by JA Huss
The man dropped the scalpel and I wiggled away. Not far enough away. No. That’s not what happened.
Because he had a knife too. Not as sharp and precise as a scalpel, but sharp enough to make the next three cuts in my flesh as I fought him off.
The wound in my shoulder was deep. Someone in his organization had to stitch the muscle back together before they even thought about repairing the outer layer of skin.
The slices down my ribs were just a graze. Just enough to leave pink marks on my pale body for six months.
“And here,” Oliver continues, bending down in the shower to take his kisses to my hip.
That cut scraped bone. It lingered and got infected too many times to count. It was bright red for years. Only in the last six months has it even started to fade.
Oliver covered my scars with his poetic words the night I left Fort Collins. He inked them on my skin. Carved his reassurances into me.
I will kiss you here.
And here.
And here.
And here.
You express me better than I express myself.
You shall be more to me than my poem.
Poems were always Oliver’s thing. He wrote poems for me, but he only wrote them on me. On my naked body after sex. In pen, or marker, even paint one time.
We would fuck, and he would write, and sometime I’d just sit there and enjoy how slow and silent the world became when we were together. Sometimes I would read out loud to him as he composed. Dirty stories I would snatch up for pennies in used bookstores. Victorian-era erotica filled with masters, and spankings, and sex.
I don’t know how something so fucked up could be made into something so beautiful.
But he did that.
Oliver did that for me.
After the shower we go to bed. Spent, happy, satisfied.
But I am so restless, I can’t sleep. So I just lie there, wrapped up in his arms. Barely able to understand how I got here.
I’m awake when his phone buzzes in the pocket of his jeans on the floor.
I’m awake when he turns on the TV to watch a cable news update about his friend, Nolan, in California.
I’m awake when he whispers, “I’ll go get him,” into the phone, and then ends the call.
I watch him through nearly closed eyelids as he dresses. Then kiss him back when his lips press to mine in goodbye.
“Stay here, Kat. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
But as soon as he leaves I get up and find my clothes downstairs. Because it’s starting now. This really is the beginning.
When I get home I go right to the drawer with the disposable phone in it. My fingers press the keys on the keypad, typing out the message I had memorized weeks ago.
I set the phone down on the coffee table and wait. Staring at it as my heart races with uncertainty.
It takes seven minutes and twenty-one seconds for it to ring.
I tab the call button and press it to my ear. “Yes,” I say.
“Good job,” he says. “I will assume you were busy working and forgive you for not answering my earlier calls. But if you don’t pick up next time you know what will happen. Phase two starts now.”
As soon as the disposable phone call ends, my real phone buzzes in my pocket. “Hello?” I ask, after tabbing the accept button.
“Hey,” Lily says. “I was just walking over to the Fort Collins Theater for coffee and saw your lights were on. Do you wanna meet me down there?”
I hesitate.
“Unless you’re busy?” she adds.
We don’t usually meet up this early in the day. It’s barely six AM. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“I have an early class, remember? That stupid photography one that I took to get my art requirement over with.”
“How dare you,” I huff.
“Well, any class that is two hours long and starts at seven in the morning can kiss my ass.”
“Lily,” I say, chastising her language.
“Sorry. But I’m a grown-up now. You might as well get used to the fact that I’m not as innocent as you think. I say fuck too.”
I tsk my tongue at her. “And studio classes are the best.”
“Maybe for an art fart like you,” she laughs. “But I’m pre-med, sis. I have no use for a two-hour photography class. They tell us we’ll be well-rounded. But all I really need to know about photography is that my phone has filters on it that makes me look good. Do you want to come for coffee or not?”
“Yes,” I say. “Let me throw some clothes on and I’ll be right down. Get me a latte and a muffin.”
I end the call and go look at myself in the mirror. I don’t have time for a shower, but I splash some water on my face and pull my hair back into a ponytail before changing out of yesterday’s clothes.
