Beautiful Disaster

by Laura Spinella

  “The nightmares,” Mia said, realizing that like death, murder and jail weren’t the worst things he might endure. “What are . . . will you tell me what they’re about?” she asked, suddenly curious for the details.

  “I can, but I’ll tell you right now, any faith, any belief you have left in me is about to hit ground zero.”

  “Try me.” She snickered. “How much worse could it possibly get?”

  He shrugged, the eerily calm gesture sending a shiver up Mia’s spine. “It’s one nightmare, always the same. It starts . . . it starts in reality, exactly the way things went down—like a late-night rerun, the kind of thing where you know every line. Except . . . except when I rush into my barrack things begin to change, colors, smells—actions.”

  “How so?” she asked, watching his face turn wary and pale.

  “I’m . . . I’m the son of a bitch killing her.”

  “You?” Mia questioned, wondering how fine the line was between his dream and reality.

  Flynn’s eyes closed, and he turned his head away. “It isn’t Ruiz and Jensen who kill Alena. It’s me—crystal clear,” he said, opening his eyes. “Just like the way you’re standing here in front of me. I’ve been trapped in that night terror so many times I can tell you how many flies are in the room, when they start to land in the splattered blood. After a few moments, Ruiz and Jensen, they’re not even in the barrack—or the dream. I can hear Alena’s thick accent, just as you hear your own voice. She always called me Peyton. I hear her asking me why—that she thought I loved her. But I can’t stop, I don’t. Then the panic starts—a dream or reality, I can’t tell which is which anymore. The details, they’re so vivid. I can hear her bones break; I know the pain she’s in—because of me. It’s my fault that this is happening to her. I want to get away from it and I just can’t. I’m destined to stay there and watch her die all over again.” It came out of his mouth in a blind ramble, and he didn’t look at Mia until he stopped speaking. “I’m . . . I’m sorry. That was more than I meant to say. Are you . . . You look like you’re going to be sick.”

  Mia’s hands were clamped over her mouth, struggling to control the impending gag. She gathered just enough composure to ask, “The night you ended up in the field, you had this dream? You were afraid you’d mistake me for her.” He nodded, a hard gulp passing by his throat. “My God, Flynn, you could have killed me!”

  “Don’t you think I know that! Why the fuck do you think you found me naked in a field? Since that night, every time we’ve been together, I’ve watched the sun rise over you. I’d never let that happen.” He looked as if he wanted to gather her in his arms, wisely choosing not to. “I swear, Mia—you have to believe me. It’s the truth.”

  Her gaze moved in circles around him, and she finally turned her body away. How much trust could you have in one man? One with half a name who’d just explained his sketchy past by way of murder—or some degree thereof, depending on which parts you chose to believe. Mia’s hands wrenched through her hair, clasping tight to her head, squeezing. She wasn’t good at making judgment calls, deciding between right and wrong. That was her father’s job, not hers. And this wasn’t a problem, it was an incomprehensible disaster. It was her whole life and it had just tumbled into some unforeseen black hole.

  Mia turned, startled to find him so close. She backed away, seeing for the first time a different man. She needed to think—and damn, she couldn’t think with him standing there looking so lost. With little else to go on, Mia relied on the same instinct she’d used that night in the field. “I want you to go.” Flynn didn’t argue. He’d meant what he said earlier, before he set fire to the fabric of what bound them. He’d applaud her for making a smart decision. As he gathered his belongings, Mia asked, “How will you get back?”

  “Get back? I don’t under—”

  “I drove. How are you going to get back to Athens? It’s two hours from here.”

  His eyes squeezed shut tight as he shook his head. The simplicity of the question seemed to confuse him. “I’m a wanted fugitive, Mia. Transportation issues aren’t really a survival skill I worry about. And neither should you. I’ll manage.”

  He would manage and she knew it. She also knew if he left like this she’d never see him again. He probably wouldn’t even go back to Athens. There would be no way to find him. The power he had to do just that made her angry. But maybe that’s the right decision; maybe I should just let him go. “Do one thing for me.” The thought hurried out before caution and reason interfered.

