Love & Lies

by Julie Johnson

  I opened my mouth to respond — with what, I wasn’t sure, because I didn’t feel entirely confident in my abilities to formulate words at the moment — but Sebastian continued speaking.

  “You’re entirely selfless. You work yourself to the bone to pay off your brother’s medical expenses, and you do it with a smile on your face because you love him. You go without basic necessities and have no regrets about it, if it means Jamie has better care. You give love deeply and freely without expecting a damn thing in return,” he told me, his hand cupping my jaw and one thumb stroking my cheek. “You are remarkable. A gift. Completely unlike everyone I grew up surrounded by.” He shook his head in disbelief. “My parents and their high society friends…they’re poison. But you’re my antidote.”

  I stared into his eyes, feeling my own fill slowly with tears.

  “You idiot!” I blubbered, my voice trembling with emotion. I knew I probably sounded like a crazy person, but I didn’t care. At the moment, I was full to the brim with love and fear, and the only outlet for my emotions was spilling over from beneath my lashes and tracking down my cheeks.

  Sebastian’s brows rose in question even as his thumbs worked to wipe the tears from my damp face. “Well, I have to admit, that wasn’t the exact reaction I was expecting…”

  “This was sup-supp-supposed,” I forced out between hiccups. “To b-b-be a fling. You weren’t su-supposed to f-f-fall for me.” My tone was mournful, the tears coming faster and faster. Sebastian could no longer stem their flow down my cheeks, and his expression was completely bewildered as he watched me falling to emotional pieces.

  “W-why’d you have to be so w-wond-wonderful?” I wailed, smacking him on the arm. “You made me f-f-fall for you, too, you idiot!”

  I was a snotty, sniveling mess and I wasn’t even sure why.

  Maybe because, in all my life, I’d never expected that a boy like Sebastian could ever care for someone like me. Maybe because my intended pre-college carefree dalliance had spiraled quickly out of control, and suddenly I was head over heels for a boy so far out of my reach I feared I’d never be able to hold onto him. And maybe, just maybe, because in spite of everything he’d said, I was terrified that forces beyond our control might someday tear us apart — and with that, tear out my heart.

  Bash wouldn’t have understood if I’d voiced my nagging fears. Hell, I barely understood them.

  “You fell for me?” he asked, his grin so bright it nearly hurt my eyes.

  I nodded miserably.

  He leaned forward and kissed the tears from my cheeks, before brushing my mouth with his own.

  “Good,” he whispered.

  Chapter 17

  Now

  * * *

  I stared unwaveringly at the red voicemail icon on my cellphone screen.

  The phone was sitting on my coffee table, propped against a jar candle five feet from my spot on the couch, where I sat with my arms crossed and my wary eyes narrowed in indecision. The little round alert symbol was taunting me.

  Play me, it whispered. You know you want to hear what he has to say.

  I reached out a hand to grab the phone, but pulled back at the last second. I wasn’t ready for this. Maybe I needed another glass — or three — of wine. Or maybe I could get Fae to come over and hold my hand so we could listen together.

  Though the number wasn’t registered to any of my phone contacts, I recognized it from the business card Jeanine had handed me Friday afternoon. As to why I had a missed call from that number now, well after dinner hours on a Saturday night, I could only speculate.

  You know you’re curious, the phone beckoned.

  Damn. I’d been locked in limbo staring at my phone for so long, I’d begun to hear the voice of an inanimate object calling out to me. When hallucinations began, it was officially time to put on my big girl panties and deal with the matters at hand.

  I reached forward and grabbed the phone, took a healthy swig of my wine, and hit a button to play the queued message. It took everything in my power not to flinch when his voice filled the room, echoing loudly off the walls of my small studio and seeming to bounce back at me from all directions. I dropped my phone onto the coffee table, as if holding it might sear the flesh from my hand.

