by Raen Smith
“Fine, but I’m bringing my knife.” I replied as I turned to look into his eager face. How could I say no to those eyes?
“Good.” He grinned before he bent down to swallow my lips. He paused, pulling a few inches away. “But before we go, I have a gift for you.”
The lump lodged in my throat. “Gift?”
“Okay, I won’t call it a gift. I have something for you.” Ryan smiled. “I can’t say that I’ve ever given anything like this to someone. It means you’re special. I’ll be right back.” He hopped out of the shower dripping wet and let the curtain agape before I could protest.
I hated gifts. Ryan knew that. Wrapped or unwrapped, bow or no bow. It didn’t matter. I hated all gifts.
He returned, still naked and dripping, but resting in his hands was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“Do you still hate gifts?” He asked as he stretched his hands toward me. The silver glinted in the light. I fingered the handle of the Spyderco knife and then ran the tips over the blade. It took my breath away, not the knife itself, but what it meant coming from him.
“Compact with a three-inch blade, which means you would have to get close. I don’t want you to ever have to use it, but I know it makes you more comfortable,” Ryan started.
“It’s beautiful,” I interrupted as I held it in my hand. I gripped the handle and felt the weight light in my hand before I turned it back to him to set on the counter.
“Not as beautiful as you,” he replied with his sultry eyes.
“I love you, Ryan.”
“You’re the one, Evie Parker.”
“Get back in here.” I pushed the shower curtain wider as the water rushed against my back. “Show me how much you love me.”
***
I didn’t tell him about Delaney on the drive to the bar. I wasn’t ready, not yet, but I planned on telling him tonight after a few drinks. Let him mull it over. He could yell at me and tell me how crazy I was, but I had already made up my mind.
Ryan flicked off his lights and held the keys in his hands as the silence stifled between us.
“Just a drink,” I cut through the stillness, trying to convince myself as I looked up at the bar entrance.
The door swung open to a man and woman; his arm hung heavy over her shoulder as she threw her head back in laughter. I was slammed with the picture of what a normal couple looked like in public. Laughing, smiling. I just wasn’t there yet, and I didn’t know if I would ever be there.
I would always be watching and waiting for something or someone to come after me. I think that’s what happens when you’ve murdered more than one person; their demons come back to haunt you. I wondered how Holston controlled the demons surrounding him, and I realized that he didn’t. He simply had too many voices and shadows to count so he merely screamed along with them. Holston Parker screamed in blood.
A shiver ran through my body.
“Just a drink.” Ryan shut the door with a loud bang.
Instantly, my mantra pulsed through my head. I closed my eyes and counted, one, two, three, four, five. Instead of the usual calmness it brought me, I began to pant as I thought of Sister Josephine. She was the one that had given me the technique of self-preservation. I was young then, maybe six or seven when she had taught me to count to five to stay calm. I didn’t remember much of that night other than being cradled in her arms on her bed after she had washed off my red soaked hands. Food coloring, she had said with a forced smile. I remembered believing her; at that age, most children would. I could only marvel at how many lies I had been fed in my twenty-eight years.
She had smoothed out my hair as she taught me the counting trick in her bathroom. “When you count, Evie, you are bringing yourself back into your own body,” she had said. I had no idea what she meant, but it had felt good. Everything about Sister Josephine had always felt good. She had held me in her arms all night until Holston had picked me up in the morning.
I wondered who he killed that night. And I wondered if Sister Josephine knew.
My eyes flashed open, and my boots were suddenly hitting the pavement of the bar’s parking lot. We were headed to the Basementlofoten in Leknes. I was out. I was here. I could still breathe. I felt my knife tucked against my thigh, beneath my tight skirt, as I pulled my black leather jacket against my chest. This was easy. Getting a beer at a bar in a small town with a population just over ten thousand would be uncomplicated. I was thousands of miles away from my past.
