Lies_simple

by Scott, Kylie

  “No. Your mom’s got everything under control.” She wanders on in with a bottle of scotch and two glasses in hand. This is why she’s my best friend forever and ever. “But if you’re going to hide at your own fiancé’s wake then I’m not letting you do it on your own.”

  “I just couldn’t handle it anymore. All those useless platitudes from people who didn’t even know him. Not the real him.”

  She pours out two hefty shots, passing one to me with a sad smile. “Get this into you. You got through the service. Some days are better if you don’t try to handle the whole twenty-four hours sober. Today definitely falls under that category, I think.”

  “Thanks.” I try to smile and fail miserably.” I can honestly say, the absence of him is the worst fucking thing I’ve ever felt.”

  “Oh, B.”

  I sit with my back against the tub, smoothing out the wrinkles in my fashionable black suit. My heels sit discarded on the other side of the room where I’d thrown them earlier. A shattered heart and sore feet were too fucking much to deal with in one day. I down a good half of the scotch, lighting my throat on fire. Not that it isn’t great scotch, Thom had excellent taste in these things. It’s just a lot of scotch at one time.

  “Shit,” I wheeze. A peaty smoky taste lingers in my mouth.

  Jen joins me on the floor and we both drink more. This time, I take it easy. On an empty stomach, the alcohol’s going to work fast. Ever since the hospital, not quite a week ago, I’ve been lost. Depressed as all hell and going through the motions, eating when Mom or Dad puts something in front of me, going to bed when they do. At night in bed alone I cry, my face buried in his pillow. But the rest of the time…I don’t know. The thought of eating breakfast this morning was a big no. Couldn’t do it.

  Mostly these days I just stare at the walls. Nice, blank, and boring. Nothing there to remind me of Thom. Or at least, not as much as almost everything else in the house and the world at large.

  “So tell me about him,” says Jen. “The real him.”

  I lick my dry lips.

  “I know there’s stuff you can’t say. But work around it.” She takes another sip. “You know you’ve hardly talked about him at all. Not since it happened.”

  “He’s gone. What’s the point?”

  “The point is to remember the good things. To hold onto the memories of your love, even if he had to leave you.”

  “He didn’t leave me; he was stolen from me.” Still not regretting killing Scorpion. I’d happily do it again a dozen times or more. But even this anger is muted, dulled. Sadness is an ocean and I’m drowning.

  She nods.

  I lean my head back against the edge of the bathtub. “He was loyal and strong and hard at times. Brutal even. But he could also be sweet and funny.”

  Jen’s small sad smile is back.

  “And he was brave. Brave and smart. I know he didn’t tend to talk much, but honest to God, he was probably one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. Wouldn’t have wanted to play chess against him. Though he wasn’t perfect. He could be incredibly stupid about some things too. Usually things having to do with our relationship, which he was always messing up. But he always wound up fixing them too. The man just wouldn’t quit.” I sigh. “Until this.”

  Jen raises her glass to her lips. “He loved you very much, you know?”

  “That I do know. And fifteen or so minutes more and we’d have been married. I’d officially be Mrs. Lange, the widow.”

  “I think you can call yourself a widow if you like. No one’s going to argue with you.”

  I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t really care. It’s just one of those stray thoughts. Would have been nice to have some good memories of the ceremony as opposed to everything instantly going to hell. To have a document where he signed on the dotted line promising he was mine. That would have been nice.”

  “Have you given counseling any more thought?”

  “Grief counseling or you-killed-someone counseling?”

  Jen’s eyes widen for a moment. “I’m thinking probably you could use both.”

  “Eventually, maybe. I’m not ready to talk about it to a stranger yet.” Though there’ll definitely be no mentioning of specifics when I do. News reported it as local man gunned down on his wedding day. An unmotivated attack, apparently. And now here we are on the day of his funeral.

  “I tried so hard not to fall in love with him.” I take another sip of liquor. “Knew it wasn’t smart. But what can you do?”

