The Drowning Child

by Alex Barclay

  ‘He could have gone to the men’s room, left something behind there for Alice to pick up,’ said Gary.

  ‘And we need to wait to get a hold of Paula Leon,’ said Paul. ‘I think your theory is right about the car, Ren, but if we can hear it directly from Leon …’

  Fuck you all: I want to hear it from John Veir right now.

  The group broke up and went their separate ways. Ren checked the time.

  My flight!

  She grabbed her purse and went into Ruddock’s office.

  ‘I wanted to apologize for getting emotional last night,’ she said.

  Ruddock batted her away. ‘I won’t hear a word of it.’

  ‘You’re very kind,’ said Ren. ‘And then I pull a gun on your nephew …’

  ‘Well, I think he’s proven he likes a little excitement from the ladies.’

  Ren laughed.

  ‘I called Eileen Dennehy,’ said Ruddock, ‘which was probably terrifying for her – this is her first encounter with the family and she’s at the receiving end of an interrogation …’

  ‘Interrogation …’ Ren laughed.

  ‘She had nothing new to add,’ said Ruddock, ‘except she did ask me to check lost property for her mother’s cell phone, which I did, but no one had handed it in.’

  ‘I’m off to Denver,’ she said. ‘I’ll be back late tomorrow night, so I’ll see you first thing Wednesday.’

  Ruddock nodded. ‘Safe trip.’

  She turned to walk away.

  ‘Do you still have that thing,’ said Ruddock, ‘when you get on the plane, or the plane’s about to land?’

  She looked back at him.

  ‘That feeling of “there’s no one to care if I’ve got here on time, or if I’ve landed safely”? No one to text.’

  ‘I do,’ said Ren. ‘I do.’

  ‘Well, lots of people care,’ said Ruddock. ‘Remember that.’

  What a gorgeous soul. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Safe trip.’

  When Ren landed, as soon as she turned on her cell phone, it beeped with a text.

  R u in Denver yet?

  Her heart flipped.

  Joe Lucchesi.

  Screw you, heart, you independently operating asshole.

  Ren decided to stay at a hotel in Denver instead of staying in her apartment. She didn’t want the coldness, the bareness, the memories.

  She knew where Joe Lucchesi would be staying – where he always stayed when he came to visit his son: The Maker Hotel, sleek, stylish, sexy. Ren booked an olde-worlde, cozy, chintzy hotel.

  Safe. Unsexy.

  She checked in, sat on the bed, looked out at the lights of the city. She took out her phone, opened Joe’s text, and stared at it for a while.

  This will be a shitshow. We are both fucked-up, damaged beyond repair. If you meet, you will feel worse.

  If that’s at all possible, you will feel worse.

  She texted one of two letters of the alphabet that had caused her so much trouble in the past:

  Y.

  Followed by a double-dose of the other:

  XX

  52

  Joe Lucchesi was sitting at a table in a corner of the bar that they had gotten drunk in together the last time – the bar whose serene gentleman’s-club atmosphere they had happily ruined. The place hadn’t changed, the barman was the same, the customers just as conservative. And then – Joe. She had a chance to look at him, because he was lost in thought. He had gotten bigger, broader, more muscular. He was wearing a black long-sleeved T-shirt and it was bursting at the arms. He stood out. In a room filled with suits, he looked like a bodyguard, and he had the don’t-fuck-with-me frown to go with it. And then he turned to her.

  He smiled and it was a warm, genuine, light-filled smile.

  My heart.

  I witnessed one of the most devastating moments of your life. I am the only other person alive to know your secret, your daughter’s secret. Will I ever see your face and not quickly replace it with the expression I saw that night?

  She returned the smile, knew it was a reflection of his.

  It is good to see you. I don’t even know how it could be, but it is.

  She walked over to him, and he was standing, and he hugged her in those arms.

  You smell so good. You are freshly showered, freshly shaved, and … fucking sexy.

  ‘So,’ said Joe, gesturing for her to sit in the booth opposite.

  She sat. ‘So …’

  ‘Seems like a long time ago we were here.’

