by Leigh James
It was dark inside, and musty; no one had used this place in a very long time. “Where are we?” I whispered to John as Matthew set up a still limp Ray in a chair. He started tying him up.
“This building is safe,” John said, patting me on the back. “It’s private. No worries.”
“How do you know?” I asked. I had plenty of worries at the moment. We all had guns, including some large ones, and an unconscious kidnapping victim with a backpack that was probably packed to the gills with drugs.
“I bought the building recently. I told the local authorities I was going to be coming out to do some measuring.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, nodding at him, as if buying a building across the country to have a safe place to torture and possibly kill a hostage was the most normal thing in the world.
Matthew was done tying Ray up, and he had managed to sit him up properly. He came over to us. “Is he awake?” I asked.
Matthew shook his head. Not yet.
“Okay,” John said, clapping him on the back. “I”m going to ask you all to leave me and Liberty alone now. One car can go back to the house and start packing, but I want you and Corey to stay outside and monitor the premises. And tell Michael to stand by.”
“Yes sir,” Matthew said.
“And Matthew, nice work today,” John said, and nodded at him approvingly.
“Thank you, sir,” Matthew said, a smile breaking out over his face, and then he jogged off towards the others.
They were gone in a moment. John turned and looked at me. “Okay, honey,” he said, gently, stroking my hair. “He’s going to wake up soon. Do you know what you want to do?”
I shook my head, no. What could I say to him? Suddenly, I wanted him to hurt the way that I hurt. All the time alone in my empty apartment, everyone dear to me gone — I wanted him to feel what I felt.
But that was going to be impossible, because I was pretty sure he didn’t have a heart.
As I watched he stirred a little, and then he must have realized he was tied up, because he started to jerk violently, trying to break free. I looked at John; his face was impassive, calm.
“I’m ready,” I said.
John stood behind Ray and pulled off his mask. He looked around, disjointedly and wildly at first, trying to get his bearings. Then his eyes focused on me.
“Liberty?” he asked, incredulous. “I thought that was you. What the fuck are you trying to do to me?”
I shook my head and shrugged. “Not too much,” I said. John’s eyes locked with mine, over Ray’s head, and Ray turned around and looked up at him.
“Finally got a boyfriend, I guess,” Ray said, bringing his gaze back to meet mine. John walked over to the side of the room — close enough to be there if I needed him, but letting me have my space. I could feel the tension rolling off of him, the desire to hit Ray. But he was restraining himself. This was my show.
“You know, I never thought you’d be the vengeful type. Your mother was — she used to lock me out of the house sometimes, if she thought I was cheating — but you were never like her. You were sweet,” he said, and I realized that he was not at all afraid of me.
He should have been afraid, given the circumstances. But maybe he was expecting to die. Or maybe he just didn’t think I had it in me. We’d have to find out.
“My mother was sweet,” I said, and I found myself balling my hands into fists. “Just not when she was fifty shades of fucked up.”
“When wasn’t she fifty shades of fucked up?” Ray asked, and he had the audacity to chuckle.
“Before you,” I whispered. “Before you gave her an all-you-can-eat buffet of hard drugs.”
Ray looked up at me, squarely. “Your mother was a junkie,” he said, matter-of-factly. “She was a junkie when I met her, and she was a junkie when she died. I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“You didn’t help.”
“She didn’t want my help,” Ray said, looking at me like I was ridiculous. “She wanted my drugs. Did she want your help? Huh?”
Images of my mother flooded me: her pushing me out of her way, on her way out for the night; locking me and Sasha in the bathroom; pleading, begging for money, finding her in a pool of vomit one morning. I shivered.
“She was so sick,” I said, in a defeated tone.
“She wasn’t sick,” Ray said, shaking his head. “She just loved dope. I get so tired of hearing that! No! She just loved drugs!”
Ray stopped for a moment and looked at me. “You’re going to let me go, right? Nice girl like you? You don’t want to get in trouble….Why don’t you just do it now? I know you’re hurting over your mama, but deep down I think you know that it wasn’t me. It was her.”
I nodded at him, slowly. And then I pulled the gun out from behind my back and pointed it at him.
I thought of my mother, all the pain. All the drugs. Sasha. My fear every night, sleeping while clutching my baseball bat. I dropped to my knees.
John came over and stood behind me, stroking my hair.
“Who the fuck are you?” Ray asked John, cloudy eyes flashing.
“Someone who loves her,” John said, calmly. His presence soothed me. John. Oh, John. I love you, too.
I looked up at Ray and now I could see fear in his eyes, real fear. He should be. It was his turn.
I was still pointing the gun at Ray. “Liberty, you can do this,” a voice said, squeezing my shoulder. That voice filled my body with warmth, with hope. “You’re not alone.”
