by Cubed, Magen
“I did what needed to be done. That’s it.”
“No, you did the right thing. That’s a hell of a lot harder than the obvious thing. Which, by the way, reminds me.” Luther reached into the inside pocket of his coat, produced a disc, and placed it on the table. “This is yours.”
Kyle waited a moment before he reached for it. “What is it?”
“All the security camera footage that places you in and around Wallace Station the day of White’s shooting. This is the only physical copy. As long as you keep this to yourself, Sidhari gets to stay a hero and the two of you stay out of federal lockup.”
The disc was cool in his fingers as Kyle flipped it over and watched light dance across its surface in waves. “Why are you doing this?”
“I have a vested interest in keeping you out of prison in case you haven’t noticed.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“I’m trying to give you a job, Mr. Jeong. That’s all I’ve ever done.” Luther leaned back into his seat and adjusted the cuffs of his jacket. “You can think whatever you like of me, but I’ve been nothing but forthcoming in my intentions. So, I’m going to ask you one last time, and I would like you to think very carefully about your answer. Would you like to come work for me?”
It was several long seconds before Kyle shook his head. “No.”
Luther sighed. “Why not?”
“You’re promising me power because you say that you know what kind of person I am—that you know how I’ll use it. But for all your intelligence and your resources, you still can’t get your head around the fact that I’m a cop, not a soldier. I don’t build armies, Luther. I figure out how things work. I’m not your guy.”
Luther softly laughed. “Well, I can accept that at the very least.” He stood and smoothed the creases from his three-piece. “Enjoy the pie, Mr. Jeong. And find a safe place for that disc. I’d hate to see it fall into the wrong hands.”
Kyle took the hand Luther offered and shook it firmly. “Goodbye, Mr. Kind.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Jeong. But something tells me not for long.”
As Luther Kind left, Kyle didn’t give him the satisfaction of watching him go.
IV.
Locked away inside her clean white offices atop the spire of The Circe Group, Caitlin Connor was on break between conferences. She sat at her long, metal desk with her heels off and her feet flat on the cool tile. The afternoon’s e-mails sat open on her laptop for her perusal. Only fifteen minutes were left until her next meeting when her secretary knocked on her office door. Denise looked frazzled as she peered inside; she was anxious in a way that she almost never was.
Caitlin closed her laptop. “Yes?”
“It’s your ex-husband,” Denise explained.
“We’re still married, Denise.”
“Yes, well, whoever he is, I told him that you would be stepping out of the office in just a moment, but he said it was urgent.” Outside, Bridger ranted and tried to wheel and deal his way into the office despite Denise’s full weight blocking the doorway. “And then I told him I would call security if he insisted on making a scene.”
“Did he make a scene?”
“He’s making one right now. I can call security if you’d like.”
Caitlin smiled. “Let him in, Denise. It’s fine.”
Before the secretary could clear the door, Bridger loomed over her shoulder. As she left to smooth her blouse of wrinkles, he closed the door behind him and locked it. He peered through the glass partition window to stick his tongue out at Denise. She narrowed her eyes with a puckered face.
“You know why she hates you, Bridger.” Caitlin stood to remind him. “You have no respect for my schedule.”
“I’d like to think I take precedence over your weekly staff meeting.”
“You remember.”
“Of course I do. That’s how I almost got kicked out of here last time.”
Caitlin leaned against her desk and folded her arms. She looked him up and down. His clothes were clean, his eyes looked clear, and his complexion was strong. “You look healthy,” she said.
He shrugged. “Anyway, I know you’re busy,” he said. “So, I’ll make this quick, I promise. Just don’t sic the dogs on me again.”
“If you’re here about the papers, I already signed them. They’re with my lawyer now.”
“It’s not that. I mean, I guess it is about that, but I mostly just want to talk to you.”
“What about?”
Coming to stand beside her, he leaned against the desk. “Look, the last time we talked, I overreacted. I know that. I shouldn’t have been so angry with you for what you did. It was wildly inappropriate, and you were trying to see that I was being cared for in a time when I wasn’t caring for myself, and you colluded with arguably my only friend to see to that. It’s hardly a punishable offense, and I’m sorry.”
“I may have overstepped my boundaries in doing that,” she admitted. “And I may have taken some joy in watching Adam squirm, which was unfair on my part.”
“Yeah, he still thinks you’re a cannibal.”
“And I apologize, in that case.”
“Accepted. And, look – I also wanted to tell you that you were right.”
“I often am. What about?”
“About the cancer. About treatment. About us.”
She nearly smiled. “You didn’t come all the way down here just to tell me that, Bridger.”
“Yeah, well, I owed you that much. When I first got the diagnosis, I checked out on us. I see that now. I made my mind up to die without even thinking about the other options, and that was selfish.”
“No, it wasn’t. Not completely. You have the right to decide what’s best for your own health, Bridger. I have to respect your wishes even if I don’t agree with them.”
