Inner Core: (Stark, #2)

by Sigal Ehrlich

  “I’ll get you one.” Rafael jumps.

  Woo, someone is indeed already in for it.

  “Let me.” Ian stops him with a friendly hand on his shoulder, smirking at us. Not more than a minute later, Ian returns with four tall, perspiring glasses. Rafael and Josh observe him appreciatively, failing to understand how Ian pulled it off given the long and impatient line.

  Ian hands everyone a glass and then points at his broad smirk. “I’ve used this so many times... It always works like a fucking charm.” Tasha and I snort in unison, trade amused glances, and shake our heads.

  “He’ll grow on you.” Tasha pats Rafael’s chest and leads him to the dance floor for a much sensual dance.

  Peeps, who’s in? The odds are high tonight. Who’s betting for either the cloakroom or toilet before midnight?

  “Join us?” Ian reaches for my hand, moving toward the dance floor.

  “You two go, I’ll join soon,” Josh says. He pecks Ian’s lips and shuffles over to where a group of senior managers are standing. Strangely enough, I find the idea of Josh and Ian together heartwarming. Seems like Josh could really bring stability and sanity to Ian’s life. And it does look as though they really care for each other.

  Disregarding the rhythmic summery music, Ian pulls me into a slow dance—it's the only way to talk. “Aren’t you a little intimidated by all those Ians all over the place?” I ask, giving the room another long glance.

  “Me, intimidated by something like that?” He sneers and huffs. “For how long have you known me, exactly?”

  “Dear, this is coming from a friend and out of pure love.”

  Ian grins and raises an eyebrow.

  “You should seriously check into a rehab for narcissism, and then, when you get out, volunteer at a shelter or something. Get your morals and ego back to the basic prerequisite, for the sake of humanity.” His response comes as a wider grin.

  “What have you swallowed, the bible?” He shakes his head. “Morals,” he mumbles, this time sneering. “Nah, even that won’t help…” He then leans toward me and whispers in my ear. “Do you know that awkward moment when you see someone so hot you actually reach your hand to touch him and you're blocked by the mirror?”

  “Jesus, Ian, seriously, this is even too much for you, c’mon.” I feign repulsion.

  “Just messing with you.” He squeezes my waist and pulls me tighter against him; I can feel the remnants of his low chuckles reverberating through me before they soften. We start talking about the article he sent me about Daniel earlier today, and I answer his question—that I didn’t get to talk to Daniel yet—Josh interferes.

  “Go ahead, all yours.” I detach from Ian and allow them some privacy. I grab a drink from the tropical bar and join a group of my teammates, who are in the middle of an enthusiastic conversation about our new project (“is black really the new black”). Minutes into the discussion, I reach for one of drinks on a passing waiter’s tray, this time choosing a pink cocktail decorated with a yellow umbrella and crystals of sugar. Before returning my attention to my colleagues, I catch a glimpse of Tasha and Rafael, who seem to have gotten much cozier. Moments later, I feel nature's call and excuse myself.

  “What are you trying to do,” Ian asks over the loud music, right into my ear, stopping me right in my tracks. I jump in surprise and almost spill what’s left of my drink, then shrug, not sure how I’ve sinned this time.

  “Are you experimenting some kind of untrained liver resistance?” he asks, gesturing toward the glass in my hand.

  How many have I already drained? I haven't eaten any solid food recently...

  “Just take it from her,” Tasha says bossily, and rudely takes my drink away.

  Where did she appear from?

  “Only when you grow up.” She sends me a smug, condescending grin and an airy kiss.

  “I don’t get it. Weren't you all occupied a millisecond ago? Am I under parental supervision tonight?”

  “Not just tonight, try always,” Ian says, bored, smiling at Tasha. Then they both just kiss me and walk away.

  I shake my head, a motion that makes me a tiny bit wobbly, and start making my way to the restroom. Perhaps it's a good time to move to virgin drinks. But then again, that gloomy je ne sais quoi has drifted away…

  “Oh my god, what a waste,” I hear a feminine, high-pitched voice behind the locked stall door. Sounds like it might be that Jenny girl from admin staff.

