by Demi Vice
“You realize I just told you I killed someone when I was fifteen, right?” Jack spoke gently, caressing my cheek. His touch warm and soft.
I nodded.
“Are you afraid?” Jack asked. There was a touch of fear behind his question. Fear that I would say yes.
Never. If I were, then I would have to fear myself.
“No.”
Jack let a bright smile invade his face before he kissed me. “Good, you should never be afraid of me. I’ll never hurt you, Ahrianna.”
Jack’s perfect lips pressed on my forehead as he pulled me towards him. His heart racing like I’d never heard or felt it. Jack was scared. Frightened to confess what he had done, but it didn’t bother me. Not a single bit. If I had been offered the same opportunity, I would’ve taken it.
“Why’d you tell me this, Jack?” I mumbled into his chest.
“Because I want to be honest with you. I can’t keep lying, not to you. And there might be things you won’t like about me, Ahrianna.”
“Like what, Jack?”
Jack hugged me tighter. “The man I killed when I was fifteen was just the first of many.”
I swallowed, grabbing the back of his leather jacket tightly. “You’re-you’re a hit man?” I whispered.
“Yea, that was one of my many titles.” Jack spoke softly into the top of my hair.
I gulped and looked up at the building behind him. If what he said was true at the library, then that means…
“Why did you bring me here, Jack?” I asked again, my voice tiny.
Jack moved away from me as if he was in slow motion. Taking his wallet out, the chain rattled in the wind. My breaths were cut in half when I saw the slick black metal card. Hollowed out in the middle were the words THE BAYNE and underneath it was engraved MR. BARON 59-1.
“Tomorrow is today, and we need to talk. I’ll tell you everything, and I’ll show you everything.”
“Is…what…how?” My lungs and brain were no longer on the same page.
Jack handed me the keycard I felt unworthy of touching. A metal card with full access to MR. BARON’s penthouse…
“It was a gift,” Jack said, putting his wallet back in his pocket.
“A gift?” I snapped my head at Jack. “For?”
“A gift for spending seven years of my life in prison.”
“Prison?”
He nodded.
“For what?” My stomach turned, the black butterflies fighting amongst each other.
“How about we go upstairs and talk in private.” Jack gave me a shy smile, pulling me toward the doorman as I held the key to a million-dollar suite.
We walked past the doorman who greeted Jack (no wonder he kept looking at us) then passed the front desk girl. I didn’t remember much. I remember being outside, then inside a white elevator with mirrors, then finally, trapped inside an old black and white themed penthouse like we were in a silent film. The only color was the tree plant next to the door.
What finally brought me back to reality (more like a dream), was Jack when he pinched me. “It’s not a dream. This is real.”
Jack locked the doors behind me, and I swallowed. I wasn't scared by any means, but my whole body and brain were flooded with questions. And just like a silent movie I couldn’t think of any full-length sentences. Just short phrases.
“A gift?”
“Yes,” Jack said and went to the left side of his modern penthouse—his fucking penthouse!—as I followed like a mindless zombie.
The walls, black and white, the floor, dark like the abyss, and the ceilings, tall as the sky and decorated with black wooden beams. The whole outside of the walls were floor-to-ceiling windows, showing off Chicago’s skyline.
We passed his gourmet kitchen. Black stainless steel, black cabinet, and white marble countertops. The fridge (if you could call it that) was massive. One door made of steel, the other with a window to see what was inside. The stove was so large you could cook for a family of ten in one sitting, and the white marble island countertop in the middle was something an actual God had in his home. Across the kitchen was the dining room. There was only a large dark table which matched the hardwood floor and a breathtaking chandelier.
Jack’s place was simple, minimal, and rather empty. But…he’d been with me that past few weeks.
Why?
Why was he at Birch Park if he had all of this?
Why did he rent out the apartment?
Holy shit, he wasn’t the apartment guy!
