“Ooh-rah,” he says with a grin.
He leans in, so close I can see the veins in the whites of his eyes. “Let the girl go. There’s light in your heart. I know it. Even now. Your father’s the one screwing you over, Lukas. No matter what happened between him and McRae that score’s not yours to settle.”
Fucking simplistic logic. Maybe it’s what I need. Except I’m playing off emotions on this one. Logic be damned.
“I lost everything,” I say. “And McRae is to blame.”
“Maybe so, but she’s the wrong McRae.”
Chapter 23
Lukas
Tanner Hayes busts my balls every single time. Ever vigilant. Always watching. I have no clue how he does it. He is paid a fortune for his skills.
For him, right and wrong are as distinct as black and white. For the rest of us, the path is not always so clear. What I do know is that I’m closer than ever to getting what I want. So fucking close I can smell it.
I’ve heard nothing coming from upstairs. Did Nora miss the knock on the door and the entire loud conversation that followed? Is that possible? There’s only one way to find out.
Tanner will be back. He knows it. I know it. His willful departure was nothing more than a decoy, his idea of giving me some time to do the honorable thing. That gives me maybe a few hours or at most a day to get Nora to talk before he’s back.
I enter the room holding a bag with the rest of her things except for the phone and the razors. I hold my breath as a walk to the bed. She’s sleeping peacefully, her hair falling around her face in cascades of afternoon light from the window. The green sheet is pulled over her legs, the quilt rolled up in a bunch by the feet of the bed. One hand lies against her forehead, the second hand flat on her stomach.
My breath catches again as fire builds up in my gut. I get a fucking knot in my throat. I’ve wanted her to be the symbol of all that’s terrible and evil in the world, but instead she’s become the essence of all that’s still good and pure—all that’s worth the sacrifices soldiers make.
I should wake her up and give her the third degree, I should beg, threaten, force her to give up McRae. Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed, letting her sleep. I close my eyes and listen to her breathe.
My heart never signed off on this plan, that’s the problem. I notice the sketchpad on the nightstand along with her pencils, the tips worn down to nothing. She must have used all three and only stopped drawing because she had no way to sharpen them.
I take the sketchpad and turn the first page. Everything ceases. The voices in my head fade away, the hate evaporates. All that’s left is her sketch of me.
My features are angry and dark, my mouth drawn down at its edges, my eyebrows crumpled together, harsh creases dug across my forehead and cheeks. She’s drawn a monster and yet she’s captured me.
I can’t take my eyes off the strange caricature. What gets me the most is that despite the exaggerated details, the sketch echoes into my heart. This figure knows my pain. My truth stares back at me. This is who I am.
My focus blurs when I feel her eyes on me. I don’t know how long she’s been watching, probably long enough to know I’ve been affected by what I’ve seen in the sketch.
“Don’t take it too personally,” she says as she stretches her arms above her head. “All evil looks the same.”
Evil. It serves me right. To her I’m all that’s evil and sadistic. I cannot argue her perspective.
“Are you here with a new way to torture me?”
I shake my head. “You don’t know true evil,” I say. “I’m glad you don’t.”
She laughs. “More pretentious bullshit. You think your actions don’t define you because you’re pushed to them? Newsflash. That’s the only thing that defines you. What you could have been or might have been has nothing to do with who and what you are.”
I’m tired of defending myself.
“I thought my father was a failed man, but my god, look at you.”
I put the bag with her things on the bed. “Here,” I say. “I believe this is all. Your suitcase is in the closet. I’ll keep the phone for now if you don’t mind. I’ll mail it to you as soon as I get to a town.”
She sits up, furrowing her brow. She opens her mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a gasp. She’s more successful with the second try. “You’re letting me go?”
I nod.
“You never got the answers you wanted.”
“I decided to believe you,” I tell her, getting up.
She’s still hesitant, barely moving a muscle. She stares at the plastic bag on the bed, then at me. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She needs to hear something. Fine. “Revenge and hatred blinded me. You’re not who I’m after but I hurt you. I can’t do it anymore. Sorry that you suffered in the crossfire.”
I walk out the door, leaving it wide open behind me. I descend the stairs unsure where I’m headed next.
Soon afterwards, she follows me downstairs to the kitchen.
She stays silent, leaning against the island, taking in the rustic setting with the brass pots and pans hanging from the ceiling, the unpolished wood cabinets and the marble countertops.
“The car’s outside the front door,” I say, simply, looking away.
“Are you going to follow me? Maybe you think I’ll lead you to my father. If so, you might as well ride with me, because my father is gone.”
“Just go before I change my mind,” I say, throwing her the car keys.
She catches them midair. There’s astonishment on her face, maybe even a little bit of fear. Once again, she can’t figure me out. That’s all right, I guess. I can barely figure myself out.
She takes a step closer, locking her eyes on mine. “Lukas, you need help.”
I put my hands in my pockets. “So I’ve been told.”
“I hope you’ll find your way,” she says. “All this time and I feel I don’t know anything about you, about who you really are. Maybe you don’t know either.”
“As far as you’re concerned, I’m just the wrong guy. Always have been, always will be. Don’t look back.”
