A Girl Undone

by Catherine Linka

  “Very well, then,” Sig said. “Very well.” Sig took the pale blue heels from my hand, and knelt down, so I could step into them. Sig fastened the slender straps at my ankles, and then stood up. “Are you ready?”

  Sig’s eyes brimmed with compassion. I pulled in a deep breath and found my center. “Yes, yes, I’m ready.”

  49

  The terrace was packed with men. Dad and I waited in the hall just off it for the processional music to begin. He was trying to keep things light by telling me a story about Dusty chasing a Frisbee right into the pool, when he reached for his jacket pocket. “Almost forgot. I think this might be for you,” he said, and handed me a postcard addressed to August Reveare.

  “But it’s got your name on it.”

  “Look a little closer.”

  The message was for “A,” which could have meant either Dad or me, but I didn’t recognize the handwriting even though one glance told me it was a guy’s.

  “Locals tell me this is the best fishing in the state. I’ll let you know if they’re exaggerating, L.”

  Luke!

  The photo credit said it was a shot of Montana’s Blackfoot River. I flipped over the card, and saw a river so clean and clear that the light shone through it to the bouldery bottom. Tall pines climbed a steep rocky slope below a cloudless blue sky.

  “You’re smiling,” Dad said. “Someone you know?”

  I handed Dad back the postcard, still smiling, because Sig had gotten it right; Luke was in a good place. “Nope, nobody I recognize.”

  Dad pocketed the card, and then took my arm as the strings played the first notes of Bach. I felt the blood rush from my cheeks, and I told myself to breathe, grateful Dad was there to hold me up. Then the song reached the part where we were supposed to enter, and his grip got tight.

  “Dad, I’m starting to lose feeling.”

  He gave me a tense smile. “Sorry about that.”

  Deeps stepped in front of us and opened the door. “You can relax,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Outside, the guests cleared an aisle for me to the podium, where Hawkins stood beside Adam Ho. Hawkins’ guests began to clap as I walked into the sunlight. I scanned the crowd for Sig, who seemed to have disappeared, and spied Jouvert to my right.

  Jessop was tall, but Jouvert had at least six inches on him. His green eyes looked me up and down, and I felt my muscles tighten, ready to turn and run.

  I swallowed and glanced up at the sharpshooter standing guard. “Doing great, honey,” Dad said in a desperate, teeth-clenched whisper.

  I turned my gaze to Hawkins, the unstoppable enormity of the moment now scaring the hell out of me. He gave me a tiny nod like a promise that I could trust him, and I let his eyes pull me forward.

  Up on the podium, the Contracts flapped in the breeze. Dad would be my legal witness and Adam Ho would be Hawkins’.

  Two matching Montblanc fountain pens lay in their presentation box, waiting for us. Jessop and I were to sign two Contracts, turning each page and writing our initials, and then our full legal names at the end. We were supposed to initial each page, then pass it to the other to sign in perfectly choreographed harmony.

  At the podium, Dad let go of my arm. His smile faltered and I wanted to throw my arms around him, and cry, “Let’s get out of here.”

  But instead, I gave him my strongest smile. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.

  Jessop offered me the presentation box, and I removed my pen. My heart beat like a frightened bird. Hawkins set down the box, opened his Contract, and initialed the first page and passed it to me. I stared down at the paper.

  I don’t want to sign this. I didn’t agree to this.

  “Avie?”

  He already owns me, I told myself. This is better than the Contract he signed with Dad. He took out the parts about transferring ownership. I can divorce him in ten years.

  Jessop set his finger by the place I was supposed to initial. I acknowledge these changes———.

  AFR. That’s all I had to write. My initials didn’t mean anything except that I saw what had changed.

  I twiddled the pen between my fingers and it flew out of my hand. Dad bent down and picked it up. He could barely look at me as he handed it back.

  I’m being ridiculous, I thought. I scribbled AFR and handed the Contract to Jessop who looked irritated, but relieved.

  We passed the papers back and forth. AFR. AFR. AFR. What did it matter if I signed this?