I stepped through the wooden door of the bar into darkness and followed Ryan down the handful of stairs that led to the open space. The music thumped to an electronic beat pulsed by a DJ at a turntable. Small puffs of smoke wafted through the air as neon lights flickered through the small crowd of people dancing.
Ryan’s hand reached back toward me, fumbling until it found mine. I followed him to the bar, hand-in-hand like any normal couple, and we sunk onto two stools next to each other. The last bar I visited was Angel’s, half-way across the world. It felt like a lifetime ago. This joint with its mirrored walls and neon lights looked nothing like Angel’s ‘70s diner turned rustic bar. This was a club.
The bartender turned to us; a bald man with a prickly beard and thick sleeves of tattoos along both his arms. I closed my eyes, shaking the vision of Ethan out of my head. Delaney’s emails were flooding me with all the memories I was trying to forget. I opened my eyes to see the bartender leaning over me with a grin. All I could smell was cheap cologne.
God, I hated cheap cologne. It reminded me of Dave Williams, the CFO at Parker Enterprises back when I was there. He was beyond guilty of wearing the cheapest, most offensive smelling cologne on the market. And despite having a ridiculous salary for the work he did, Dave Williams would only spring ten dollars for a bottle of that horrible crap.
I pushed Dave Williams out of my head and kept my eyes on the bartender. I forced a small smile as Ryan ordered and nodded my head in agreement; enough to be unnoticeable.
Two bottles slid across the bar as I watched the crowd pulse and sway to the beats, raising and pumping their fists and drinks in the air. I just didn’t get the club scene, and I definitely didn’t belong here. I wanted out. Now.
I turned back to Ryan to see his beer raised in the air. I reminded myself to breathe as I raised my own bottle and clinked the brown neck of the glass before I put the beer to my lips. The bitterness of the cool liquid slid down my throat. I was never a beer drinker, but I knew after this one, I would have the liquid courage I needed to tell Ryan I was going back.
“How does it feel?” Ryan yelled over the music as he leaned into me.
“Loud,” I yelled back.
“Won’t be for long. I think the party moves to the back in a little bit. Bigger space for the crowd. We’ll be gone before then.”
“Good.” I chugged five long swallows of beer. I wanted to leave now.
Ryan pulled another long tug on his own before he leaned in closer and pressed his lips into mine. The tension in my body released, and I let his lips take me in. He finally pulled away, breathing, “That guy in the corner was looking at you. I had to send him a quick message, if you know what I mean.”
“Delaney emailed me.” I didn’t even bother to look at the guy in the corner. I didn’t need to because I had already seen him when I walked in. He was leaning against a jukebox that probably hadn’t been used in ten years. He was just under six-feet-tall, maybe one hundred and sixty pounds. He was wearing a beaded necklace. I could easily take him. I wasn’t worried.
“What?” Ryan sputtered, pulling the beer from his lips. I hated seeing those lips mad, and it was only going to get worse.
“Delaney emailed me,” I repeated slowly.
“I heard you the first time,” Ryan said as he moved just inches from my face.
“She needs help.”
“How?” He studied my face. His mind was desperate to wrap around the method of delivery instead of the message. He was avoiding. And just like that, BAM.
There it was; the blame and disappointment that I’d been accustomed to my entire life. It was an old feeling that fell into my lap with ease, smuggling its way back in with a black vengeance. I guess some things never died.
“Anonymous email. I gave her instructions a year ago when I sent her a letter,” I replied.
“You sent her a letter? Jesus, and you were worried about coming here?” Ryan slid his beer on the bar and then turned to the crowd moving behind us. They shuffled through a hallway into the back room, just like Ryan had said they would. The DJ pulled his headphones down around his neck as the music came to a sudden stop.
Ryan motioned to the bartender, “En annen runde.” Another round.
I agreed with an obliged smile and gave Ryan an abbreviated version of Delaney’s first email from June 15:
V,
I know I’m not supposed to use this account, but I had to email you. She said it was urgent.
