No. But it was easier to lie than to walk away from him. He seemed so excited about the idea. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “I guess so,” she said.
“Good, because I’ve got loads of questions for you that I’ve been dying to ask.” He mimed unrolling a scroll of paper, and she couldn’t help but smile.
“Fire away,” she said. “Clearly this has been on your mind for a while.”
He cleared his throat. “I think nicknames can reveal a lot about a person. Both the ones people give them and the ones they give to others.” Crunch cocked his head at Caroline, holding out a pretend microphone. “Do you have any?”
It didn’t matter that he was being glib. That he was trying to keep her in a good mood. His words triggered something inside her that she’d been suppressing for months. Pain had given her something to focus on, something to distract her. Something to keep her from thinking about the past. When she’d been struggling to move around she had shed no tears, only throwing around a few curse words. His innocuous question broke the dam. Caroline closed her eyes tightly, hearing Jack’s voice in the back of her mind.
“Nicknames are a big step. Do you have any?”
She tried not to think about anyone else. Caroline blinked and smiled at Crunch, shrugging her shoulders. She had to focus on anything other than the past. Clear her mind. Keep it a blank slate. “Nope,” she said. “I’m pretty boring.”
Crunch smiled back at her. “I guess I’m stuck with just plain Caroline.”
“Guess you are, unless you can think of something a little more snappy.” Her attempts to channel her thoughts into safe directions failed, and her tone didn’t sound nearly as light as she hoped it would. She had to get out of that room as quickly as possible, even if it hurt Crunch’s feelings. Caroline kept the smile on her face. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”
His smile turned to an expression of concern. “Sure.”
She lurched toward the bathroom the best she could, in no condition to move swiftly. She shut the door behind her, locking it.
“Christine’s husband Tom calls me ‘Punky.’”
She grabbed a hand towel hanging on a rack and pressed it to her lips, stifling a sob. She turned the overhead vent on for good measure, trying not to hyperventilate.
“You call Representative Sullivan ‘Chrissy’?”
“She’s one of my best friends but I don’t know how I get away with it. She would smack the hell out of anyone else who called her that, except her husband.”
Caroline practically stuffed the towel into her mouth, leaning against the door and sinking to the floor, willing herself to calm down.
“It would be my honor to give you away, sunshine.”
No. She had to stop thinking about them. Thinking about Jack and Chrissy and Tom was bad enough. She couldn’t-
“Don’t tell them anything, Ellie. Understand?”
Not The Fed. She needed to pretend that place didn’t exist. Forget everything that happened there. Everything she’d lost. Everyone-
“Katie. Don’t call me anything else. And call her Jen. Genevieve sounds so pretentious.”
She couldn’t stop them. She tried but they kept coming. She’d bat them back and they swelled forward no matter what she did.
“You called me Monty before. Did you notice that?”
Caroline cried out, telling herself to stop, but nothing worked. All the memories she’d spent months trying to quash were suddenly knocking around inside her mind, and the stuff she was anxious to remember floated away. She started rocking back and forth on the tile. Not Jack. She didn’t want to think about him. Or about anyone else precious to her.
“Be good, Feef. You’re my favorite munchkin.”
“I love you, my Mo Mo.”
She hated herself. Hated that she didn’t have the strength to forget, hated that she was such a goddamn weakling, hated that she’d singlehandedly annihilated so many lives with her blind stupidity. She’d tried so hard to let go of that guilt and it now roared at her with a vengeance. Served her right considering everything she’d done. Caroline jerked at her hair, hard enough that she yelped in surprised pain. The towel dropped to the floor. She heard a soft knock at the door.
“You okay in there?” Crunch asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, thankful she kept her voice steady. “Just another minute.”
She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to regain control. She must have been in there longer than she thought if Crunch had come to check on her. She stood up shakily and looked in the mirror, seeing that same, almost unrecognizable reflection gazing wearily back at her. A mess of puckered skin, scabs, and scars with a busted up face to boot. Caroline put her head in her hands.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You’ll never know how sorry I am. I never meant to hurt any of you.” She ran the water for a moment, letting it trickle through her fingers, using it to scrub the tear streaks from her cheeks. She put the towel back on the rack and opened the door.
Crunch looked worried. “You sure you’re okay?”
She’d never be okay. Not with the ghosts of the past dogging her every step. She had to do a better job of trying to leave them behind. Caroline shook her head up and down, knowing he wasn’t buying her fake enthusiasm. Not when it was so obvious that she’d been crying. “Fantastic. Want to watch a movie?”
* * * * *
They were sitting on the couch watching The Legend of Billie Jean. A movie featuring two of her favorite Slaters, Helen and Christian. Just the sort of distraction she needed. Totally anti-establishment while being totally fluffy at the same time.
“Have you seen this before?” Caroline asked.
Crunch smiled at her. “No. But I’ve heard of it. I appreciate the classics.”
Caroline tried to think. Simple things like backwards math took more time than she cared to admit. “This movie came out before you were born, didn’t it?”
“Yup.” His smile got a little more obnoxious. “Don’t get all upset or anything, but you’re the oldest person in this house by far.”
