by T. D. Fox
“My turn for a question,” she said. “Where is your mother? Right now?”
He’d mentioned her once, a long time ago at the café. Then she’d come up again in his delirium. Courtney wanted to know about her. Because even killers had mothers. Sometimes they turned them into what they were.
“Right now,” W murmured. “She’s probably heading down to the caféteria to get her evening meal at Westerly.”
“Westerly? Isn’t that the home for patients with—”
“Dementia.”
“Oh.” It felt like a stupid thing to say, after that. “Do you ever visit her?”
“Sometimes. She doesn’t recognize me. Which is just as well, because I don’t wear the face she gave birth to anymore anyway.”
“What do you really look like?”
He lifted her arm and twirled her around, so unexpectedly that she grabbed onto his coat when she came back to face him.
“Those aren’t the rules,” he intoned.
“Don’t do that,” she gasped. “You’ll rip your stitches.”
He chuckled. “Wanna know a secret?” While she debated saying no, he told her anyway. “I’m a fast healer. A really fast healer.”
A new song started. Courtney’s heartbeat slowed as his arm fell back around her waist. Funny how her pulse could slow, her body relax, in a situation like this, with a person like this.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“What?”
“You asked me what I look like. I don’t remember. This form’s always been the easiest to maintain, so it might be somewhere near the mark. But honestly... I look in the mirror and wonder sometimes—if I would’ve had his eyes or hers.”
Courtney stared at the hem of his coat and wondered what it would be like to forget her own face. A loneliness set in that cooled the pit of her stomach.
“My turn.” W hummed. “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Help me. You’re right. You’re not one of my people. And yet I trust you. Why?”
“Are you asking me to answer, or are you asking yourself?”
He looked down at her. The playful expression still tipped his mouth, but didn’t touch his eyes. He really did want to know.
“I guess... because you can,” she said. “Trust me, I mean.”
He studied her face. For a moment, he stopped dancing. She did too.
“Then you’ve made your decision, it seems.”
Not to turn him in. “I guess I have.”
“That puts you in a sticky situation after this, doesn’t it?”
Courtney dropped her eyes. “You have no idea.”
He resumed their gentle sway to the radio, which now filled the apartment with a dark, husky voice Courtney recognized.
Gloria Parks, the only singer to rise from within Orion City itself after the Quarantine. She wrote her own pieces for this station. They said she’d become a star on the Outside, too, if Quarantine ever fell. Courtney closed her eyes and let the lyrics slide over her.
Burnin’ everything I own just to keep you warm
When did lighting fires become so easy
Now I’m falling for the devil
Knowing he’ll never catch me
He’ll never catch me
27. FIRES
COURTNEY BLEW ON her fingers as she walked, ostensibly trying to warm them. Really, she held her knuckles in front of her nose and mouth, ducking her head to hide most of her face. She kept looking around. The street was full for ten in the morning on a Tuesday. She pulled the beanie lower, tucking more of her copper-blonde hair beneath it. It wasn’t a common color.
And she was paranoid.
The only other time she’d left her apartment since W had shown up bleeding on her doorstep had been to rob St. Barnabas. Then, she’d had only adrenaline in her mind, so anxious to make her plan work that she’d blocked out everything else. Once she’d gotten safely back behind the walls of her apartment, the goal that had consumed her was to keep W alive.
Now—the weight of what she’d done hit her full force. She wanted to scurry back to her apartment and hide. Her brain raced over all the scenes she remembered from the hospital, before everything fizzled out at the Change. Had they caught her on camera? She’d kept her head down—would they still be able to pin her with facial recognition? Jasper said the police’s face scanners were outdated due to Quarantine. But that nurse had seen her face. Would he remember it after those sedatives? She was such a novice at crime. She hadn’t thought to cover her tracks, too desperate to stop and plan. She had no idea what she was doing.
But after three days, no one had come banging down her door. Maybe there really was such a thing as beginner’s luck.
She tensed when a siren echoed, several streets down. But it faded. The pedestrians milling the sidewalk around her continued on their way, noses in their phones. No one cast her a second glance.
It was weird. Walking like this, in broad daylight. So normal. No cop cars stalked her, no sudden voices yelled for her arrest. No one knew she was a criminal. She was just another face in the crowd. Forgettable. Invisible.
Just like W.
No—not like W. That knife’s edge rose in her mind again.
She’d find a way to walk that thin, sharp line. Even if her feet bled.
Courtney took a different street to avoid passing by her café. She’d told Jasper to meet her at Cream & Sugar, the little coffeehouse on fifth where they’d met for their first several dates. She’d told Jess she was sick. Showing up at her workplace with her boyfriend might raise a few eyebrows.
She spotted him sitting at their old table near the window. He hadn’t seen her yet. His brows were pulled low, eyes trained on something in his hand. She knew what he looked like when he concentrated. This scowl was something much deeper.
Trying not to feel nervous, she opened the door and heard the jangle of bells above her. Jasper looked up.
“Hey.” Smiling, she walked over to his table. “This seat taken?”
The playful tone didn’t lighten his expression. “We need to talk.”