Sister Josephine called to tell me that Father Haskens is dead. (I don’t know either of these people, but I think it’s safe to assume you do since she wanted me to tell you). He died of a heart attack two days ago. They had a break-in at the rectory, but the person who broke in didn’t take anything. Sister Josephine was in the house at the time. She said he was in the house for just a few minutes. By the time she got to him and the ambulance came, it was too late. The police don’t have any leads.
She wanted you to know that they are holding services for him on June 20. She would like for you to come back but knows that it’s probably not going to happen. She thought I might have contact with you. I lied and told her I didn’t. Thanks for making me lie to a nun. You bring out the best in me (I’m joking).
I wouldn’t have used this account, but she seemed desperate when I talked to her. I felt like she was leaving a few details out - that there was more to the story. Hard to believe considering she has an association with you (Again, I’m joking). Honestly, I think she’s scared.
So that’s it. I thought I would let you know.
I miss you. I feel like I’ve been missing you my whole life. I hope that can change one day. It’s only two days short of being a year since I saw you last.
Much love,
D
“So that’s it?” Ryan asked as the bartender appeared with two opened bottles of Ringnes.
The beats of the music settled into a methodic buzz as I set down my empty bottle and slid it across the bar before reaching out to grab the second. The cool glass soaked into my skin as my fingers fiddled with the red and gold label. The first beer was registering in my bloodstream, and I hesitated before I brought the second bottle to my lips.
“That’s it. That’s what she wrote in the first email,” I replied, realizing that I really should have left without asking. I didn’t need his permission, and I definitely didn’t need him to try to talk me out of it. Not that it would work or anything.
“The first email? What do you want me to say? It’s not overly compelling.”
“I know. She sent me another.” I twirled the bottle in my hands. The second email had convinced me to go back to Wisconsin.
“And?” Ryan lifted his eyebrows, looking for the information I was purposely withholding.
“More compelling,” I answered before taking a hard swallow. I should slow down, but I didn’t want to. I knew the conversation wasn’t going to end well.
“Well, I’m not your keeper,” Ryan replied, tightening his grip on his bottle. His forearm flexed just as it had earlier today on the docks. Damn, that little movement made me so uneasy. I averted my eyes. “But how important could it be that you are willing to risk it all?”
“Well…” My voice trailed off despite my deep-seeded conviction to do otherwise.
“I mean, everything. Every single moment that we have fought for over the last year. All of that could be gone, just like that. The risk that I took. That we took. You’re putting me on the line. I knew Holston was worth it, but this? I just don’t - ” Ryan stopped mid-sentence as a man in a cowboy hat sat down in the seat next to him.
The bartender slid the cowboy a beer before he could even mutter his order. The two began talking feverishly in Norwegian, but my ear perked at the sound of the cowboy’s accent. His Norwegian was just a tad slower, his accent a hint off. I eyed the woven straw hat that sat lightly on top of his head, red flannel shirt, and blue jeans, then all the way down to his tapping cowboy boots on the stool.
“I shouldn’t have said anything,” I whispered, sucking another draw from the bottle. American. The cowboy was American.
My thoughts went back to Sister Josephine. Ryan couldn’t possibly ever understand the importance of this woman in my life as a child. My childhood had been filled with random comings and goings of babysitters that never really stuck. I remembered when I was eight-years-old, I had spent every single night alone while Holston built his empire. I now wondered which “empire” he was building. A woman who didn’t speak a lick of English would stop by to make me food. I don’t even remember her name. For all I knew, she didn’t have one. She would maybe stay for thirty minutes and then she was gone. I brushed my teeth alone. Put on my pajamas alone. Locked the door alone. Then went to bed alone. So the woman that showed me affection on Sundays, naturally, was the woman I remembered the most, and the woman that needed my help now.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have,” Ryan muttered, tipping the bottle back until he slammed it back on the counter empty. “This is crazy. You are fucking crazy. I knew you were, but to go back? I can’t - ”
“You don’t have to,” I said as an alarm signaled in my body. The slow burn had stopped festering and a new swell of fury coursed through my veins. A year ago, I wouldn’t have even thought twice about it. I went, with or without his permission. Going at it alone was faster, easier. I could get in and out without a hitch. This was what I did; I’d been alone my whole life until now. It made things complicated, and I didn’t like complicated even though I did love him. “I never asked you to come with me.”