  ‘It was,’ said Ren. ‘And it hasn’t changed.’ Unlike us.

  They looked at each other, and it was as if they were having the same thought.

  ‘How are you?’ said Ren. ‘How are Shaun and Grace?’ Let’s be normal.

  ‘They’re great,’ said Joe. ‘Shaun is still looking for a job, Grace is doing real well at school. You know she asked about you when I said I was coming to Denver. You have a fan there.’

  ‘And so does she,’ said Ren.

  ‘So …’ said Joe. ‘How have you been?’

  Ren shrugged. ‘I’m OK …’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No,’ said Ren. ‘Not really. I don’t know …’ It hung in the silence.

  Joe waited.

  ‘I feel like I’m defined now by everything that happened,’ said Ren. ‘Do you? I feel like I have a flashing neon sign “victim” over my head. And I’m not a victim kind of girl. I’m tired of talking about it.’

  Joe nodded. ‘It’s probably healthy to, though.’

  ‘Yeah – how healthy are you?’ said Ren. ‘On a scale of sashimi to Heart Attack Burger.’

  He laughed, clinked his glass against hers.

  Four hours later, Joe was opening the door of his hotel room. Ren was standing behind him.

  The last time I went back to his room, we talked around things, we had many drinks, we slept side by side, but we didn’t—

  She was barely inside the door, still in the short hallway, when Joe turned to her, looked for something in her eyes, looked for permission.

  Granted.

  He reached out, slid his right hand up her neck, pulled her toward him and kissed her hard as he did.

  Fuck. Me. I want this man.

  She pushed him back against the wall, kissed him harder, slid her hand under his T-shirt.

  But I may not mean it.

  With his left hand, Joe grabbed her jacket, yanking it down one arm. Ren helped him pull off the rest. He struggled with the buttons of her shirt, but kept going, kissing her hard as he did.

  You are rough. Beautifully rough.

  When her top was off, he slowed down, held her by the waist, ran his finger down the two studs at the center of her black bra, then looked into her eyes as his hands moved up her back, unhooked the bra, sliding it off her. He stared at her breasts.

  ‘You have incredible—’ said Joe.

  ‘Thanks.’ Jesus.

  He lowered his head to her nipples, raised his hands gently up to them, worked them perfectly.

  Ren pulled at his T-shirt, dragged it over his head, threw it on the floor. She slid her hands down from his chest, grabbed on to his belt buckle, pulled at it, but didn’t open it. She moved her finger along just under the waistband of his jeans.

  Not yet.

  ‘Fuck, I want you,’ he said. He kissed her deeper, ran his hand down to her ass, squeezing hard. ‘I want you so fucking bad,’ he said. ‘I’ve wanted you since—’

  Ren’s words were muffled against his mouth, his tongue.

  This guy is so fucking sexy, I can’t stand it.

  Ren went for his buckle again, opened it with one move, popped the top button of his jeans. The zip slid down by itself.

  Rock. Hard.

  She slid her hand down.

  Oh.

  She looked down.

  Oh.

  Fuck.

  Fuck me.

  He took her into the bedroom, and threw her on to the bed. He took off
her shoes, her skirt, her stockings, everything. He knelt down in front of her, grabbed her hips and yanked her toward him. She tightened her legs around him, closed her eyes.

  Fuck.

  When she opened her eyes, he was looking up at her.

  Gets me every time.

  She grabbed his head, guided him up toward her. He slid his hand between her legs, kissed her gently at first, then firmer, deeper.

  He is amazing.

  I won’t last.

  Stop.

  ‘Stop,’ said Ren. ‘Fuck me. Just … slam me up against that wall and fuck me. Hard.’

  Hurt me.

  Joe stopped, looked like he was going to take his jeans off.

  Ren shook her head. ‘Don’t.’ In three strides she was at the wall, her hands on his back, pulling him with her, kissing him deeply. He kissed her again, let her drag his jeans and shorts down around his ankles. She kissed him harder. He grabbed her ass and pulled her up, so she could wrap her legs around his waist. He slammed her against the wall. Over and over.

  Holy.

  Fuck.