  “Anything.”

  “Keep your promise. Don’t just vanish, not until I see you again. I need time to sort this out.”

  “After what I just told you? You would expect me to keep my word?”

  “I’m going on the notion that you’ve never lied to me. Work with me.”

  “Why? What possible difference could it make? You think you can come to terms with this? Trust me, you’re only going to get angrier. After everything, if you hate me . . . I can take a lot, Mia, but I don’t think I could face that.” He turned away, heading for the door, hesitating. “All right, if that’s what you want. I’ll stay until I hear from you.”

  “Flynn?”

  “What?” His back was to her, the door already open.

  She swore she heard his voice tremble. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

  His head bobbed forward, shoulders slumping as if she’d hit him in the back of the head with a brick. “Yeah, it will make it that much harder, won’t it?” The door closed and he was gone.

  “Harder for who?” she whispered. They weren’t the words she was looking for. She should have known better. He didn’t want to give her anything to hope for, anything to sway the argument in his favor. The room went ridiculously silent. Mia never felt so alone or abandoned. A blind sense of survival dumped her on the edge of the bed before she fell to the floor. As if it belonged to someone else, Mia watched her own hand dip into the overnight bag. In the bottom was his T-shirt. She didn’t even know why she’d packed it, like he wasn’t going to be wearing one just like it? She held it up to her face, blotting tears, filling her lungs with its musky scent. It was strange comfort, a placebo for the real drug that had suddenly vanished. Everything he’d told her, it was like little knives jabbing at her heart. Was he at all responsible for Alena’s death? Was he lying about his involvement? Maybe Flynn only convinced himself that he wasn’t in the barrack when Jensen and Ruiz . . . killed her. Perhaps the subconscious made those kinds of accommodations too. Was there justification for any of it? It was a world and a code about which Mia had no understanding. Had they exchanged the lives of three good men for a woman who had betrayed Flynn? Who decides stuff like that? Mia wondered. Flynn was a fugitive, a wanted murderer in the eyes of the law, and the only thing that kept rebounding in Mia’s brain was how much she wanted him back.

  “What am I doing?” she snapped, throwing the shirt aside. “I have to be rational, reasonable. I need to understand this, see it for what it is. I need to think like Roxanne.” This time there was no edge to catch her as she fell.

  A crazy, outside-the-lines accusation barreled onto center stage. Possibility replaced absurdity. The words dropped from her mouth. “Oh, God, he couldn’t have. Couldn’t have killed those girls, the murdered coeds. It’s insane.” But only a few hours ago she never would have guessed the madness he confessed. Was it that much of a stretch? Mia had witnessed one nightmare. It was real, the violence palpable. She saw what he’d done to those college boys without breaking a sweat. How much of a chance would one woman have against him? He could have met up with each of those girls, had sex with them, fallen asleep, and . . . Look how close it had come to happening to her. He admitted it.

  Peyton Flynn McDermott, not just tangled in the death of one woman, but—as Roxanne pointed out—possibly responsible for the murder of six others. Mia buried her face in the pillow, screaming. Tears were no longer a fitting emotional avenue for the man she loved and t
he serial killer he might very well be.

  The summer semester ended. For a few weeks Athens would be a ghost town. Usually a place naturally jammed with life, it was always unsettling this time of year. The sweltering August heat churned around the city like a pig on a spit. It was relentless and disconcerting. Even Roxanne packed up and went home for a few weeks. She’d been asked to crown this year’s Watermelon Festival queen, and had invited Mia to tag along. They’d spend most of their time in Juliette, where Roxanne’s family lived, take a day trip to Atlanta and visit Rory. Mia politely declined. That kind of trip would only remind her just how right Roxanne was about how wrong life could go. She stayed in Athens—alone. Flynn didn’t call or try to see her. Mia didn’t expect that he would. Instead she waited, thinking that at any moment an epiphany would strike, supplying her with the answers she needed.