  “Ms. Kincaid.” There was a marked pause, as though he were weighing which words to use. “It’s Sebastian…Covington,” he tacked on hastily, either as an afterthought or an unnecessary reaffirmation of the formality that now existed between us. As if I wouldn’t have recognized his voice from the way every hair on my body had stood at attention at the sound of it.

  “This call is in regard to your new work arrangements, which I’m sure by now you’ve discussed with Jeanine.” His tone was brisk. “I’m not sure what you’re accustomed to at Luster, but I expect my employees to arrive at eight-thirty sharp for the morning meeting.”

  I rolled my eyes. Apparently, I was his personal employee now. And, from the sound of it, he was going to be a real pain-in-the-ass about the whole thing.

  The sound of his throat clearing echoed over the line. “We meet in the offices on the fourteenth floor, directly below the studio. I’ll give you your daily instructions then.”

  There was a long pause, then a muffled sound I couldn’t quite make out. If he were anyone else, I might’ve thought he’d a held a hand over the receiver and cursed. But that wasn’t possible with Sebastian — he’d illustrated just how unaffected he was by me.

  “Well,” he finally said, breaking what had become an uncomfortably long silence. “Until Monday, then.”

  The message clicked off.

  I stared at the phone like it would offer up something else — some kind of cypher key that might decode his message and explain what it all meant. Perhaps I was reading into things a bit too much, but something didn’t really add up here. On the one hand, he’d called me to issue orders and had sounded like a total jackass. That refined articulation and careful word choice reminded me of the people he’d once so strongly detested — his parents.

  Yet, on the other hand, there was the fact that he’d called.

  Not an email — which would’ve been the most professional form of communication.

  Not a text message — even that might’ve better maintained his aloof conduct.

  No, he’d picked up the phone and called me — at eight in the evening no less, and not even on a work night. I couldn’t help but feel there was something strange about that.

  One thing was certain: Monday was going to be interesting.

  I wished I could say I wasn’t terrified.

  I also wished I could say that before the night was through, I wouldn’t re-listen to his message countless times, finish my bottle of wine, and put myself to bed before midnight.

  Oh, well. I never claimed to be perfect.

  * * *

  Sunday morning, I awoke with a headache and a hangover. My cellphone still clutched in one hand, I turned bleary eyes up to the ceiling and cursed myself for not just deleting the damn message. Not that it would’ve helped — I’d pretty much memorized it by now.

  I’d tossed and turned for most of the night, unable to think of anything besides Sebastian and what Monday morning would bring. Though we’d seen one another twice now, we’d barely spoken a single word. And each time, it had taken everything in me not to reach out for his hand, or throw myself at his feet and beg forgiveness.

  Not that I would — or could — ever do such a thing.

  Regardless, I knew that Monday would be a test unlike any I’d yet endured. I reached up to trace an index finger over the tattooed line of script on my left breastbone. The curving letters were simple and sat just above my heart, unadorned by flourishes or inky embellishments. When I’d gotten the tattoo three years ago, just days after I’d scattered Jamie’s ashes over the ocean, I’d known that the meaning behind the words was beautiful enough to stand on its own.

  aut viam inveniam aut faciam

  I shall either find a way
or make one — that had never held truer than it did now.

  I’d somehow summon the strength to work with Sebastian without falling to pieces or crossing any professional boundaries. I’d walk away with my job — and hopefully my soul — intact. My heart, I didn’t even bother to factor into the equation; after all, if I were being honest, Sebastian was still in possession of it after all these years.

  I couldn’t blame him for any of it. He’d done nothing to me. For all intents and purposes, I was the villain here, who’d ripped out her own heart along with his all those years ago. I’d made a choice and, though I’d been living with the pain of Sebastian’s absence for years now, it was an altogether different kind of torture to see him every day and interact with him, knowing I could never again have him as my own.

  A glance at my cellphone screen informed me that it was already midmorning. If I wanted to get a run in before meeting Vera’s strangely secretive friend at three o’clock, I had to get a move on. After chugging down two Advil tablets with my morning coffee, I changed into sneakers and running attire and grabbed my iPod off the coffee table. Slipping on the headphones, I chose a pounding beat that I could keep pace with and turned the volume up loud enough that I couldn’t hear my own thoughts.

