Mind Lies

by Harlow Stone

  I let out a humorless laugh through my tears. “You stupid, stupid man.”

  Pushing his hands away, I get up from the couch and look down at the man in front of me, a man who has said all the right things but remains completely fucking clueless.

  My pretty and reckless.

  Or at least he used to be.

  “I didn’t stay with you out of obligation or lack of direction. I didn’t follow you, stick by you, and be there for you just because I loved you. Even I’m aware that love isn’t always enough. I did it because you were my family, Locklin. You were the first person to make me feel.” Wiping my cheeks, I finish. “You don’t get to pick and choose who you have that feeling with, Locklin. It chooses you.”

  He moves to stand, and I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk anymore. I’m going to lie down.”

  He nods. “Fair enough. My goal wasn’t to upset you. Fuck, I’m doing this all wrong.”

  It’s my turn to nod my head. “I need time. Just . . . give me some time, please.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Three weeks.

  That’s how long it’s been since the talk I had with Locklin.

  It’s also how long he’s been hovering.

  Paddy tried to get him to go to work on the fishing boat, but Locklin wouldn’t budge. Whether he’s staying because he’s worried about Yakov or my pregnancy, I’m not sure. But he’s rarely far from me.

  When I go to brush the horses, he works on the barn or cleans out the stalls.

  When I walk down to the bench by the lake to read, he parks his motorcycle on the nearest path to clean it. That bike’s been with him for a decade. An easy mode of transportation that he can get on and off the ship easily.

  Now I sit beside him at the doctor’s office while I wait to get in for a check-up.

  “Ms. Sloane?”

  I smile at the nurse. Locklin grabs my arm to help me from the chair. We’ve barely spoken since we left the house, but that’s been the norm. He’s just there all the time. From the time I go to bed to when I wake up in the morning, he’s there.

  “You don’t need to come in, Locklin,” I softly tell him so as not to disturb the quiet waiting room.

  He sighs. “I told you I’m not leaving, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. I’m not leaving, and if there’s a chance they do a sonogram today, I’d like to see our son.”

  “Okay,” I tell him, letting him lead me to the exam room. I wore a long dress today, so when the nurse tells me to get on the table, I take off my panties and get under the paper sheet, pulling my dress up over my abdomen.

  “Fucking hell, Jerri. You could warn a man,” Locklin grumbles before snatching my panties off the chair so he can take a seat. He then puts them in his pocket.

  “You do know where babies come from, right?” I smartly say.

  He groans. “I remember putting him in there. Vividly.”

  Ignoring the urge to press my thighs together, I let out a whoosh of breath. Thankfully, the doctor comes in, saving me.

  “Afternoon, Ms. Sloane. I’m Dr. O’Leary,” the man announces. He exchanges a few pleasantries with Locklin and I before running through the regular questions.

  “If you think I’m letting that man touch your pussy, Lass, you might want to know I’ll break his fingers before they get anywhere near it,” Locklin whispers in my ear.

  I swing my head to face him, bringing us nose to nose. “He’s a doctor, Locklin. Calm down.”

  He shakes his head, still looking at me, and says loud enough for the doctor to hear, “We would be more comfortable with a female doctor.”

  “Locklin!” I scold before Dr. O’Leary turns around and lets out a small laugh. “It’s not the first time that request has been made, but I assumed you knew I would be your doctor before you made the appointment. But, it’s no problem. If you’re comfortable with it, I’ll perform the sonogram and then ask Dr. Banks to come over to perform the exam when she’s finished with her next patient.”

  Locklin answers, “That sounds fine.”

  I clear my throat. “Thank you, Doctor, and I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

  He nods as he lubes the wand for the ultrasound, clearly getting a kick out of Locklin’s antic; he’s still fighting a smile. Locklin opens his mouth when he sees the doctor squirt gel on my lower abdomen. “Not one word, Locklin. Not one word.”

