by Kyle Autumn
And then there’s Keaton.
His clothes are sopping wet, dripping water as the rain pelts against his body. He approaches me, but I don’t look at him. Even though I want to run too, I can’t get away. I’m still handcuffed to this car, stuck having to listen to whatever bullshit he’s about to spew at me. I couldn’t care less. All I want is to get the fuck out of here and away from this shit. My life is fucked up enough already. I don’t need this on top of it.
As soon as he reaches me, I turn my back to him. Then I hear him say, “Thanks, man,” to someone before a click sounds and I’m no longer getting wet. He places a heavy blanket over my shoulders and rubs my arms with one hand. But I don’t let myself show him any gratitude. He can’t show up at the last minute to stop the people he handed me over to from killing me. No, that’s not how this is going to go down. He can fuck off.
“The cops are going to find them. Don’t worry,” he tells my back.
“I’m not worried,” I deadpan. “Whatever’s going to happen is going to happen. And it looks like my father got his justice after all.”
“Ali, look—” he starts.
But I don’t want to listen to him anymore. “Don’t fucking talk to me. I don’t care about anything you have to say.”
“Well, you can’t run away from me right now, so you’re going to have to listen. I need you to hear me.”
“Why?” I spit at him as I face him. “So you can spin some story about how you didn’t really help with my mother’s murder? So you can lie to me some more? So you can explain away the fact that you set me up to die just like she did?”
The pain on his face can’t be faked. He’s not that good of an actor, but I’m also so over believing lies and trusting people who haven’t earned it. I was insane to think I could let my walls down and trust this man. Crazy insane.
“It’s nothing like that. If you’d just listen, you’d know the truth,” he insists, holding the umbrella over our heads.
“I already know the truth. You are the one who’s been hiding the evidence that would put my father behind bars, where he belongs!” I scream at him. “There’s nothing else I need to know! I wouldn’t have to be on the run, scared for my life every moment of the day, if you weren’t sitting on the one thing the police needed to send my father to prison!” With a heavy thrust, I yank on my handcuffs.
Even though the handle moves, the car door is locked, so I gain nothing but fresh pain and bruises from the effort. Frustrated as I am, though, I yank again and again, receiving the same result. I try to use my shoulder to wipe the water away from my face, unsure if they’re raindrops or tears, but my hoodie is wet too, and all I do is smear it around my skin.
Defeated, I slump over and say, “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”
The heat in his eyes is enough to start a fire in the middle of the pouring rain. And just when I think he might do that, he reaches his free hand for the car door handle and rips it clean off with all of his strength.
When he marches me farther into the woods, I regret having said what I said about killing me, because he might be leading me straight for that chance.
26
Keaton
I don’t want her to feel stuck, like she has no choice but to listen to me when she clearly doesn’t want to. So I want to give her the option to hear me out on her own terms. I hate seeing her so crushed and overwhelmed. She doesn’t deserve this. Though I deserve every ounce of fiery disappointment she’s going to send my way. Still, I don’t want it, and I’m going to do everything in my power to show her that I’m not the bad guy here. Hopefully she’ll listen.
Once we reach my car, which I left far enough away that they didn’t hear me pull in—even though Melinda knew I was there—I open the door for her and help her in. She puts up a bit of a struggle, but in the end, I think being dry and warm wins out. Then I close the umbrella and take the spot next to her in the back seat, giving the cops a for the love of god, give me one second with her gesture.
The slam of the door marks a kind of finality with us. This discussion will either make or break whatever we started to have, so I send up a small prayer that this goes the way I hope it does.
“Look,” I begin as gently as I can. I’m not sure it’s gentle at all, given the emotions coursing through my veins, but I gave it a shot. “You can leave any time you want, okay? If you’re done listening to me, feel free to go. But the last thing in the world I’m going to do is hurt you. Okay?”
“Why should I believe that?” she asks, facing the window instead of me. Which is fine. I’ll take a stupid question over her leaving the car, for sure.
I take a deep breath in to hopefully find some patience. “If I were going to kill you, I could have done it several times already, right?”
It’s like I can see the gears working in her head. She’s carefully thinking this through, and for that, I’m grateful.
“I had plenty of chances if that had been my goal,” I continue, risking a shot of putting my hand on her thigh.
She swats me away though, both of her handcuffed hands flying at the one I used to touch her leg. Then she gives me a you stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine glare.
Message received. I throw my hands up in surrender. Then she faces the window again.
“You have to admit I’m right though, don’t you?” I press further. “I’ve done the exact opposite of kill you since you woke up in my basement.” I conveniently leave out the part about attacking her, but I think she gets the point.
Finally, after several strained moments of silence, she huffs out a huge breath. “Then what the fuck, Keaton? Did you know who I was this whole time? Have you been playing me since we met? Did you keep me in your basement and your bedroom so I wouldn’t see photos of Melinda in your living room?” She shakes her handcuffed hands out in front of herself in pure frustration. “What. The. Fuck!”
