Liar

by Francine Pascal

  That left Gaia.

  Right. After tonight Gaia probably wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him, either. Of course she wouldn’t. He’d left her in the park—where she’d been attacked—then dumped her unceremoniously on her front stoop after she’d keeled over. A hell of a dinner, wasn’t it?

  His eyes flashed to the phone. Maybe he should just call her. Maybe she had been the one who was calling and calling all night. It was possible, wasn’t it? Yeah, right. It was also possible that the queen of England was calling, too. He knew damn well who it had been. The psycho. The foster mom. He couldn’t bring himself even to think her name. And if he called that house, chances were very good that she would answer the phone.

  So. Once again he found himself back where he started. Ground zero. Having confessed nothing. In the same state of panic. At this rate he was going to have an ulcer before he turned twenty-one. For all he knew, Ella had already told Gaia everything. Maybe she’d found Heather and told her, too. Anything could happen.

  But that wasn’t what terrified him the most.

  No … what terrified him the most was that a part of him—a subconscious part, buried deep within the darkest reaches of his psyhe—might want that to happen. A part of him might secretly long for Ella to tell Gaia the truth. Because in a way, that would let Sam off the hook. And wasn’t that what every coward wanted? Why else had he rushed Gaia back to her house tonight before she even woke up? He didn’t want to deal with the truth. The truth was far too ugly.

  And tomorrow he’d start over. Once again he’d go back to Gaia’s house and keep a vigil outside her door until he caught her alone. Because there was always a chance that he’d miss her, or almost be hit by a car, or Gaia would be attacked … or some extraordinary set of circumstances would let him off the hook one more time.

  After all, that subconscious strategy had worked pretty well so far.

  Bravo!

  ELLA’S CALL DIDN’T COME UNTIL almost five o’clock in the morning. Not that this was any surprise. Nothing about the evening had been a surprise. In a way, that was what had been most disheartening about the entire exercise: its utter predictability.

  “Yes?” Loki answered languidly, staring out his window at the twinkling lights of Manhattan. Soon the sun would be coming up. He sighed. Another sleepless night. He hated trying to get to sleep at dawn. It was almost always impossible.

  “Nothing to report,” Ella stated. “I followed her to the park. She returned home afterward. She’s in bed now—”

  “You’re lying,” Loki interrupted. His tone betrayed his exhaustion, but little else. The simple fact of the matter was that he simply didn’t care enough to feel anything toward this woman anymore.

  “No, I’m not,” Ella retorted. She actually had the audacity to sound indignant. He had to hand it to her: Ella was always sure of herself, of her own clear conscience. Even in the face of what she had done. Even in the face of the test she had so miserably failed. “I just went up to her room. She’s there. In bed.”

  Loki snorted. “Interesting. So you’re calling me from the house?”

  “Of course not. I’m on the corner of Perry and Bleecker—”

  “That’s enough.” Loki groaned. “So your report is that you followed Gaia to the park, then home. You don’t want to add anything?”

  After a brief pause Ella cleared her throat. “I … I went out for a while afterward. For a few drinks. That’s why I’m calling so late.”

  “With George?” Loki asked, even though he knew full well that she hadn’t seen her husband since six o’clock.

  “Yes,” Ella answered. “You’re the one who’s always telling me to spend more time with him. I figured a night on the town would do us some good.”

  Loki laughed. He almost felt like applauding. Bravo! He was beginning to remember why he’d hired Ella in the first place. In addition to being supremely confident, she was also an excellent actress. The two qualities went hand in hand. Outwardly, she still had the makings of a good agent. Too bad she’d lost control.

  “What’s so funny?” Ella demanded. She sounded like a five-year-old.

  Loki sighed again. It was time to end this game. “What’s funny is that you abandoned Gaia somewhere on Broadway and spent the rest of the night hounding the occupant of an NYU dormitory. Are you having an affair with a college professor?”

  For maybe the first time since he’d known her, Ella didn’t have an answer. She was speechless. Just as he’d known she would be.