  Wisely, he closes his mouth, but the scowl on his face remains until he hears the telltale whoosh from the baby’s heartbeat. I watch his face more than I watch the monitor, memorizing his expression as he sees his son for the first time.

  “Strong heartbeat, Ms. Sloane. Your due date is mid-January. But I’d say first week of the month and he’ll be fighting to get out. He’s a big lad.”

  I nod, still looking at Locklin, watching a mixture of happiness and awe cross his beautiful face. Watching him watch our son is a moment I plant into my brain to savor as a happy memory.

  We created a life together. And in that is something beautiful, regardless of how little we’ve been communicating.

  Powerful.

  He’s seeing that power for the first time, and for the first time in weeks, I can truly say my heart feels warm.

  Full.

  “He’s a tumbly little one, but as you can see he’s a healthy boy. All ten fingers and toes, and fixin’ to be the next Connor McGregor.” The doctor laughs before removing the wand. “Dr. Banks will be with you shortly.”

  I nod. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Moving to grab the paper towel, Locklin puts his hand on my wrist. “Not yet, Lass.”

  I follow his eyes to my bare stomach. “Look, Jerri.” He’s focused on the lump moving across my abdomen.

  “It’s his foot.” I stop and hiss in a breath.

  Only then does Lock move his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head and give him a small smile. “He likes to kick my ribs. It doesn’t hurt, but it catches me off guard.”

  He swallows before moving his hand to my stomach. I don’t stop him. I just continue to smile as his warm hand settles on my bare skin for the first time in what feels like forever.

  “You need not kick your ma, Lad,” Locklin says to our son. I grab his hand and move it to the left. “Feel that?” I watch his face light up as he nods. “That’s his foot. And over here . . .” I move his hand and push. “That’s his head.”

  Locklin sighs. “Incredible, Lass.” Leaning in, he places a kiss on my stomach and then moves and places another on my forehead, where he whispers, “My water.”

  It’s been a long time since I’ve heard those words. I think the last time he said them was when we got back together after I left Tom. When asked what he meant, all he said was someday. I don’t get the chance to ask now because Dr. Banks enters the room.

  Someday.

  ***

  After retrieving my panties from Locklin, which he grudgingly handed over, I ask a nurse to point me in the direction of the bathroom.

  “First door through there on the right, Ms. Sloane. I’ll meet you at the desk with your paperwork.”

  “I’ll get it,” Locklin tells me, to which I argue, “Locklin, I can pay for my health care.”

  He shakes his head. “Did you pay for all the other appointments?” At my nod, he continues, “Then I owe you for those as well as this one.”

  I open my mouth, but he just turns his back to me and walks the ten feet to the desk.

  “Whatever,” I mutter as I turn the corner to the bathroom. Once I’m finished, I straighten my green, long-sleeve maxi dress and exit the bathroom.

  “Oomph!” The wind is knocked from my lungs when I run into the man in front of me. “I’m sor—”

  Gun in front of my face.

  Prepared to scream, I open my mouth to yell for help—but he points the gun at my stomach.

  “Walk.”

  Nodding furiously, I put one foot in front of the other. The strange man clamps one hand on top of m
y shoulder and pushes the gun into my abdomen to drive his point home.

  Only six feet from the bathroom door is an exit, and once we reach it, my brain catches up.

  He has a Russian accent.

  I’m probably going to die—or worse; I’ll be handed a fate much like the women in those containers.

  I don’t think anymore, just act quickly before the door to the office closes.

  “Locklin!” I yell at the top of my lungs. The big Russian grabs hold of me around the waist and hits me across the head with his gun.

  I fight the dizziness and the pain as he tosses me into a van parked far too closely to the door.

  I should have screamed sooner.

  I watch as he tosses a heavy envelope on the ground in front of the door. Then the van bolts off toward the street, taking corners too fast, slamming hard on the brakes.