  Ten days had passed and Mia finally gathered the courage to call Flynn, indirectly. She dialed the bike shop, never worrying that he wouldn’t be there—that he wouldn’t keep his promise to stay. She left a message with the owner, asking Flynn to meet her downtown. He didn’t call to say he’d be there. Yet a solid half hour before she’d asked him to come she sat at a corner table in an overly cheerful café. The bright blue place mats and sunny yellow walls made her want to retch. How could anything be so happy when the future was so dismal? But she’d chosen the public setting for a reason. Isn’t that what they say you should do when meeting someone who has questionable motives? At the time she thought she was being savvy. Now it just felt absurd. She still wasn’t afraid of him. Her appearance certainly wasn’t any indication of a woman gripped with anxiety over meeting an unscrupulous killer. Shopping had been the only vice that offered a mild distraction. She bought new jeans (a skirt was totally out of the question) matched with a delicate linen blouse in pale pink. When Mia slipped it on she realized it was a color Flynn had complimented her on more than once. She’d cut several inches off her hair; it would be nearly the same length as his. The thought had caused her to smile idiotically into the salon mirror. Now, she tried to readjust her datelike attitude. There should be no anticipation, no fluttery nerves. She had questions and he was damn well going to answer them. And then, well, she’d see.

  She sipped an iced tea, running her fingers over the pearls of water that dripped along the outside of the glass. Even air-conditioning couldn’t completely fight off the heat. A group of four uncomfortable-looking suited men came in and were seated at the table next to her. One was wearing a hat, tipping it as he politely acknowledged her. “Miss.” She smiled back. There was an aura of safety to their presence, something from her past that she recognized. They all ordered ice water and chatted on about the heat, just like everyone else. Mia glanced past them, out the window. He should be there any minute. If he was coming. The conversation next to her drifted on, from what they might have for lunch to their business at hand. She couldn’t help but overhear.

  “So what else did your buddy in Birmingham have to say?”

  “Not much. They’ve eliminated all the local suspects. The guy’s got to be a drifter. Stands to reason it’s connected to the other five. Psych profile says he may be mirroring some kind of personal trauma. He’s slick—in and out like a ghost. But he finally slipped up. They did get some blood evidence off the ’Bama girl. She put up a good fight.”

  “Well, I don’t know about places like Birmingham or Austin, but if that ghost decides to rattle his chain here, he’s gonna have a real Southern welcome from the Georgia contingency.” The burliest member of the group pushed back his jacket, patting a holster.

  Mia’s eyes went saucer wide. The detective saw the shock on her face. Caught in his macho display, he quickly tucked his jacket into place and changed the subject. At that exact moment Flynn came through the door and she forced silent a gasp. Mia looked at the posse of detectives and back at Flynn.

  One of them mumbled, “Damn, I left my wallet in the car. I’ll be right back.”

  Mia bolted out of her seat before he was upright, racing toward Flynn who she shoved into the café’s outer vestibule. “Kiss me!” she demanded in a panicked whisper.

  Flynn blinked at her in amazement, having tried out a thousand different scenarios as to what her first words might be. This had not occurred to him. “What?”

  “Just do it.”

  He shrugged, following the order. His lips fell into hers with all the gusto ten days of pent-up passion could unleash in one kiss. Mia grabbed his shoulders, shoving him against the wall, covering him with as much of her body as possible.

  Footsteps shuffled by and he heard a faint “Excuse me.”

  Opening an eye, Flynn sneaked a peek at the man who passed by. He thought about pulling away, apologizing. But hell, she was kissing him and damn hard. Mia had him pinned so tightly in the corner there was nothing to do but give in. His hands, which had been glued to his sides, came up around her, a needy groan vibrating from his throat. He pulled her body into him, wondering if they were making up or just making out. Flynn’s hands began wandering to places unsuitable for public display. She didn’t seem to mind, lost in the kiss. He wrenched his head back into the few inches of space behind him. His eyes were still closed tight. For once he didn’t want to wake up. “Damn. This is a dream, right?”

