All of the Lights

by K. Ryan

"What?" she puts her hands on her hips again and purses her lips into a tight line.

  "I'm not going to get a text at six in the morning telling me you're too hungover to open, right?"

  She pauses for just a moment and her eyes drop to the champagne flute in her hand, but it's long enough for the true meaning of my words to really sink in. When her eyes find me again, they're a dark cloud of annoyance with a little bit of hurt mixed in there too, but she's not going to break my resolve that easily.

  "No," she answers evenly. "I'm not. Just...just take care of Benn."

  Bennett's still muttering to himself and staggering a little like a drunken sailor as I gently push him out of the banquet hall and into the lobby, where, thankfully, the exit is finally in sight. I can't get us out of here fast enough, but by the time we've cleared the lobby and are making our way through the parking lot to get to his Prius, Bennett's walk suddenly straightens, his hysteria wanes, and his hands fold calmly into his pockets.

  "Wait a minute," I stop right in my tracks, despite the fact that my knee screams a little from the impact. "What's happening?"

  Bennett points to himself with a sly grin. "I just Keyser Sozed those snobby bitches."

  "What?"

  He jogs ahead of me a little and then takes on an awkward limp with one foot turned to the side, shuffling through the parking lot with a flashy, cocksure grin on his face.

  "And just like that," he murmurs as the limp subsides. "He's gone."

  "Oh my God," I shake my head. "I should've known..."

  "Well," Bennett waggles his eyebrows. "The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist."

  I'm still trying to decide if I should strangle Bennett now or later when I slide into the backseat of Bennett's Prius. He follows suit, that sneaky, Joker-esque smile still on his face as he glances at Jack, who's waiting patiently in the passenger seat.

  Jack spares me a glance over his shoulder and then grins at Bennett. "I take it the plan worked?"

  "Did it ever," Bennett flashes him a victorious grin as they bump fists and I just shake my head one more time. Then he holds out a hand and says in his best Benicio del Toro accent: "Hand me the keys, you cocksucker."

  Jack just laughs and tosses him the keys.

  "Enough with the Usual Suspects crap, okay? Seriously."

  "Well, Clamato, I'm sorry," Bennett eyes me from the rearview mirror. He doesn't look sorry at all. "I had to make it look real. I know you thought you knew the plan, but I didn't want to take any chances. We needed a diversion to get out of there and I created one. Besides," Bennett jerks a thumb Jack's way, "blame it all on him."

  Jack's hands fly up in defense. "Hey. I just gave him the idea. I didn't have anything to do with the rest of it."

  "Yeah, yeah," I grumble from the back seat. "Is there anything else in our plan I don't know about?"

  "Nope," Jack tells me with a sympathetic smile. "That was the only deviation. Promise."

  The worst part of all this is that I actually believe him.

  And maybe, dare I say it, I actually trust him too.

  THE HARDWOOD FLOOR creaks underneath my three-inch heels and I tip-toe as quickly as I can up the stairs to head right for the mayor's home office. This part, as far as I know, was always in the plan. Since we left the fundraiser pretty early, nobody's going to be showing up here for another couple of hours, so we've got ample time to get in, find something we can use, and get out. No staff and definitely no mayor and his wife will be making an appearance for awhile.

  Once again, I use my trusty bobby pin to jimmy the lock, twisting and turning until the metal lifts out of place. As soon as I hear that telltale click, I slip inside the office, lock the door behind me, and head right for the French doors leading out onto the mayor's terrace.

  I barely get a chance to lean over the railing before two strong hands grip the edge. Broad shoulders heave up so he can tuck his legs over the side and then Jack lands lithely on the terrace like a jaguar jumping from his perch.

  "Hey," he greets me a little breathlessly and shoots me a wry grin as he sidesteps around me.

  "Hi."