Her bottom lip bends adorably. A glimpse of nostalgia sparkles in her eyes. Everything in me wants to touch her, but I am formless. My touch is not real. I have nothing positive to give anyone in my current state. I want to tell her so many things, how she altered my understanding of the world and myself, but she should carry none of my burden.
Not now. Not after what I’ve done to her.
She leaves like a long morning shadow, only faster. Minutes pass without me moving a muscle. She shows up suddenly with her suitcase, dressed in a blue flowery dress and sandals, sunglasses framing her beautiful, tired face.
I follow her outside to the SUV that I rented for the trip so as not to leave an easy trail. I want to say something stupid like the rental agreement is in the passenger seat compartment and that she’ll need it when she returns the car but I keep my mouth shut. She’s heard enough from me.
Nora puts the suitcase in the back and then looks around the place for a few seconds before she gets in the car, locking the door. She rolls her window down, looking at me. “Don’t think for a second that this makes it okay, Lukas,” she says. “Stay away from me. The things you did to me…” she stops, unable to finish her sentence. Maybe part of her is still afraid this is a test.
“Go to the police, Mac, if that’s what works for you.”
She frowns, shaking her head. “You called me Mac again. Fuck you, Lukas.”
When she drives off, the kick in my stomach feels like my intestines are full of cement. I’ve lived through paralyzing sadness, mortal grief and yet this farewell holds a despair with which I’m unfamiliar. I’ve seen bodies of young men blown to pieces, children with lost limbs. I’ve held my dead sister in my arms, but I’ve never felt as hopeless as I do now.
Odds are I’ll never see Nora again. It’s what I deserve. It’s what she deserves. Every choice I had to mak
e would have been wrong. Maybe I was born under a bad sign. I am a wretched soul. Cursed.
But Nora’s free and that’s not nothing. She will survive this and she will survive me. She never gave in, never broke down. Never lost hope.
I, on the other hand, need to disappear. Fast.
PART THREE
Chapter 24
Nora
The trip home was far harder than anything I could have imagined. I had to pull over and cry several times on the side of the road, my body convulsing with confusion and a sharp, cutting feeling of emptiness deep within. It will be a very long time before I can come to terms with what happened in that desert house—what happened with Lukas.
My apartment felt like a foreign land when I returned home last night. I’ve been gone from my life for a week. My world has forever lost its meaning, yet, my apartment is unchanged. My folded laundry is where I left it in the middle of the living room, my desk is a mess of sketches and bills, the old fridge still runs so loud it can be heard by people walking outside.
The only thing that’s changed is me.
I slept in fits last night. I woke up at least three times with a frantic heartbeat that threatened to break through my ribcage. Each time I woke I relived those days in the desert as if the first time.
Today has gone by fast. I walk around in a trance. I’ve done very little besides watching random TV and staring at my computer screen. I’m not ready to talk to anyone. I’m not ready to even converse with myself.
Lukas knew I wouldn’t call the police. He always knows about me. He knew I wouldn’t risk opening an investigation. That’s the only reason he let me go once he realized he’d get nothing out of me. This wasn’t the noble action of a man who has regretted his horrible decisions.
Nice try, Lukas, but I know you too well.
It’s a good thing I still have three days of vacation and don’t have to go back to work until Monday. I’m not sure I could handle being around people and acting like everything is okay.
The ringing of the doorbell startles me out of my skin. I hesitate to get off the couch and walk to the door. It’s getting dark outside but my lights are off. I can pretend I’m not here.
Then a nagging thought pops up, which I shoot down in the same breath. It’s not him. It’s never going to be him.
Or, he came back to finish what he started.
No, it’s not him. And, yet, who else could it be? The few people that would feel at liberty to call on me without warning all think I’m in Vegas.
A second ring and a knock on the door. Short, patient, polite. It’s not him.
Who else could it be though, Nora, this late in the evening?
I fear I’m losing my mind, mulling over who’s at the door instead of opening it to find out. I drag my ass to the front door and open it a crack, the whole time feeling my heart beating like a drum kit in my chest.
When my eyes land on the man outside, I can’t breathe, unable to utter a word. I can’t quite process what’s happening.
“Please, don’t close the door on me,” Shane says. “If you could give me a moment, I think there are things you should know.”
I’m panicked. Why would the Mad Max dude come to my place?
There’s only one explanation that makes sense. “Did he send you?” I say, refusing to open the door wider.
“Lukas? Nah. He has no idea I’m here.”
I’m not sure I believe him, but I open the door all the way to let him in. I’m curious and certain I won’t be able to stop thinking about Shane’s strange visit unless I hear him out.
He walks into the apartment with his hands in the pockets of his black jeans. No matter how out of it I am, I can’t help but notice his hair is practically brown now, having gone through all stages of blond.
“Well, speak,” I order Shane as he stands in front of the couch, facing the TV set. When I peek at the screen, I see what’s gotten his attention. I’ve been watching food porn, people. The screen is frozen on a decadent collection of chocolate cakes, chocolate brownies, chocolate cookies, chocolate pudding, and, yes, chocolate dipped fries.