Jack stopped in front of a pair of black double doors, opened them, and revealed his master bedroom. Everything was like the dream he’d told me about. Every-fucking-thing. The king-size bed, the sheer black drapes, the silk black covers, and the black walls. I took a step inside the dark room, my eyes wide.
“Jack?” My voice didn't sound like my own.
I mindlessly moved toward the only light source in the room, the windows overlooking Chicago and Lake Michigan. Pressing my forehead into the window, I saw where I had once stood, fifty-nine floors below. It was all so gorgeous, but surreal. I didn’t get it. How? I looked down, and nausea hit my body. Taking a step back, my whole body shook. I hugged my sides tightly as Jack came toward me and silently led me to the end of the bed where I took a seat. I didn’t know how I should feel. Part of me was still outside of my body, watching this scene like I was in a movie.
A movie about a girl from the hood working to the bone who met a secret punk millionaire hitman.
“Why? Why were you at Wazowski’s…why did…when you have all…why?” I stammered.
“You know the night we had sex the first time?” Jack asked.
What the fucking hell does that have to do with anything! I wanted to shout.
“Yea?”
“That was the day I got out of prison. I’d only been released that morning, and I’d driven for six hours in that car you spat on to find you.” Jack’s leg shook with his nerves, making the only sound in the room the metallic clinks of his wallet chain.
I looked at him, trying to let his words enter my brain. “Find me? What do you mean ‘find me?’”
Jack let out a heavy sigh as he got comfortable. He kicked off his boots, took off his jacket and turned his body towards me. One leg was crossed on the bed, the other foot still on the floor. He took out his wallet and fished out an envelope folded in four sections. He unfolded it slowly, looking at the front of the white letter than at me.
“I was told to find you and give you this, Ahrianna.” Jack handed me the letter face down and when I turned it over to and saw TINKS written on it my heart lost its strength. It was caught in a fire, a blizzard, and an earthquake, all while also being submerged under water. The black butterflies in my stomach stormed out of me, leaving me alone.
This is why I always felt like something was wrong. Something was off. The good kind of wrong.
“This is—”
“Luke Parker Lore’s handwriting.” Jack spoke softly as he cut me off.
I shot a glare at Jack and stood up, my hands shook. The letter shook. Luke’s fucking letter shook.
“Fidget—I mean Luke was my cellmate for three years.”
“Fid-Fidget?” I rubbed my hair, stepping away from Jack. “Three years?”
You look like Fidget…You don’t talk the same way. You don’t act the same way. I heard Jack’s words echoing in my head.
“Fidget is the nickname I gave Luke. He found a rock in the courtyard on the first day he came, and he brought it with him everywhere we could. He played with it. Fidgeted with it so much he earned a nickname for it.”
“You-you knew my brother?” I felt tears welling up in my eyes I didn’t know whether to be pissed off or happy.
Luke’s handwriting looked almost foreign, but also like a sacred text. Without control, my eyes shot up to Jack. I wasn't afraid of him, but betrayed. Jack had known exactly who I fucking was this entire time? He knew exactly who Luke was this whole time? But he asked about Luke like he
didn’t even know him. Like he hadn’t spent the last three fucking years with him.
I took a few steps back, and my legs gave out, tumbling me to the floor.
“Ahrianna—”
I held my hand up to stop Jack from coming to me.
“Shut up!” I snapped, my eyes burning with tears that hadn’t fallen yet. I forced myself to stand up. “This…you…why did you stay? Why did you get the apartment? Why the hell did you lie about being the apartment guy? About fucking everything, Jack!”
I threw one of my shoes across the room, but Jack didn’t say a word. He let me be furious. He let me have my therapy session. I tossed my other heel, knocking over a lamp that fell, shattering the lightbulb across the floor. I paced around the black abyss, leaving scorch marks behind me. I let out a muffled scream and stomped on the ground, giving Jack a death stare.
How could he have lied to me?
“Ahrianna, please let me explain—”
“Shut up!” I shouted.
This time I let my anger get the best of me. I stormed toward Jack with every intention of hurting him.
Smack!
