Ghosts

by Matt Rogers

  Alexis could see him thinking all of this. She sat cross-legged on the mattress beside him, absent-mindedly running a finger over his chest and stomach.

  Eventually he said, ‘That was always going to happen. There’d always be a first.’

  She said, ‘It’s hard to process all the same.’

  ‘It’s supposed to be,’ he said. ‘We’re trying to do the right thing in a world where we need to kill people. It’s supposed to feel strange, sick, twisted.’

  ‘Do you still feel that?’

  ‘No. I’ve been doing it my whole life.’

  ‘Do you ever question what you’re doing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You ever think “Maybe that person didn’t deserve to die”?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I think you’re lying.’

  ‘Believe what you want.’

  ‘I know you, Will.’

  He looked at her. ‘And I know you. I know what you’re going through. I’ve been through it myself. It wouldn’t make it any easier right now for me to say, “Yes, I constantly question myself, and yes, I always feel like a monster, and yes, I’ve accepted that.”’

  She said, ‘Is that the truth?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  She said, ‘The guy I killed. He was a bad person. He was here to kill me, kill Violetta, kill Melanie, for Chrissakes. A teenage girl. He would have put bullets in the three of us and thought nothing of it. So he deserved to die. That’s the truth. That’s what I believe.’

  ‘You’re right.’

  She cocked her head. ‘Sounds like there’s a “but” coming.’

  ‘But,’ Slater said, ‘in his world you were the bad guy.’

  ‘How is that possible?’

  ‘Everything we do is because of perspective,’ he said. ‘He was probably ex-military. Probably disillusioned by what he saw overseas. Probably came back hating the world, hating everyone, thinking someone might as well burn it all to the ground. Or he was selfish, and figured his own interests outweighed anyone else’s, and then his conscience slowly wilted under the steady stream of increasingly bad decisions. Either way, he didn’t break into this house thinking he was the monster. You three stood between him and the things he wanted. Then you beat him half to death and finished him off. To him, you were the monster.’

  She said, ‘Why are you talking like this?’

  ‘Because it’s the truth, and we all need to be aware of it. That’s what separates us from them. The fact that we feel guilty about what we do means we have a conscience. Because it’d be inhuman not to question it at all, to think we’re fully right and the other side is fully wrong.’

  She fell quiet.

  He said, ‘Don’t suppress it by justifying it to yourself. Just recognise the guilt, notice it, and then move forward.’

  Silence.

  He said, ‘The fact that it’s there is what matters. Give it up completely and we’re no better than they are.’

  She said, ‘Easier said than done.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Everything’s easier said than done.’

  ‘Has it ever broken you? The guilt?’

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘I don’t let it.’

  She rolled over so she could lie on her stomach, splay her elbows on his chest, hover her face inches from his.

  She smirked. ‘What have you done to me?’

  He said, ‘You don’t know the half of it.’

  ‘Will I ever?’

  ‘With time.’

  She kissed him. It lifted more weight off his shoulders. Life was good again.

  She said, ‘Is it odd I’m not an emotional wreck? I should be.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’ve been around me too long.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’ A pause. ‘What do you need?’

  ‘Ice,’ he said. ‘Lots of ice. And ibuprofen.’

  ‘You’re going to need something stronger than ibuprofen if you’re planning to sleep.’

  ‘Who said anything about sleeping?’

  ‘That’s ambitious for a man with one leg.’

  He smiled. ‘Maybe it is. I’m just happy to have you here.’

  She smiled too. Rolled off the bed, waltzed to the door. A new spring in her step.

  Her back was still turned when he said, ‘I love you.’

  She paused with her hand on the doorknob. Looked over her shoulder.

  ‘I love you, too.’

  She slipped out of the room.

  He closed his eyes, and it turned out the tiredness overwhelmed the pain.

  He was out in seconds.

  92

  As soon as Slater melted into the darkness of the second floor, King turned to Elsa.

  ‘You can stay with us tonight,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to wake your family in the middle of the night. It’s going to be hard enough to explain it all tomorrow.’

  Elsa shrugged. She’d spent months as a hostage. One night in a nice house was nothing.

  Then her face flooded with hope, breaking through the numbness.

  She said, ‘My family?’

  King didn’t want to drag it out.

  He said, ‘Your mother’s in prison.’

  The numbness started creeping back in.

  Elsa didn’t break down.

  Didn’t cry.

  Just sported a thousand-yard stare.

  He said, ‘But she won’t be for long.’

  She didn’t believe it.

  He could see it clear as day.

  He said, ‘Trust me.’

  Which was short but sweet, and seemed to break through again. After all, these people had single-handedly rescued her from an airtight trafficking network. Who was she to think they couldn’t live up to their promises?

  ‘Are you going to break her out?’ she said.

  The echo of a smile touched King’s lips. ‘No. That’s a short-term solution that wouldn’t lead to anything good long-term. She doesn’t deserve a life on the run. She didn’t do anything wrong.’

  ‘I know,’ Elsa said. ‘We talked about what happened a lot. Before, you know…’

  Before she was taken.