  “It’s like watching a juicy steak with your jaws wired shut.” I hear a frustrated huff conclude the sentence.

  “The hottest guys around, not only gays but a couple. Life is just too cruel,” whines a second voice.

  I trap my lips with my teeth to hold my laugh hostage. Flushing, I put my hand over the lock when the first one says, “Talking about drop dead gorgeous, have you ever seen that chick, what’s her face, Shelly from Josh’s team? Have you seen her boyfriend? It’s that businessman, something Stark.” I retrieve my hand from the handle and remain silent.

  Shelly? I twist my mouth.

  “Yes, wow! And she is just like, plain okay, not like, a supermodel or anything. Unfair. Cruel, cruel life!”

  “Good evening. Great party, hmm?” I greet the two voices in the form of two temporary employees from the admin team. I send them both a wide, toothy grin through the mirror.

  “Oh… hi,” says the squealing one, a freckled redhead who glances awkwardly at her friend.

  “Bye,” says the second, a buzz-cut blondie who grabs her friend’s hand and pushes them both out the door. I stare at my reflection in the mirror while washing my hands, and huff. The mention of Daniel drops a stone in my gut and the melancholy returns.

  When I leave the toilet and hear the first tunes of the next song my eyes dart around, looking for two more pairs of eyes in the crowd, which I’m pretty sure are also looking for mine. I encounter Tasha’s stare first, which quickly turns gleaming. She nods, tilting her head toward the middle of the dance floor. I notice Ian's head above a harem of swooning, cackling ladies, which grins my way and nods. I gesture at the dance floor and he smirks.

  Ladies, ain’t gonna happen. EVER. Read the glittery pink, shouty neon sign. I feel sorry for the young women, wasting all this surplus energy, blinded by the “Ian charm.”

  Not half a minute later we unite in an overjoyed, spirited dance. Ian is all about the rhythm and suggestive sways of the hip, grinning at us, ridiculously elated, echoing our smirks. Tasha and I synch with teasing, circular motions of the pelvis, the three of us all perky and animated. We turn in unison to graze our behinds against Ian who counters, one hand on each of our waists. “Who’s your daddy,” Ian says above the music, chuckling. We fall into fits of laughter, enjoying our foolishness.

  Ricky Martin comes on, energetically singing I Don’t Care, Ian’s favorite song, which brings us to a new level of silly ecstasy, as it always does. Mr. Martin is, and always was, Ian's one and only true love. Ian’s words of course. Toward the last chorus I feel a vibration in the little black bag hanging diagonally across my chest. Hoping that it's Daniel on the line, I hastily reach for my phone. My friends look at me, trying to assess my puzzled face when I see Iris’s name on the screen.

  Why would Daniel’s mom call me?

  Pushing my way through the cheerful, moving crowd, looking for a more silent spot, I end up in Josh’s office, and shut the door behind me. Iris greets me calmly but there is an undercurrent to her tone that doesn’t slip by me and begins to summon uncalled for thoughts. The bad vibe that was hovering at the back of my head throughout the day intensifies. Her voice, as ever, is a soft melody, but the content of her words are the worst kind of malady.

  One call.

  One tone of voice.

  A dozen sentences.

  One minute and 47 seconds in time send me into an immediate frost.

  I grab Josh’s desk for support. I'm not even sure how the call ends but what I do know is that I am sobered up and shaken. I take a deep breat
h, trying to make sense of what Iris just told me. Some alarming words repeat through my daze. Riots, antigovernment protestors, street fighting. Taken hostage.

  Taken hostage, taken hostage, taken hostage, taken hostage. The more this short phrase resonates in my head, the more surreal it sounds. Between processing the information that was just laid on me and trying to breathe, I feel the sudden need to leave this place and go home. As I walk back to let Ian and Tasha know I'm about to bail, my face is placid but my insides are as wild as a Midwest storm. The impact of the dread is so powerful it deadens me, leaving me unable to feel. I can’t even shed a tear.

  “Are you okay?” they both ask after a short glance my way, their faces an image of concern.

