by Kailin Gow
“Find out yourself,” says Skyla sharply. “I got you the address. Now it’s your turn to go get her.”
Chapter 8
I hardly know what to think anymore. My heart is beating quickly – so quickly it feels like I’m having a heart attack, sitting here at my desk. My pulse is racing. Pearl-like, tiny beads of sweat are dripping down my face. I haven’t felt like this in years.
Not since before Marina died.
In the months after I lost my beloved Marina, in the long, lonely years that followed, I felt nothing at all. No pain. No loss. I cried when Marina died – and then never again, not for years. I didn’t sob or scream or shout or do anything that a man who has lost the love of his life is supposed to do. I just went dead inside. Cold. My heart turned to ice. My very blood vessels became dessicated, it seemed, as if my heart stopped pumping; I was as dry as sandpaper. I was numb – I suppose that would be the therapists’ word for it. But I never went to a therapist, even when the women I slept with who tried to get me to love them told me to, caressed me, said don’t you think it would be so much better if you dealt with your grief in a healthy way? Well, I never dealt with my grief in any way, healthy or otherwise. I bottled it up. I swallowed it down. I felt nothing – absolutely nothing – for years.
And then I met Staci. And then my world changed forever.
She taught me how to feel again. She taught me how to be vulnerable, how to let my heart beat faster at the sound of a woman’s voice, at the feel of a woman’s gentle touch. She taught me how to want something so violently that I would do all the things I had not been able to do after Marina if it only meant expelled the pain: how to want something so badly you could not help but scream or shout, however much it would have been undignified to do so, however much it would mean risking the perfect contained mastery of your heart.
And since then, everything has been a blur. It’s been like I’ve been living in a movie: a world of distrust, double-crossing, disguises. This feeling I’m getting in my chest, a mix of pain and terror and adrenaline, is also strangely, uncannily exhilarating. I’m as troubled as anyone would be – Jaymie’s gone, maybe kidnapped, maybe our arch nemesis, maybe the dead ringer of my ex-wife – and yet deep down beneath my worry there is another feeling, a stronger, deeper feeling, one that makes it to the most profound and deepest part of my being.
I am happy.
It seems so strange to feel that, now, after all the pain and suffering I’ve gone through. After losing Staci. After losing Jaymie, too. But for the first time in so many years, I realize, I feel something. Something real. And feeling something – no matter how horrible, no matter how taxing, is – I have learned at last, so much better than feeling nothing at all. I may be worried for my life, for Jaymie’s life, for the entire fate of the entire bloody Blue Room. But at least I’m not numb anymore. And I know now, with a certainty that floods my bones, that I never want to feel that way again. This pain, this fear – it’s so much better than the alternative. For the first time since Marina’s death, I think, I fully feel alive.
Terrence waits while I look up the address – the computer’s being slow, and the Google Maps seems to take an interminable time to load. Terrence is acting the fidgety child, as he always does, when he has to wait for something. He’s tearing up memoranda from the conference table, crumpling them into paper balls and airplanes, tossing them around the room, tapping his feet. Once again, I am reminded of the difference between us: of how much older I am than he is. Only a decade or so in physical terms, but in terms of life experience -- he is an entire world away. Once again I wonder how on earth could Staci marry this man?
He’s closer to her age, I suppose. Closer to her life experience. He hasn’t been married, been damaged, spent decades as a numb emotional wreck. They’re good together, I grudgingly admit. But as Terrence’s third paper airplane of the day sails right past my left ear, I can’t help but raise an eyebrow and think come on, Staci, really?
“Do you mind?” I finally let my irritation show.
“Ugh,” Terrence makes a face. “I’m sorry. I just…I don’t like waiting.”
Finally I get the directions.
“All right,” I say. It looks like a warehouse, somewhere about a half-hour drive from here. “I’ll text you updates from the road.”
“Text me?” Terrence scoffs. “Are you freaking kidding me?”