  Jen’s gaze is somber. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I know. Me too.” I raise my glass. “To Thom Lange. Love of my life and the best man I ever met.”

  “To Thom.”

  We both drink.

  Whoever is at the door sure is determined. When constant ringing of the bell fails to get me off the sofa, they start banging on the door instead. Hammering, actually. Fortunately for me, my powers for ignoring things, people, and everything else, are mighty these days. Bear and Crow keep turning up, wanting to watch movies or just generally hang out. Something I was most definitely not in the mood for. And they were obviously only monitoring me and my security for the sake of their fallen comrade. What they didn’t get, was how they were just another reminder of Thom’s absence. Of my messy broken heart. The way they’d check all the doors and windows, and offer to clean my gun for me or take me to the shooting range. No thank you. Thom was gone. Surely his enemies had gotten the message and would leave me the hell alone.

  The abuse to my front door continues on for several minutes. Much more of this and the neighbors might complain. Not that I care.

  “It’s steel, dumbass,” I mutter. “You’re not getting in.”

  At last, the noise ceases and all is quiet. Just how I like things. Except then the front door swings open and Fox is strolling on in like she owns the place.

  I sit up straight. “How the hell did you get through that door?”

  “Forked tension wrench.”

  “Huh.”

  “If you really wanted to try and keep me out you should have used the dead bolt.”

  “I’ll remember that for next time.”

  “Well, now. Don’t you look a bloody mess?” Her British accent really is perfect for this sort of put-down. “They told me you were bad, but this…have you even washed recently?”

  “Go away.”

  “I can’t, unfortunately,” she says. “Bear and Crow are busy elsewhere and I was the only one available to check on your sorry self today.”

  “I don’t need to be checked on.”

  “Whatever you say, my dear.”

  “I don’t even like you.”

  “You’re far from being a favorite of mine either, but here we are.” She sniffs the air near me, nose wrinkling, before taking the seat opposite. “It’s been a month, Betty. He’s gone. You need to stop being pathetic, pull your shit together, and get on with life.”

  “Thanks for the feedback.” Jen, my parents, and everyone else I know have been a bit more forgiving, giving me time to mourn. It figures that spies and killers like Fox and Bear would get over these things a bit quicker. But all I want is to be left the hell alone, thank you. Apparently, however, that is too much to ask amid my misery and grief.

  “Crow thought I might start teaching you some self-defense moves,” she says.

  “Not interested, thanks. Not yet, at any rate.”

  “Do you even have a gun nearby?”

  I wave a hand in the air. “There’s bound to be one around here somewhere.”

  A pained sigh from the immaculate woman across the room. “Dedicating the rest of your life to breaking the world record for general stupidity combined with the highest used pizza box stack is a less than impressive idea.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m working on building a pyramid of empty pickle jars too. Pickles rock. And if someone does break in and try to kill me, they’ll make for a handy projectile.”

  “Don’t you have a cleaner?”r />
  “What part of me not answering the door failed to clue you in to the fact that I don’t want people around me right now?”

  An even heavier sigh. “Wolf is gone. You need to accept it and move on.”

  I jump off the sofa and start pacing back and forth. This is not a conversation I want to have sitting down. She’s right about me reeking. A fact probably not helped by my week-old pajamas.

  “I’m not ready to accept it. I just can’t believe he’s dead,” I say. “It was all so sudden.”

  “Denial. That’s the first stage of grief.”

  “But—”

  “Betty, get a grip. His ashes are in the urn on the kitchen table. You saw the body. We all did.”

  I hate her for saying it. For reminding me. Bear didn’t want to let me see him at all. He said it would be too traumatic. He was right about that. It’s one thing to see a dead body when it’s all made up nicely in an open casket, where the person looks so peaceful and perfect they might just be sleeping. But laid out in a morgue, Thom just looked cold and lifeless. I screamed and shook, and in the end Bear needed to carry me out, lifting me up like a husband carrying his newlywed across the threshold.

  Ironic, really, given the way the day started.