“But it’s a bullshit excuse to try to cut you out of my life, and I’m sorry for that. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m a different guy now than the one you married, but I don’t just get to decide what’s best for you, or for Adam, or for anybody else. So, I just wanted you to know that I’m going to talk to Dr. Kumar next week about what comes next. Whatever comes next.”
“And what about Adam?” she asked carefully. Bridger knew it hurt to have to ask even if she would never tell him so. “Does he know what comes next?”
“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. He immediately felt stupid for it. “It’s complicated.”
“Do you love him?”
“Cait.”
“I’ve known you since you were a teenager, Bridger. It’s never complicated with you.”
Eventually, he gave in. “I do.”
“Do you want to be with him?”
“Yes.”
“Then, you’ll figure the rest out.”
“Don’t you hate me, though? I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
“It would be much easier for me to hate you, yes, but I can’t. Believe me, I’ve tried. And while I’m not happy about this, I’d rather you have someone than go off to die alone. Adam understands you. He cares about what happens to you, even when you don’t.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll survive this, Bridger. It’s what I do best.”
He shook his head. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It is, because I need it to be simple. I had you for twenty-five years, and then Adam bested me.”
“You’re obnoxiously Zen about this. You know that, right?”
“Would you feel better if I hit you?”
“I might.”
She smirked. “Maybe next time you come into my office making a scene, I will.”
Every thread of his being wanted to kiss her once more: to take her face in his hands, to touch her hair and to feel its softness in his fingers. Bridger pushed that away, for his own sake as well as hers, and stood to leave. Caitlin took his hands to squeeze them, holding them to keep him close for just a moment more. She looked him over from head to toe. She
smiled, closed her eyes, and placed a dry kiss on his mouth.
“Goodbye, Bridger Levi.”
“Goodbye, Caitlin Connor.”
Twenty-five years earlier, they stood in the justice of the peace and did this in reverse, promising to spend the rest of their lives together. They didn’t know then that it would end this way: with cancer, a crash, and a widening sea between Camden and East Essex. Even so, as Bridger left his wife’s office to find a boy named Adam Harlow, they knew it was for the best.
V.
Clara found Primrose Pines Cemetery on her phone and took the 1:13 crosstown bus alone to the Williams Avenue stop. She called her mother that morning before breakfast while everyone else in the boarding house slept, pacing the kitchen while the coffee brewed and bubbled. She promised her mother that everything was and would be okay now. She would go to Bern over the summer to accept the internship and she would follow her dreams just like she said she would. She would be happy, because she had a new family made of the old pieces of broken ones. She told her mother about Adam and his boundless heart, Norah’s sense of humor, Kyle and his chessboard, Hannah the artist, and Bridger, who had opened up his home to all of them.
It felt good to say it, and to feel it, and to walk to a bus stop and wait like a normal person would. It felt good to sit in a bus as sunshine filtered through the dirty windows in warm waves that played over her hands and on the tops of her thighs under her floral dress. The air felt cleaner that day even though she knew it was just a trick of her own perceptions. The grass appeared greener under her sandals as she walked through the maze of tombstones and statues. East Brighton City, for all of its cuts and scrapes and bruised eyes, felt just a little lighter that day.
Rebecca’s grave sat beneath a canopy of green trees. The tiny headstone marked the tiny casket underneath with a bouquet of tired flowers left to wilt and wither in the sun. Clara unfolded the picture of Rebecca she’d taken from Damon White’s altar and took a deep breath.
“I just wanted you to know that I’m really sorry,” she said. “That sounds dumb, I know, but it’s true. You didn’t deserve what happened to you. I’m sorry for your mom and your dad, and I’m sorry your dad did what he did. But it’s not your fault, and I just want you to know that people down here still miss you. I think the world’s a sadder place for having lost you, because I just know you would have done something great if you’d been allowed to stay. And I’m glad that you got what you wanted in the end, so I hope you can rest now that it’s over.”
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Clara wiped them away, blinking her vision clear. She took another deep breath. These were not sad tears.
“Because I know that I don’t know how we became what we are, or if this was fate, because I don’t believe in fate even if it were. I don’t even believe in ghosts or angels, but you’re both, aren’t you? And... and as bad as it sounds, I’m glad that all of this happened to me. I’m happy, and I don’t think I’ve ever really been happy before. And I’d really like to think you had something to do with that, if that’s okay.”
Wind whispered in the trees to catch the boughs in a fitful dance. Clara placed the photo on Rebecca’s grave, smoothed it flat, and let it rest between the flowers that her father had left behind for her. She wiped her face dry and smiled.
“Goodbye, Rebecca,” she said. “I hope I see you again sometime.”
VI.
Kyle was waiting for Amanda on the stoop of her apartment when she came home from Damon White’s funeral. The sun had just begun to set and paint the street orange. He knew from the dust in the treads of her boots that she had been out in the country, but he said nothing. It was her secret to keep where the media couldn’t write smear pieces about it in the morning. Instead, he stood with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket and smoke from the cigarette he’d just tamped out hanging in the air between them. She tossed him a long look and pushed her sunglasses atop her head. It was the first time since she had seen him since he left White’s body for her to find. He smiled, or started to. She didn’t.
