Hostage

by N. S. Moore

  Code’s face is twisting, breaking. Just like his heart. Just like my heart.

  “Don’t you see?” I go on, swiping at the tears that keep falling. “The world is what it is. There’s no peaceful place. So please give me this at least. Give me the knowledge that you’re okay. Please, Code. Please leave.”

  “Oh, fuck, baby,” he groans, pulling me into a hard kiss. He murmurs over my lips. “Fuck, baby. You’re the closest I’ve ever been to free. You’re the first really good thing I’ve ever had in my life.”

  “Then let me stay good. Let me do this.” I’m clinging to him, feeling his strong body against mine, knowing it’s the last time I’ll ever feel it.

  “Okay.” The words are choked, like they’re forced out of him. “Okay.”

  I don’t ever want to pull away from him, but I make myself do it anyway. Because the minutes are passing too quickly, and this plan will only work if he leaves soon. “Thank you. Help me think through this room, to make sure my story will hold up.”

  It takes a minute, but he then shifts focus to the task at hand. “Fingerprints. We can’t wipe my fingerprints from the lamp without it looking strange. But yours need to be on it too.”

  “Mine are. I tried to hit him with the lamp earlier. Then he grabbed it from me.”

  “Good. As long as yours are there.” He’s eyeing the scene with an almost professional eye. “So your story will be he tried to rape you. You grabbed the lamp to try to hit him, but there was a struggle so you both ended up on the floor. Then you were able to get in the hit hard enough to kill him.”

  I nod, twisting my hands together. “That’s good. I’ll say I was in shock so I just sat for a while before I could get myself together enough to call the police. That will give you a little time to get away and explain if they can tell that he’s been dead longer than a few minutes. If they test the lamp and case for fingerprints, they’ll find yours. Will they know your identity then?

  “My fingerprints aren’t on file anywhere. They won’t be able to identify me through them. I’ll be fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  “Well, I’m worried about you. I think this will work, but you have to leave now.”

  His face suddenly grows fierce. “I’m going to keep tabs on you, even from Mexico. And if it looks like you’re getting in trouble for any of this, I’m going to come back. You’re not going to suffer any more because of me.”

  I’m so touched I almost start to cry again, but I fight against the instinct. “Okay. Now, please, Code. You need to leave.”

  He gives a jerky nod. Then goes to the sink and washes his hands and face. He pulls off his bloody t-shirt, pulls on a clean one, and stuffs the bloody one in his bag.

  “Do you have any cash?” I ask, hardly believing that this is really happening, that Code is going to walk away from me for good.

  “I’ve got enough. The diamonds and most of the stolen cash stay here with you.” He moves over toward me and starts to reach out, as if he’ll pull me into his arm. But he stops himself.

  He can’t touch me anymore. I’m still covered with blood.

  I choke on a sob and cover my face briefly. Then I pull myself together and say, “Okay. I’m ready. You need to go.”

  He looks torn in two, the parts of himself doomed to never be united again. It’s exactly how I feel too. “Take care of yourself, baby.”

  “You too. You too, Code.” I’m hugging myself again, trying to hold my shaky body still.

  “I love you. Just so you know.”

  I give a little whimper and manage to say, “I love you too.”

  He’s reached the door now. His hand is on the doorknob. “Maybe one day we can find that peaceful place.”

  Not in this world. Both of us know it.

  “That’s what we’ll hope for,” I tell him.

  Then he’s opening the door. Stepping outside. Closing it behind him.

  Leaving me alone with a dead body, in a world that’s nothing but the dark, threatening billows over the water now. No pathway of light.

  Thirty-Two

  Code

  I can’t keep fucking living like this. I’m like a goddamn sewer rat—sneaking around in dark alleys and running in a fucking never-ending maze.

  I take the stairs two at a time all the way to the main floor and sneak around to the utility corridor and out through the back. Fortunately, this isn’t an upscale hotel or there would be security cameras. It’s been better than most of the places Wren and I have stayed, but definitely out of date.

  Out behind the hotel, I hop over a fence and run through an overgrown field of something—I don’t even fucking care at this point—and then wind my way through alleys and side streets until I’m about a half a mile away.

  Everything in me hurts—my hands, my feet, my jaw…my heart.

  I turn around but I can’t see the hotel anymore. There’s too many buildings and obstacles between us.

  She saved my life.

  I’m standing on a corner in the early morning light, and all I can think is that Wren just saved my fucking life.

  I’ve been saved before—in the hospital, years ago when I tried to OD—but this is different. It wasn’t her job. It wasn’t what she was paid to do. She did it for me.

  Because she loves me.

  By now, the cops are probably there—questioning her, badgering her. She’ll be sitting there in her torn and bloody clothes, and she’s going to lie for me. To give me chance to live.

  I don’t even know how to process that.

  I’ve never known another human being to be so selfless. After everything I put her through—everything I did to her—she still managed to see the good in me, even when I can’t see it anymore myself.