  “I told him it wasn’t a high-threat situation.” I could feel my voice rising in volume with each word. Back and forth I march, gaining even more momentum. It hurts to feel this much. Just like it hurts to be without him. “Maybe if I hadn’t ignored his concerns, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  Fox, however, simply inspects her nails, calm as can be. “Anger. Stage two. This is such a sad process to watch.”

  I stop cold, lips pressed tight together. “He left me a lot of money. More than I know what to do with. But I’d give every cent of it to get him back.”

  “Bargaining. Stage three,” she says. “It’s heartbreaking to see you this way. Truly. But at least we’re progressing.”

  For fuck’s sake. I’d attack her if I thought there was even the slimmest chance of getting a hit in. So instead I slump back onto the sofa, the fight gone clear out of me. “Guess he didn’t love me after all if he could leave me this way.”

  “Depression. Stage four. Please hurry up and move on to acceptance. I don’t have all day to deal with your mopey ass. Bear and Crow can tiptoe around your delicate little feelings all they want, but I have better things to do.”

  “Oh, go away, would you?” I groan. “I’ll clean the house and take a shower, I promise. I’ll even track down a gun or two. Just leave me alone.”

  “You promise?”

  “That’s what I said.” I half-heartedly lob a throw cushion in her general direction.

  Fox plucks it out of the air neatly. “Really, now. No need to get hostile.”

  “You broke into my house!”

  She rises from her seat, takes a deep breath. “Yes, well, make sure I don’t have to again. I’m a busy woman and girl talks aren’t really my forte.”

  “Whatever. Get out.”

  “I’m gone. Remember your promise. And take a walk—get some sun.” She heads toward the door. “Put on the alarm once I’ve left and let’s never do this again.”

  “On that at least we agree.”

  Her reply is the slamming of the door.

  Truth is, I don’t know how to pick myself up from this. But I guess showering and getting some fresh air is as good a start as any. And if it stops Fox from breaking into my home, that’s a positive. Then there’s everyone else always popping in for a visit and giving me worried looks. At least I’ll be able to say I did something and hopefully get them off my back for a while. I don’t want to build a life without Thom. But no one’s giving me much of a choice.

  “Fine,” I say to an audience of none. “I’ll go for a walk.”

  It’s your typical beautiful spring day in California. The sun shining in a blue sky, the birds singing their hearts out. It’s been almost four months since the horrors of my wedding day, and just as I’d promised, I actually pulled my life together. I cleaned myself and the house. I got some sun. None of it had been easy, but staying busy helped. And at least Crow, Bear, and Fox have stopped watching me constantly—checking that I’m using the security system, making sure I’m being careful when I go out. All of that got old real fast.

  Jen helps me carry the groceries in from the car. Lots of organic fruit and vegetables since I’m looking after myself these days. I turn off the house alarm, hit the button for the garage door to close, and head into the kitchen. That’s when it happens.

  Clad in all black and wearing a balaclava, the man dashes in beneath the slowly descending garage door with a gun in his hand.

  Jen screeches in fright, dropping a basket of food. Apples and oranges roll across the floor. His gun is matte black and long, care of the silencer fitted to the end. He aims and fires.

  It all happens so fast. Jen staggers backward into the kitchen. She tumbles to the floor, but not before I can see red blossoming across her chest.

  “No!” I shout. “Jen!”

  The garage door shuts and the man’s on me in an instant, grabbing me by the arm. Not that I could do anything anyway. My handbag with my small pistol inside is still in the car and all of Thom’s weaponry is gone. The guns, the flash grenades, both stockpiles from the safe room and the safe in the garage floor. A few months ago I’d tracked down Henry in his bunker in the forest, and said he was welcome to anything he could find in the house. The wily old survivalist promised me his immortal soul after he found the contents of two more weapons caches I hadn’t even known about. It’s not like I knew how to use or would have use for the bulk of the stuff. Though I did keep a few other pistols. Unfortunately, they’re in gun safes upstairs, likewise beyond my grasp.

  If only I had them now.