Shane looks at me as if he hasn’t heard what I just said. I question the prudence of my decision to let him in.
I take a deep breath as my nerves become edgy. “Were you in on what your pal did to me?” What the hell am I saying? I don’t want to go back there. I just want Shane to say his piece and leave.
“Nora, No. I’m sorry for what Lukas did. If I had known, I’d have stopped him. Tanner briefed me on the situation a few days ago. I haven’t spoken to Luke since the day we were all at his apartment.”
“Tanner?” I remember him, the military-looking guy. “Did he take some part in it?” A headache forces its way into my skull.
“We both had our suspicions,” Shane goes on, “but Tanner confirmed the facts and then spoke with Luke the morning before he let you go, but that’s not why I’m here, Nora.”
“Why then?”
“Please, sit,” he says.
I shake my head. “I’d rather stand.”
Shane nods. “I’m here to tell you where Luke is coming from. I know he never will, but I figured someone should. It might give you a little bit of closure and help explain his motives.”
“He hates my father and blames him for his own father’s suicide,” I say quickly to let him know I know everything. “I’m sure somehow my father was involved. See, Lukas told me himself and I get it, but it’s still not reason enough for him to set me up, stalk me, lie to me, hurt me, humiliate me…” I pause, my voice breaking off like a piano key that’s gone out of tune.
Shane places a hand on my shoulder and I’m startled. “I won’t pretend there’s words that would excuse what he did. I’m not trying to excuse him. It’s not about that. I’m trying to help you make sense of him. He’s a broken man, Nora, and your father played a big part in it.”
“Right,” I say, staring at his big hand on my shoulder. There are tattooed rings on most of his fingers, each of them uniquely shaped so I focus on them so as not to lose my cool completely.
“Luke has been my friend since he found me in the streets years ago in a really bad state—doing whatever drugs I could get my hands on, stealing food and anything I could resell, basically begging to get killed. My boy Luke, he never faltered. He saw how fucked up I was, the kind of people I was running with and he took me under his wing, putting himself at risk.”
“Is there a point to all this?” I say, even though I’ve become enthralled in Shane’s little speech. His voice is deep and soft, his diction clear and melodious, almost like a theater actor’s.
He removes his hand from my shoulder to rub his chin. “The point is, he’s a good man. One of the best I’ve seen and I’ve seen the best of the best, being in the Marines. We joined together. He twisted my arm, practically, seeing how lost I was, how I needed a kick in the butt to get my shit together.”
So now I know the part about the Marines was true. I’m not sure it makes a difference. “Please, get to the point,” I urge him.
He nods. “I was with Lukas when he received the call that his sister had overdosed,” he says. “Later we received word she was in a coma from which she would likely never awake. She passed away within 24 hours of the first call. Luke never forgave himself for leaving her and his mother.
I narrow my eyes. “His sister died? That’s horrible,” I say, getting more involved in this story than I would like to admit.
“She was nineteen,” Shane says. “Lukas blames your father.”
“He blames everything on my father,” I say, but it doesn’t come out as sarcastic as I intended. Instead, my voice is laced with sadness.
“My dude’s been through hell, Nora. His father worked for your father. He was his main accountant. Long story short, there was a discrepancy found in the books to the tune of many millions of dollars. Your father framed Luke’s father who ended up taking the fall instead of your dad.”
“He kill
ed himself in prison?” I ask, horrified by the story.
“Well,” Shane continues, “he died of a heart attack in prison. His family was devastated, but then it got worse, the toxicology report came back from the coroner and the death was ruled a suicide. Apparently, Luke’s pop had been hording his medications and took them all at once, hoping his family would benefit from his life insurance. Luke’s mother went through the little they had and the family became destitute. She had a nervous breakdown that led to depression, she went in and out of mental facilities, losing touch with reality. Lukas was fifteen and his sister ten.”
I am embarrassed that tears well in my eyes. Lukas kidnapped me. I should not have any sympathy for him, but his story breaks my heart. I am sure many families suffered for my father’s actions.
“The two destroyed kids were put in the care of social services. Lukas fought to get the family back together and when he finally did, he joined the Marines to help pay for food and rent. I told you what happened next.”
“Yeah, his sister died of an overdose,” I say sadly.
“She was fucked up,” Shane said. “Losing your family at ten, man, that’s rough. Luke was so protective of his sister.”
It turns out Shane was right. Things do seem to make more sense now. The tears spill out onto my cheeks. I make no attempt to hide them.
Shane stares at me, surprised by my reaction. He tries to put an arm around me. It’s awkward because he’s trying to embrace me without making much contact. Finally, I bury my face against his black shirt that’s tight across his ripped chest. I turn to the side so I won’t get the shirt wet with tears.
We push each other off simultaneously to put an end to this clumsy union. I’m embarrassed to look at him, feeling like I’ve lost any sense of who I am or what I should be feeling.
“Shane, I’d like you to leave now. All this,” I say, pointing at my red, wet face, “it’s not helping me. I appreciate you coming here, but as you can see I’m really fucked up and have no clue what I should be feeling.”
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