  Mia finally let go, her eyes flicking toward the door. “No, but it could be a brand-new nightmare for you. Let’s get out of here.” She grabbed him by the hand, pulling him through the exit. “I walked. Where’s your bike?”

  “Why, where am I going? What’s going on?”

  “Not now. Where is it? Don’t talk, don’t look at anybody!” With one giant step he was in front of her, lightly grasping her by the shoulders. Sweltering rays of sun left drops of perspiration on her brow. She pushed right past him, dragging him along. “I have to get you out of here!” Moments later they were on his bike, riding toward her apartment. “Don’t go too fast,” she warned at the traffic light.

  “I’m not even doing the speed limit. What is with you?” She didn’t answer, her arms grabbing tighter around his waist, her face buried in his back. Her heart was pounding against him in a panic that he could feel through to his chest. In the parking lot of the apartment complex, Mia jerked him away from the bike. He couldn’t move fast enough for her. She wrenched off his helmet while he calmly removed his sunglasses. There was an exasperated gasp as the ground seemed to shift from under her feet. One hand went to her forehead; the other grabbed his arm to steady herself.

  “That’s enough!” he shouted, scooping her into his arms as the sweat ran down her flushed face. “Are you going to pass out from the heat or just the panic attack? What the hell is going on? I want an answer.”

  “Not here. Inside. We have to go inside.” She kicked her legs furiously, her eyes pleading with him to move. “There were some men in the restaurant . . .”

  His head went back and he rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me they were hitting on you.”

  “What?” She shook her head sharply. “No, I’m wearing jeans.” He had to laugh a little. “Flynn, they were detectives.”

  “So?” he replied, shrugging his shoulders. Cops were a perpetual hazard of life on the run. They didn’t even make him flinch anymore.

  “So . . .” She wiggled more, attempting to get down, but he wasn’t letting go. “Look, I can’t just blurt this out in the middle of a parking lot, particularly when you’re holding me like this. It is a little undignified. Can we just go inside?”

  “Hmm, I was kind of enjoying it.” He caught her somber if not woozy expression. “Yeah, I guess we better. Can you make it if I put you down?”

  “Of course. I can walk.”

  “Never mind,” he said. “It might be my only chance to do this.”

  Chapter 20

  Safely inside the apartment Flynn gently deposited her on the sofa, telling her not to move, getting her a glass of water from the kitchen. “Okay, so they were detectives. And I’m guessing t
hat the panic attack I just witnessed was because you were afraid they’d been flipping through their most-wanted snapshots this morning. If they saw me I’d be back in a cell in time for dinner?”

  “Mmm, something like that,” she murmured, sipping the icy water.

  “And you don’t think that’s where I belong?” Every thought, every breath he’d taken in the last ten days hinged on that question.

  Mia tipped her head back, glancing up at the ceiling. “Do epiphanies make any sound when they fall?” She frowned a little, her hand reaching to the soft beard and the blue eyes, apprehensive but focused. Mia ran her fingers over his lips and the sharp line of his cheekbones. “You suddenly look nervous. How come?”

  “I don’t know. Kinda feels like the day they sentenced me, only worse.”

  “It’s not about getting caught or going back to prison, is it? You’re afraid of what I’m going to say, aren’t you?” The momentary pause was more than he could stand. “To admit that you don’t belong in prison means I believe everything you told me. It’s a lot to ask, Flynn.”

  “You won’t get an argument from me.”

  “I’ve thought about nothing else for the last ten days. I’ve even considered the evidence, if someone like my father would believe your story.” She paused, her gaze shifting away. “I don’t know that he would.”

  “Smart man,” Flynn murmured.

  “Still, I can’t come up with a reason why you’d tell me any of it, unless you were telling me the truth. Why risk it? Why not just disappear the way you showed up? Since I left that hotel room, I could have called the police a hundred times. And, really, there’s nothing keeping you here.”