I arrive at the FoCo Theater seven minutes later, looking around wildly for any of Oliver’s relatives. But now that I have actually made contact, I’m not as nervous as I was about being in here.
“Katya!” Lily calls from a corner table. The place is already packed with students and Lily is sitting with a whole group of them.
“Hey,” I say cautiously when I approach the table. I don’t want to have coffee with her friends. “I see you don’t really need my company this morning.”
“Oh, just sit, you antisocial freak.” Lily hands me my latte. The warm cup feels good on my chilled fingertips. “This is Lauren, Kelly, Michelle, and Angie. They’re all part of the Antimony Association.”
I narrow my eyes before I can stop my reaction. “Hmm,” I say, recovering. “I’ve never heard of that society. What do you girls do in your little club?”
“We’re not a society, Miss Kalashova,” Lauren says. “We’re just a science group who have a scholarship event every spring. Lily here has signed up to compete. We’re all about helping people find a way to realize their dreams. And by the way, I love your last name. It’s so… Cold War, right, girls?”
They have a good giggle at my expense. I look at Lily. She smiles and pretends that didn’t just happen. “Kat,” she says, “if you participate every year you’re eligible for the grad school free-ride scholarship when you’re a senior. I’m totally winning that prize to pay for med school.”
“Mmmmhmmm,” I say, taking a sip of my latte. “So are you girls… local?” I try not to seem suspicious but I’m not sure I pull it off.
“Yeah,” Lauren says, who seems to be the leader of the little clique. The others just giggle and smile. “My dad is a rancher over on the Western Slope. Michelle’s mother owns seventeen doggie daycares that got their start in Aspen.”
“I’m the token snob.” Michelle laughs. “What can I say?”
“And Kelly and Angie are first-generation college students who grew up in North Denver.”
“We’re the token thugs,” Angie says. Kelly laughs with her. I force a smile.
“Well, science nerds. The whole lot of you,” I say. “I’m afraid I’m an art nerd from way back. But it’s been nice to chat with you.” I look at Lily and nod my head. “Walk me out, sis.”
The girls all call out a goodbye and Lily whispers something about being right back as she follows me out to the street.
“What did I tell you?” I ask, never breaking my fake smile.
“It’s not a sorority. And God, I don’t see the big deal anyway. They’re a bunch of middle-class do-gooders, Kat. Don’t start with me. You know I have a hard time making friends. And it doesn’t help that you forced me to go to this stupid state school. All my friends from Parson went to Ivy League schools. I could be at Cornell right now.”
“We can’t afford Cornell, Lily,” I say in my most tolerant voice. “That scholarship wasn’t enough to pay for the dorms, let alone the education. Twenty-five thousand I can swing on my own. Expecting me to find an extra sixty grand every year is just delusional.”
“You don’t need to do it on your own,” she says.
My back stiffens. How dare she. Aft
er all the things I’ve done for her over the years.
Be calm, Kat. Just be cool. “We’ve had this discussion a thousand times in the last four years,” I say with a fake, pleasant voice. “I’m not taking that money to pay for you. I pay for you, Lily. Me. No one else. You will never be in debt the way I was. And I’m pretty ticked off that you even brought it up.”
“I get it,” she snaps. “But just because Mom and Dad were mixed up with some bad people and you’re paranoid about me running with the wrong crowd doesn’t mean I can’t have friends in school. I’m tired of this bullshit.”
“Language, Lily. I’m warning you.”
“I’m warning you. Stop mothering me. I’m not your child, OK? I’m your sister. The Antimony Association is a bunch of nerdy wannabes. And maybe they’re not my first choice as far as social groups go, but I don’t have a lot of options since I’m stuck here in Colorado going to a school nobody cares about.”