  “You're so pale, Hales.” Tasha rubs my cheek with the back of her hand. “...and cold,” she adds, her face constricted.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” I mumble incoherently, and they have to ask me to repeat myself. “Can you guys walk me to my car?” The last thing I want is to cause some kind of a scene with all my co-workers around. They both immediately, unquestioningly follow. Ian takes my hand in his and I can hear him whispering to Tasha, worried, “She's shaking.” They watch me quietly, in noticeable alarm, as I sift through my bag looking for the car keys.

  “Hales, talk to us,” Ian coaxes me quietly, rubbing my arm.

  “You're scaring me.” Tasha’s voice comes next, soft and alarmed.

  Holding the keys in a death grip, I turn my head, which is now thudding, to look at them both. “That was Iris on the phone. They believe that the group Daniel was traveling with…” I take a breath, but still feel suffocated, “…was taken, hos…tage.” My voice breaks over the horrifying word.

  Ian’s eyes tear open the same moment Tasha’s hand flies to her mouth, covering it in disbelief.

  “Believe?” It’s Ian who asks.

  “Apparently there’s a government official among the group, so the information they disclosed to the families is vague,” I manage to answer, this time in a complete, coherent sentence.

  “I gotta go home,” I mumble, and point the remote toward the car.

  “Not by yourself, you don’t,” Tasha says, resolutely.

  “And you are definitely not driving, Hales, you're completely shaken up and have had enough alcohol.” Ian, poised and determined, takes the keys from my hands. “Girls, get in. Tash, you stay with Hales in the car, I’ll run back to let Josh and Rafael know we're leaving.”

  Tasha opens the back door and scoots in next to me, saying nothing though giving me the exact kind of consoling I need with a comforting hug.