  He said, ‘The people who took you are powerful people. For the first time in their lives, they’re going to use that power for good.’

  Elsa looked confused.

  He said, ‘Do you know who Alastair Icke is?’

  She nodded. ‘A judge, right? He told me one time.’

  One time.

  King said, ‘Did he ever do anything to you?’

  ‘No,’ Elsa said. ‘I wasn’t his type.’

  King shivered at the nonchalance of her tone.

  She said, ‘No one touched me. They wanted to. It made some of the guys mad. But Icke told me whoever was buying me wanted me, you know, untouched or whatever. He said he was the only one who could break that rule, but he didn’t want me.’

  King breathed out.

  It was insanely lucky.

  Ninety-nine times out of a hundred it wouldn’t have gone that way.

  King said, ‘He’s going to do the right thing. He’s going to get your mother released.’

  ‘He won’t,’ Elsa said. ‘He’s evil.’

  ‘He doesn’t have a choice,’ King said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I’m the one that made the request.’

  ‘He’ll do what you say?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’

  ‘Let’s not talk about that right now.’

  She said, ‘I haven’t slept in nearly a day.’

  Violetta took the cue. Said, ‘We have a room for you. And a bed.’

  Elsa looked at her. ‘Can I leave the door open when I sleep? Please.’

  A pang of emotion hit King out of nowhere.

  He saw it hit Violetta too.

  It took all their collective willpower not to react.

  Violetta said, ‘Of course, honey. You’re not a prisoner here.’

  She led the
girl upstairs.

  King took the cue.

  He was off the clock, too.

  He went to the kitchen. He didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to dwell. Didn’t want to consider what they’d done, what they’d stopped. He’d been living it for the past two days, consumed by darkness.

  He wanted routine and monotony and a complete absence of thought.

  He made himself a coffee. Cleaned the metal portafilter under the sink tap, then ground beans out of the conical burr grinder. He used the tamper to press the beans down into a hard layer, then set the coffee machine to heat water to two hundred Fahrenheit. As it heated, he breathed in and out. Nothing more. Thoughts floated in, and he let them float on past. Then he attached the portafilter to the machine and let scalding hot water drip through for twenty seconds. The espresso formed, dark and rich, with a perfect raft of crema on top.

  He sipped it.

  Each sip settled the storm inside him, returning him to baseline.

  The beauty of simplicity.

  The execution of a simple task.

  Before he could stop himself he slid down the counter and sat on the tiled floor. He drained the last of the espresso from there, enclosed by the cabinets and the kitchen island.

  A safe haven.

  He closed his eyes.

  The hard work was over.

  93

  Violetta took Elsa’s hand at the bottom of the staircase.

  The girl didn’t pull away.

  She gripped it tight.

  Violetta led her upstairs, opting for quiet over unnecessary conversation. She sensed King behind them, statuesque in the entranceway. They reached the landing and made for one of the two remaining spare bedrooms. There were four in total, but Alexis and Will had one, and Melanie had the other.

  Melanie.

  Halfway down the corridor, Melanie opened her door, hearing the footsteps. She was already speaking as she stepped out, recognising Violetta’s measured gait.

  Violetta saw a mane of frizzy hair and heard, ‘Hey, I’m going to get some—’

  She didn’t get the chance to say “water.”

  She saw Elsa and froze in the doorway.

  Elsa said, ‘Hey.’

  Melanie gripped her mouth to mask a sudden sob.

  Elsa said, ‘It’s okay. It’s not your fault.’

  Violetta understood. The last time Melanie had seen Elsa, she was probably twenty pounds heavier. Elsa must have disappeared from the club one night, never to be heard from again. Melanie would have kept downing the cocktails, forcing away the questions she wanted to ask herself, ignoring what might have been. She’d probably convinced herself Elsa had run away, found a better life. The school corridors must have felt so empty.

  Now the answers were right in front of her.

  Another victim of the people she thought were her friends and coworkers.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Melanie spluttered. ‘I’m so sorry. I should have…’

  She trailed off.

  Should have done so many things.

  Elsa managed a sad smile. ‘It’s okay. Seriously. We can talk in the morning.’

  Melanie nodded. Crept back into her room, overshadowed by guilt, and closed the door.

  Violetta reflexively said, ‘I’m sorry about that. I should have realised that might happen. I’d rather you two reunited in different circumstances.’

  ‘Why is everyone apologising to me?’ Elsa said.

  Like she’d forgotten what it felt like for someone to do anything other than order her around.

  Violetta took her to the spare room and showed her around — a double bed, freshly made, an en suite bathroom, and a small walk-in wardrobe. Every bedroom in the house had those two features. Elsa gazed around like she’d made it to heaven.

  Violetta said, ‘Is there anything you need?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Like, I’m alive, and I have a warm bed, and I’m free. What else would I need?

  Then a look came over her face.

  She sat down on the bed, scrunched up her face, and stared at the floor.

  Violetta hovered in the doorway. ‘What is it?’

  Elsa looked up. ‘Was that man telling the truth before? About my mom?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘It sounded like he was making it up,’ Elsa said. ‘Trying to seem brave because you were there. I think he likes you.’