“Kid you? At a time like this.”
“You’re going to make me wait longer? No way, Jose. Have me just sit here in this conference room twiddling my thumbs while you get all the action – and the glory?” Terrence grins. “Not a chance.”
“You could make some more paper airplanes,” I say dryly.
“I’m not letting you go alone. It’s too dangerous,” Terrence says. “And danger’s my thing, anyway, right?” He smiles a crooked smile, glinting with faint humor.
“Well, if you’re going,” Danny says, “I’m going too. I just called Neve to let her know I can’t make the show tonight. I hate doing that to the band, but this is about rescuing someone. Thank God my Neve understands that.”
“Neither of you need to go,” I say. “I can go myself. I’m perfectly content to do so. Just wait here…”
“You’re not going to stop Terrence,” Danny rolls his eyes. “No matter how hard you try. Which means you’re not going to stop me either. Terrence might be foolhardy and love the danger – me, I don’t let my little brother and family get into dangerous situations without having their backs.”
I know when I’m defeated. There’s no use arguing with either of them.
“Fine,” I say. “Do what you want. But I’m driving.”
I let the two of them come with me as we race down the highway, our hearts beating in unison. The drive seems to take forever – even though we rack up what I’m sure are more than a few speeding tickets as we drive. Then, finally, we see it in the distance. A dark, dank-looking warehouse on the side of the highway. Looks like an old garage or something.
“This is the place?” Terrence looks over at me with a dubious expression on his face. “I mean, what could Jaymie want with a place like this?”
“That’s for us to find out,” says Danny. He is frowning, speaking through gritted teeth. I get a prickling feeling at the base of my spine. Something’s wrong about all this, I think. I’m not sure how, and I’m not sure why, but my intuition is telling me that this place is dangerous – that we might be walking into a trap.
But Skyla wants us here, I think. Skyla has found Jaymie.
But what will happen when we find her? After everything Jaymie and I have been through – the flirtation, the incredible sex, the double-crossing, the betrayal – will I be finding a friend or a foe, my lost wife or a mysterious woman whose identity remains unknown?
We enter the warehouse. It’s locked, but Danny is able to force the padlock open with equipment he brought from the hotel. Then we enter.
Our mouths collectively drop open.
“Holy. Fucking. Shit.”
Terrence’s words break the silence.
We’re inside what looks like Lady Gaga’s dressing room. The entire warehouse is filled with costumes, wigs, makeup, mirrors. Every single color and style of hair. Every single item of clothing you could imagine: from elegant evening dresses to maid’s uniforms and orange prison jumpsuits. Colored contact lenses. Prosthetic noses.
A costume shop? That’s my first thought – but there’s something more sinister about this place. I take a look at one of the vanity tables in front of the mirror. It’s filled with ID cards – fake IDs, every kind of identity you can think of. Passports. Driver’s licenses. Student IDs from every university in the world.
“What even is this place?” Terrence gives a nervous chuckle. “Some kind of creepo Frankenstein’s laboratory or something?”
“Looks to me like a playroom,” says Danny. “Albeit a very, very bizarre one.”
“Somewhere to change your identity,” I start
to put the pieces together Slowly, it all starts to make sense. “Somewhere to become somebody else. Jaymie talked about a place like this – somewhere where PIs could go into rehab, change their identities, get on the run…”
“So Ben found his way back here,” Terrence sighs. “And he takes Jaymie with him. Great, just great.”
“Who is this guy?” Danny’s getting angry. “I mean – how did you hire him and have no idea…no idea at all? Don’t you do background checks? I mean, Christ, Terrence, I knew you’re no managerial star, but this, really?”
“We did the standard background check,” Terrence turns on his half-brother angrily. “He checked out fine. Believe me. This isn’t amateur hour. Whoever these people are, they’re good at their job. They were very convincing. They can become anybody, people like these.”