My nostrils flare at her line of questioning. Part of me is offended that she’d even think these things about me. But when I take a step back and put myself in her shoes, I can see where she’s coming from, even if I fucking hate it.
“The answer to all of that is no,” I tell her, slowly moving my open hands toward her to readjust her blanket. As she lets me tuck it around her, I say “Think about this too. I told you vague things about me, but not to hint at anything, more to keep it to myself because I was fucking embarrassed and full of hate over it. I told you I was hiding something in my backyard and I wouldn’t have told you that if I’d known who you were. I didn’t even know Robert had a daughter.”
“And if you’d known?” she spits at me, the blanket sliding down one shoulder. “Would you have done something differently, like, say, turn the murder weapon in so justice could be served to his family?”
“I held on to it to keep my life. He couldn’t come kill me with that loose end hanging out there. I didn’t want to work for him anymore, so I held that over his head to get out, and I wouldn’t have hesitated to turn it in if I’d though it wouldn’t have gotten me killed,” I say without thinking it through.
She lets me have exactly what I should have predicted would come. “And your actions have nearly gotten me killed! For four years,” she sobs as she points four fingers at me, “I’ve been running because my father wanted me dead! You could have stopped this years ago!”
I let her sob and scream. She needs the outlet, so I’ll give it to her. Because she has a point. I could have ended this a long time ago. I could have turned the evidence in, but I would have charged with obstruction—or I would have been killed. Instead, I held on to it to stay alive. And I try to explain that to her.
“If I’d handed it over to the police,” I tell her softly, “we wouldn’t be here right now. Your father might have paid people to stay out of jail, and you’d still be on the run, but I wouldn’t have ever had to start. I’d still be working for him. And we wouldn’t have found each other in the dark.”
Sadly, she s
hakes her head, tears streaming from her eyes. My heart sinks to the floorboard when I realize that that’s not a good enough explanation for her. Or maybe it is, but she’s so distraught over how fucked up this is that it doesn’t even matter anymore. Perhaps this thing between us really will end before it’s even started.
“You know,” she begins, a despondent tone shredding the edges of her words, “I once said that the past is the past. That it didn’t matter what we did to get here and the only thing we can do is move forward.” She rests her handcuffed hands in her lap and turns her head to face me. “But that just isn’t true. Sometimes,” she breathes out, wiping a tear on her cheek, “it isn’t about what we did in our past. Sometimes, it’s what we didn’t do that matters.”
With that, she opens the car door and walks straight to the cop—the one I called, not a corrupt one who works for her father—waiting for her. Which leaves me with a broken heart when I didn’t even think I had a heart to begin with.
Part II
One week later
Dear Ali,
I wasn’t a man of many words during our brief period together. I want to apologize for that. Maybe if I’d opened up more, things would be different right now. But I can’t live in what-ifs. I couldn’t have told you more than I did at the time. So, to work through all of that, I’m going to write my feelings, my thoughts, whatever the hell I feel like writing about. And I’m going to send it all to you.
My hope from this is that you’ll learn about me the way I want to learn about you. I want to write things down in the way I’d tell them to you. Because I’d much rather be doing that—speaking to you in person. I want to share everything with you, Ali, and I hope you feel the same way. I think you do, but for some reason, you won’t admit it. Or you won’t allow yourself. So I want these letters to bring us closer.
Especially because I moved out of the house next door to you. My lease was almost up anyway, but you’d rather not see me right now and I don’t want to cause you any more stress. I’ve spoken with Jane about you—I hope you’re not mad about that—to make sure you’re okay. I’ll do anything to help you heal from this, even if it means not being around right now. I have to believe you’ll come around though.
We met for a reason, Ali. Even if it was just to help each other get through to this phase of life. That doesn’t mean we can’t try for something more. No one else has ever accepted me for who I am. Mostly because I never let anyone try. But I did with you and I don’t regret it for a second. I hope you don’t, either, but I can see how you might.
I want to change all of that though. I want you to give me a chance to prove to you that life can be amazing if we’re together. We don’t have to live in fear anymore, and we can do whatever we want. Together, we can conquer anything. You gave me the strength to believe that, even though I have the baggage from my past. I’ll carry it forever, but with your belief in me like before, I can drop it for a while and make life better.
We have something special. We were both able to see through the bullshit. Through the lies and the schemes. I saw your soul, and you saw mine. And in the moment, it didn’t matter what we’d done. Even though you think what I didn’t do has more meaning, now that we’re on the other side and everything is fine, I think you’ll see through that. You’ll realize that we can’t allow the past to hold us back.
You meant what you said in my house that night, Ali. And I’ll wait forever if I have to for you to realize that.