  Violetta smiled, stepped into the room, and closed the door behind her for added privacy.

  Right on time.

  Out in the hallway, she heard the opposite door creak open and someone pad out, heading for the kitchen.

  Alexis.

  Violetta sat at the edge of the bed, right next to Elsa.

  She said, ‘That man’s my boyfriend.’

  ‘Oh,’ Elsa said.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You’re lucky.’

  Violetta might have laughed, but she tasted something sour in her own mouth. Plenty of teenage girls were infatuated with adult singers and movie stars, so it was a normal point to make, but Elsa had come within a hair’s breadth of plunging into the drug-fuelled blur of teenage prostitution. If they hadn’t intervened, she’d either be here in Vegas or overseas in Russia, pleasuring men against her will.

  She seemed to notice Violetta’s restraint.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘That wasn’t the right thing to say. I’ve made some bad decisions.’

  ‘None of what happened to you was your fault.’

  Elsa said, ‘Yes it was. Melanie only asked me to come hang out with her. She didn’t coerce me into it. It was my decision.’

  ‘Try to let it go,’ Violetta said. ‘What’s done is done.’

  ‘That’s just some bullshit cliche.’

  ‘At the foundation of every bullshit cliche is the truth,’ Violetta said. ‘That’s how they became bullshit cliches in the first place.’

  Elsa thought about it and shrugged.

  Violetta said, ‘Get some sleep. It’s been a long day.’

  ‘It’s been a long few months.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘You never finished backing up your boyfriend. We got distracted…’

  Violetta masked a smirk.

  Then she wiped it entirely.

  She said, ‘Your mother will be fine. She’ll be out before you know it.’

  ‘And until then?’

  ‘We’ll take you back to your family tomorrow.’

  ‘Dad and my sisters?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He doesn’t really care about us,’ Elsa said. ‘He just came back because he felt guilty. He knew Mom was going away and he didn’t want us all put into foster care.’

  ‘We’re not counsellors,’ Violetta said. ‘We can’t help your family situation.’

  ‘I wish you were. I wish you could handle it all.’

  Silence.

  Elsa said, ‘Who are you people?’

  ‘Just a group who lend a helping hand every now and then.’

  ‘Are you going to charge us for this? My mom … she doesn’t have much money. Especially after the trial. She tried to get the best defence lawyers she could, but … you know.’

  You know.

  Meaning, The cops set her up in the first place, and they sure weren’t going to lose the case in the courts. Whatever it took.

  Violetta said, ‘I know. And no, we don’t charge.’

  Elsa looked around. ‘You have money, huh?’

  ‘We’re doing fine.’

  ‘You rob bad people?’

  Violetta hesitated. Remembered the source of the bulk of their wealth. A decent chunk of it was from King, Slater and Violetta’s career earnings, squirrelled away within anonymous accounts in tax havens to avoid detection by the government, but most of it was funds Slater lifted from a triad in Macau. Four hundred million dollars (and fattening with interest) to be precise.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s what we do.’

 
; ‘And you help people who need it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you’re like Robin Hood.’

  Violetta smirked. ‘I guess we are.’

  ‘Why can’t there be more people like you?’

  ‘Because it’s no kind of life for most people.’

  ‘You have a nice place.’

  ‘That’s the last reason why we do what we do.’

  Elsa nodded.

  Seemed to understand.

  Her eyelids drooped, heavy, weighed down by time.

  She probably hadn’t engaged in animated conversation in months.

  Violetta said, ‘That’s enough for tonight. You sure you don’t need anything?’

  ‘Just a pillow,’ Elsa said, then twisted to see the collection of decorative pillows propped against the headboard. ‘Yeah, I’m good.’

  Violetta smiled.

  She patted Elsa on the shoulder, got up and walked out.

  She thought about going downstairs to check on King, but he could handle himself. Her bones ached from fighting for her life against Armando Gates. And she’d done that sort of thing before. She couldn’t imagine how Alexis was feeling.

  They needed several uninterrupted days of rest.

  But there was so much still to do. Kerr and Icke out there — tabs had to be kept. Elsa and Melanie in here. Josefine behind bars.

  She couldn’t think about it now. She’d feel queasy from the sheer magnitude of it all.

  She went to her and King’s room, fell onto the mattress, and passed out.

  She heard a muffled conversation downstairs before she drifted off.

  94

  Alexis missed King sitting on the kitchen floor.

  She almost tripped over him, circling round the island to get to the sink.

  She stumbled, righted herself, and said, ‘Shit. Sorry.’

  He looked up. ‘All good.’

  She didn’t know what to say.

  He said, ‘I heard what happened.’

  She nodded.

  ‘You did good,’ he said. ‘You acted fast.’

  ‘I had to,’ she said. ‘Any longer and he would have shot me.’

  ‘Now you know,’ King said.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘We’re insulated in modern times. Everyone likes to think they still have that primal side to them. The part of them that says, “Someone’s going to die right now. It’s either going to be me or the enemy.” Everyone likes to think they have that courage to defend their lives by taking another. You just got the chance to put it to the test. Now you know.’