  “His tires are flat, Vasily. He not follow us,” says the man who threw me in the van. The hair on my neck stands up. Biting the bullet, I lift my head from the floor and look directly into the eyes of my nightmares.

  “Da, you remember. I see it in your eyes. Fear and memory,” he says, laughing in sick satisfaction while maneuvering the van through traffic and down side streets. I edge closer to the door, slowly, hoping I can jump out if they slow down for a turn.

  “Nah, ah, Raven,” he says while waving his gun toward the back seat. I ignore the raven comment and ask, “You’re going to kill me anyway, are you not? Should it not be my own decision whether I die jumping from a moving vehicle or being tortured and shot in the head?”

  Vasily laughs, a full-out, humorless laugh, and points his finger at me in the mirror. “I knew I like you, Raven. You Americans have fire.”

  I shake my head. “No, we just have common sense. And if I’m going to die, I would rather it be on my terms, not after you torture me.”

  Still laughing, he says, “Why you think we torture you?”

  “Because if you wanted me dead, you would have shot me already. You need me for something, and I’d rather not find out what that something is.”

  Smiling, he rolls down the window and lights a smoke. “This common sense is entertaining. So much fire, Raven. And fight?” He nods. “I did not know it was you at first in Boston motel. I think this Locklin guy we after hire hooker. But then I see you and bam! It comes back to me. I never forget faces. You woman from shipping company, and he the man who hit me over the fucking head.”

  Fucking hell, he knows who I am.

  “Yuri cut brake lines already on car.” He pursues his lips. “But I come for you, Raven.” Taking a drag, he carries on. “Stick through the neck, blood everywhere. All I see is tattoo.” He points to his shoulder. “I come to take you, Raven, but you already dead.”

  He blows smoke across the cab at Yuri and says, “Boo!” before they begin laughing their asses off.

  “You fighter, Raven. Come back from dead.”

  I swallow past the bile rising in my throat and hold my hands over my stomach, rubbing in small circles. I’m not sure whether I’m soothing my baby boy or myself, but I keep doing it until my breathing returns to normal, as I watch the unfamiliar signs pass by outside.

  “He come for you, Raven.”

  Whipping my head toward the front, I ask, “Excuse me?”

  He shrugs his shoulders. “Locklin. He come for you when it is time.”

  The pit of dread in my stomach grows larger, but I ignore it when we pull up to a warehouse. It’s a dilapidated, old building next to the treeline at the end of an abandoned street. Windows are knocked out, and trash litters the parking lot. Clearly, it still has hydro, though, because when Vasily presses a button on the dash, one of the three large garage doors opens.

  My eyes take a minute to adjust to the light. But when they do, I nearly faint.

  Cages.

  There are four large cages. Concrete separates them, and a chain link closes the front of two, bars close the others.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper.

  Vasily laughs. “How you Americans say it? New digs?” He nods, proud of himself for remembering the slang. “Yes. New digs for Raven.”

  The garage door closes behind us before Vasily opens the van door. He stands in front of me so that I may be reminded of his size. The sheer power behind the monster is overwhelming as he barbarously grabs my arm, pulling me from the vehicle.

  “Come, Raven, I show you,” he says as he drags me toward the cell. “I put you here, fighter. The other girls,” he says, waving a hand to the ones with the chain link, “they not fighter like you.”

  I look to the chain-link cells and shudder, resisting the urge to cry when I see four women huddled in the first.

  Eyes cast downward.

  Bruises and red welts on their wrists.

  The same sight I saw twelve years ago.

  Once he crosses the threshold to my cell, he lets go of my arm and waves his hands around as if to show me how wonderful my new home is going to be.

  “This old wildlife doctors. He work on things like bears and wolves. These bars,” he says while banging his hand against them, “they for the bears.”

  I shiver and say, “I guess that would explain the smell.”

  He laughs. “Ah, Raven, you silly girl. No bear live here in decade. The smell is death.” Pointing to the next cell over, he says, “Last girl have disease. She need sugar to live, but she do this”—he jolts his body back and forth, imitating a seizure—“and she not breathe anymore.”

