by Autumn Avery
Even though he’s doing a great job of appearing friendly, there’s something dangerous and threatening about the way this man speaks. Maybe it’s the way Joey is looking at him, but I can feel the hair on my arms stand up. And what is he talking about? Who misses Joey?
“I’ve made my decision, Ed. You know that. It’s final.”
Edrich nods, his eyes moving to the ground. He doesn’t speak for a long time, like he’s considering his options.
“I see,” he says finally. “No way to change your mind?”
“No. Now I suggest you leave.”
“Sorry, Joe,” Edrich says, taking a step forward. “You know how this works.”
He moves like lightning as he swings at Joey, but Joey is faster. He ducks the blow and counters with his own, striking Edrich in the stomach, causing him to double over. The man to his right raises his arm to swing, but Joey’s fist catches him in the throat and sends him sprawling to the ground.
I feel the fear paralyze me, and I can only watch as the remaining two men snatch Joey from behind, pinning his arms behind his back. He struggles to get free, but they have a strong hold on him. Edrich stands, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out something dark and rectangular. With a metallic click, I see a blade snap out. A switchblade!
He holds the knife out, advancing on Joey. He’s going to stab him! Joey sees the knife, and starts fighting to get free. I have to help him. Summoning all my courage, I rush forward, but it’s too late. Edrich is already swinging the knife at Joey. The blade streaks the air, the light from the streetlamp glinting off the cold steel.
Then, at the last possible moment, Joey jumps.
He kicks hard off the ground and brings his feet up in front of him. One foot strikes the hand holding the knife, sending it skidding across the street toward me. And like some kind of gymnast, he twists backwards over both men to land on his feet behind them.
He swings and knocks one of the men cold, his body collapsing to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The other man turns, but Joey’s knee comes up and connects with his nose. With a sickening crunch, the man tumbles backwards.
Edrich is racing toward me, the switchblade only inches from my feet. He’s almost on me, and I reach down and snatch the knife up and hold it behind my back.
“Give me that!” he screams as he races toward me. He stretches a hand out and snatches me by the throat, squeezing so hard I can’t breath. I feel his other hand circle around my back and grip my wrist of the hand holding the knife. My fingers start to open and I feel my grip slipping. I’m not getting any oxygen, and I feel his grip on my throat tighten. The world starts to grey and the edges of my vision start to blur and fade to black.
That’s when Joey hits him.
I hear Edrich’s jaw break as Joey’s fist connects with his face. Instantly his hands release me as he topples over, slamming into a dumpster before crashing down to the cobblestones. Joey roars with anger and kicks him hard in the stomach. Edrich doubles over and yelps with pain, curling up in an attempt to protect himself.
But Joey rains down kick after kick on the man, overcome with rage. I collapse to my knees, my hand massaging my throat as I try to get a breath. When I look up, I see light spilling out from a window above me, and a French woman speaking quickly into a phone. She must be calling the police.
No sooner do I realize what’s happening do I hear the sirens. I turn to Joey, who is pummeling the fallen man, and I call to him, my throat dry and sore from where Edrich had his hand around me.
“Joey!” I shout. He doesn’t hear me. I struggle to my feet and put a hand on his shoulder. “Joey, stop!”
He turns to me, breathing heavily, dripping with sweat.
“Are you okay?!” he blurts out, grabbing my face with both hands, pulling me close to him.
“Yes, I’m okay! Who were they? Who were those men?”
The sound of police sirens grows nearer. Joey hears them and snatches me by the hand.
“Come on!” he shouts, kicking Edrich one final time before pulling me down the street.
“What? Where are we going? The police are coming!”
“I know! Come on!”
We sprint to the end of the street and instantly slow down as we emerge onto one of the main roads. Gripping my hand tightly, he pulls me behind him, turning left and walking in the shadows of the sidewalk. We take a left down a side street, a right, and then another left.