  “You don’t have to answer that question,” Loki continued. “I respect your privacy. But it might interest you to know that Gaia was attacked in the park tonight.”

  “What?” Ella gasped, unable to mask the terror in her voice.

  You’re right to be afraid, Loki thought. I gave you one final opportunity to redeem yourself, and you let me down. There are no second chances.

  “Bu-But she’s fine,” Ella stammered. “I just saw her—”

  “I know she’s fine,” Loki interrupted, smiling. “I know everything, remember?”

  Again he heard nothing. Not even a breath. But that silence betrayed a terror far greater than any words could express.

  “Ella, at its most basic level your assignment consists of only two tasks. The first is to monitor Gaia. The second is to keep her out of danger. You have repeatedly failed at both. Worse, you have repeatedly lied to me. This is no good.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her voice rose. “I won’t let it happen again. I swear to you. It’s just the pressure. Of living with George. Of everything.” The words tumbled from her mouth in a panicked rush. “And I’m not having an affair. I just—”

  “I don’t care, Ella,” he stated, cutting her off.

  “But—”

  He clicked off the phone. Once again his gaze swept over the Manhattan skyline. The situation was unfortunate. He’d invested so much energy in Ella, so much trust. And she had served him extremely well—up to a point. But he couldn’t afford the luxury of second guessing his associates. Not anymore. Time was far too short. He knew what he had to do.

  He had to take charge of monitoring Gaia himself.

  The Pressure

  TOM WATCHED SILENTLY AS ELLA RAN back down Perry Street and clattered up the stairs of her brownstone. But it wasn’t until he heard the door being bolted that he allowed the pent-up air to explode from his lungs.

  My God. He felt sick. He crouched behind a parked car, shivering uncontrollably. No wonder George was miserable. Ella clearly wanted out of their relationship. Tom had heard only a scrap of her conversation, but it was enough: “I won’t let it happen again. I swear to you. It’s just the pressure of—of everything. And I’m not having an affair …”

  A dozen questions festered in his mind as he crept back down Perry Street toward Bleecker. He knew that agency life could put a strain on marriages; divorces were common. But still, something in Ella’s voice suggested that her problems weren’t just marital. No. Something deeper was going on.

  Tom rounded the corner and headed east on Bleecker, burying his face in his jacket collar to protect it from the icy wind. He knew he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. And he shouldn’t interfere. Despite the fact that George and Ella were watching Tom’s daughter, their marriage was their business. Still, the last bit he’d heard was particularly troubling: the part where Ella claimed that she wasn’t having an affair. If she were, that would account for all the peculiarities and unhappiness. Tom wouldn’t be pleased, obviously—but at least he would understand the situation.

  But this … this was just baffling.

  He went over her enigmatic remarks again. And again. The more he thought about them, the less they made sense. Who was on the other end? Judging from her subservient tone and obvious fear, it almost seemed like she was talking to a superior of some kind—somebody who had great influence and control over her life. But Ella didn’t have a boss. She was a freelance photographer. So … a gallery owner, mayb
e? Or a magazine editor? Somebody who knew about George but still wanted to have an affair with Ella—and maybe suspected she was involved with somebody else …

  Forget it. Tom shook his head. Speculating would accomplish nothing. Worse, it would drive him crazy. No, if he was going to get to the bottom of this, he would simply have to watch Ella as closely as he watched Gaia. And Sam Moon.

  Too bad he couldn’t be in three places at once.

  Again, Tom’s thoughts returned to his old friend George. He trusted him. He believed in George’s instincts and his judgment enough to entrust to him his precious daughter. He hoped he hadn’t made a terrible error.

  ED

  A couple of years ago, before the accident, my sister used to love showing me off to her hip, twenty-something Manhattan posse. “Do you guys know my brother, Ed? He’s, like, the most killer skateboarder. He’s gonna break a lot of hearts someday. Just look at him. Yes, sir. The Heartbreak Kid.”