He picks up some of the ID cards, rifles through them. “Damn – you wouldn’t think they’re all the same person. That’s the brilliance of it.” He flips through the cards. “They change their appearance so profoundly that it’s like they just…morph into somebody else.” He stops, furrows his brow. “Hey, wait a second…” He looks up at me. “Don’t you know that guy?”
He hands me one of the ID cards.
I recognize him. Mark Gardner. A manager at the Blue Room from years ago. One of my most trusted colleagues – until he moved to Tahiti. Someone I consider a friend.
Until now.
“Let me see that.”
I grab the pile of cards. One of them is Ben’s driver’s license. I’d never noticed it before, but suddenly, seeing them side by side…
“No…” I feel faint. “It can’t be.”
The eyes. That’s the clue. Mark Gardner and Ben – two different haircuts, two different noses, two different skin tones, two different everything. But the exact same eyes.
And I never knew.
I go through the cards. A sinking feeling starts to weigh down on my stomach. Some of the identities I have never seen before. Others, like Ben and Mark, I recognize.
Then I see Pastor Jim. The man who married me and Marina – all those years ago. Who wished us luck on our new life together….
“This can’t be…” I say again. My voice is shaking. But now I know the truth. Ben has been in my life for years. As the pastor who married me. As my most trusted manager. As a bartender at the Blue Room. Watching me. Keeping a close eye. Waiting…
But waiting for what?
“This is insane…” Terrence says. “I mean – that’s just fucking crazy. There’s no way.”
I show him the IDs. Lay them out. Pastor Jim. Mark. Ben.
“Oh my God.” His voice is hollow, just the way mine feels. “At first I didn’t see it, but now, looking at those photos all together…”
“They’re the same person.”
“And whoever that person is,” Danny’s voice is tight, like he’s speaking through gritted teeth. “He’s got a lot of information we need. We need to find him – and soon. Not just because of Jaymie. Ben is the key to all of this.”
Terrence rises. He’s staring at me with dark, suspicious eyes.
“How about you tell us, Xander?”
“Tell you what?”
I find my nephew’s arrogance irritating at the best of times. But when he’s getting in my face, as he is right now, and accusing me, I find his youthful vigor especially taxing.
“You hired him, didn’t you? You asked him to do some PI work for you?”
“Minor things,” I said. “What I’d hire anyone to do. To be a spy – check out the organization. Nothing untoward.”
“You’re in bed with the Tannenbaums. How do we know you’re not behind all of this? That you weren’t controlling Ben all along – that that was why he was near you?”
“Me?” The idea is laughable. “I promise you – I didn’t have the foggiest idea – I’m as horrified as you are.”
“The Tannenbaums wanted to hurt Staci,” Terrence says. “You hired Ben. If Ben hurts Staci, I swear, Xander, I don’t care if you are my uncle, I’ll….”
“No harm will come to Staci!” I let anger escape with my words. “We need to find Ben, to question him – to make him tell us what the hell is going on here.”
“Speak of the devil,” Danny says in a low, wry voice.
Then I see why.
The door is open. And Ben is standing there. And he’s holding a gun.
Chapter 9
“So,” Ben is leering at us through the doorway. His dark eyes flash, and the jaundiced warehouse lighting reflects on the silver gun he is pointing directly at us. His eyes flash. He is wearing a crooked half-smile behind the bruises that Terrence put on his face. “I guess you found me, huh?”
We all take a step back. We’re too far from Ben to be able to rush him without risking our own safety – he could shoot one of us clear through the heart in the blink of an eye.
“You’ve got questions, huh?” Ben takes another step towards us. “Or so I hear. Anything I can do to help/?”
“Listen, man,” Terrence begins nervously. “Look – you don’t have to do this. There’s no hard feelings, okay? The punch – look – sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you like that. No hard feelings, eh? It was just that I thought you were going to hurt Staci. You know me – you know how protective I am of her. I was just reacting in the moment. I wasn’t trying to do anything – I wasn’t trying to start a –“
Then he lunges. Throws his whole body straight across the room – not at Ben, but to his right.