  I wince at how lame that sounds and then trail after him as he surveys the room with both hands on his hips. This was all part of the plan too: Bennett's the lookout because if any of the neighbors were to see him nearby, they probably wouldn't think anything of it because they've been used to seeing him here for years. Jack, on the other hand, not so much. So much in fact that he opted to scale the high walls on the mayor's property and sneak in through the yard just to be safe.

  So now, our getaway car is in place. We have the opportunity. We just have to seize it.

  "The safe's over here," I tell him, gesturing toward the short iron box and his head turns to follow my lead.

  Jack shifts around the desk to get to the safe and in the process, his hand rests on my hip for just a second as he steps around me. That brief contact shouldn't faze me. It shouldn't even be on my radar. But despite the fact that I should be focused on more important things, like getting into that safe once and for all, heat spreads through my body, starting right at the base of where he touched me. Electricity. That's what this is.

  I suck in a deep breath and watch him crouch down in front of the safe. He squints at the keypad for a few moments before his grey eyes finally land back on me. Maybe it's just the adrenaline from what we're about to do. The knowledge that we're about to uncover something worthwhile. The moment his eyes find me, I feel the sun on my face for the first time in years. I bask in the warmth, the comfort, and the safety of that sun.

  For just a split second, his gaze sweeps over the length of me starting at the waves in my hair, darting to my lips, my eyes, landing on my lips again, and finally working its way down my emerald dress before settling on the bare skin exposed on my shoulders. His eyes linger a moment longer and then, just like that, they're gone.

  With his focus resting predominantly on the safe in front of him, the moment is gone too. So I hike up my dress and crouch down next to him, acutely aware that he shifts away just enough to keep our arms from brushing. To keep that electricity at bay.

  "So three tries," I tell him carefully. "That's what we get before it locks us out for 15 minutes."

  He nods tightly and chews on his bottom lip in thought before he finally tilts his head in my direction. "Well. Have at 'er."

  My shaking fingers find my clutch and I pull out the list I'd made of potential combinations. This was one list Bennett couldn't make fun of me for—practical and absolutely necessary. The next items I pull out of my clutch are ones we should've used the first time, too, and I hand a pair of surgical rubber gloves to Jack before sliding on a pair myself. I start with the most obvious one I didn't try the first time: the mayor and his wife's wedding date.

  "Shit," Jack mutters under his breath when the handle doesn't budge.

  "It's okay," I hold up my hands to diffuse the panic. "It's just the first try. We've got time and lots of options. Why don't you start..."

  I don't even need to finish that sentence because he's already sprung back to his feet to work on his part of the plan. This part I can handle on my own, but the faster we work, the better for everyone involved. After sparing a quick look over my shoulder to find him skimming his hands over the floorboards, I get back to work.

  No stone unturned. No drawer left unopened. No inch left untouched.

  The next potential combination, my mom's birthday, also doesn't make the cut. So I take a deep breath, send a prayer out into the universe and hope someone might answer, and then I punch in the mayor's mom's birthday.

  Nothing.

  "Shit," I mutter under my breath.

  "Well," Jack's muffled voice calls out from behind me. "You'll get another stab at it in 15 minutes."

  With a resigned sigh, I push up to my feet, wincing a little at the stiffness in my knee and I lift my ankle off the floor so my knee can bend and stretch. Jack observes my moveme
nts from a safe distance away, but as soon as he realizes he's been caught, his eyes dart back down to his work. As far as I can tell, he's rummaged through at least half the office by now, opening and closing drawers, jimmying the locks of the ones he can't get into, and now he's moved on to the bookcase right behind the desk.

  His fingers skim up and down the sides of it first—I'm not sure what he's looking for or what he'll expect to find, but it seems like he knows exactly what to do. I don't really need to know how he knows to check every nook and cranny this way. All that matters is finding something, anything, that will move us closer to our goal.

  "Hey, Rae," he murmurs into the quiet surrounding us. Hearing my name on his lips is a distraction I don't need right now. "Look at this."