I’m about to explain that antimony is a silver metallic metal, but then she’d just say, So what? And I can’t get into the whole silver connection with her. So I don’t bother. These girls really are nobodies anyway. Rancher’s daughter? Doggie daycare empire? First-generation scholarship students? I mean, please. They aren’t even close to being top-tier Ivy League recruits. The Silver Society wouldn’t give them the time of day, let alone build a chapter around them. In fact, they are probably the perfect group of friends for my baby sister. Rational middle-class people.
I sigh and give in. “OK. You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made a big deal about it.”
But Lily’s angry face doesn’t dissipate. She crosses her arms and stands her ground.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “Really. They’re harmless. Nerds.” I offer a smile as my olive branch.
“They’re nice,” she insists. “And I want that scholarship. Lauren is the head of the club and she likes me. Michelle is going to take over when Lauren leaves next year, so I need to be friends with her too because I’m going to be competing with Kelly for the senior scholarships. We’re both freshman.”
“I said OK.” Now she’s got me on the defensive and I don’t like it. “I’m sure they’re all very nice girls. Maybe you can… bring them over for lunch one day? Hmm? My treat?”
Lily considers if she should relent and forgive me or dig in her heels. But we’re not fighting sisters. We’ve always been close. So she smiles and says, “That would be great. I’m sure they’d love to meet you for real. I mean, you’re kinda famous, right?”
“No,” I say, laughing. “No. Do not tell them what I do, Lily. You will ruin your chances at that scholarship for sure.”
“What?” she asks innocently. “You’re just an eccentric photographer.”
I laugh again. “Right. Stick to the story and you’re fine.”
“Thanks,” Lily says, leaning up to kiss my cheek. “I’ll call you later. I gotta get back. We were having a riveting conversation about proton pumps and ion channels.”
“Riveting,” I say. She smiles one more time, then turns away and disappears into the crowd of people lining up inside to get coffee.
Chapter Seventeen - OLIVER
It’s still dark out when I leave the garage and start heading south towards the airport to pick up Nolan and Ivy. Apparently Mac was right earlier at dinner. The media put two and two together and came up with five guilty Misters.
I find this whole thing suspicious for many reasons. One, why now? The news of Claudette’s death two weeks ago was never secret. Nolan’s name was already on the news. Hell, I think they even got a soundbite of Ivy snapping at some cop for asking about devil worship.
Devil worship? Do people still call it that?
Second, where did they get the evidence that Allen/Brutus was even connected to Claudette? We didn’t know that. So how did the media find out? In an era where people see everything and no one looks too close, you’re telling me some journalist got a bug up her ass to go sifting through info—non-existent data as far as I’m concerned—and then felt this was a good story right now? Really? Us? Does this country still hate us so much?
There are only a few cars on the road right now. It’s four forty-eight AM, so the other cars around me are probably people who commute to Denver and are trying to miss the traffic. I enter the freeway and join them, heading towards Denver International Airport.
Apparently Nolan and Ivy got to Colorado about an hour ago. The local Fort Collins airport has a noise abatement rule from dusk to dawn, so the jet had to land at DIA.
An hour later I pull into the parking garage on the arrivals level where Ivy and Nolan are sitting on a bench, both wearing sunglasses, looking like a couple of movie stars trying to be inconspicuous. They don’t scream California. Not at all.
As soon as Nolan sees my nineteen sixty-nine black and blue Camaro he jumps up and heads in my direction, dragging two suitcases behind him.
I put the car in park, then pop the trunk and get out.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Shrike. You can’t drive a real car to come pick us up? What is this? Two spare tires in the trunk?”
I scratch my chin. “Yeah,” I say. “I could’ve planned that better. We’ll just throw one suitcase in there and the rest in the back seat. Ivy can sit up front with me.” I wink at her.
She gives me a tired smile as she manages their two carry-on bags. She’s only a few months pregnant. Not even showing yet. But Belle and Jasmine have five kids between them. I know if she looks that tired, she feels a thousand times worse. All she wants is a bed right now.
Nolan helps her into the car while I deal with the luggage and then I hold the driver’s seat forward for him so he can squeeze into the tiny back seat.
