by Keri Lake
Sharks don’t compromise, they hunt to kill, and Lucian is one of the more cunning in this sea of corruption.
By the time we reach Aunt Midge’s house, Makaio hasn’t spoken a single word to me. I find myself torn between wanting to thank him for coming after me, when Aedon and Brady had me pinned down in the nasty park bathroom, and fearing him. Like Lucian, he’s apparently quite capable of eliminating whatever gets in his way. And I certainly don’t want to be the source of his wrath today.
I unclasp the bracelet and set it down on the console table beside me. When Makaio opens the door, I step out onto the sidewalk, and he reaches for the duffle bag in my hand. This time, I set a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “I’ve got it.”
He eases back a step and rests his hand on the door, instead.
“Makaio …” Words are hard for me. Words of thanks and appreciation are impossible. “If you hadn’t shown up last night, I know that would’ve been a very bad situation. I had nightmares about what could’ve happened.”
“I was told to protect you. The boss told me to keep you safe.”
I shake my head, the few lingering pieces of confusion still kicking around in there, searching for answers. “Why? He couldn’t have known they would attack.”
“He isn’t worried about them. Those shitheads are small potatoes.”
“Then, who is he worried about?”
Casting his gaze from mine, the giant rolls his shoulders back. “Look, I’ve known Lucian a long time. Years. I’ve never seen him act this way toward another woman. Ever.”
“What way?”
“He’s crazy about you, Isa. Lost his mind, crazy. You should know, he won’t just let you go that easily. He’ll give you space for a while. But this isn’t over for him.”
“He’ll change his mind when he understands that it’s over for me. I can’t be with a man who murders people like it’s any other day. I don’t care if they’re bad people. It doesn’t give him the right to take someone’s life.”
“We try to be civilized, us human beings, but ultimately, we’re animals. All of us. And in the kingdom of animals, only the strongest survive.”
I lower my gaze and shake my head. “His world isn’t my world. Goodbye, Makaio.”
“You take care of yourself.”
I step past him and head toward the front door of the house. Hand to the doorknob, I watch him leave, and once he turns the corner, I open the door and find Aunt Midge sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette.
The whole house smells like tobacco and coffee, and my muscles tense with the thought that I’m going to have to slog through her sadness over my mother. I don’t feel what she feels, and I don’t want to.
I slide into the chair beside her. Her eyes are red and puffy, swollen from hours of crying, which has given rise to black circles. Unkempt hair sticks out around her face, the evidence of her having run her hands through it all morning. She looks like hell.
“I, um. Have to go ID the body later.” She flicks her cigarette against the edge of the ashtray and takes another drag of it. “I guess a morning jogger found her on the beach beneath the pier. They think she might’ve gotten high and drowned.”
With a sigh, I push away from the table and walk to the cupboard for a glass. From the fridge, I nab the carton of milk and pour some out, and keeping my back to Aunt Midge, I suck it down.
“That’s it? That’s all she gets from you?” The tension in her voice isn’t really directed at me, I know this. She’s angry and sad, and I’m going to be her emotional punching bag, the same way I was when Uncle Hal left her when I was fourteen.
“Are you really that surprised?”
Jaw cocked with a retort, she shakes her head. “You really are something, kid.”
Setting the glass down, I grip the edge of the counter to keep from throwing something across the room. “I’m sorry, I’m supposed to what? Be sad that she destroyed our lives, then continued to destroy hers until the very end?”
More tears slip down her cheeks, her lips pressed to a hard line as she smashes her cigarette out into the ashtray. “He didn’t want you. I know I’ll probably go to hell for sayin’ it, but it’s the truth.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your dad.” Wiping her tears away, she sniffs and clasps her hands together. “The rotten bastard didn’t want you. She did, though. Whether you believe it, or not, she wanted you.” Her eyes seem to go out of focus, as she stares off as if she’s slipped into a scene in the past, and when her brows lower, I know it’s a place she doesn’t want to be, but I stay silent. Because I need to know. I’ve waited too long to hear this.