  I always pretended to be really embarrassed, too—even though I loved the attention. It was awesome. I mean, having a bunch of hot twenty-two-year-old girls calling you the Heartbreak Kid? What fifteen-year-old boy wouldn’t love that? And it got even better when I started going out with Heather. I became an official stud.

  But then ka-blammo! Game over. Accident. Hospital. Paralysis. Wheelchair.

  It was kind of hard to keep being a stud.

  My sister couldn’t deal. So she literally disappeared. I can count the number of times I’ve seen her since the accident on one hand. The first time was right afterward, and it was so forced and awkward I found myself trying to make her feel better. Since then it’s always been with a group of her friends. As if they can offer some kind of protection. A buffer to keep her from seeing reality.

  The real icing on the cake, though, is that she always says really painful and inappropriate things to them. And always in a very loud voice: “You’ll be back on your feet in no time, Ed. Back to breaking girls’ hearts. Just a couple of months more of rehabilitation, right?”

  Wrong, sis. I’ll be sitting here forever.

  She has no idea she’s making an ass of herself, though. She doesn’t even know that she’s pissing me off. For all I know, she might really believe what she’s saying. In a way, she almost has to. Because then she doesn’t have to deal with the very ugly truth: that the Heartbreak Kid is long gone. The Paraplegic Kid has taken his place.

  nightmare

  She felt like she was outside herself. Completely detached. No longer in control. Somebody else was pulling the strings.

  Dirty Bathwater

  FIRST THING IN THE MORNING, GAIA usually liked to sneak downstairs and stuff her face with some kind of sugar-coated cereal. Froot Loops were her personal favorite. She would pour a bowl and whorf it down before Ella and George had a chance to wake up, then she would split for school. And if Ella and George happened to be up already, then Gaia would just have to walk straight out the door—and head to the nearest bodega for a rapid infusion of Krispy Kreme doughnuts.

  Weekends were a little trickier.

  She never knew what to expect. Sometimes Gaia would walk into the kitchen and find George there, hunched over the newspaper. Then she’d have to engage in actual conversation. Sometimes (very infrequently, thank God) George and Ella would make a lame attempt at a “family breakfast”—and Gaia would find herself subjected to French toast in the presence of the Nivens.

  To put it bluntly, weekend mornings were a gamble.

  But today Gaia was determined to avoid any contact with her foster parents. She’d set her alarm for seven o’clock, and—despite the struggle involved with forcing herself out of bed—she’d managed to get dressed by seven-twelve. She was on a mission. She was going to walk straight to Sam Moon’s dorm room and find out what the hell had happened last night.

  Yes. She was going to shake him out of bed and demand an answer to the following questions: (1) Why did he carry her home and drop her on the front stoop without any explanation? (2) Did he, in fact, carry her home and drop her on the front stoop without any explanation? (3) Why did he invite her out in the first place?

  Sam owes me an explanation, she thought, tiptoeing down the stairs past Ella and George’s room. Damn straight. At the very least he owed her an apology. She dashed down the last flight of stairs and yanked her coat from the closet, slamming the door behind her before she’d even pulled it on.

  “Brrr,” she muttered out loud.

  It was another wintry day—clear and brisk. She quickly bundled up and headed toward the park, pulling her cap over her unkempt hair. But in spite of the freezing weather Gaia felt a strange optimism. A sense of control. She was finally going to get some answers. Besides, it was easy to feel in control when the streets were so quiet and deserted. Nothing unexpected could happen. Sam would be in his room, asleep. Just like everyone else.

  She turned onto West Fourth Street and picked up her pace, jogging to keep warm. It was amazing how peaceful the park looked early on a Saturday morning. The trees and benches were bathed in the soft, golden glow of the dawn. And there were no freaks, no druggies … not even any homeless people. Only health nuts, in fact—people who were running or practicing t’ai chi. It was too cold for anyone else.