  Jack holds up a weathered photo album and my vision blurs a little at the image on the front. The mayor and my mom, hand in hand. He's in yet another crisp suit and she's wrapped in white lace and satin, the picture of the perfect bride. They're both smiling, but something is wrong with this picture. My mom wears that familiar, glittering smile that lights up her whole face. The only real problem here is that she's not even attempting to look at her new husband. The mayor's grinning face tilts toward her, searching for just a little effort, just a little affection, but she smiles for the camera instead.

  And for a moment, I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

  Jack passes me the photo album and I thumb through it as he continues his meticulous search of the bookcase. Each new image isn't that different from the last. They're on a sailboat at the Cape, lounging around in the sun. Attending state and local events in fancy suits and even fancier designer dresses. My mom dancing at her wedding with her dad, the great and all-powerful Judge Walker, who died a few years after the wedding and coincidentally, right before my mom started her affair with my dad.

  I wince at that thought—I don't have a dad. At least not one that really counts.

  After that, to rub salt in an open wound, the turn of a page reveals a picture with the mayor holding a tiny pink bundle with fiery red hair.

  "I'm surprised he hasn't burned this by now," I mutter under my breath.

  "What?" Jack calls over his shoulder. After I hold the page up for him to see, his eyebrows jump into his hairline.

  I shake my head a little and flip the album shut. There's no point in looking at any more pictures; it's like flipping through crime scene photos. Splattered blood and chunks of gore. Mangled limbs and severed heads. Each one more horrific than the last. Each one capturing the face of a ghost.

  "I can't believe they just married other people like that..." I murmur, more to myself than anything. "What were they thinking?"

  "They weren't," Jack answers simply, but his eyes still hold the sympathy I'm looking for.

  "How did they really think it was going to end? Them riding off into the sunset and living happily ever after?"

  He just lifts a shoulder. Thankfully, though, his eyes never lose that compassion and warmth. I wish I could memorize the way this feels—there's a glow around us and it wraps me up and squeezes tight.

  "It doesn't matter," I whisper. "There's no such thing as happily ever after anyway."

  His lips curl up in a sad smile, but it fades away just as quickly. He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment and then he rubs his mouth in thought. "Do you wish we knew the rest of the story?"

  I don't hesitate. "No."

  "I don't want to ask," Jack's eyebrows pull together tight and his eyes fall to the floor. "I don't want to have to look him in the eye and hear that he...shit, I can't even say it out loud."

  "Good. I don't want to hear it."

  Feeling so detached and impassive about such a monumental moment in my life—the moment my father walked away from my mother for good—isn't something that sits lightly. It festers, rotting away at what's left of my feelings for my mom and everything I know about her. I don't want to hate her. I don't want to focus solely on her failures and her mistakes. The problem is that since I never really knew her, all I have to go on are facts. I can't hear her voice in my ear because I've never heard it and I can't imagine her smile because I've never seen it in person. And because of that, it's getting harder and harder to not see that we ruined both each other's lives.

  Jack nods tightly like he can hear my thoughts and pulls the photo album from my gloved hands. When he places it carefully back on its spot on the shelf, he reaches out to me and his fingertips brush my bare arm. Then he snatches his touch back like my skin burned him before whipping around with his back to me.

  He clears his throat and latches both hands onto his hips as he surveys the bookcase again. It's a natural distraction—we came here to search this room high and low and that's what we need to continue doing.

  "So, um," I rub my hands anxiously on the front of my dress and the material bunches unflatteringly against my thighs. Great. I can't even be nonchalant nonchalantly. "I still have some time before I can try the safe again. Where do you want me to start?"

  Jack spares me a quick glance over his shoulder. "Check the desk again. Maybe you missed something the first time."

  Grateful to have something to do, I check the time on my phone and blow out a deep breath. Still five minutes to kill, so I set to work on the familiar drawers. Since I know which ones are locked and which ones aren't, it doesn't take long to find out what I already know: nothing's out of place and nothing new has suddenly sprung up in one of these drawers either. It was just as well, too, because now I'm in the clear to give that safe another try.