  I headed for Central Park, maneuvering around clusters of people on the sidewalk and focusing on the feeling of my rubber soles smacking against the pavement with each stride. I ran my normal three-mile loop, then pushed on — faster, further, until my lungs ached and a cramp sliced into my side like a knife wound.

  Until I forgot everything, and my world dwindled down to basic elements.

  Inhale. Stride. Sweat. Exhale.

  I ran until I thought I might pass out, finally forced to stop and gasp for air with my hands braced on my knees by a water fountain in the park. And as I drank my fill, my spasming muscles protesting greatly, the clarity from my run slipped away and my mind once again filled with worry. Sebastian’s face flashed in my thoughts and I couldn’t help but think no matter how far I ran…

  I’d never outrun my past.

  * * *

  I sat in the crowded cafe at an unobtrusive table by the window, my fingers playing absently with the ends of my freshly showered hair. I crossed my legs beneath the table, barely suppressing a wince at my sore thigh muscles, and took a sip of the frothy latte I’d ordered.

  I’d been waiting for about a half hour. The girl was now beyond what could be considered fashionably late and, at this point, I was beginning to worry she’d gotten cold feet and had decided not to come at all. What I couldn’t understand was why. Her note had directed me to a dimly lit, off-the-beaten-track coffee shop in the East Village — surely, none of her relatives would ever find us here. And even if they did, I still wasn’t sure why it was such a cause for alarm.

  But the truth was, on the subway ride out here I’d had some time to think about my trip to the tenements yesterday. It might’ve been the aspiring journalist within me, making me see things that weren’t there, or maybe, as Fae said, it was just my inability to shed my southern roots and stop trying to take care of the people around me. Regardless of the reason, my whirling mind had eventually settled on one conclusion.

  Namely, that the women who’d been so unfriendly and uncompromising were also quite obviously something else: afraid.

  Their scanning eyes and flighty demeanors said, even to my untrained eyes, that they were scared of something — or someone. And while I supposed it was possible that they simply didn’t want some young, American nobody interfering with family business, I had a nagging, if unsubstantiated, feeling that there was something else going on here.

  My thoughts turned to Vera as I fiddled with the silver and turquoise bracelet on my wrist, remembering the girl who’d given it to me so joyously. Her warm brown eyes had seemed to glow from within — full of life and youth and hope for the future. If there were anything I could do to ensure that future didn’t get snuffed out, I’d do it.

  Yet, after another half hour of staring listlessly at the residual latte foam in my mug, I decided to give up for the day. This was a bust; the girl wasn’t coming. With a sigh, I rose from my seat and headed for the door.

  I was almost there when I heard a familiar accented voice call out.

  “Wait.”

  I turned and spotted her in a shadowy corner on the opposite side of the cafe. There was an empty teacup sitting in front of her; evidently she’d been here a while, watching me without approaching. There was no way she’d missed me sitting by the front window.

  Puzzled, I walked over to her table and stopped a few feet away.

  “Please,” she implored, her eyes wide and apologetic. “I’m sorry. Just…please sit.”

  I stared at her, my emotions wavering between confusion, sympathy, and worry. The girl was young — even younger than I’d thought yesterday, maybe thirteen or fourteen — and she was scared. That much was evident. I moved forward and sat across from her.

  Down the rabbit hole, I thought, remembering Fae’s words.

  “I’m Lux.” I held my hand out for the girl, and she hesitantly clasped her own palm against mine.

  “Mirjeta,” she returned, her voice soft. “You can call me Miri.”

  “Hi Miri,” I said, offering a smile to put her at ease. “Thanks for meeting me.”

  She nodded, her light brown eyes scanning the perimeter of the coffee shop and her attention focused elsewhere.