Two police cars speed up the road toward us, sirens and lights blaring. Joey tilts his head down as they roar past us, then pulls me into an alley. I see his car waiting for us, and he leads me toward it.
“Joey, where are we going? Why are we running from the police?”
He pulls the car door open and ushers me inside. But I stop and look at him.
“Joey? What is this?”
“Get in the car, Mia,” he replies, struggling to keep himself composed. I look back at him, my eyes pleading for answers.
“Please?” He pleads with me. “Please, just get in the car? We have to go.”
I look into his eyes, and see his concern. It’s undeniable. But the man I see standing before me is not the man I thought I knew.
“Please…”
Finally, I give in and get into the car. He jumps in beside me, slams the door, and raps on the glass for the driver.
“Let’s go!”
The car roars to life and I’m pushed back in my seat as we accelerate out of the alley and onto the street.
We sit in tense silence as the car races through the streets of Paris. Joey gets on his phone.
“Yeah, we need it ready to go immediately. Yes.”
I’m almost in a daze as I watch the lights of the city zip by out the window.
“Just one. I’ll be coming in a few days.”
The driver takes a turn and I realize what route we’re taking.
“We’re not going back to the hotel?” I say, more of a statement than a question.
“It’s not safe here any longer,” Joey replies, hanging up the phone.
“Safe? What’s not safe? Joey, what’s going on?”
“We have to get you back to Stonehill, Mia. I’m so sorry. I should have never have involved you.” I can hear the shame in his voice. Shame mixed with anger.
“Involved me in what, Joey?” I say, raising my voice, feeling my own anger rise inside me, all the suppressed emotions I’d told myself I could handle.
“It’s better you don’t know,” he replies. “I’m sorry, Mia.”
The car takes a hard turn as we pull into the airport, the suspension rocking as we take a speed bump too fast. I brace myself against the seat as I turn to him.
“Stop telling me that! I need answers, Joey!”
“I’m sorry, Mia.”
The car skids to a stop and Joey hops out, goes around, and opens my door. He holds a hand out to me, but I stay seated, looking defiantly up at him.
“Mia,” he says emphatically. “Come on, Mia. You have to go now.”
“You know how I said I don’t need to know everything, Joey? Well…I think I do…”
A look of despair floods over Joey’s face as he looks back at me.
“Mia, please…”
“What’s in the backpack, Joey,” I ask him, eyeing the bag he hasn’t let out of his sight since we arrived in Paris. He sighs deeply, and I can almost see his heart rate skyrocket. He nervously jitters a leg, looking away from me. Finally he turns back to me and meets my gaze. I stare at him, pleading with my eyes. I watch as a new look comes over his face, and he gives in.
With a shrug, he swings the backpack so the pockets face me. The zipper to the backpack click as he slowly opens the main pocket. He tilts the bag down to face me and pulls it open, and I see what’s inside.
Money. So much money I can’t even begin to imagine how much is there. U.S. Dollars and Euros, several passports, travellers’ checks, and other things I don’t even recognize. I gasp and put a hand to my lips. It’s imposs
ible to hide my surprised look from him, and I look up at him with a look that must pain him, because I see sadness flood over his face as he zips the bag back up.
“Where did you get that?” I whisper.
He’s breathing heavily, starting to seem almost panicked. He takes a long time to respond. “I don’t want to lie to you, Mia.”
“But…you don’t want to tell me the truth?”
He looks so conflicted, but I need answers. I see how distraught he is, and I feel for him. I want to reach out and hug him and hold him and tell him everything will be all right, but that’s what he should be doing for me! This trip, these last few days, what has this all been? Who is he? I suddenly feel like I don’t know the answers to any of these questions.
“I can’t get on the plane with you, Mia,” he says sadly, unable to bring his eyes to mine. “This is as far as we can go together.”
My arms hang lifelessly at my sides. My throat feels dry and scratchy, and it’s almost like I’ve lost the will to fight for answers from him. I waited six years, and when he came back, I figured he would tell me eventually, and then I would know. I’d know why he’d chosen to leave me, why he had never returned, and why I should forgive him. Answers. That’s why I’d come. But now, standing here on the runway facing nothing but more questions, I lose all hope that those answers will ever come.