“If you would’ve asked her back then, she would’ve said she was in love with him. Maybe she was. They say there’s a bit of mystery in all of that, and I believe it. She got pregnant with you. I remember the day she and I sat in the bathroom. I’d gone out and bought the test, because if my parents found out, they would’ve tossed her to the sharks, the next time my pop went out to sea.” She laughs through the tears and shakes her head. “Not really, but she was scared, anyway. When the two lines showed up, I told her it could be wrong. I offered to take her to the clinic in town, have it confirmed before she said anything, because I knew lives were going to be ruined by this. Ruined.” Exhaling a breath, she pauses for a moment, rubbing her hands together, before she reaches for her pack of cigarettes again. “Once it was confirmed, she decided to tell him. By then, I think she could’ve gone either way with the pregnancy. Kept it. Got rid of it. She didn’t really have a plan.” The way she recites, it’s hard to believe she’s talking about me, as detached as it sounds. “But she knew she wanted to talk to him. And when she did, he became furious. He called her a whore, and told her it could’ve been anyone’s baby. And then he threatened her. He said, if she didn’t destroy it, then he’d just have to do it himself.” More tears gather in her eyes, as she taps the cigarette against the table, and at the sight of her, tears gather in my eyes, too. “Doesn’t take a detective to read between the lines. But your mom … your mom was fire and brass balls, and she refused to destroy you. She was scared, though. Scared for you, and scared for herself, so she left the island. And she quickly found out how hard it is to be a single mother. By God, she tried, though. For a long time, she busted her ass to make a life for the two of you. But life never cut her a break, no matter how much she worked.”
I trail my gaze over the walls to keep from having to look at her. To keep from showing the tears in my eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“She didn’t want me to. She thought it was better this way. Better for you, anyway. She, on the other hand? Didn’t fare so well.” Her voice cracks at the end, and it begins to make sense to me why Aunt Midge has always been so adamant, so uncompromising, when it comes to my mother.
“Who is he?”
Hand still trembling, she sets the cigarette to her lips, cheeks caving with a long drag, and she shakes her head. “I made a promise, Isa. She made me swear never to tell you.”
“Please. I have to know.”
Still shaking her head, she lowers her gaze from mine.
“You’ve kept every promise to her, Aunt Midge. Every single one. What does it matter now? She’s dead!”
“It matters now, more than ever.”
“Please. I’m begging you.”
Silence hangs on the air between us, my impatience growing stronger with each ticking second.
“Why would she bring me back here? Don’t you think that’s a little stupid of her?”
“She didn’t have a choice. Believe me, she wouldn’t have.”
“So, why did she, if it’s so dangerous?”
Brows pinching together, she looks up at me as if she can’t believe I’d ask such a thing. “You honestly don’t remember anything?”
“About what?”
Breathing a sigh, she shakes her head. “You’re asking me to open too many cans at once, Isa.”
“And you’re still holding all the worms. Give me something. Anything. I’ve spent my whole life believing my mother was a piece-of-shit junkie, and you’re trying to tell me she’s not. I need to know what made her come back here. What made her risk bringing me back to the man who wanted to destroy me.”
“Does Uncle George ring a bell?”
No sooner do the words pass her lips than they unlock thoughts inside my head, images, like a skeleton key.
A child holding a glowing heart. Darkness all around. The child’s face practically glowing. It’s sad eyes. Gentle hands. A red heart. Deep breaths. Red. Everywhere.
My mind falls into a trance, pulling me into the memory. “I called him Uncle George. He was … Aunt Tessa’s husband.”
“She wasn’t really your aunt. She watched you when your ma had to work, or when she went out. An older woman who lived in the neighborhood. Your mom trusted her.”
“I woke up in the middle of the night. Somebody was whispering in my ear. I saw a picture of a child on the wall … holding a glowing heart.” The memories arrive faster, more vivid, and I shake my head. “No, not a child. It’s a man. Jesus, maybe?”