She sat down. “Is something wrong?”
He pushed something toward her—an electronic pad, the thing that had fixed his attention a moment before. “You tell me.”
She frowned, but looked down at the picture on display. A black and white, pixelated shot of what looked like an empty restaurant. Booths, chairs, big glass doors. She stared at it a little longer, and the scene registered. Oh. It was Jessie’s Joe, tiny and strange from the vantage point of the camera. In the back corner booth, two people sat talking. She recognized the back of her own head. Her hair was still long, pulled back in a braid. The man across from her was in shadow. But she knew exactly who it was.
“I don’t get what I’m looking at.”
Jasper reached forward and tapped the screen. Another image slid into focus. This one was clearer. Neither of them was in shadow anymore. She and W stood near the door, looking like they were about to leave. Again, no other customers in the shop. Courtney saw her face now, a smile frozen on her lips. Fighting a laugh.
“I knew he looked familiar. After the holdup at your café, I had to comb through CCTV footage for hours looking for the shooter’s face. Never did get a hit, but this guy... I saw his face enough to have an interesting déja vu the other day.”
Jasper changed the picture again. This one put W in clear focus.
“There are a lot more,” he said. “Different nights, different conversations. Same booth. Same guy.”
Courtney didn’t like the note in his voice. It was the same note she’d heard on the phone, only stronger now. Colder.
“Okay,” she said. “So I’ve got some friends among my customers. What?”
“A friend, is he?”
“Yes.” She looked up. “Why, is this jealousy?”
“I assume you know what he does for a living.”
“What does this have to—”
“Did you k
now your friend makes a habit of changing his face, dealing drugs across Eastside and slitting people’s throats?”
Shock. Horror. Outrage. Courtney fought with the expression on her face, struggling to give the right reaction to that bombshell. Jasper sat back in his chair with a stricken look.
“You knew.”
“I don’t—”
“You knew he was the Whistler! Courtney, what the hell?”
“Jasper, I—”
“How long has this been going on? This... this friendship? Or whatever it is.”
She pressed her lips together. Jasper swore under his breath, tugging at a fistful of his hair.
“Did you know him before you met me? Was that shooting at your café some ridiculous setup? All that fear you had at the beginning, all those nightmares—it was all an act. You weren’t a random bystander. You were involved.”
“I wasn’t involved,” she snapped. “I didn’t know who he was.”
He gave a hoarse laugh. “Forgive me if I have trouble believing anything you say right now, Court.”
Indignation flared. “You’re flinging an awful lot of accusations with no proof. How do you know my friend’s the Whistler? What if the Whistler stole his face like he did with that other guy? It makes me feel great, as your girlfriend, that you can make the leap from a couple grainy pictures to me somehow conspiring with a murderer.”
“How about that night you ran into him in the alley? When you maced the Whistler in the face and conveniently got away? You tried to lie to me about it.”
“I don’t think it was so convenient for him to get maced in the face,” she fired back. “And I didn’t lie about it. Forgive me if the story was a little convoluted after such a crazy experience. I’m not a cop. I don’t do stuff like that every day.”
“There’s another photo.” His voice was darkly calm. “Blurry, hard to identify, an intruder on the burn unit in St. Barnabas. They’re looking for a woman with copper hair who held a nurse at gunpoint and ordered him to sedate himself. A Changer.”
The breath rushed out of her in a jerk. “Copper hair? That’s all you’re going on?”
“There are too many coincidences between you and the Whistler for things to line up.” He watched her with narrowed eyes. “He’d need a safe place to hide, right about now; someone he trusted. Someone with medical experience, maybe.”
“I don’t have to put up with this.” Courtney started to rise.
His hand shot out and slammed hers to the table. “I could arrest you for obstructing an investigation.”
“Do it, then.” She glared, masking the panic. “All you’re going to get is a wasted day and a pissed off ex-girlfriend.”
He blinked. Guilt lanced through her at the unguarded pain on his face. She could read him so well, it almost hurt. The truth would cut him to ribbons. She didn’t want to see his eyes when the realization hit. That the faith he had in her had been misplaced. That they’d been moving in different directions from the moment they met.
She knew what had to happen. But it ached. Despite the distance that had grown between them, she did care about him. He deserved better. What could this have turned into, if W had never come around?
No. It wasn’t W. He’d been the spark to a fuse already lying dormant. It was something else, something inside her own skin, dry bones creaking back to life after ten years of static quiet.
I’m not too small.
The new thought thundered through her, and a decision crystallized in its wake. She was done keeping her head down. She wasn’t yet sure where to look, but she’d be damned if she waited any longer to lift her chin.
“Jasper.” Voice softened, Courtney slid her hand free from his. “I’m not who you’re afraid I am. But I’m not who you want me to be, either.” She pushed her chair back. “You said once that you couldn’t be with someone you didn’t trust.”
His brow furrowed. “What are you saying?”
“You shouldn’t have to. And I shouldn’t have to be with someone who doesn’t trust me.”
Realization dawned on his face, hitting her like a punch. “Court...”