  Then we got to the last page. “Aveline Felicity Reveare” was printed right below the blank line for me to sign. I stared at Mom’s name in the middle of mine. Mom would have fought this with all her heart. She would never, never have let this happen even if she had to wrestle the Contracts out of Hawkins’ hands.

  I glanced at the sliver of horizon beyond the crowd, and drew in a steadying breath.

  Hawkins signed his signature with a flourish and handed it to me. I set my pen down on the paper.

  No, I wrote on the signature line on his copy, then I took mine, and scratched No again in even bigger letters, and I handed them both to Hawkins.

  For a moment he was very still, and then he turned to the crowd. “We have a Contract!” The guests began to clap. Hawkins pulled me in for a quick kiss on the cheek, squeezing my hand so hard, I thought he might break a bone. Hawkins didn’t let go as Adam Ho stuffed the Contracts into the ceremonial leather portfolio.

  Servers came out on the terrace, carrying trays of champagne. As they began to hand out the glasses, I saw Deeps’ eyes grow big. He looked at one of the Secret Service men, who nodded at him.

  “Mr. Hawkins, you and Aveline need to come with me,” Deeps said. He hurried us across the terrace, glancing left, right, and then up along the roof. “We’ve received word of a credible threat so we’re moving you and Vice President Jouvert to the safe room while we determine if this is real.”

  Behind us, Jouvert was asking his men for details. “What kind of threat? Is this a bomb?”

  “No, sir, a shooter.”

  We hustled down the hall. Deeps opened the safe room, and got us inside. “I’ll remain with the vice president while you address the threat,” he told the Secret Service. I heard Deeps give them a communications channel to use, and a code for the door, but not the same one he taught me.

  Deeps suspects them?

  The fluorescent lights slowly brightened, their light intensified by the brushed-steel walls. Hawkins and Jouvert looked at each other, and I realized how much Jouvert loathed us. It was almost perverse that we were locked up together in a small steel room when Jouvert would probably celebrate if Hawkins was taken out, and vice versa.

  “I apologize for the lack of comfortable seating,” Hawkins told the VP. “We can sit on the supply cases if you like.”

  Jouvert waved him off. “We won’t be here for long.”

  Deeps worked the control panel by the door and activated the screen in the back corner. Surveillance monitors showed agents directing guests off the terrace, and crowding them into the indoor pool room.

  The big, black plastic cases holding emergency supplies that had been stacked under the screen had been moved over to the other corner.

  “How about some water?” Hawkins asked Jouvert.

  “Sure.” He watched the surveillance screen while Hawkins fiddled with the lock on one of the black cases. “The combination doesn’t work,” Hawkins muttered. I was focused on the screen, too, when I heard Deeps say, “Mr. Vice President, you need to get down on your knees.”

  I spun around. Deeps was pointing a gun at Jouvert’s face.

  “Fuck off,” Jouvert answered.

  I saw him shift his stance. Jouvert was taller than Deeps, and I wondered if he was just crazy enough to rush him.

  “Deeps,” Hawkins said, quietly. “What are you doing?”

  “On your knees, sir,” Deeps repeated to Jouvert, his eyes never leaving Jouvert’s face.

  Jouvert smirked as he lowered h
imself to the floor.

  My legs trembled. I was too terrified to move. I wished I knew what Hawkins was thinking, but he was honed in on Deeps.

  “Hands on your head,” Deeps ordered.

  Jouvert placed his hands on his head, but he stood straight and as tall as he could even though he was on his knees. “Kill me, and you will not leave this room alive.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  “What’s your goal, soldier? You were a soldier, right?”

  “Yes, sir. Marine Corps.”

  “What do you hope to accomplish today? What is your mission? Get your name in the history books?”

  “Not at all, sir. My goal is justice.”

  “That’s not your job. That’s the job of the courts.”

  “Unfortunately, I cannot rely on the courts to bring you to justice. You betrayed your country when you sold it to a foreign power.”

  Jouvert shook his head. “I saved our country, soldier.”

  “I cannot allow a traitor to become commander in chief.”

  I saw a calm, almost peaceful expression come over Deeps’ face, and I knew. “No!” I cried.

  Bam!

  The sound almost knocked me into the wall. Blood sprayed across the shiny steel, and Jouvert hit the floor face-first.