I thought about everything that had brought me here, to this dirty floor in this dirty building. I had finally found a home, far away from here. But I needed to let my enemy know that I hadn’t forgotten about him, about what he did. He didn’t deserve to sleep at night, to enjoy a hot meal, to watch baseball. He didn’t deserve normal.
He deserved justice.
“It’s okay. Let’s finish this,” that loving voice whispered in my ear, and I knew he was right.
I closed my eyes and fired.
* * *
I sat outside in the hallway, defeated. You’re not defeated, my inner voice said, encouragingly. You’re just sad.
It was true: I was sad, and not just because I’d shot the ceiling and not Ray. You made the right choice, that voice said. He was bad, but it wasn’t all his fault.
I sighed. It wasn’t all his fault, but I wished it was. But what Ray had said was true: my mother was a junkie before she ever met him. She was probably born a junkie. Ray was horrible, and he had done horrible things, but he wasn’t the first problem. That was my mother. And I hadn’t been able to save her, hadn’t been able to rescue her from her demons.
I sat there, shivering in the cold hall, waiting for them to finish cleaning up. I won’t make the same mistake again, I thought. I can’t lose the one person I have left to their demons. I won’t.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Difficult Kind
Our bags were packed when we got back. “Are we leaving now?” I asked.
“We’re going to California for a few days,” John said, fishing through his bag for something.
“All of us?” I asked.
“Yes, all of us,” he said. “Well, except for Ethan. Is that okay?”
Ethan was on his way up to Canada, a bleeding Ray in the backseat.
“Of course,” I said, and sat down on the bed. My hands were still shaking.
“You were amazing today,” John said, kneeling in front of me, a look of wonder in his eyes. “You make me want to be a better person. Like you,” he said, taking my hands.
I bit my lip and looked at him. “I couldn’t do it,” I said. In that last moment, I’d jerked my hand up and shot at the ceiling. Some plaster fell down, and Ray just leaned back, wincing against whatever was coming next.
“You did do it,” John said, cupping my face in his hands. “You taught him a lesson. You shouldn’t have shot him, and you didn’t.”
“But you shot him, and now he’s on his way to Vanc
ouver,” I said, disbelievingly.
“I only shot him in the knee. Considering that I wanted to kill him, and considering my track record, that’s pretty tame,” John said, and rubbed my back.
“Ethan’s just going to scoot through customs and drop him off up there,” John said, shrugging, a mischievous look springing into his eye. He enjoyed this. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“With a busted leg? And no money? Of course he’ll be fine,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“I thought it was my decision,” I said, gravely. “I didn’t want to shoot him, but then you swept in and did it anyway.” Because you can’t let things go. Because you have to be in control, and you demand justice. Your version of justice.
John looked at me levelly. “It was your decision. So I didn’t kill him,” John said simply, shrugging, unapologetic. “I wanted to. He hurt you, badly, and I can’t have that.” He leaned over and stroked my face, his eyes searching mine.
This was as much of an apology as I was ever going to get from him. He was broken, beautifully broken. This was his way, the only way he knew.
I leaned back from him and shook my head. “I couldn’t do it,” I said simply, shrugging. “Even though he’s vile, and he’s done horrible things, he made me realize something. Something I think I’ve known for a while,” I said, sitting down on the bed.
“What?” asked John softly, tucking my wild hair behind my ear.
“It wasn’t just him,” I said, and my eyes filled with tears. “My mother….she was a junkie. She was always fucked up on something, even before him.” Now the tears spilled down my cheeks. “I never wanted to hate her, to hold her responsible.….but she did.….she did.….bad things. It wasn’t her fault, but she did them.”
I started crying harder now, remembering the image of her ripping up that letter.
“I think she destroyed the letters my father wrote to me,” I said, crying quietly now. I didn’t want to believe this of my mother, but in the cold light of this afternoon, when I was facing my demons, I had to see the truth for what it was. “I think she kept him from me. Maybe not because she really cared, not because she was jealous or anything, but because it was just easier for her. One less thing that wasn’t drugs that she didn’t have to deal with,” I said, bitterly.
“Liberty, I’m so sorry,” John said, and pulled me to him. We stayed like that for a while, until I pulled away. I needed to be alone, to collect my swirling thoughts.
“We don’t have to leave for another hour,” John said, gently letting me go and standing up. “I have to go over some stuff with the guys, and get our arrangements set for California. What would you like to do?”
“I’m going to take a shower and lie down,” I said. I was exhausted. John leaned down and kissed me.
“I love you,” John said, holding me to him.
My eyes filled with tears. He had given me so, so much. He’d given me the courage to see the truth.“I love you, too,” I said, and kissed his cheek tenderly.