  In the moments afterward, Ren lay in bed, curled away from him, staring at the wall. She could see the red light of the alarm clock out of the corner of her eye.

  That was fucking amazing.

  Tears streamed down her face.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Behind her, she heard a sharp intake of breath.

  He’s … he’s crying too.

  What a shitshow.

  She reached her arm back, touched him, and he rolled toward her, pulling her into his arms, his chest pressed to her back.

  They eventually slept, tightly wrapped together, bound less by sex and more by shared horrors.

  53

  Seth Fuller stood in the doorway of The Crow Bar, waiting for his opportunity. He found it when Shannon bent down over Clyde Brimmer’s table to serve him a beer.

  ‘Aunt Shannon?’ said Seth. ‘I’m going into town – do you need anything?’

  His heart was pounding. His T-shirt was shaking. He held his hand to his stomach to steady it.

  Shannon was too far away to notice. She glanced at the clock. It was ten p.m. ‘What are you going into town for?’ she said.

  ‘I’m going to go to Bucky’s, maybe play a game of pool, see who’s there …’

  ‘Why can’t you play here?’ said Shannon.

  ‘With whom?’ he said.

  ‘I like that you say “whom”,’ said Shannon, ‘but I’d like it more if you didn’t go anywhere this late.’

  ‘Sometimes I think you forget I’m twenty-three years old.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Shannon. ‘You’re my sister’s baby, and now you’re mine. You haven’t aged a day …’ She smiled. ‘Go on – be back by midnight, OK? Can you promise me that much?’

  ‘I most certainly can.’

  ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘before you go.’ She walked over to him, gave him a hug. She patted his back. ‘You’re on fire,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘It’s hot in here.’

  She was about to pull her hand away when she felt something against his lower back. She patted it harder. Before he had a chance, she had turned him around and lifted up his T-shirt.

  ‘What the hell?’ said Shannon. She grabbed him by his skinny arm, and shoved him behind the bar. ‘You better start talking, mister. What the hell are you doing with a gun? Are you out of your mind?’

  His cheeks were flaming red. Tears sprung into his eyes. ‘For protection,’ he said.

  ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,’ she said. ‘Who do you need protection from? Give me that right now.’

  He pulled it out of his waistband and slapped it on to her open palm. She grabbed it and slid it to the back of a shelf.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said. ‘Who do you think is after you?’

  ‘No one!’ said Seth. ‘No one. But I just—’

  ‘Just what?’ said Shannon. ‘Want to feel tough? And you know that would just be taken off of you and used against you. You don’t know how to fire a gun. I’ve never had guns in the house. I don’t even have one in the bar, and there’s a damn good reason for that: nothing good comes from guns, Seth. You see it every day on the news.’

  ‘I do know how to fire it,’ said Seth. ‘I’ve been practicing in the woods.’

  ‘Well, shooting at some tin cans is not the same as shooting a human being,’ said Shannon. ‘You’re twenty-three years old – do I really need to explain that to you? Do you have a death wish, Seth? A prison-sentence wish? Do you miss being in prison? What is wrong with you? Are you taking drugs again?’

  ‘No!’ he said. ‘No way! You know that. Never again.’

  ‘I believe you,’ said Shannon. ‘But tell me what’s going on – talk to me. Why is your internal switch set to self-destruct?’

  He wiped away his tears. ‘It’s not,’ he said.

  ‘It is!’ said Shannon. ‘Misbehaving at school, damaging people’s property … you were so young, Seth, so reckless, and I gave you a break, because you lost your mama. You were acting out. But it didn’t get much better. And then drugs. Again, I figured, you’d had a hard time, you were a teenager by that stage, your daddy was gone at a time you really needed him … then prison … and now this! What is wrong, Seth? Something has to be.’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong!’ he shouted. ‘Nothing’s wrong. Just leave me alone. You’re suffocating me. I know you’ve lost everyone else, so I don’t know why you’re trying to push me away too.’

  ‘What? I’m not trying to push you away!’ said Shannon. ‘I love the bones of you, Seth Fuller—’

  ‘Stop!’ he said. ‘Just stop.’