  I hate the thought of the cops looking at her, talking to her, making her talk about what had happened to her.

  I’ve witnessed Wren when she gets on board to tell a lie. She’s pretty damn believable. She’s gonna have to be to convince the cops that it was Deke all along who had kidnapped her. Who had tried to rape her.

  Who she killed.

  I feel sick to my stomach. What kind of asshole am I that I let her deal with this shit by herself? How could I have left her to clean up my mess? My mess. Not hers.

  I want to go back.

  I want to be there to comfort her.

  To tell her that I’ll protect her—even at the expense of my own life.

  I hear sirens off in the distance. It’s too late.

  There aren’t a lot of cars on the road just yet, and I finally look around and get my bearings. If I’m lucky, I can hitch a ride and cross over the border this afternoon.

  But I’m torn. So fucking torn that I want to howl and scream.

  How the fuck did I even get here? There are millions of people out there with lives worse than mine used to be. I was a spoiled fucking brat who was tired of living his life like some sort of dog and pony show and rather than just man up and confront my family, here I am.

  A bank robber.

  A kidnapper.

  A rapist.

  A murderer.

  And those are just the ones at the top of the list. It’s not even worth listing the petty offenses.

  Either way, I’m so beyond fucked up that I don’t even know how to get back—back to who or what I was before—or if there’s a way to find a happy medium.

  I don’t know.

  I’m so fucking tired—tired of running, tired of hiding…just….tired.

  I’ve been on the run for so long—first from my family, then from Deke and now…from myself. I can’t even imagine what it’s like to just be still and live a normal life.

  I would love to have a normal life.

  With Wren.

  We would’ve had an awesome life—even if it was in Mexico. I think we could’ve been good together. Good for one another.

  But that’s gone now. That’s never gonna happen. And it makes me want to howl with rage again. How is it possible that I miss her al
ready? We’ve been together…what? A week? But she’s a part of me.

  The best part of me.

  Maybe I should just turn myself in. Maybe I should just walk up to the nearest police officer and just spew my fucking sad tale and let him haul my ass off to jail.

  I hear us singing in that fucking school choir again, the words echoing through the years, along the scattered fragments of my life. And before I’d be a slave, I’ll be buried in my grave. And be free.

  “Hey, dude? You waiting for the bus?” Some guy is standing next to me, he looks a little like I feel—tired, worn out…defeated. I hadn’t even noticed that I was standing next to a sign for the bus.

  I nod. “I guess. I’m making my way to Mexico and my last ride dropped me a couple of blocks from here. I’m not sure where exactly to go.”

  Not exactly a lie.

  “Yeah, that’s an old sign. There’s a new route now. The stop is about two blocks up.”

  I nod again. “Thanks.”

  “But if you’re looking to go into Mexico today, my buddies and I are heading out that way. I’m walking to meet them now. You’re welcome to join us. You know, if you want.”

  I stare at this guy like I can’t even believe he’s standing there. He’s maybe twenty-four or twenty-five years old, a little rough around the edges and he’s offering me…a lifeline.

  “You sure?” I ask, still unwilling to believe that anyone could be this kind.

  Other than Wren.

  He nods. “Yeah, man. Sure. It’s not that far away but it’s a bitch if you have to deal with the bus route or even walking.” He holds out a hand to me to shake. “I’m Max.”

  I shake his hand and give him a weak smile. “Hey, Max. I’m…Cody. Nice to meet ya.”

  Together we walk about four blocks and meet up with his friends. There are four of them. They’re all just a bunch of normal guys trying to figure out what the fuck to do with their lives.

  Just like me.

  After a quick breakfast, we all pile into a car and not much later, we’re over the border.

  And just like that, it’s over.

  I have my life back.

  Thirty-Three

  Wren

  So a month later, I’m back in college, leaving my History of the Civil War class and heading to my car, on my way to have lunch with my dad.

  I have a little bit of notoriety, since my kidnapping and the subsequent self-defense killing of a bank robber had made the national news for a week.

  The media has moved on now to new things, and I’m not constantly having to be interviewed ad nauseam by the police and the FBI, so I have time to do things like go to class again.

  In a way, I’m glad to get back to a normal schedule. It reminds me that life goes on, no matter how much trauma you live through. But, in another way, I don’t feel anything like the girl I used to be.

  It’s strange that a week can change your life so completely. But it can.

  It can.

  “Did you get the stuff he was saying about Lee’s letter,” asks a girl who sits a few seats away from me. She falls in step beside me as we leave.

  “Yeah, I think so. He was kind of muttering.”

  “I know. I missed a lot of it.” Nora is one of those students who always gets A’s, but she’s not obnoxious about it, so I’ve never had negative thoughts about her. I’ve never actually thought about her much at all, except to wish I could focus as much in class as she always does. “Do you think I could check my notes with yours to see if I missed anything?”

  “Sure. I think I need to go to the library tonight to get sources for the research paper. He says three of them have to be books. Just text me or something, and we’ll touch base.”

