound mirthless and bitter as it filled the air.

  What was wrong with me?

  What a ridiculous question. What a ludicrous answer.

  I killed the love of my life.

  Killed her.

  It wasn’t my bullet, but I might as well have pulled the trigger.

  Now she was dead.

  Or soon-to-be.

  She’d never wake up.

  Never laugh again. Never smile. Never see the world through caramel eyes and rose-colored glasses.

  Because of me.

  “Abbott,” Benson growled. “There is no room for error, here. Can you do this or not?”

  I could do it — lose myself again.

  I was an expert at it.

  The only thing I couldn’t do was sit around here and watch her die. I couldn’t live in a world where I knew Faith Morrissey didn’t exist.

  “When?” I asked, my voice remote.

  “Tomorrow or the next day.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “No. Now.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I cleared my throat and rose to my feet. “I’ll leave now.”

  Benson’s eyebrows went up. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded.

  I wouldn’t last another minute in this city. She was everywhere.

  On every bridge, at every street corner. Saturating the air. Seizing my thoughts. Seeping into my bones.

  Faith was Budapest. Budapest was Faith.

  And I was the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

  My very presence in her life was a cancer, a life-draining force. If she had even a shot at survival, I had to go.

  The sooner I left, the further I fled, the better off she’d be.

  And, if she died…

  The last shred of good in me would go to the grave alongside her.

  The man I’d strived to be whenever I was near her…

  He’d be dead, too.

  Chapter Thirty-Six: FAITH

  SHRAPNEL

  When I finally peeled my eyes open, it was five days later.

  My lips were cracked, my throat was raw. My eyes swept the hospital room, taking in the tan-brown walls and the series of beeping machines and monitors parked next to my bed. There was an IV line in my right hand and, despite the painkillers that were flowing into my bloodstream in a steady drip, there was a lancing, throbbing ache in my abdomen.

  A man I’d never seen before was sitting in a chair by my bed, s
taring at me with cool eyes. Pudgy, balding, and noticeably uncomfortable in his own skin, he instantly reminded me of my seventh grade math teacher, Mr. Schwartz – the perspiring, chalk-dusted lump of a man who’d first introduced me to the horrors of algebra.

  “Water,” I croaked.

  He poured me a glass and lifted it to my lips, helping me take small sips until my throat started working again.

  “What happened to me?” I asked, once he’d settled back into his seat.

  “You were shot.” He had small, beady brown eyes that never seemed to blink. “Your spleen was ruptured and a portion of it was removed during surgery. You lost a lot of blood, so you’ve had several transfusions. You also suffered severe smoke inhalation, so you’re being monitored for long-term lung effects.”

  I blinked as I tried to process all of that.

  “I remember the fire,” I murmured, thinking back to that horrible stretch of time I spent trapped in the inferno. It seemed almost like a dream, now.

  “Yes, it consumed the entire Hermes office.” Begrudging anger laced his voice.

  I lifted my gaze back to him. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Joseph Benson. I work for the U.S. Government.” He flashed an official looking badge that read, in embossed gold letters, CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY.

  I felt my eyes go round. “What? Why are you here? How…?”

  The man sighed. “You will, of course, have a full debriefing later. For now, all you need to know is the organization you were working for has strong ties to a crime syndicate that we, as a nation, have a vested interest in putting a stop to.”

  “Crime syndicate…” I echoed, disbelief plain in my tone. I wondered if I was still unconscious, if this was some kind of drug-induced dream. “Like a front company for the mob, or something?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not authorized to tell you much beyond what I’ve said already. Not until we’ve cleared you and had you sign a non-disclosure agreement.”

  “Cleared me?”

  “Formally absolved you of any involvement in this. It’s protocol.”

  I nodded, as if the things he was saying were making any sense at all.