  I screamed, my hands flapping uselessly. Oh God! Deeps just killed the vice president. He shot Jouvert.

  Hawkins clamped his hand over his arm and blood streamed through his fingers. The bullet that hit Jouvert must have passed through him and then ricocheted.

  Deeps turned to us, his gun hand still raised.

  “No, Deeps!” I begged as Hawkins moved in front of me.

  “Deeps, let’s find a way out of this mess,” Hawkins said quietly.

  “It’s too late for that.”

  Jouvert’s body lay between Deeps and us, and one of Jouvert’s hands seemed to reach for Hawkins’ foot.

  “Please move to the right, Mr. Hawkins. You saw how, at this distance, a bullet can go completely through a body.”

  A look passed between Hawkins and Deeps, and Hawkins moved toward the far wall.

  What? What’s going on? I looked to Hawkins for some clue.

  “Now kneel,” Deeps said, “with your hands on your head.”

  My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I realized, There’s no way out. This is the end.

  Hawkins lowered himself to the floor where a red pool of blood haloed Jouvert. I began to kneel, too, but then I saw Hawkins shake his head at me.

  “Not you, Avie,” Deeps said.

  I stood there, confused and disoriented, the front of my white dress splattered with brilliant droplets of blood.

  “Tell me the combination, Avie,” Deeps said.

  The door code? My mind was a blank. “I don’t remember.”

  “Sure you do. You said it five times today.”

  I swallowed, and pulled the numbers from the corner of my brain.

  Then Deeps took his phone out and tossed it to me. “My confession. It clearly states I acted alone.”

  I closed my hand around the phone, and the truth of what was about to happen slammed me: I am the only person who’s leaving this room. Hawkins is going to die.

  “No, Deeps. Stop,” I said. “Please don’t kill him.”

  “He’s a lying, scheming Paternalist politician, and I’m sick of watching him treat you like crap.”

  “But he—”

  Hawkins cut me off. “Avie, don’t try—”

  “Shut up, Mr. Hawkins.” Deeps kept his gun trained on Hawkins, but he looked at me. “I don’t have sympathy for men who hit women.”

  I had Hawkins’ life in my hands. “Yes, he hit me, but he apologized, and he hasn’t hit me since.”

  “If he hit you once, he’ll do it again. He’ll abuse you and he’ll do the same to this country.”

  “No, he wants to reform the Paternalists. We had a long talk last night—you saw us out on the terrace—and he told me his ideas.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the video screen and the agents in the hall outside, trying to reach us. If I could only stall Deeps, keep him talking.

  “Jouvert is dead, Deeps,” I pleaded. “And soon Fletcher and the rest of the Gang of Twelve will be gone, too. Jessop Hawkins can turn the Paternalists around.”

  Deeps’ mouth twitched, but he kept his gun aimed at Jessop.

  “You should put Aveline in the bathroom,” Hawkins said. “The steel can protect her if your bullet ricochets.”

  Deeps nodded. “He’s right. Go in the bathroom, Avie.”

  As soon as I did, he would shoot Hawkins and then himself. I shook my head. “No.”

  “Avie, go in the bathroom,” Hawkins ordered.

  “No.” I kneeled down next to Hawkins, and looked Deeps in the eyes. “Please don’t kill him. Too many people have died.”

  “You’ll be free, Avie. You won’t have to put up with his shit any longer.”

  I swallowed. “Please put the gun down.”

  Deeps began to lower the gun, but before I could even blink, he shoved it up under his chin and fired.

  50

  Someone brought me clothes.

  The door of Hawkins’ office was shut, but the ringing in my ears made it hard for me to hear the officer taking my statement. Across the room, another officer interviewed Hawkins and a paramedic stitched his arm.

  “Ms. Reveare, what happened after Mr. Talcott put the gun to his head?”

  I flinched as a flock of paper napkins flew past the window. “Jessop Hawkins and I unlocked the door.”

  I kept the rest to myself: me trying to step over Jouvert, and my shoe slipping in his blood, then my tumbling onto his still warm body. And then crawling off Jouvert and over Deeps, while I forced myself not to look at the bloody mess that used to be Deeps’ face or the clots and splatter on the wall behind his head.