Slowly, I nod at him, fighting back the tears welling up in my eyes. He can’t even look at me. Such a strong, brave man, able to fight off four men, but not able to look at the woman he loves.
“Okay…” I whisper sadly, feeling the cool air blow my hair across my face. I look down at his hand. I want to reach out and take it, squeeze it, and tell him goodbye. But I force myself to simply walk past him, leaving him behind. If he won’t give me answers, I won’t give him consolation. None of this is okay, and he’s bringing it on himself.
As I take the steps up onto the plane, I tell myself I don’t care that he’s upset.
I tell myself I don’t love him.
I tell myself I don’t care if this is breaking his heart.
But as the door closes behind me, and I feel the cabin pressurize, I know I’m just lying to myself.
None of the staff on the plane speak to me during the ride home. It’s pretty clear from my body language that I want to be left alone as I stare out the window, watching the blackness of the night sky. But there’s nothing out there, and all I see is my sad, pathetic reflection in the glass. I look pathetic. I slam the shade shut and turn away, curling up on the couch for the remainder of the flight.
It feels wrong to be so upset in such a luxurious setting. If I was in some cramped coach seat filled with hot stinky bodies, I would be more able to convince myself that I had a right to be miserable, but even now, Joey is taking care of me, giving me the best treatment money can buy. Too bad it can’t buy truth.
The most amazing time of my life, ruined. It was all a sham. Joey is all a sham. Thoughts race through my head, bouncing around like ping pong balls, never able to settle on one thing.
When we land, there’s a car waiting for me. I hadn’t even thought about that. But Joey had.
Of course he had, I think, rolling my eyes. Across the ocean and he’s still able to be a gentleman. It’s so impossible to hate him, even though everything in my rational brain wants to. But it’s just not that easy. But I can’t see him again. For my own sake, I can’t keep doing this to myself.
I call Cassidy from the car.
“Hey, Cass,” I groan.
“Mia? Where the Hell have you been?” She sounds legitimately worried. “I’ve been calling your phone like a hundred times!”
Duh, I haven’t even told her that yet. “Paris,” I say.
“Paris? What are you talking about?!”
“Joey took me,” I say, one hand on my forehead.
“Whoa, wait! What?” She sounds completely taken aback, which she should be. “Paris? With Joey? So…how was it? Was it amazing?”
“Well, I’m coming home alone in a hired car and I’m ready to get hammered, so I’ll let you put two and two together.”
“Oh, no! Okay, I’ll be right over. What should I bring?”
“Whatever gets you drunkest the fastest,” I say, forcing myself to laugh. I can hear her already getting her keys and things together to come over.
“I’ll be there in ten,” she says and hangs up. Cass is like the complete opposite to Joey. No matter what happens, I know I can always rely on her to say and do the right thing. She cares about me, and she doesn’t just say she does, she shows me she does. And that’s why we’re such good friends. I consider myself lucky to have her.
The car pulls up in front of my apartment, and I’m out the door before the wheels have completely stopped. A bunch of hicks in a pick up blow past us, spraying the block with acrid smelling smoke. I’m definitely not in Paris anymore.
I lug my bag quickly up the door to my apartment, unlock it, and step inside. I don’t even bother turning on the light. I just drop my bag and slump down on the couch. Orange light spills in from one of the streetlights, reminding me where I am. No more five star hotel rooms or walk in showers or chauffeurs.
This isn’t Paris.
This is Stonehill.
And this is my home.
I wonder what Joey is doing right now. There are so many questions running around in my mind. Is he even upset about what happened? Why won’t he talk to me? Where did that bag of money come from, let alone all the other things he paid for? And how did he just dismantle those four men? And who were they?