  I know which combination I need to try—I just don't want to. I don't want this particular date to be the one the mayor would use to keep all his secrets tucked away from view. Of course, it's just my luck that the combination I do decide to use is yet another bust. Guess he doesn't care too much about his wife's birthday either. Birthdays are clearly not the path to cracking this safe anytime soon. Some shuffling to my left steals my attention and my eyes dart over to see Jack with both hands latched around the edges of the bookcase, his tattooed muscles flexing a little from the effort.

  Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just give myself one moment to look. That's okay, right? Just a little...no. Shaking myself out of it, I squeeze my eyes shut to wipe the image from my mind. When I open my eyes again, they fall right to that insidious combination of numbers I don't want to punch into the keypad. There's a reason I'd almost used this the first time I got in here and if I hadn't been interrupted, I have a sinking feeling it's the one that will work.

  So I took a deep breath and punch in the numbers, 03-19-89. The day she swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills and bid goodnight to the world and all her problems with it. Me included.

  My grip on the handle tightens and turns downward. The damn thing opens.

  "That son of a bitch," I mutter under my breath and even my heart rips in half, adrenaline flushes down my arms, my legs, even my bad knee, and finally simmers in a little pool at my feet.

  "Jack!" I whisper excitedly and point to the safe, it's door hanging open on its hinges.

  He freezes in place with both hands still secured at the edges of the bookcase and his mouth drops open. Everything seems to happen at once: Jack hustles over to my side, his hands find the base of my back, and we kneel in front of the safe together like we're about to worship at its feet. I keep waiting to hear angels singing somewhere in the background, for the skies to part, and the sun to beam down on us.

  It doesn't happen because there's nothing in this safe but a thick pile of cash and a handgun.

  "Goddammit," Jack shakes his head and thumps the top of the safe with his fist.

  "I don't understand," I murmur as I stare blankly at the contents resting inside the little black iron box. "I thought for sure there'd be something in here."

  It wasn't even within the realm of possibility there'd be nothing inside. Nothing worthwhile. Nothing that would tie the mayor to the Gianotti brothers or anyone else for that matter. Nothing
that could tell us why the Gianottis are responsible for my attack.

  "Take the pictures anyway," Jack tells me lowly as he rises up to his feet. "Let's just keep moving."

  Disappointment wraps its cold, dead fingers around my throat and squeezes. My mind wants to play dead and I give in. My feet won't move anyway even if I wanted them to because all I can do is stare into the black abyss of failure. We're never getting Sean out of prison. He's going to sit there and rot for the rest of his sentence because we're never going to find anything we can actually use to get him out of there. We're never going to—

  Loud scraping and heaving cuts through those dark, defeated thoughts and by the time I drag my heavy gaze away from the safe, Jack already has the bookcase shoved away from the wall. He skims his hands along the newly-revealed wall, clucks his tongue in disappointment, and moves right to the back of the bookcase and the floorboards beneath it to repeat the exact same routine. Nothing.

  Suddenly I feel his hands on my back as he steps around where I'm still crouched on the floor and gets to work on the desk. This time doesn't take nearly as much time or effort and the desk easily shifts forward. Huh. Maybe I should've thought of that the first time I was in here.

  He crouches down to his knees, running a hand over the floorboards, and taps his fist into the edges of each one before moving on to the next. Light knocking fills the air around us until finally, the pitch levels a little bit higher than before. Jack shoots me a glance over his shoulder with lifted eyebrows and he gets to work. He carefully digs his fingertips underneath one of the floorboards to pry it away from the others. It lifts with just a little pressure and when Jack pulls the rest of the floorboards out of the way, there it is.

  Yet another black iron box sits right underneath us, tipped on it's back so the door and keypad blink up at us.

  The smoking gun. It has to be.

  Our eyes meet at the same time and I know the excited glint in Jack's stormy eyes matches mine.

  "Well," he gestures down to the door. "Are we gonna crack this baby or what?"