  I wrapped the string of my hoodie around and around my finger. “Are we done?”

  “Just one more question. We’ve talked to the members of your immediate staff, but we haven’t been able to locate Sigmund Rath. When did you last see him?”

  “A few minutes before the ceremony. He helped me get ready.”

  “Hmm. Yes, well, those are all the questions we have right now, but we’d like you to remain here for the time being.”

  “Okay.” I stared at the floor, trying not to show how I felt. Helen must have known what Deeps planned to do. Fragments of scenes and conversations from the last few weeks flew through my head, and I realized: Helen wasn’t surprised or innocent. She’d been in on it with Deeps from the very beginning. In fact, Deeps might even have been the one who brought her into Hawkins’ circle.

  And I could never tell anyone what I knew. Anyone.

  Outside Hawkins’ office, the house echoed with the sounds of footsteps, phones, and people talking into communicators. I wondered if Dad was still here. Police were questioning guests in the party tent then releasing them, and I hoped I could see him if he was.

  First, the paramedic packed his bag, and then the officer questioning Hawkins got up and walked out behind him.

  Hawkins came over to the couch where I was sitting. The sleeve had been cut off his blue shirt, and his wound was wrapped with gauze.

  “You could have been free,” he said, lowering himself beside me. Flecks of blood dotted his shirt, his neck, and his left cheek near his hair.

  I shrugged. “Not that way. That’s not being free.”

  “I was so angry when you didn’t sign the Contract,” he said, shaking his head. “Here I was in front of hundreds of people I needed to impress, and you showed me once again that I did not own you.” He laughed to himself. “And then you saved me.”

  “I couldn’t let Deeps kill you.”

  “A few nights ago, I said we could have a life together if you’d give up your undying devotion to Yates Sandell, and you told me ‘that’s not how love works.’ That’s not how love works.”

  I didn’
t know where Hawkins was going with this. “Jessop, I—”

  “He’s been waiting by the gate for hours, Avie. He told Adam he wouldn’t leave until he knew you were safe. I think you need to go to him.”

  “O-kay?” This was Hawkins’ way of thanking me, I guessed, giving me a face-to-face with Yates. I started to unfold myself from the couch. “I won’t be long.”

  He stood up. “No, Avie, you need to be with him. All the Contracts in the world couldn’t change that.” Hawkins let the forever sink in.

  “Are you setting me free?”

  “Some would argue you did that yourself.” He leaned over and helped me to my feet.

  My head swam, wondering if this was real or some kind of bizarre test, but then Hawkins plucked his baseball cap off the shelf and handed it to me. “Here. The media are out in droves. Good-bye, Avie.”

  In that instant, I saw a glimpse of who he must have been once, the man who Livia could have loved. The brother who’d tried to protect Marielle.

  I walked to the door. “Good luck, Jessop. I mean it.”

  The house smelled of burnt beef, alcohol wipes, and plastic sheeting. I walked with my head down, a hand clamped over my nose as I dodged members of the Secret Service, coroner, and forensics teams.

  I was sure that Ho could appear at any moment and tell me Jessop had changed his mind, so I turned and headed for a side door. My heart was racing as I threw it open and burst out into the clean night air.

  I stood in the shadows, breathing deeply, before I fixed the baseball cap and hoodie over my hair. A long line of news trucks hugged the compound wall. If Jessop had told me the truth, Yates was somewhere in the noisy crowd gathered by the open gate.

  Police cruisers, ambulances, and a coroner’s van choked the driveway near the house. I threaded my way through them, trying to pick Yates out of the swarm. I didn’t want to walk up into the floodlights only to discover he’d gone.

  Everything looked bleached out and distorted in the harsh white lights. But as my eyes adjusted, I thought I spied him leaning over a metal police barrier, trying to get an officer’s attention.

  The light carved out his cheeks and his deep-set eyes. I felt myself begin to smile and walked faster.

  Yates shifted from leg to leg. Then the officer spoke into the communicator on his shoulder and I saw Yates’ head snap around so he was looking right at me. Then the officer motioned Yates over the barrier.