“Yes, Jesus’s Sacred Heart. Your mother told me she was very religious. Keep going.”
“He told me … to relax. That my mom wasn’t coming to pick me up. That it was just me and Uncle George hanging out.” A coldness fills my chest, the crystal branches of fear crawling out from somewhere deep inside my gut. “He put his hand … on my stomach. And down my pants.” I screw my eyes shut, as if doing so can block out the memory that continues to play behind my lids. “I screamed, and he told me that if anyone heard me, he’d have to hurt them. I remember the pain. So much pain that I blacked out from it.” I exhale a shaky breath, and open my eyes to find Aunt Midge staring back at me with more tears in her eyes. “When I woke up, there was blood everywhere. So much blood. And my mom, she was there, and she picked me up into her arms.” Voice cracking, I break into tears. “She said, ‘It’s going to be okay, baby’, and I looked over, and he had blood on his throat and all over his hands.”
“She got into her car, and she drove for miles, until she arrived here on this island. When she brought you to me, you still had his blood all over you. Uncle Hal and I took you in, and I washed it off and wrapped you in a blanket, just holding you while your mom broke down.” She sniffs and wipes the freshly fallen tears away, while mine sit trapped in a jiggling shield across my eyes. “She told me she had to leave you with me. And she made me promise to protect you. To never tell you who your father really is.”
She reaches out a hand, setting it on my arm, and as she grabs something from her purse that’s hanging off the edge of the chair and slides it in front of me, the tears finally break. All of my school pictures lay in a pile atop a large picture of my mom and me when I was small, maybe five years old. She’s smiling and pointing at the camera, her face healthy and lit up, framed by those fiery red locks.
“I gathered these this morning. From where she was camped under the viaduct. I’m no mother, so I’m certainly no expert on what makes a good, or bad mom. But one thing I know for sure is, she loved you. As much as a drug addict can love, she loved you.”
I finally break down and feel Aunt Midge’s arms wrap around me, drawing me into a hug. “I said horrible things to her. And now she’ll never know how sorry I am.”
“She knows, baby. She knows.”
Chapter 56
Lucian
I swirl my drink in the glass, staring at the empty bed on camera. Teeth grinding in my skull, I recall her last words before she left. Let me go. They echo the night Amelia dangled from my arm, trying to pry my fingers loose.
I chuck the glass across the room, and it shatters against the wall. “Fuck!”
What the hell was I thinking, getting involved with this girl? I knew the consequences of falling for an unbridled thing like Isa. A young, sassy, package of poke-my-eyeballs-out-with-a-chopstick kind of girl. Like trying to contain a hurricane inside of a test tube. She’s whipping winds and half-torn rooftops, treacherous waves and dangerous undertows, and I can’t fucking get enough of her, for some reason. I don’t know if I’m a weatherman at heart, or a bona fide masochist who loves the torment.
The elevator dings, and Rand steps out, staring down at the broken pieces of glass as he skirts around them on his way to my desk. He lays the bracelet I gave Isa across the desktop, and my hand balls into a fist at the sight of it.
“I’ve gotten word that another dead body was found this morning,” he says, taking a step back and crossing his hands in front of him. “Another drug overdose, it seems.”
“And why do I care?”
“It was the body of Jenny Quinn. Isa’s mother.”
Easing back into my chair, I stroke my jaw in thought. “She never said anything when she left.”
“No, I suppose she wouldn’t.”
“Any connection to Nell? Any similarities?”
“Just that a needle was found lodged into her arm. Heroin is suspected with her, as well. Though, as I understand, Isa’s mother has been an addict for quite some time. I suppose there wouldn’t be anything unusual about that.”
“Any word on Isa? How she’s doing?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid.”
I push to my feet and tuck my cellphone into my pocket.
“Master … perhaps a couple days might be in order. To let her mourn, and all that.”