My head is spinning, and I need something to calm it down. These last few days have been a lifetime of confusion and excitement, more than enough for anybody, and although I’ve turned my back on Joey, somehow I feel there’s still more to come.
I rise quickly from the couch and move to the fridge. Cold blue light spills onto the linoleum floor as I open the door and snatch the bottle of vodka. Without even bothering for a glass, I slump down at the kitchen table and take a deep swig. It’s bitter and harsh as it goes down, but it’s what I want; I’m in the mood for suffering. I know I’m feeling sorry for myself, but who cares? If no one else is going to, then I have to.
The liquor isn’t doing much to calm my nerves, so I take another swig, way too big, and feel my stomach lurch as it goes down. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I press the cold bottle to my cheek. I’m feeling flush, and my cheeks are probably flushed and red. I wish Cassidy would hurry up and get here. I’m really not coping too well at the moment.
Finally, the knock comes from the door.
“About time!” I shout as I stand up. I’m already a little tipsy, but I manage to make it to the doorknob. “Thought I was going to finish the bottle myself!”
I yank the door open and find myself face to face with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s tall, several inches on me, thin, and athletic looking, with proud cheekbones, a mane of thick black hair, and ripped black jeans and a leather jacket. I’m so surprised, not only by her looks but by her presence, that I’m unable to speak for a moment. She eyes me up and town shamelessly, then smiles.
“You must be Mia,” she muses, her voice sounding somehow dangerous.
“And you are?” I reply, trying to be as sassy and confident as I can.
“Me? I’m Katarina. I’m Joey’s wife.”
Chapter 9
The all too familiar sensation boils up from inside me, and I double over and vomit all over the steps. Katarina dodges nimbly to the side and lets out a commiserating groan of a parent, her hands snatching my hair away from my mouth.
“Aww, there there,” she says as she pats me softly on the back. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”
I’m in no condition to argue, so I allow her to take my arm and lead me back into my apartment. I hear the door click behind us and she brings me to the couch and sets me down. My body feels like Jello stuffed into skin, and I almost melt into the cushio
ns as she takes a seat in the chair in front of me.
My vision’s starting to blur as I look up at her, and I realize she hasn’t bothered to turn on a light. The glow of the streetlight outside has bathed her in an eerie orange glow that makes her look like a predator sitting before me. I can feel myself starting to panic.
Joey’s wife?
What the Hell is going on? She doesn’t look like the wife type, more like the silent assassin type or some kind of female secret agent spy. The way she sits, strong and upright, shoulders pulled back with confidence, suggests some sort of athleticism, and the way she moved out on the porch…
She also doesn’t seem like Joey’s type. She and I couldn’t be any more different, and thinking of them together just doesn’t add up. But here she is, and she obviously knows Joey. And why would she lie to me about that? It’s not like she has anything to gain from me. But this raises another question, one that I need to know the answer to.
“How do you know who I am?” I ask her. “And how do you know where I live?”
“Oh, Mia,” she says with a devilish smile. “This is Stonehill. Everyone knows everyone here.”
“You’re not from around here,” I reply.
“What gave me away?” she jokes.
It’s hard to imagine her being from anywhere. There’s something about her that seems so worldly and experienced that nowhere seems to really fit her. Probably from a city, though. I’d say that from her fashion alone, but also the way she said “Stonehill,” with a slight flick of contempt on her tongue, as though small towns just aren’t good enough for her. Suddenly I feel defensive of this town, the town I’ve been dying to escape. This woman is making me feel very strange.
“You’re Joey’s…wife?” I say, the words feeling all wrong as they escape my lips.
“That I am. And I’m looking for him. Have you seen him?”
Arrogance. She’s simply oozing with it, and as I stare back at her, I can feel my anger for Joey morphing and redirecting at her. Who does she think she is that she can just waltz in here into my apartment and demand answers from me. For some reason I want to snatch her by that thick pile of hair and drag her out the door onto the lawn. I think it’s the way she’s looking at me—that condescending look of someone who thinks they’re better than you.