“I hear they pinned a medal to your chest,” he said softly.
“There was a small commendation ceremony,” she answered. “It was mostly for show, but there might be a promotion out of it.”
“Where to?”
“Not sure yet. I hear rumors of me heading to the major case division, but it’s still up in the air. Everybody’s just thrilled with how this shook out. A white terrorist is a lot easier to sweep under the rug than a brown one. I come out looking like a rock star and the mayor’s office can deflect heat from the civil suits coming down the line. It’s a win-win.”
Kyle committed to the smile this time. “Rock star is a good look for you.”
“You didn’t have to do that, Kyle,” she said. “This was stupid.”
“I owed you.”
“If this backfires, I’m up the river. There will be an investigation and I’ll probably go to prison for covering up your tracks for you. You know that, right?”
“There won’t be an investigation, and you’re not going anywhere.” He made no mention of Luther Kind, the disc, or whatever leverage Kind may or may not have over them. He stepped in close. “I used a gun that matched your service pistol. The security footage that puts me at the scene is gone and Damon White is in the dirt in Greenwich County. You’re free and clear.”
“Why?”
“I told you: I owed you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did,” he said. “Let me have that much.”
“So, are you here to talk about it?”
“I don’t know. Are you ready to listen to me?”
Upstairs in her apartment, Amanda locked the door behind them. She didn’t bother sliding off her boots, nor did Kyle his jacket. She ran a hand through her hair and leveled him a hard look. He knew what he needed to say, but there were no words to convey it, not really. There were just smells and sounds: blood in the subway, fresh paint drying in the hallway of Bridger’s boarding house, and Hannah’s laughter as her braces click-clacked on the floor beneath his attic hiding space. There was no way to explain that, so Kyle licked his lips and tried to arrange his thoughts.
“What do you want to know?”
“You can start with the truth, Jeong,” she said, “and work your way back from there.”
“Truth is, that crash... It changed us, Amanda. We’re different now.”
She almost laughed. “That’s really vague. You know that, right? I watched the footage from the bank bombing. I know you can’t die. Try again.”
“It’s not just me. I can’t die, but they come back. And they do things—frankly, scary things. I survived the bombings and the crash, but them? They came back as something else entirely.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What was I supposed to say?”
“The truth, Kyle. You tell me the truth, because that’s what I expect from you. No, actually, that’s what I demand of you. From now on, no more lies, no more keeping things on a need to know basis. You want my help? You tell me everything I need to know, or we’re done.”
“I kept it from you to keep you safe. To give you plausible deniability.”
“Then you made me the cop who shot Damon White. This is quid pro quo, Jeong, starting now.”
He shook his head. “I don’t die, Amanda. I don’t even bleed anymore. Bridger, he has seizures and he sees the future. Clara? She moves faster than anyone should. I’ve seen Adam tear through solid steel like it was paper, and we don’t even know what Norah can do yet because she’s finding out with the rest of us. The other day, she snuffed out an explosion with just a thought, and a few days before that she dropped through six feet of concrete to protect her kid from a mob. We are terrifying and we are strange, and you can’t be a part of that. I won’t let you.”
Looking him up and down, the steel in her gaze wavered. “What happens now? Spandex and a Batmobile?”
“Bea
ts the shit out of me,” he admitted. “You don’t have to keep seeing me. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to.”
“Yeah, right,” she said. “You tell me you’re superheroes and you want me to stay home. Fuck you kindly, but no.”
“Then, what?”
“The obvious, Kyle. We strike a deal.”
“What deal?”
“If I go to major cases, I’ll have access to cases way outside of the scope of anti-terrorism. I’m talking organized crime, high-profile murders, corruption—and you’ll be there on the other side of the fence.”
“You’re talking about vigilantism.”
“I’m talking about getting things done—getting real work done without oversight and without politics.”
“Before you told me that this line of thinking would put me back in prison.”
“Look, we both just watched this city fall apart while Damon White had the EBCPD running in circles. This wasn’t about luck, and you know that. We do this right, we do this smart? This never happens again, and we both sleep better at night.”
“You do hear yourself, right?” he asked. “You know what you sound like right now.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I do. I sound like the only person in the room who knows you won’t let this go when you get home. Because you’ll be thinking the same thing I am.”
“We’re not superheroes, Amanda.”
“I’m not asking you to be, Kyle. I’ll be the intel, you’ll be the muscle. I’ll let you and your friends decide what happens next.”
He sighed and let the idea roll around his brain. He thought of the logistics and the players on the board moving piece by piece: Clara the bullet, Adam the strongman, Bridger the oracle, Norah the witch, himself the detective, and Amanda the infiltrator tucked safely in his pocket.
Finally, she smiled. “Do we have a deal?”
“You’ll need full deniability. No chain of evidence, no link between us. This goes south and we both walk away, no matter what happens. Because I’m not afraid to burn you if it means saving my people.” It was a lie, of course, but he needed to hear himself say it. “You got that?”
“You know me. Not a sentimental bone in my body.” She extended a hand. “So? Do we have a deal?”