  We drive. In silence or not, I'm not sure. I'm in my own universe, looking blankly at the passing scenery thinking and not, perfectly numb. The few words that manage to penetrate my detachment are Ian asking Tasha if she knows where the remote is, or something along that line.

  ~~~

  “What do you want to do, Hales,” Tasha asks hesitantly as I take my place on the couch. “Do you want me to bring you something?” I shake my head and with a weak voice mention I want to try and watch the news. There’s nothing about any US civilians taken hostage, though there’s a lot about riots in Bangkok that just back up what I already know. It's almost an hour after midnight so I decide to let Iris sleep, if she's even able to. I’ll call her first thing in the morning for more information.

  “Should I get you something, Hales?” Ian tries in a gentle tone. I shake my head.

  “I’ll just have a short shower,” I murmur. What I really mean is I want to be under running water, behind a closed door. Alone.

  Chapter 33: The Morning After

  Finally I fall asleep in the living room between Ian and Tasha, after staring, in a fog, at a movie they watch. I manage to stay asleep for less than two consecutive hours during the entire night. Horrid nightmares keep periodically waking me up. Each time I’m pulled out of oblivion I am sweating and shaky.

  The room starts to clarify with the first touches of pre-dawn light. I look at the two slouched bodies at my sides and tiptoe around putting blankets on them. I walk sluggishly through the corridor to the bedroom. Lying on my side, I pull Daniel’s pillow to my face, embracing it tightly, taking in a lungful so big it ends up with a sharp pain in the middle of my ribcage. I turn the flat screen on to the news channel. When the international news comes on there are updates about the wild street fighting between protesters and troops in Bangkok. The fighting has apparently left 15 people dead and hundreds wounded. There's still no mention of any foreigners or about anyone being taken hostage. There's no mention of any foreigners at all, for that matter, only images of armored vehicles, Thai soldiers shooting tear gas at antigovernment protesters, and the stories of witnesses. My stomach knots, sending me running to the toilet to puke up everything in me, and everything that’s not. I end up on my knees, trembling uncontrollably on the bathroom floor.

  I shut my eyes and my mind, trying to evade the images and sounds, and think about my last communication with Daniel. With all my heart I hope that he received my last text telling him that he is amazing and that I love him. My throat is clogged but I'm not able to cry. I am numb.

  I walk to my nightstand and take out the velvety box from the upper drawer. I curl my fingers tightly around it and bring it close to my heart, holding it as if it were my sole source of existence.

  He is aggressive and possessive, always gets his way, brings me to new heights of irritation, but all in all he is mine, and I love him more than anyone or anything in this world.

  Hearing footsteps coming my way, I stash the box back in its place and instead take out my sketch book. I'm scribbling aimlessly when Tasha appears at the door. After seeking my consent she enters the room and sits herself by my side. “Is there anything new?” She gestures with her chin at the TV.

  “Not much.”

  “Do you want me to get you anything?”

  I shake my head.

  The only thing I want is nowhere to be found. My throat closes tighter.

  “Hales, I think you should spend the rest of the weekend with us.” To my objection she adds, “Just be with us, don’t stay here alone driving yourself crazy, thinking. We can go somewhere quiet, or not. Whatever you want.”

  “The only thing I want is to just be here at home.” Where we were together last…

  She hugs herself at the waist and contemplates.

  “Then we’ll stay with you.”

  “Tash, really, I don’t need babysitting. You guys just go, enjoy your weekend.” She shakes her head.

  “I’m going to wake up Mr. Sleeping Beauty and see what he has to say.” Without leaving me enough time to focus on my sketching, they both appear in the room. Ian rubs his hands over his still not-fully-conscious face and combs his hair with his fingers. Both hands threaded in his hair, his arms spread wide, he studies me with sleepy eyes.

  “The verdict,” he says hoarsely, stops to clear his throat, and resumes. “We are going hiking.” Tasha and I exchange skeptical glances.

  “Since when do we do hiking?” Tasha voices our similar thoughts.

  “Since I’ve decided.” Ian shrugs.

  “I’m pretty comfy with our usual lazyass activities,” Tasha tries to reason with the dictator.

  Ian scratches his abs. “Then hiking it is. Anyone want coffee?” He yawns, turns on his heels, not exactly waiting for an answer, with Tasha grumping and grunting right behind him.

  “Hiking, what the?” I can hear Tasha’s voice fading in the corridor.

  I can’t really explain how, but about a couple of hours later I find myself on the scenic Lands End trail listening to my friends banter about everything from which movie is better to who has a hotter boyfriend. I roll my eyes, though I can’t argue with the fact that this break was a good idea and that they're actually managing to distract me from my misery, and have even occasionally put a smile on my face.

  “Hales, now objectively: Josh or Rafael?”

  “Tash
a you are not asking me that.” I wrinkle my nose. “Not taking part.” I keep avoiding the answer by taking long sips of my Evian.

  “If you had to do one of them, who would you do?” Ian smirks, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

  “You guys are sick and c’mon, really, my boss is one of the candidates!” I flare and shake my head.

  “Hey, I’d fantasize about your boyfriend any given day.” Tasha snickers and smacks Ian at the back of his head, shaking her own.

  “You are sick,” I pout.

  With the mention of Daniel, I draw back into my thoughts. Ian sends a concerned look my way, nears me to hug my shoulders and kisses my temple.

  “Sorry. Let's go sit by that rock.” He points at a large rock about half a mile away. “In the meantime, let’s play association words,” he suggests, animated.

  “Are we on an elementary school fieldtrip?” Tasha dismisses dryly, but still looks eager to start.

  “I’ll go first.” Ian disregards the jibe. “Euthanasia.” We both look at him, grimacing.

  When Ian shrugs Tasha murmurs, “Morbid subject.”

  “Hey, one word only.”

  “Sick,” Tasha corrects, pointing at Ian.

  “Meds,” I add.

  “Ian,” Tasha snickers, highly amused with herself. I give her a half smile.

  When we finally reach our picturesque resting point we are at “Bestiality” which is associated with Ian’s former landlady, Mrs. 100-year-old-frustrated-virgin. Ian’s words, not mine. I sit at the edge of the rock looking at the amazing view spread before me and can’t shake the thoughts of where Daniel is being held right now and in what kind of condition he might be in. I close my eyes, and the air immediately deflates from my lungs as my imagination conjures alarming images that play behind my shut eyes.

  “Whatever it is you're thinking about, stop.” Tasha squeezes my knee, studying me closely.

  “You may as well just ask me to stop breathing.” My response comes out dry.

  “The thing is, Hales, they're just speculations. Yes, something went completely wrong but you're not really sure what it was, so try not to torture yourself with the worst possible scenario,” she says, trying to sound calm.