“We shouldn’t see each other anymore.”
He stood, reaching for her again, but she caught his hand before he could catch her arm. Tugging him forward, she stretched up on her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek.
“I wish things could’ve been different,” she whispered.
“Courtney...”
“I’m sorry.”
Dropping back, she ducked around him and headed for the door. Jasper remained where he stood, looking stunned. Courtney burst out into the cold air before he could recover enough to follow her. With fast, jerky steps, she made a beeline for home.
She had to move. Before he came to himself, made a decision, and snapped back into black-and-white. She knew Jasper—he’d wrestle, caught between stubbornness to work things out with her, and duty—but she knew which would win. His feelings wouldn’t act as a buffer for long.
Her apartment wasn’t safe—nowhere he knew was safe. Not Dina’s, not the café. W had to be gone within the hour.
If she even had that long.
As soon as she turned the corner, she broke into a run. Pounding down the street, not caring if people glanced her way anymore.
When she burst into her apartment, she almost collided with W. She stumbled back, catching herself on the doorjamb. He glanced down at her.
He no longer wore the bloodstained lab coat. It lay bundled at the foot of the couch, which she could see beyond him, along with the discarded loop of IV tubing. He started to move past her, but she caught him by the hand.
“What... what are you doing?”
His hand felt warm under hers. Normal warm—no hint of a fever. She turned it over. The faint bruise on the back of his hand was the only sign there’d ever been an IV. Not even a faded puncture mark.
Her chest constricted. “You were leaving.”
He extricated his hand from hers. “I’ve trespassed on your goodwill too long.”
“You had intestines hanging out of you three days ago!” She grabbed him by the shirt, lifting the hem to reveal the bandages underneath. “You aren’t in any state to walk out of...”
There were no bandages. Only a thin, puckered pink line beneath the right side of his ribcage. It looked weeks old. Halfway to a scar.
At her stupefied look, he untangled her fingers from his shirt and stepped away. “Like I said, I’m a fast healer.”
She blinked as he moved past her to the door. There were too many things she didn’t understand, but her brain couldn’t lock on to any of them. Her chest felt tighter every second.
“So you were just going to ditch me? Without even a goodbye?”
W lifted a shoulder. “I promised you I’d be out of your life. If the blood on the carpet is any indication, I’ve done a pretty shabby job of keeping that promise.”
“I don’t want you out of my life.”
For the first time, possibly ever, she startled him. In one swift move, Courtney wedged herself between him and the door, misjudging his momentum as he went for the doorknob. Her chest brushed his. He stopped short.
This close, their height difference was almost comical. He towered eight or nine inches above her, so she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. He blinked down at her. Moving back the barest step, but still far closer than she’d intended, he regarded her. She held his gaze. A strange expression lit his eyes. He’d only ever looked confident—fully assured of his control in whatever situation he found himself. A step ahead of her, a step ahead of everyone around him. Now, he looked... thrown. Wary, with a spark of curiosity. Waiting to see what she would do next.
The look sent a thrill through her. For once, she was the enigma.
“You don’t get to make that decision for me. Not this time. You step into my life, shatter it, then try to step back out again. Over and over. Without so much as a ‘sorry.’ Well, dammit, I’ve had enough. I never sp
illed your secret. I’ve risked everything for you. Your blood is on my carpet, my face is on multiple security cameras, and my own boyfriend—now ex-boyfriend—is on his way to arrest me. And for what? Because I threw everything on the line to protect a man who doesn’t give a damn about me, or anyone else?”
He lifted an eyebrow, eyes gleaming with amusement—and something darker, making her wonder how close she was to the edge, if anyone had ever dared call out the Whistler. “You make it seem like you had higher expectations of me.”
She stretched up on her toes. “I did.” Her heart thundered in her chest, furious and terrified and more alive than it had ever been. W didn’t lean back as she decreased the already thin distance between them. “I do.”
Twisting her fingers in his shirt, she pulled him down to her level and kissed him.
No premeditation. No amount of forethought or planning could have prepared her for such a ridiculous, dangerous move. She’d had no idea how she felt until the moment she’d stepped in front of the door, desperate to block him from escaping her life, from taking away that spark she’d been chasing since the moment he first set foot in that café.
Everything snapped together. Of course. It all made perfect, terrible sense. Why his words followed her around like a ghost wherever she went. Why the city around her looked so much sharper, all the shadowy places that used to terrify now full of secrets, deep dark ones that might yield answers if she pressed. Why she couldn’t erase the spark that came with the adrenaline. Couldn’t stop coming back for more. Like an addiction. Why Jasper never stood a chance.
It was him. It had always been him.
His lips remained still under hers, cold and unmoving as a statue’s. A chill slid into her. Pulling away, she dropped back and let go of his shirt.
He looked down at her. All amusement in his eyes had vanished, along with any other sign of an expression. He was a stone. For a split second, she wondered if she had made a horrible mistake, throwing her feelings into the open air like that, for him to use and manipulate in whatever way he chose. But then she lifted her chin. There was no taking it back now. If this was goodbye, he might as well know.