Her early September birthday had passed with nary a mention. Just the way she wanted it. “I’m only fourteen years older than you. And you’re still a baby.”
He chortled. “Hardly. I am the youngest one here, though. Don’t forget it.”
Caroline tugged at her uneven hair and looked at the TV. Helen Slater’s character had just cut her hair. “See, that’s what I need. A nice aggressive haircut.”
Crunch looked remorseful. “I feel pretty guilty about that appalling cut you have now. I couldn’t get the tangles out, no matter how hard I tried.” He looked back at the TV. “You really want your hair styled like that?”
“Why not?” Caroline asked. “New life, new hair. I need to bleach it too.”
“You’re going blond?”
She and Gabe had agreed to it. “They have more fun. So I’ve been told.”
He eyed her thoughtfully. “I can make it work, if you trust me.”
“Now you’re a hairstylist, too?”
“No. But I can try.”
She knew he’d do his best with a high quality eighties movie to guide him. “I trust you.”
“It’ll be easier when you’re alert and awake.”
“And sitting upright in a chair?”
Crunch laughed. “You don’t want to be prone in a bed when I hack at your head?”
“No,” Caroline said. “I’d prefer not.”
“Do you want me to get out Pat Benatar’s Greatest Hits to inspire you while I do my work?”
Caroline gave him a sly look. “Invincible” was one of her favorite motivational songs. “You have seen this movie before. Dirty liar.”
“Honey, if we weren’t liars and thieves you wouldn’t be here.”
Didn’t she know it. “Does this mean we can watch more Christian Slater movies?”
“I’ve got Gleaming the Cube cued up and ready to go,” he said. “I know all the
great movies for disaffected youth. I was once one myself.”
She laughed. She could get through this. She just had to keep from thinking about anything too substantive. “Weren’t we all.”
* * * * *
Movies and popcorn weren’t enough to distract her, no matter how hard Caroline tried. That night the dreams started. Or nightmares, more appropriately. It didn’t take much after that. The wind blowing a certain way. The expression on Crunch’s face when he told a joke. A phrase or a word used by Jonesie or Gabe.
She dreaded the night. Bad things happened at night. Not only because of the never-ending darkness, even though she always left the lamp on…but because of what she saw when she fell asleep. She was trapped – caught between the nightmares that made her scream and the memories that made her weep. Tormented and bombarded with both, neither was an agreeable alternative. The memories that comforted her at the Fed now shook her awake with pangs of guilt so deep she thought they would cut her open.
“Where’s Katie?”
“She’s dead. How many times are you going to make me say it?”
She’d find herself screaming out in the middle of the darkness for Bob or Ellen or Jen or Katie. Or Jack. Every nightmare snapped one of the few rubber bands holding her together. There was one in particular that stalked her night after night, and it always ended with a gunshot echoing in her head.
“I’m so sorry, Jenny. Please forgive me.”
“You’re not the one who’ll need forgiveness. I love you. I could never hate you. Ever. I’ll hug Katie for you.”
She’d killed one of her best friends. It didn’t matter that someone else had pulled the trigger. How could that be forgiven? Jen’s words didn’t matter, sweet though they sounded. Caroline knew the truth. So many people had suffered because of her. Because she’d done too much, or too little. It didn’t matter anymore. She learned not to sleep. Or to sleep as lightly as possible.
Being awake was oftentimes as bad as drifting off. Nothing could save her from the images in her mind. Of what had happened in the woods or at The Fed or before she’d made all the terrible decisions that left her with an unknown and unhappy future.
“Those are mine! They belong to me!”
“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be with your children soon enough. I think we’ve had enough fun for today, though. Don’t you?”
Fucking Murdock. And those fucking guards. She wanted to forget their voices, and forced herself to focus on whatever she could. The repetitious exercises she did to gain strength. How many pushups she could do without stopping. How many steps she’d taken on the treadmill that morning. She’d repeat them in her head as she lay in bed, counting them silently before she’d lose track and have to start over again. Sometimes it would work and she would drift off into a dreamless sleep, but most of the time it failed. She kept trying.
The day that Crunch evened out her hair and bleached it blond, she bit her lip the entire time. He had to have noticed; he squeezed her shoulder after he was finished and left her in the bathroom alone. She looked in the mirror once he was gone, studying that same crooked nose, that drastically altered appearance. With short blond hair and broken bones, she could take on an entirely new persona. One she didn’t necessarily like.
She lingered in there for close to an hour before coming out and agreeing to a head shot. It took three requests from Crunch before she broke down and smiled. An empty smile. The kind she’d throw out when she was at some sort of political function she dreaded, or speaking to a colleague who was making it clear that she wasn’t worth his time. She might have been able to force a smile before, but now that she knew what she looked like, really looked like, she had no desire to act happy about it.
During the day she and Crunch built a routine. Weight training in the morning, light cardio in the afternoon. They did it all in the workout room in the basement, careful not to wake Jonesie and Gabe before they had to go to work.