“Good because I don’t plan to,” Ryan said, finally turning to me with eyes blazing. I tried to focus on him, but I was abruptly drawn to the cowboy and bartender next to us. Their conversation had stopped and the cowboy had thrown a few bills on the bar. He got up from the bar and vanished through the crowd.
“Good.” I slid my beer back on the counter, moving off the seat to stand next to him. I felt a strong squeeze on my right arm, just below my scar. The pink skin flared, the pain of the bullet entering my arm rattled my body.
“Where are you going?” Ryan demanded, pulling me closer to him.
“Bathroom,” I replied, yanking my arm back as he shook his head.
Drink up, Ryan. The drunker he was, the easier it would be to leave. I pretended that it didn’t matter; I pretended that for the first time, I didn’t feel something stirring in my gut. It was a foreign feeling to me, a sentiment of guilt I didn’t like. As quickly as it came, it disappeared as he turned back to face the bar. I wouldn’t change now, not for anyone or anything. I was Evie Parker. I would do what I did best. Run.
I passed the dance floor that had been cleared, my boots treading carefully along the alcohol-splashed wood. Streams of rainbow-colored beams flashed before my eyes, the strobe jarring my movements as I moved toward the hallway where the crowd had disappeared. I hit the hallway, stopping at the crowd before I pushed forward into the shadowed opening. A sea of neon glow-in-the-dark necklaces illuminated in the cloud of black as I slid past a girl with spiked hair and a silver ring in her eyebrow. Her beady eyes glowed in the light of the necklace bouncing on her chest. She flashed her tongue out, licking it out like a lizard, to reveal two small pink pills not yet dissolved.
Where the hell was I?
She flipped her tongue back in before letting out a high-pitched cackle. I tucked underneath the man to my right, his huge arms lifting up as I maneuvered through before he brought them back down. The clearing to the right was close, only a few ste
ps away.
“Molly,” a woman’s voice dripped in my ear.
I paused, not responding to the name or to her fervent stare, but I knew she was talking to me. Molly? I’ve been called a lot of things, but never Molly. It took me a second to realize that she was referring to the drug. I shook my head and pushed forward, weaving through the last two people to lean against the outer wall.
I was in a rave.
The dark room flashed at once to the bass, a loud thump resounding against the walls, until it was black again. Hundreds of neon rings glowed throughout the space while the crowd shrieked as another beat bounced, the light flashing again. And that’s when I saw the crowd, a sea of hundreds of people in a wide-open gymnasium-type room.
Where had all these people come from?
I felt a bump against my shoulder as the third beat sounded with the accompanying flash of light; a man in a white t-shirt appeared beside me with a cup in his hand. I felt a cool splash of liquid trickle down my leg, his cup overflowing as he raised it in the air. I clenched my fists and curled my fingernails deep into my palms to refrain from punching him.
“Bathroom?” I yelled between the beats and the flashes. He pointed across the floor through the hundreds of heads to the opposite side of the room then went back to nodding his head with his eyes closed.
I scanned the rest of the room when another light flashed. The beats were coming now in rapid succession and the rainbow lights flashed almost continuously, but there were no doors that I could see. I was better off going back where I had come from. Ryan would see me, but he wasn’t going to stop me. He couldn’t, not now.
The music suddenly flared open as the crowd screamed. I looked up to see the DJ on a stage at the front of the crowd. He lifted his hand in the air, pulled his headphones over his ears and nodded his head before moving his attention back to his turntable. The crowd pulsed to the beats like a breathing room at the same time the neon rings bounced and moved to the frantic pace of the music.
I crept along to the right, the alcohol now buzzing through my veins at a rapid rate, but I kept my feet steady beneath me as I moved along the wall in search of another door.