  Nora smiles in a friendly way, and we exchange numbers before she heads off in a different direction on the paths through campus.

  She seems nice enough. Sincere, which I appreciate. I haven’t spent much time with my old friends in the last month. They all seem so fake and superficial—like they’re going through the motions, while secretly thinking bad thoughts about me.

  I don’t want friends like that anymore.

  I’ve known what it feels like to be understood for real, to be loved for who I am.

  I may have lost that love, but I’m not going to settle for a pitiful caricature of friendship. That’s all I used to have, but I don’t want it anymore.

  Another thing I don’t want is running to catch up with me. Philip falls in step with me as I make my way to my car.

  “I haven’t seen much of you lately,” he says, giving me a smile that’s supposed to be charming.

  I suppose it is charming. I’m just not charmed. And if he’s hoping to fuck me in the backseat of the car like he did before, he’s going to be sadly out of luck.

  “I just haven’t felt like going out much,” I say, making sure not to sound rude or pathetic. The last thing I want people think is I’m in a downward spiral after my hostage experience.

  I’m not in a downward spiral. I’m sad. I cry myself to sleep a lot. But then I wake up in the morning and try to make a better life for myself.

  That’s all anyone can hope for—in the long run.

  “I could take you somewhere quiet. Just the two of us, if that would be easier.”

  Maybe it’s a considerate comment, but I can’t help but think that he’s still looking for sex. And that’s just never going to happen. “No,” I say with a smile. “Sorry.”

  He waits for more, for an explanation or excuse for why I’m telling him “no,” but he doesn’t get one.

  So the “no” lingers in the air as the final word.

  “Okay. Just let me know if you change your mind,” he says. I can tell he wants to get away now, so I just smile again and give him a little wave as he leaves.

  I’m happier when he’s gone.

  I’m not really happy without Code, but I’m a lot better than I was before him.

  ***

  I’m meeting my dad at a little bistro near the bank, and he’s already there when I arrive. He hasn’t been late for any of our lunches since the kidnapping. I’m sure that pattern won’t last forever, but it’s kind of sweet while it lasts.

  He’s going through email on his phone. He’s got business on the brain for nearly every minute of the day, but he puts it away when I sit down across from him.

  “How was class?” he asks, waving the server over to take my drink order.

  “It was okay. Taking about Robert E. Lee. Not real exciting, but not as boring as it could be.”

  “Anything else going on today?”

  He’s trying. I can see he’s trying. We don’t have a lot of practice at having heart-to-hearts, but he’s doing what he can to connect with me. I’m not going to throw it back in his face, just because he’s been busy with work for most of my life.

  I remember very well how he looked when he arrived in Laredo a month ago, after I called the police about the body in the motel room.

  It looked like he hadn’t slept in the whole week I’d been gone. He looked broken with relief when he saw me. And he was amazing in protecting me from too much interrogation and getting me the best lawyer money could buy.

  No charges were pressed against me, although I occasionally caught some skepticism from a couple of the people questioning me.

  The story I told them held up enough for them to accept it. No one is looking for Code in Mexico. They think the guy who had me is dead.

  “I’ve got an appointment with Dr. Johnson this afternoon,” I say, since I know he’ll ask about it if I don’t mention it.

  “Good. That’s going okay?”

  Dr. Johnson is a new therapist. She seems pretty decent so far. I haven’t told her about Code.

  I haven’t told anyone about him.

  “Yeah. It’s fine.” When I see his eyes searching my face anxiously, I smile again and say, “I really am okay, Dad.”

  “Are you sure? After something like that happens to you—�
�

  “I know. But it’s not what you’re thinking. It wasn’t…” I want to tell him it wasn’t all bad, but I’m not sure how to say that without talking about Code.

  “It wasn’t what?” It seems like he really wants to know.

  “Before,” I begin, swallowing hard since I’m trying to tell him as much of the truth as I can, “I felt like I was trapped by what other people wanted. So I let them take it. No matter what it was.”

  His face twists briefly. “I know, sweetheart. I should have—“

  “I’m not blaming.” My dad didn’t know anything about what my stepdad was doing to me until my mother killed him and then killed herself. “I’m trying to explain. Before, I felt trapped, so I couldn’t ever say ‘no.’ But, after what happened, I know I can. In a strange way, I think it made me stronger. Like I know that what I want actually matters.”

  A different kind of emotion reflected on his face. “Really?”

  I nod, seeing how much this means to him and feeling emotion tightening in my throat. “Really. I think I’m going to be okay.”

  ***

  Just so you know, I do think I’m going to be okay. I can’t imagine being really happy—not with the gaping void that Code has left in my heart—but I think I’ll be okay.

  I hope he’s okay too. I hope he’s found some sort of quiet spot where he can get some peace, where he isn’t always running from his demons. I do hope he’s missing me a little, but I hope he’s mostly okay.

  Like me.

  I want both of us to be okay.

  Thirty-Four

  Code

  Three months.

  Three months, eleven days, five hours and seventeen minutes.