Caroline came to relish it. She could focus on her technique, her breathing, and her form, carefully avoiding anything too intellectually or emotionally demanding. Going through the motions and improving herself physically while pushing her identity further and further away from the surface. Soon she would no longer exist. Caroline Gerard would be gone and the strange blond haired woman she saw in the mirror every morning would be there to take her place.
Or so she hoped.
Chapter Nine
The Safe House
Sometimes she’d catch herself doing random things that used to make her happy, like humming songs. College fight songs. Songs she and Jack had danced to. Songs she’d sung to her children. Then she’d realize what she was doing and stop, feeling nothing but shame and guilt. Maybe the songs were too much, the way they triggered memories like that. The way they slashed her open. Sometimes she'd do that, unintentionally flay herself. Unless she was actually doing it on purpose.
She could never hide the sour expression on her face when that happened, and her need for distraction was obvious. The first morning he noticed it, Crunch wasted no time in marching her down to the basement workout area.
He grabbed a soft mat leaning against the wall, unfolded it, and flopped it down on the floor. “I think it’s time we started teaching you to fight. You ready to get started?”
Something new meant something else to keep her occupied. Listening to instructions meant she could focus solely on Crunch’s voice. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said.
“You told me you had some self-defense training. Give me an idea of what I’m working with.”
“Some Krav Maga, other basic tricks. What to do when grabbed from behind, pressure points, how to fight someone off from a prone or kneeling position, that sort of thing.” She grinned. “And I’m quite good at kneeing men in the crotch.”
Crunch grimaced. “We won’t be practicing that one. I’ll take your word for it. Any sparring or other basic boxing techniques?”
“I’ve used a heavy bag.”
He squeezed her bicep. “You were pretty strong at one point, if I can guess. Right? I can see it in your posture. We’re gonna get that tone back.”
“Yeah,” Caroline said. “My h-”
She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t say his name, or even what he was to her. Thinking about Jack and the workout room in their home in Philadelphia made her feel ill. She looked at her feet.
Jack had once told a journalist writing a piece for Men's Health that she could bench press her exact weight. Fortunately she'd been in the room with him at the time and quickly told him not to tell the guy the number of pounds she could lift. Not that she wasn't proud of her strength or ashamed of her weight, because she wasn’t. It seemed too personal, even if it was pretty damn cool to be a woman who could handle free weights. She'd never been interested in that sort of routine but Jack was such a zealously good teacher that he sucked her in. He loved her muscles and wanted to make her stronger.
All that strength had done her no good when push came to shove. Not when she’d been outnumbered or confronted with deadly weapons. She had to regain it anyway.
Crunch put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We’re gonna get that tone back,” he repeated.
Caroline took a deep breath. She must have drifted away for a minute. “I’ve done some pretty intense free weight and cardio routines before.”
“You ain’t never worked with me before.” He pointed toward the shabby heavy bag in the corner of the room. “And if you ever need to beat the shit out of that for any reason, none of us are going to stop you.”
A delicate gesture on his part. Crunch hadn’t pushed, yet she knew it was a matter of time before he started pressing her to talk about The Fed. As long as they were training they didn’t have to discuss the difficult stuff. Maybe she could keep him distracted until he forgot. Caroline saluted him. “I read you.”
“I thought you would. Let’s talk more about how we can improve on your previous training. We need to play to your strengths. The
time for being dainty and demure is gone. You’re gonna get down and dirty with me.” He winked at her. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”
Light jokes were easy when she knew they wouldn’t be taken seriously. “Why, Crunch. I’m a little disappointed you didn’t mean that literally.”
He laughed. “Stop it. Let’s get cracking already. What’s the most powerful part of your body?”
“I’ve got a decent core,” Caroline said. “And strong legs. Or, I did.”
“All of that will improve with time,” Crunch said. “What do you do with that?”
“I use those muscles against my opponent, right?”
“Right. Any man you face is going to have more upper body strength than you, no matter how much you train. But you can catch him off guard with speed, or movement, or even plain old luck. If a dude tried to take you out and came straight for your head, how would you respond?”
“I’d duck. Use my leg strength to scramble away or push him off of me.”
“Dude wraps his arms around your shoulders from behind, what do you do?”
She mimed her movements to see if she remembered correctly. “Stomp down on his toes, shove both elbows back into his stomach while he’s caught off guard.”
“Best way to break a guy’s nose when he’s on top of you or reaching for you?”
“Palm to the face.”
He smiled again. “Good. That’s a start. Solid defensive techniques. I’m going to teach you how to be the aggressor. We’re gonna have you scratching eyeballs and rupturing eardrums by the time I’m done. Or breaking jaws. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah,” Caroline said. “That works.”
* * * * *
Crunch didn’t end up asking about her scars until a couple of weeks into their training. Caroline always wore long sleeves because she hated looking at her arms. The poorly working furnace served as a suitable excuse and no one questioned her clothing choices. She’d sometimes pull her sleeves up when they were working out. An unintentional reflexive move that she undid once she detected it. But she’d forgotten to pull them back down and didn’t even notice until they were upstairs and in the kitchen taking a break.
The Bellator Saga: The First Trilogy (Dissident, Conscience, and Sojourn) Page 74