I laid down and I heard him go upstairs; I was restless, though, and I couldn’t stay still. I got up and paced around the room. The events of the day swirled around my mind, and soon, the images from the last couple of weeks with John crowded them out. It was amazing to love someone. It was magic, I thought, balling my hands into fists again.
But I had to face the truth, or rather, a couple of truths: I was in love with someone who was in a different class. On top of that, I was in love with someone who was broken, who was damned to a life of vigilante-ism, all because what he loved had been taken from him.
What he loved had been taken from him. Now, more than ever, I understood what this meant.
Maybe, I thought, maybe I could be the one to help him.
Suddenly I was all sweaty, desperate; all my thoughts and fears came crashing down on me. I curled up in a ball on the floor next to my carry-on bag and thought about my choices, my life. If I finally felt free to move forward, I could see only one direction I wanted to go in.
John. He was the only thing that mattered, the only future I could imagine wanting for myself.
In my heart, I knew there was a heavy price for my choice. I was going to have to be brave.
I grabbed my bag, looking for my toiletries. Maybe I can take a shower and clear my head, I thought. As I rummaged, my cell phone fell out, the one with the glittery pink case, that I hadn’t seen since John had given to me in my backpack back in Vegas.
Bingo, my inner voice said. I felt like someone had given me a fresh, crisp hall pass.
All the wild thoughts I’d had about saving him clicked into place. I could do it; where there was a will, there was a way. And I knew now that I couldn’t live without him. And I couldn’t live with him the way he was, so I had to try.
I had to try. I started to move quickly. It was time to go.
* * *
Later, as I sat on the bus, alone, I could picture it all in my head.
“Oh, crud,” Matthew said, when he went down to the master bedroom about a half hour later. “There goes sleeping in, right down the toilet.”
John came down the stairs behind him. “Is she gone?” he asked, his voice rising, full of panic.
“She’s gone,” Matthew said. “Gone, gone, gone.”
“Oh my god,” John said, and fell to his knees. “What have I done?”
“It’ll be okay,” Matthew said. “Maybe she just needs some time.”
“We’ve got to find her,” John said. “We have to.”
“We will,” Matthew said, patting him on the shoulder. “We will.”
Epilogue
UNTRACEABLE
Los Angeles, California.
The glittery pink phone hadn’t stopped beeping and whistling; I’d finally given up and turned the sound off. I didn’t shut it down, though. It was my lifeline now. The only way I knew he was still out there, looking for me. Plus, I knew it was untraceable. All of their cell phones were. So I was safe, in a way — he didn’t know where I was or what I was up to. Even though part of me desperately wished he did.
Liberty, he’d texted. What did I do? Whatever it is, I’m so sorry. Please come back.
Then he’d just started texting Please.
My heart was being ripped to shreds, and it was all my fault, my doing.
I needed to scrape together enough money to buy a charger for the phone. Scraping together money was becoming a bit of a theme for me. After buying a bus ticket from Eugene to Los Angeles, I was out of cash. A one-way bus ticket had cost me one hundred and forty-four dollars; I’d had exactly one hundred and sixty-one dollars in my wallet. I’d bought three waters and a bag of trail mix since I’d left Eugene. I now had nine dollars, some loose change and an empty, snarling stomach. That was it.
Oh, yeah: and my shredded heart. I still had that.
I sat on a sunny bench in the park and looked at my silver backpack. It, too, reminded me of John. I remember when I first got it, at my old apartment, and I thought it was another one of his props for my stripping routine. I remember how crazy I thought he was when I’d finally opened it up. Then I’d confronted him about it, the night he’d had a shootout with Darius.
“About the backpack,” I’d said, willing myself not to think about how hot he was. “A taser? Really? And a smartphone? I just met you three days ago. I can’t — ”
I can’t, I can’t. I can’t. That’s what I keep regretting. I was always saying no to him, when he was just trying to protect me. I could see that now. I could see everything so, so clearly.
So why, Liberty? Why’d you run? My inner voice asked. She was still confused about the whole thing….I hadn’t even let myself fully realize the extent of my crazy plan.
But I had a clear conscious. About leaving John, even though my heart was a wreck and I knew I was hurting him. I’d made the decision so that I could try to do something good, something worthy of him. To help him, to make him unbroken. That was it. I loved him, and I wanted to be with him, b
ut I knew that wasn’t good enough.
I was going to find Catherine, or find out what had happened to her, and I was going to heal his broken heart. I don’t know why I was torturing myself about it still — there was no other way.
He might not forgive you. My inner voice reissued her oft-cited warning. She was right, of course. But I had to try. For both of us. For those three imaginary babies playing on our imaginary bed.