  The guy’s grip is strong as he ushers me into the house. He pulls me past Jen’s body without a moment of pause. The front of her shirt is almost completely red.

  My breathing is heavy and sobs come from my chest. “What do you want? Who are you? Why did you have to kill Jen?”

  “Move it,” he orders in a deep, rasping voice. At the kitchen table, he drags out a chair. “Sit down.”

  I do as told. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  In no time at all, my hands are tied behind my back, linked to the wooden chair so I can hardly move. “There’s some jewelry upstairs. Some money in my purse.”

  But the man just growls. “I don’t want your damn jewelry or money.”

  “Then what? What?”

  “Information. You’re going to talk. Your late husband’s friends are causing problems for me. You know who I’m talking about. I got to one of them, but she wouldn’t break. Then I found out about you.” In case the point needed any further elaboration, he slaps me across the face with the back of his gloved hand. “You’re different. Very breakable.”

  I’ll be honest with you, it hurts. My cheek damn well throbs.

  “Start talking.”

  “Please, I don’t know anything.” I hear my voice shaking. This is all horribly reminiscent of Spider torturing me in the basement while Fox looked on.

  “We’ll see, won’t we?”

  “You’re going to kill me, whatever I say.”

  “Not necessarily. You haven’t seen my face and I’m using a voice distorter. So if you prove helpful, there’s no reason we can’t part amicably.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Think about it. You’re far more use to me alive. Civilians are so hard to protect. The organization obviously cares about you, however, and that makes you an asset. My asset.” He puts the glass down. “Now, we can do this the hard way or the easy way. Your choice. Are you ready for us to have a little chat?”

  “All right.” My voice answers, almost of its own accord. I don’t want to die. “Okay.”

  “Then let’s go back to the very beginning. When did you first meet Wolf?”

  “Thom. That’s his name. The
name he used.”

  “Thom, then.” He leans forward, hunching over into my space, his arms linking around my neck. “Go on.”

  “It was—”

  Suddenly the bang of another gun comes from nearby. The man in black staggers back as he’s hit once, twice, in the back. His weapon drops from his hand and he staggers back a step before hitting the floor, his breathing ragged.

  Thom moves into the room with catlike grace, his lips set in an angry line.

  All I can do is stare. It’s him. Really him.

  His hand clutches my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  And I’m still staring.

  He surveys the room, first taking in the downed man, then stopping on my best friend. “Betty, why is Jen still breathing when she’s taken two bullets to the heart?”

  The man on the floor coughs and groans.

  Thom strides toward him.

  “Don’t hurt him,” I yell. “Don’t shoot him in the head.”

  Thom looks back at me with a hard glare. Then he reaches down and yanks off the man’s balaclava. “Henry.”

  “Hey, kid.” Henry groans and winces. “Fuck. I’d forgotten how much I hate getting shot.”

  Jen’s eyelids open, her head still lax against the kitchen cabinet. “Damn,” she says, looking at Thom in disbelief. “She was right. You really did fake your own death. That’s so messed up.”

  Thom hangs his head, hands on hips.

  And at first I’m just smiling. So much smiling it hurts. Though so does the cheek Henry struck. Not that it matters. We had to make it look believable and apparently we did. Yay, team. Though directly underneath my happy, there’s a huge chunk of pissed off and irate.

  “You set this up?” He turns, giving me a dour look. “This whole thing, just to trick me?”

  “Yes and it worked. You bastard.”

  “I…fuck.” A muscle jumps in his perfect jawline. “What if I’d taken Henry out with a head shot, huh?”

  “Why’d you think I was hunched over her like that, just as you came in? Giving you a nice clear shot at my back.” Henry chuckles. “And I knew you wouldn’t shoot with anything that could get past my bulletproof vest, not when a through-and-through might ricochet into the love of your life. If I was still alive after that, you’d probably want to question me. Find out who sent me and if anyone else was coming after Betty. Odds are, you’d at least hesitate before firing again so long as I didn’t go for my piece. Just like I trained you. Face it, kid. We played you like a boss.”