The room echoed with a sharp slap. Jack stayed still, looking in the direction I’d forced his face towards. I stood in front of him, tears burning down my cheek, body trembling with anxiety, and clenched fist to the side as I crushed Luke’s letter.
“Hit me again,” Jack begged quietly. “Hit me again, Ahrianna. Let it all out. Let me fucking have it!” his voice rose as he shot up to his feet. A lock of black raven hair fell in his face. “Let me have it if that means you can forgive me!”
“You fucking lied to me, Jack!” I beat on his chest like a drum, taking out all my anger as I cried. “You fucking piece of shit! You selfish, lying bastard! You jackass of all men!” I yelled.
I yelled more hurtful names and pounded on his chest with heavier blows until I hit Jack’s body as hard as I could and he fell back on the bed. He made no sound while I let my rage take advantage of me. I knew even with all my rage I couldn’t hurt him. His cheek turned a little red, but that was all. This time when my tears fell it was because of the red mark. I hated myself for hitting Jack. For hurting him. But he had fucking lied to me about everything!
Was that really an excuse to hit him?
Jack flexed his jaw on the most expressionless face he’d ever pulled, his eyes were drenched in complete sadness.
“Better?” he asked.
No.
“Do you hate me?”
Never.
But I said nothing.
I moved away from him, sniffing and rubbing my burning eyes as I flattened out the letter on my thigh. It shook in my hands as I outlined the word TINKS with my eyes. I was so focused on my nickname that I had not noticed the letter had been opened.
“You-you read the letter?”
“Hundreds of times,” Jack confessed.
There was a part of me that I wanted to collapse on the floor and cry and the other that wanted to break everything in Jack’s stupid fucking secret penthouse.
All my emotions turned into a black hole, sucking my body inside.
Jack seemed unreal, fake, but here he was. In front of me. Sitting on his bed, eyebrows dropped, elbows on his knees while one of his legs shook like an earthquake. He didn’t look any different. He didn’t act any different. He was still Jack…I think.
I walked backward away from Jack until I hit the corner where the window and the wall met. I slid down the cold surface sending goosebumps over my back as I held my breath and hugged my legs. I tried to get my emotions under control, but my heart raced again when I heard Jack move.
“Don’t you dare fucking move,” I growled, sniffing my runny nose.
Jack exhaled deeply and sat back down on the bed, listening to my command. He knew I needed my space more than ever. I pulled my legs in tighter, buried my face on my knees and closed my eyes.
Nothing filled my head.
I gripped the letter tightly in my hand and looked to the right. This was the highest level I had ever seen Chicago or Lake Michigan. While Lake Michigan looked like a black hole, Chicago was alive with all its bright lights and colors.
I began to feel nauseous again. Unsure if it was because of the height, but convinced it was because of Jack. Either way, I had to look away. Burying my face against my knees, my heartbeat pounded throughout my trembling, weak body.
One, two, three, four, five…
AHRI
Seconds were cuts, minutes were stabs, and hours were deep daggers. Time was painful and raw, but before I knew it, Chicago was slowly waking up. It must’ve been six, maybe seven in the morning, but neither of us dared to speak. Jack respected my wishes by staying on the bed, but he didn’t take his eyes off me while I sat in my corner hugging my legs. He remained in the same position, his leg no longer shaking with nerves, but his amber eyes still heartbroken.
I looked at my letter, Luke’s all caps handwriting carved into my eyeballs.
TINKS.
I remember the first time he called me Tinks. We had just finished watching Peter Pan for the first time, and Luke matched us to the characters.
‘I would be the boyish, adventurous Peter Pan, Aurora would be the innocent, motherly Wendy and Ahri? Well, you. You would be Tinkerbell without a doubt. The sass, the temper and the stubbornness of a cute fearless dangerous pixie.’
My smile appeared and disappeared as fast as it came.
I miss Luke. I miss my baby brother.