  Shaking my head in disgust, I hiss, “It’s called being diabetic, you sick fuck. You might wanna try feeding your captives. Maybe they’ll live longer next time.”

  “Ha! Fire!” He spins around to see the other women. “My Raven a fighter. What we do with fighters?”

  The women don’t answer but simply keep their eyes cast downward where they sit huddled together on a dirty blanket. Their clothes are torn, and dried blood caked their once-tear-soaked cheeks.

  “We discipline!” Vasily shouts before backhanding me across the face. Caught off guard, I stumble, slamming my elbow into the wall before reaching a hand out to balance myself.

  “Raven, Raven, Raven. I like fire, but you do not tell Vasily how to run his business.”

  A door slams shut in the distance, and he smiles, “Ah, boss is here.”

  Taking shallow breaths to beat the dizziness back, I lean against the wall and listen to the sound of footsteps getting closer while wondering if the boss is Yakov. My eyes follow shiny shoes up to a suit-covered body. I come face-to-face with a much older man, mid-sixties I would guess. He has thinning hair and a scar under his eye. He has crow’s feet around those eyes, but they’re not from smiling, more like from squinting in the sun or being an asshole all the time.

  “She’s pregnant?” the man asks Vasily.

  “Surprise, Yakov!” he replies.

  “Good. It the mans?”

  He nods.

  “Extra security. Man fight hard for child. We be prepared,” Yakov says, adding, “No harm to child. It worth more than the girls.”

  My unborn child is worth more than the women?

  Clearing my throat, feeling certain they aren’t going to kill me because my child is somehow worth something to them, I speak up. “Locklin’s one man, and you could have killed him at the doctor’s office. Me too, for the matter.” They both settle their eyes on me, Yakov’s with brows raised as if I’ve spoken out of turn, and Vasily’s displaying a sick satisfaction I don’t want to understand. “If we’re not dead yet, clearly you want something that can’t be gained from killing, and the only thing that could be is information. I have no desire to die today, or to watch someone be hurt. It’s possible I could answer your questions.”

  Vasily claps. “This called common sense, Yakov. She full of wisdom, my Raven.”

  Yakov shrugs. “I do not care how we get information, so long as it is obtained. Yuri?” The man comes when called and speaks with Yakov for a moment before leaving. Wh
en he returns, he has two chairs. Yakov places one outside the cell, and Yuri carries the other one inside before returning to his post.

  “Sit,” the Russian orders. I do as I’m told because my head is pounding.

  “Vasily tells me you clever girl. So you going to tell me how you evade my men and hide for . . .” He looks over his shoulder at Vasily, who answers: “Twelve years.”

  “Twelve years.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “Are you all ready for the wee one to arrive?” the nurse asks as I sign forms and pay the bill in cash. “We will be,” I tell her, not because I want to carry on a conversation, but because I lose myself in the memory of feeling my son kick for the first time.

  I’ve watched Jerri like a hawk this past month, and that includes noticing every time she smiles, when she places her hand on her belly, or when she sings to him without even noticing. I’ve been envious of her touching her belly, which I can’t freely do, and jealous of the unborn lad when he gets her soulful voice—the same one that used to calm me when I was making love to her, afraid I might never hear it again.

  Afraid I might never see her again.

  Always worrying I might never feel her touch again.

  Touching her today was like coming home, only this time, I wasn’t afraid to leave. I wanted to stay right where I was with my skin touching hers, my boy eagerly kicking against me.

  I need her in my life. I’ve known it for a long time, but now it physically aches when she’s not near. I don’t have the adrenaline driving me forward to chase ghosts anymore. Now all I have is a driving need to be with her every second of every day.

  It’s not healthy. It’s nearly obsessive.

  But I don’t fucking care.

  “Locklin!” Jerri’s shrill scream echoes through the office, and I tear off toward the sound.