  “Can you tell me about Vera?” I prompted. Her eyes flew back to my face, a new solemnity filling them. “It’s okay, Miri. I just want to help. I’m a friend of Vera and Roza. I visit them almost every week at the flea market. See this bracelet?” I held out my arm so Miri could see the handcrafted jewelry cuffing my wrist.

  Miri’s eyes locked on the thin-pounded silver and the embedded stones that marked the piece, no doubt recognizing its craftsmanship. Her fingers trembled as they reached across the table to brush against the cuff. When her eyes returned to meet mine, they were full of unshed tears.

  “I can help,” I told her in a gentle voice. “Please just tell me what happened. I promise you won’t get into any trouble. I need to know that she’s okay.”

  “She’s gone,” Miri whispered, her eyes staring through me. “She was taken.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Miri’s eyes pressed closed, and I could tell she was afraid to reveal anything else.

  “Miri,” I whispered, squeezing her hand in my own. “I know you’re scared. But I need your help right now. Vera needs your help.”

  Her eyes opened slowly. “There’s a man,” she began, visibly shaken. “He watches us — the young girls. We don’t know why… But he’s always there. He’s always watching.” Her breath caught in her throat. “I told Vera not to walk by herself. I told her not to go.”

  I nodded, my chest beginning to ache with foreboding at the direction her words were taking. I didn’t want to hear the rest of this story any more, since it likely didn’t have a happy ending for Vera — but I knew that I needed to.

  “She didn’t listen. It was Roza’s birthday, and she wanted to get ingredients for a cake. To surprise Roza, you know?” Miri’s eyes filled with tears that quickly spilled over her lashes, leaving wet trails streaking down her cheekbones.

  I squeezed her hand a little tighter, transfixed by her hushed words. Blood pounded in my veins as I watched tears drip from her chin onto the tabletop, polka-dotting it with tiny puddles of grief.

  “She’s my cousin. My best friend. We do everything together.” Miri’s voice was hollow, her expression one of clear self-blame. “Normally, I would’ve gone with her that day. I should have been with her. But I had the flu, so I stayed home in bed. And she never came back.”

  The ache in my chest began to spread through the entire cavity, as though someone had sucker-punched me in the stomach and knocked the breath from my lungs. I fought hard to keep the tears out of my eyes, looking up at the ceiling for nearly a minute
to stem their flow. I had to be strong — Miri was practically a child, and she was somehow managing to maintain control.

  “What—” My voice cracked, betraying my internal struggle. “What happened?”

  “The man,” Miri said. “The one who watches. It was him.”

  “How do you know?”

  There was a beat of silence, as our eyes caught once again across the tabletop.

  “Because,” Miri whispered. “He takes all the girls.”

  Five words. Eighteen letters. They changed everything.

  The air around me seemed to still, her words triggering within me a cataclysmic reaction that set my world atilt on its axis and blanketed my atmosphere in an overcast cloud cover that shaded everything a hue darker. When I once again found the ability to speak, my words were a study of restraint, each pushed out through my lips without emotion.

  “Vera wasn’t the first to disappear.” It wasn’t a question; it was an affirmation.

  Miri nodded.

  “How many gi—?” My voice broke on the last word, and I quickly reined myself in. “How many others have been taken?”

  “I don’t know for sure,” Miri whispered. “Three or four from our neighborhood, maybe more.”

  Three or four. Maybe more. I clasped my hands together in my lap beneath the table where Miri couldn’t see them, and felt blood well as my nails cut harshly into my palms.

  “Do you know what happens to them, Miri?” I swallowed. “After they’re taken?”

  Miri shook her head. “Nothing good,” she murmured sadly. “They never come back.”

  “Why aren’t the police involved?” I asked, trying to reconcile what I was hearing with the world I thought I lived in. This was America - girls didn’t just disappear here, without anyone noticing. If this were true, where were the news crews? Where were the human rights activists, with their picket signs and protests? Surely, this must be a mistake. Some grand misunderstanding.