Jack cleared his throat, and my eyes cut the air to get to the sound. He cleared his throat again, shifting in his bed. Jack’s hair was still a mess from the club when I’d ran my hands through it and from my outburst of violence. His wallet still out on the bed and his boots and jacket were on the floor. Jack moved a little again, but he was stiff. As if someone had injected his veins with cement.
“Are you going to read it?” Jack’s voice was cautious not to press the wrong buttons with me.
“No.” My voice was callous, unresponsive.
“Do you want me to tell you what it says?”
“No.”
“Can I talk?”
“No.”
“Can I move?”
“No.”
“Do you want something to eat? Drink?”
Yes, ‘cause right now is the best time to be a fantastic host, Jack-ass.
“No.”
“Are you going to say ‘no’ to all my questions?”
“N—Yes.”
A smile cracked on Jack’s face. He’d tried to trick me, but it didn’t faze me. I was too far gone to care for Jack’s smartass comments. I buried my face in my knees again, pulling my legs closer to my chest until I was trapped inside my own personal box, making it harder to breathe.
After a while, I looked up and made eye contact with the designer floor lamp laying on the floor. The glass of the light bulb shattered across the floor. The killer of the lightbulb—my black strappy heel—lying next to the crime scene.
Jack moved just a little and stole my attention again. I wanted to talk to Jack, but not about his secret penthouse, past jobs, or lies.
“How is he?” I spoke to my killer high heel.
“Fidget—Luke?” Jack corrected himself. “He’s still a pain in the ass that loves to talk and be around people 24/7.”
“What else?” I directed my attention to the letter.
“If you let me move. I’ll tell you,” Jack negotiated.
I nodded without thinking. I didn’t want Jack near me, but I was desperate. I wanted to know more about Luke, even though I still didn’t know how to feel around Jack. Jack came halfway toward me before I darted my eyes to his black socks, making him halt.
“Fidget got his GED,” Jack said, taking a few steps closer to me and desperate Ahri let him. “It took him three tries and countless hours of tutoring, but I got him there.” Jack smiled and took one more step. “He’s a smart kid, but he’s got the attention span of a fucking squirrel.
”
I petted the letter.
Jack stood tall above me before he sat down, legs crossed, and his bare knees poking out of his jeans and showing off more skin. More artwork. His long, dense breaths tickled my flesh, giving me that chill only Jack could. Jack’s eyes moved over to Lake Michigan, looking livelier as the sun shimmered over the water.
He dropped his head on the window and let out a massive, exhausted sigh. A small grin found Jack’s face, but it didn’t move me. It didn’t make me happy.
I was fucking Switzerland.
Neutral.
Indifferent.
Disinterested.
“Fidget wants to be a chef when he comes out,” Jack said.
My face responded with a ‘really’ look.
“Yeah, I know. The kid that left a scar on your face now wants to become a chef.” He chuckled. “I told you I was a chef…I just forgot to mention I was in prison when I had the job.” Jack’s cognac-colored eyes peered into my black ones, giving me a shy smile but, again, it didn’t faze me.
Motherfucking Switzerland.
“Anyway, Fidget had been following me around for months, and I figured I might as well put him to good use. I got Baby Fireball—one of his many nicknames—on the kitchen staff with me. It took a lot of convincing to get him in the kitchen with his arson record, but I managed. I got a silver tongue, you know?” Jack smiled nervously.
“He was shit at it in the beginning. He cut himself, fumbled around, spilled things, but he learned fast. Over the past few years, he got better than me. I never told him that. I would lose my credit as the head chef if I did. But…he was great. It might have just been prison slop, but Fidget was good at making it edible. Shit, possibly even craveable if you were that hungry. Sometimes, even when the food was decent, Fidget would still spend whatever money was in his account and bought a stupid ramen cup.” Jack laughed, but it was faint and cautious, almost as if he didn’t want to agitate me.
It didn’t.
In my head, I smiled. It was hard to believe that the boy who made burnt toast into a weapon, wanted to become a chef. The thought of Jack and Luke in the kitchen also gave me a fuzzy feeling, like Jack could have been the big brother or father figure Luke never had.