I’ve made a point of ignoring Rand’s advice over the last couple of years, since my father’s passing, finding his council mostly useless, but perhaps he’s right on this one. Maybe she needs time. “I’d like to attend the funeral. As soon as it’s known, make me aware of the date and time.”
“Absolutely.”
“And, Rand, what are your thoughts about this? Coincidence?”
“It’s hard to say. I don’t see any reason someone would go after Isa.”
“Unless that someone knew what she meant to me.”
“True, but the only one who might have motive is Stefano Scarpinato, and he seemed relatively appeased by your offer, when we met.”
It so happens, Rand isn’t privy to the meeting I had with Friedrich. I haven’t dismissed the possibility that the cocksucker is testing me, and if that’s the case, he’ll have more than a lack of funding to make his asshole pucker.
“Makaio tells me her attackers in the park were the two who gave her trouble a few months back at that party. I want to keep an eye on her.”
“I’ll dispatch Makaio at once.”
“No. She snuck away that night to avoid Makaio. I don’t need her running off, the moment she catches sight of him. And let’s face it, Makaio blends in like a clown at a funeral.”
“Should I look into hiring someone?”
Twiddling my thumbs, I chew the inside of my lip in thought. “Yes. I think it’s time we have a chat with our private investigator friend.”
“Mr. Goodman? I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Master.”
“Neither was killing Franco, but I did it, anyway.”
Chapter 57
Isadora
I hate funerals. If I was a grief eater, I could feast all day on the sadness and misery that comes with being forced to stare at a casket. Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we prolong the anguish by shoving our faces in it for a full day?
Is it supposed to make it easier? Do we reach a point where we’re so sick of staring back at a lifeless body that we accept death?
My mother lies in a casket, surrounded in white silk and flowers. Four-dozen roses sit in pots on the floor around her, which I’m guessing came from Lucian, though the attached card was signed A Friend. Her long red hair has been curled, the tracks on her arms covered in thick makeup. That’s the other thing about funerals: they lie. If they were about truth, my mother would lying in a cardboard box, her hair half-cocked in a greasy ponytail, with a bunch of used needles around her.
Aunt Midge opted fo
r an emerald dress that makes her look like the doll encased in Laura’s collection.
Something that isn’t real.
Her complexion, glowing and perfect, as if the drugs never even touched her blood. The pictures Aunt Midge gathered lie about her body, and I focus on the one of her and me, as the pastor rattles off some scripture I couldn’t begin to understand.
I opted not to give a eulogy, and instead wrote a letter for my mother, to be burned with her ashes. Speaking in crowds was never my thing to begin with, but being asked to share thoughts and feelings about a mother I spent most of my life despising isn’t something I care to eulogize, at all.
Only a handful of people show up, mostly the guys from the bar where Aunt Midge works, who came out to support her. Taking my hand in hers, Aunt Midge sobs into a tissue, as we watch the others pay their final respects. The woman must be an endless reservoir of tears. At some point, it has to dry out, and perhaps that’s where I’m at. It must look strange that I’m the only one at the funeral whose eyes are dry as a bone.
I need air.
Desperately.
This place is suffocating.
Smothering me.
Aunt Midge gives a squeeze of my hand, sending another round of panic shooting into my chest. An oncoming anxiety attack, I bet. I suffered them frequently after the attack of Aedon and Brady, and the tightness in my chest, the spinning of the room, serve as warning signs of another episode.
Mac stumbles over to the two of us, undoubtedly drunk, and plants a kiss on the top of my forehead. As he wraps Aunt Midge in a whiskey-scented hug, I set my palm on hers.
“I’m going to get some fresh air.”
“Okay, sweetheart,” she says, her voice muffled by Mac’s embrace.
How she can stand it right now, I don’t know. I’ll probably hyperventilate if someone tries to hug me, which is a good reason to walk away. This is when the hugs begin. When the sorry’s and memories and regrets pour out of everyone like a river of sorrows.