What is he…
Then instinct kicks in. As Ben reacts to Terrence’s seemingly inexplicable behavior, he lets his gun hand fall, just for a second. That’s all the time I need. I launch myself across the room on the opposite side of Ben, going straight for his gun hand.
“What the…” Ben starts to mumble. But it’s too late. I’ve got his arm, grabbing the gun, turning it around with a sharp, quick twist.
Being a black belt has its advantages.
But Ben starts to struggle. He tries to wrest his gun arm free, straining with the effort.
Then the gun goes off.
A single shot. A puff of smoke. Echo and recoil.
For a second, I think I’ve been hit – that I’m the one the gun has passed through. But I feel nothing: no pain, no searing flesh.
Everything stops: for one second.
Then Danny falls to the floor.
“Danny!” Terrence cries.
He’s bleeding – copiously. Blood is fanning out all around him. But he’s alive.
“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Danny mutters.
I punch Ben square in the face.
“How dare you?” My anger takes over. “How fucking dare you?”
Terrence is rushing to Ben’s side, stopping the blood as best he can. He rips off his shirt, uses it as a tourniquet around the wound. Danny’s been hit in the shoulder. Not a mortal wound, but it could be a dangerous one if we’re not careful.
The gun’s in my hand, now. I point it at Ben.
“Hands up,” I growl. “Against the wall. Now.”
“But --,”
“You talk when I say you talk!”
Danny is slumped against the wall. He’s pale – in shock.
“Christ,” says Terrence. “He’s shaking – he’s shivering – he’s in shock. We need to dial 911 now.”
“They come here – the police will show up. Our whole operation will be compromised.”
“You can’t let him die! Xander, what’s wrong with you?”
“We can’t let the police in here. Not until we get to the bottom of things.”
“I could stitch him up?” Ben says, nervously. “I know what to do.”
It’s so ridiculous it’s almost laughable. “What, now you’re a doctor, too? What, were you my pediatrician when I was a kid, too? Were you Dr. Baylor – too?”
“You don’t understand, Xander. This is so much bigger than you could ever even know.”
“I know y
ou lied to me. Tricked me.”
“You never knew…” Ben whispers. “You never understood.”
“What can I say, Ben? Guess you were never important enough to pay attention too. But enough chat. I want to know the truth. I want to know why you did this.”
Danny groans softly.
“He’s not looking good, Xander,” Terrence’s voice is shaking. “We have to do something.”
“I told you, I can fix him up,” said Ben. “I don’t want Danny dead any more than you do.
“You’re the one with the gun.”
“It was a self-defense mechanism. I wouldn’t have shot him – not if you hadn’t lunged at me. Listen, I fixed myself up pretty good when I got shot in right about the same spot.”
“And you expect us to trust you?”
“I expect you to be smart enough to know your nephew will die if you don’t. And I know you don’t want that.”
Terrence has grabbed more clothes from the costume collection. He’s trying to stop the bleeding, but it’s too much.
“You can sew it up?”
“There are kits here – first aid kids. I can stitch him up. It’s going to hurt like heck but better that than bleeding out.”
I have to make a decision. I only hope it’s the right one.
“Fine,” I say. “But any false move and this bullet goes straight in your brain.”
“That’s the Xander I knew,” Ben says. In his voice I hear that of my old friend Mark – joking, teasing. My buddy. My friend
How could I have never seen it before? And yet, looking at him now, I can barely see Mark in him at all, or Pastor Jim, or anyone.
Except for those eyes…
Ben pulls up his sleeves and starts working on Danny. Danny groans in pain, but Ben’s movements are nimble and quick as he presses his hands, covered by now in blood, against the wound.
“So what do I call you?” I ask him. “Rick? Mark? Jim? Ben?”