  ‘Stop loving you?’ she said. She tried to smile. ‘That’s never going to happen.’

  ‘You don’t know me,’ he shouted. ‘You don’t really know me. I think you just love who I was when Mama was alive. Who I used to be.’

  He brushed past her, strode for the door, and pushed through into the night.

  Seth parked his truck a five-minute walk from Bucky’s, but he had no intention of going there. He looked around at the mix of houses along a street that was mainly residential, but had some doctors’ offices, lawyers’ offices, and other small businesses based out of them.

  He got out of the truck and walked the length of the block, his breath white in the cold air. He stopped at the corner, at Longacres Funeral Home. He remembered standing there when he was eight years old, holding his Aunt Shannon’s hand, looking around at the other kids his age, and thinking that this was it – he had no parents, now. At just that moment, Shannon had squeezed his hand three times – I. Love. You. He had looked up at her, and she had looked down at him, and there was so much love in that small gesture, so much love in her eyes for him, in her smile, that he believed that everything was going to be all right. He was wrong.

  Then they were back again for Aaron’s funeral.

  Seth’s heart was racing, and he was amazed that it worked at all despite the slash of pain that felt like a hot blade, slicing down through it, carving out a trench that felt like it was widening with every breath.

  How is my heart still pumping? How are my lungs functioning?

  What am I doing here? What am I doing?

  He turned back, walked toward his truck, hands in his pockets, head down. He heard heavy footsteps coming toward him. He looked up and saw Gil Wiley.

  ‘Hey, Wiley’

  But Wiley, face was red and twisted, and he was closing the gap between them in huge strides. Before Seth had a chance to pull his hands from his pockets, a powerful right hook had sent him to the ground, with nothing to break his fall. As his head struck the concrete, through the ringing in his ears, he could hear Wiley shouting: ‘Are you fucking my wife, you piece of shit? Are you fucking my wife?’

  54

  Ren sat across the table from Joe. She was dressed in a white hotel robe, he was in his boxers. They had ordered room service. She looked at him
when he wasn’t looking, buttering toast, pouring coffee for both of them.

  Couple-y.

  He looked up at her and smiled.

  No one is going to get my heart again. Or whatever amount of it is left. One used heart, broken in places, black in others.

  The heart that was moved when he looked at you …

  Shut it.

  ‘I’ve always felt weird eating breakfast with no underwear on,’ said Ren. ‘Is that normal?’ She paused. ‘Or with someone topless.’

  Joe got up, grabbed his T-shirt from the floor, put it on, sat back down, and smiled. ‘I don’t want to turn you off your pancakes.’

  ‘It would take more than that. I didn’t mean for you to actually go put your T-shirt on.’

  ‘And I hope you didn’t mean yourself to go put underwear on.’

  She laughed. Oh, God. I hate doing it again in the morning after breakfast when it’s a one-night stand.

  One-night stand?

  Stop.

  He poured her more coffee, gave her another big smile, stayed looking at her a little longer.

  No, no, no. No.

  She focused on eating her pancakes.

  Why is it that I feel like Paul Louderback took advantage of me and Joe Lucchesi didn’t?

  Because I wanted Joe more. Because of the chemistry. Because …

  No one took advantage of you.

  ‘What’s going through that pretty head?’ said Joe.

  ‘A tiny tumbleweed.’ That’s what Everett and I used to say.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Joe. ‘Is it last night? Are you having regrets?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Not at all. It’s just—’ She looked away.

  Do not tell him.

  ‘Come on,’ said Joe. ‘You know you can say anything to me … I hope.’

  She looked at him.

  You are a sweet, sweet, tough guy sexy fucking fuck. ‘I think that … I think I’m to blame for all the … everything. I think I should have ID’d – and located – Duke Rawlins sooner. I think I shouldn’t have gone to the Ostler Building alone, that I should have been at the meeting I was ordered to be at – on time. I think that …’ I didn’t love Ben enough for the universe to have allowed him to live. ‘I think that I didn’t do my job as an agent, a friend, a girlfriend. I think that I should have followed my gut that there was something wrong with Janine when I arrived at Safe Streets. I think—’