Keaton
Four weeks after that
Dear Ali,
I got a job this week. Real, honest work. I’m working construction, which doubles as my workouts for the day. I got the job through a friend I made at a restaurant I’ve been going to a lot. It’s weird to think about having friends. And a job that didn’t require committing a crime to get it. I feel like you’d be proud of me.
Some days, I look back and wonder how I got myself into such a fucking mess. But on those days, I tell those thoughts to go to hell. All I know now is that I went through it all because I had to in order to cross paths with you. I’m sorry as hell that it all went down that way, and if I could change it, I’d do whatever I could to make sure you never got caught in the crossfire. But I also don’t ever want to change it. Because it brought me you.
You’re the only person I felt brave enough to show my scars. And you didn’t hate them. You appreciated them for what they were: a part of me.
I never told you how I got them, but I’d like to now.
One of the things your father wanted me to was burn someone’s house down—while they were in it. I wish he hadn’t been such a bad man, but at least I know firsthand and you don’t have to explain it to me or relive the horrible things I know you went through when you were younger.
Anyway, I couldn’t do it. It was the first time I really did not want to complete a job for your father. But I’d been doing it for so long that I was able to turn that part of me off. I could just do the job so I could get paid and go home. So I started the fire and got back in my truck.
But, as I started the car, I saw a little girl in a window on the second floor of the house. In that moment, I knew I’d gone too far. I’d let this life get out of control. So, with the fire raging inside the house, I ran back in to get everyone out. I managed to wake the target up by banging on the door. Then I went to get the little girl, but on my way out, the fire was too much for me to walk through. I was able to hand the girl over to her father through a small area without that much heat.
On my own way out, though, my shirt caught on fire and I didn’t realize until I was already outside. Adrenaline stopped me from feeling it until it was too late. By the time I put it out, the damage was done. When I woke up in the hospital, your father was furious with me because I’d failed. He didn’t care about me or my well-being, and I knew I’d do anything I had to to get out of that job. So I did.
And it might have been the wrong thing to do morally (and even in your eyes), but I’d go through all of it again to find you in the dark, Ali.
All of it.
Every single second.
Keaton
Three months after that
Dear Ali,
Having a real job and being able to put half down goes a long way toward getting a mortgage. I bought a house today. I’m not sure if you care about any of this, seeing as I haven’t heard from you, but writing to you about it helps me feel like there’s hope. And maybe seeing that I’m getting my life together in a non-criminal way will lead you back. It’s worth a shot. You are worth it.
So the house. It’s a one-story ranch-style home. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a finished basement. Lots of space even though I don’t need it all. It’s nice to have it and to be able to call it mine though. Well, it’ll be mine in fifteen years, when I finish paying it off. But you know.
Renting for years was necessary, as you well know. Before that, I was renting because that’s what I had to do when I got out of the military. And it made sense to continue to do that when I didn’t have a job I could put on a loan application. Now, though, I’m working hard for less pay, but it’s legit. It has a paper trail and everything. That’s priceless.
And another thing I think you’d be proud of.
Ali, I’m working hard to make a life you’ll want to be a part of. I know that you don’t approve of my past, of the actions I’ve taken then, but I want my future to look bright in your eyes. Everything I do, whether you’ll speak to me or not, has you and your approval written all over it. Nothing I do ever again will get in the way of making you mine.
If you’re reading this, you might be rolling your eyes. I know, I say this all the time, but I haven’t heard from you, so I’m not sure what else to say to get through to you. I want us to learn more about each other. I know we won’t agree on everything, but something in my soul needs yours around me. That’s all I know. And I’m proud of the life I’m making on this side of having met you. I think you’d be proud of me too
.
Our time together was short, and it happened in a fucked-up way. I know that. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling like I know more than enough about you to want to spend the rest of my life with you. You saw right through to who I am, because I am the man you thought I was. Maybe I wasn’t being true to him before. But I am now. Please come see for yourself.
Honestly, Ali, I miss you so damn much. We only had twenty-four hours together, and although they were full of pain, they were the best I’ve ever had.
Can you ever forgive me and come back to me?
Keaton
27
Ali
“Sorry I’m late!” Jane says as she drops into the chair across from me.
I hand her a menu and smile. “Don’t worry about it. You’re here now.”
“Did you order already? I hope you didn’t wait for me.” She shrugs out of her coat and sets it next to her. Rubbing her hands together, she pores over the menu—even though we’ve been here nearly every Wednesday for the last few months and she always orders the same thing.
Shaking my head, I say, “Nope. I totally couldn’t wait for you.” Then I laugh a little. “I don’t even know why I saved the menu for you, either. Because I ordered for you too.”
Jane lifts her head and gives me the stink-eye. “And now we’ll never know if today was the day I was going to break my streak.” Her scowl dissolves into a grin and wink. However, that expression turns serious as she slides her menu to the side and folds her hands in front of her on the table. “Now, don’t be mad…”