I get in and check his mood in my rear-view mirror. Nope. He’s pissed. “If you had waited a couple more hours you could’ve landed the jet in Fort Collins,” I say.
“If we had waited a couple more hours,” Ivy says, her head leaning against the window and her eyes closed, “we might be under arrest right now.”
“Yeah? What the fuck happened?”
“You didn’t catch the news?” Nolan asks, grabbing on to the seats so he can lean his head into the front with us.
“Not really. I turned it on for a second before I left. But I was busy last night.”
“Well, let me fill you in,” Nolan says. “The media somehow figured out that Claudette was the long-time girlfriend of Allen.”
“The rock star,” Ivy clarifies, like I need help keeping up.
“When did that happen?” I ask Nolan. “I mean, did you know she was dating that asshole?”
“What do you think?” Nolan snaps. He’s not the most pleasant guy when he’s irritable. But then again, neither am I. Actually, now that I think about it, none of us are. Mac is pretty even-tempered. But the rest of us? All assholes.
“Anyway.” Ivy picks up the story with a long sigh. “We came out of the cabanas for a nice dinner at the restaurant yesterday evening, expecting to have a quiet date night after all that bullshit that came with cleaning up the fire, and there were hundreds of people in the lobby. I swear, Oliver, they were like cockroaches. They swarmed us.”
“They knocked her down,” Nolan says through a clenched jaw.
“Fuck,” I say.
“Naturally Nolan dealt with that the way most men would,” Ivy adds.
“I punched that cameraman in the face,” Nolan says, smiling.
Ivy throws up her hands. “And voilà, we have cops at the resort. They almost arrested him right then and there.”
“Just so happens,” Nolan continues, “I was meeting with my lawyers earlier in the day about my dad’s assets. It turns out Claudette had filed some motion contesting the will. But now that she’s dead—”
“Long story short,” Ivy interrupts, “he didn’t go to jail. But we figured we should get the fuck outta Dodge while our luck holds.”
Fucking Ivy. Get the fuck outta Dodge. I kinda like her.
>
“Hmm,” I say, thinking all this through the way I probably should’ve last night.
“Right,” Ivy and Nolan say together.
“So… this Silver Society thing,” I say. “We can safely assume Allen-slash-Brutus is part of it?”
“Not only that,” Ivy says. “I talked to my parents. Didn’t tell them any real details, you know. But just kinda quizzed them about Boring Richard and what he was up to before he… um, died.” She shoots me a nervous glance. I didn’t kill Boring Richard. Nolan did. I only killed Claudette’s driver. So I give her a nod to keep going. “And they said he was dating a tall blonde woman too.”
“I thought you guys told us he was dating an equally boring girl from college?”
“That’s what I thought,” Ivy says. “But not true. I think he was dating Claudette.”
“How does a cunt like Claudette get two boyfriends? What do you think, Nolan?”
He huffs out a breath. “Impossible to know, now. But it’s a good theory. Who knows the depths of her secret life?”
“Maybe your mom?” I ask, just trying to be helpful.
“That’s what I said!” Ivy exclaims. “I figure your mother knows a whole lot more than she ever told you. We need to have a talk with her.”
“No,” Nolan says. “I’m not dragging her into it.”
“She’s already in it, Nolan,” Ivy says.
I get the feeling they’ve been having this same fight on repeat for a while now.
“And your mother too,” Ivy says.
“Mine?” I say, looking over at her for a second.
“She has to know more than she’s told you and Ariel. In fact, Ariel is sure of it. We’re just trying to figure out the best way to approach everyone. But once we do, we know—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say. “My parents aren’t getting dragged into this. Fuck that.” I cannot even imagine bringing this shit up to them. Not after everything that happened with Rory.
“My mom’s out too.” Nolan sits back, collapsing into the middle hump seat in back, sandwiched between the suitcase and the carry-ons. “And Mac has no parents,” Nolan says.