  Gaia couldn’t help but smirk. During these fleeting moments Washington Square Park could almost pass for a quaint little New England village square. Almost. In a way, the park was like a person: It wore many different faces, depending on the time of day.

  As she crossed the street, she saw that a vendor was pushing his cart toward the northeast entrance—no doubt to intercept joggers coming to and from the NYU dorms. A couple of overweight, balding professor types were already close on his heels. Maybe she would stop for a quick doughnut on her way to Sam’s. Yeah. She needed a sugar fix. She broke into a jog as she neared the chess tables. Sam wouldn’t be getting up anytime before nine on a Saturday, anyhow.

  “Gaia.”

  The word was barely a whisper.

  She wasn’t even sure if she’d heard it. Her pace slowed.

  “Gaia.”

  There it was again. She frowned and glanced behind her. She couldn’t even tell where the voice had come from.

  “Over here.”

  She turned toward the chess tables….

  At that moment her legs turned to jelly.

  A man was sitting at one of the tables. A man with golden hair and piercing eyes, heavily bundled in black. A man who had seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

  Her father.

  He smiled at her.

  No, no, no.

  She staggered backward, breathless—as if she’d been struck in the face. This was impossible. A dream. Only seconds ago, that stone bench had been empty. She shook her head and blinked. In a moment she would wake up in the Nivens’ house. Of course she would. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them.

  But the vision remained.

  It was a vision, wasn’t it? Another hallucination, like that crazy flash she’d had when the car had hit her yesterday …

  “It’s okay, Gaia,” he called, beckoning to her. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  You know what I’m … okay. Definitely a dream. Verging on a nightmare. a spasm of heat shot through her. Her mind emptied—as if every thought and emotion were merely dust motes in a tubful of dirty bathwater, now rapidly swirling down a drain.

  “I’m not your father,” he said.

  “Oh my God,” she found herself whispering.

  This wasn’t a vision. No. It was her uncle. The same uncle she’d seen for that fleeting instant in the park that night so many months ago. The one who’d saved her life. Some of the tension began to melt away. Disjointed memories flashed through her head: her lying on the ground, staring up at his face … that old song from the seventies: “Rescue Me” … dancing with her mother and father as a little child….

  “Please, Gaia,” he implored. “Come sit. I don’t have much time.”

&
nbsp; Her feet began to shuffle toward him. She felt like she was outside herself. Completely detached. No longer in control. Somebody else was pulling the strings. Her uncle, perhaps. But certainly not her. Not Gaia Moore. Not the girl who had left the Nivens’ brownstone only minutes ago to confront Sam Moon …

  “That’s it,” her uncle murmured as she eased herself down on the bench across from him. “Yes. Just relax. It’s so good to see you.”

  Gaia opened her mouth, but she couldn’t speak. Maybe it was best just not to try. She stared at her uncle, drinking in every feature of his face: his piercing blue eyes, his rugged skin, the broad lips that were so much like her own. But for the first time she noticed subtle differences between him and her father. Her uncle’s jaw was more square than her father’s, more angular. It exuded greater strength, somehow. And power.

  He smiled. “It’s fitting that we’re facing each other across a chessboard, don’t you think? We both love the game.”

  How am I supposed to answer that? Gaia wondered. How is it you know so much about me? I didn’t even know you existed until this year. All I can think of when I look at you is my own father….

  “It’s fitting for another reason, too,” he said gravely. “We live in a dangerous world. And time is short.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, then slid it across the smooth checkerboard surface. He tapped it with a gloved finger. “This is my contact information. Use it anytime you feel the need.”

  Gaia glanced down at the card. Time slowed to a crawl. The universe shrank to this chess table, to this moment, to them. Part of her had been longing for such a meeting ever since her father had vanished. A member of her family was reaching out to her. A real member—someone who shared her blood … someone who could understand her in a way nobody else could. But her hands remained at her sides. She couldn’t bring herself to take the card. Why? Because if she allowed herself the possibility of getting close to him, she might lose him? The way she lost everyone else?