An hour and a half later, after more ointment and butterfly stitches were applied to her top lip, Olivia arrived at Daniel’s apartment building. She ran up the stairs and pounded on his door for a full two minutes, impatient to tell him about the mask on the detective’s desk, before he finally answered. Her mouth fell open, all thoughts dropping out of her head when she saw the state he was in. Placing her palms on his chest, she quickly pushed him back inside.
Once the door closed, she stood back and surveyed the disaster. Daniel’s entire face was stained dark pink with crusty smudges of red under his nose and on his chin, like a gruesome finger painting from the child spawn of hell.
“What happened? Are you okay?” She reached up to touch his face, but covered her mouth instead.
“I’m fine,” he said gruffly, turning away.
“Like hell you are.” She pulled him into the bathroom and pushed him down onto the edge of the tub. As she reached for the faded blue towel on the rack, she realized that it was the same one that Daniel had used on her the day before. God, had that only been two days prior? It felt like weeks ago.
She held the towel under running water and wiped the blood off of Daniel’s face gingerly, trying to avoid any open wounds, but the more blood that came away, the more she discovered that Daniel’s face was completely healed. Unnerved, she took a step back and dropped the bloodied towel in the sink.
“What happened?” she said in a whisper.
Daniel stood up then and began to shed his clothes, starting with his boots, pants, and finally his shirt. When he stood completely naked before her, he finally opened his mouth to speak. “I was shot twice. Here, and here,” he said, pointing to his stomach and right pectoral, both of which were completely unmarred. “And my face was beaten to a pulp.”
His flat expression and the detached tone of his voice was deeply troubling, but before Olivia could think of anything to say, he stepped into the tub and pulled the shower curtain aside, effectively shutting her out.
“I’ll wait outside,” she said before the thrum of water drowned her out.
As she stepped over the pile of clothes on the floor, she bent down and picked up a thin black shirt. To her horror, it had two round holes in it: one in the stomach and one in the right pectoral. With a reeling head, she let it drop to the tile floor and hurried out.
Daniel stayed in the shower for over thirty minutes, suffering under the painful blast of scalding water. He should have been overjoyed to see Olivia – should have kissed her fiercely the moment he’d laid eyes on her – but no matter how hard he tried, he just could not get the images of the dead out of his mind. The drug lord, the teleporter, the bartender, Rap. He was damned four times over.
There was once a time when Daniel had prided himself on being an upright citizen, an overall good guy. He had helped hundreds of people out of dangerous situations, had saved countless lives, and he thought that his heroic actions made him a righteous person. But, as fate would have it, he was doomed to become the bad guy of the story all along.
The hot water petered out and he finally emerged from the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. He was so lost in his own turmoil that the sight of Olivia sitting on his bed took him by surprise. He had forgotten that she was even there.
“Feel better?” she said with a timid smile.
“I guess,” he said hoarsely and turned his back to her as he dressed.
“Daniel, the police have your mask.”
He turned his head slowly as the words sank in. “What?”
“I was being interviewed by Detective Lingle and I saw your mask on his desk. He said it was the Black Hero’s.”
“Dammit,” he said under his breath. So that’s where his mask had gone the night he’d been thrown into the river. He had hoped that his balaclava was resting at the bottom of the river, safe from police microscopes.
He paced the length of the small room, trying to determine a course of action, but his brain felt marinated in molasses. A thought tugged at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, bring it to the forefront. His brain was completely and utterly spent.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” He collapsed onto the bed, and for a long while just looked at the woman sitting uncomfortably not three feet away. He wanted nothing more than for the ability to reverse time, to undo all of the sins he’d committed and return to being the guy in the midst of falling in love.
After some time, she pulled off her boots and lay beside him, and by instinct, he curled himself around her. With one arm under her neck and the other on her waist, he pulled her closer, clutching her to his chest until his heart was thudding against her back.
He buried his face in her hair, trying to focus on the tangible, her familiar scent, the curve of her waist, the weight of her breast in his hand. With his eyes closed, he shut off his clogged brain and allowed the male body to take over, touching his lips to her neck and kissing a trail down her shoulder.
Olivia turned to face him and touched her lips against his, and it was all he needed to jumpstart his stalled heart. With renewed energy, he groped and grasped like a drowning man. He needed her like nothing before.
“Daniel…”
Dimly he felt the pressure from her palms against his chest as his hands pushed into the waistband of her pants.
“Daniel, stop!” she gasped and scampered backwards, away from him.
He froze, suddenly aware of himself again, and saw the fear and surprise in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to…” And for the first time, the mist cleared from his eyes and he saw Olivia’s bruised face, saw that the bandage above her lip had started to bleed again. He moved towards her carefully, sorrier than he’d ever been in his life. “I’m sorry, Liv. I didn’t realize…”
She remained still as he reached out and touched her face, wishing he could somehow lend her his healing capability, unable to bear seeing her face so marked by violence.
“What did they do to you?” he said gently. Wordlessly, she lay back on the bed and wrapped his arm around her waist. He nestled closer, protecting her. “I’m not going to let anyone else hurt you again,” he said against the back of her neck, noting that what he originally thought was a scar at the hairline was actually a rice-sized lump under her skin. He brought a finger up and pushed on it gently.
The lump slid under the skin and Olivia jumped. “Ow! What are you doing?” She sat up, rubbing the back of her neck. She froze when she felt the bump. “What the hell is that?”
“I don’t know.”
She stared at him for a long while, her eyes wide with fear.
He sat up and touched her shoulder. “Liv?”
“My Mom had cancer,” she said, her breathing starting to become erratic. “It’s why she killed herself.” Her hands began to tremble, and her eyes darted about the room dizzyingly.
Recognizing the signs of an oncoming panic attack, Daniel zoomed out of the room and into the kitchen, searching wildly for a paper sack. After opening every drawer and cabinet door to no avail, he sped to the hallway closet and dumped out the paper sack that held his spare gloves and masks.
A second later, he sat in front of Olivia, who was curled in the fetal position, a sheen of perspiration on her trembling head. He offered the paper sack, but she waved him off.
With a stubborn huff, he lifted her up to a sitting position with one hand and held the scrunched-up mouth of the paper sack to her face, which she quickly pushed away. He tried once more, but she cried, “That doesn’t work!” She fell back on the bed, her hands grasping the sides of her head as she hyperventilated. “Just leave me alone.”
Like hell, Daniel thought, settling beside her and rubbing her back. He watched with bated breath for ten agonizing minutes, feeling helpless. For one moment, she looked up at him with her shiny violet eyes, tears leaking out the side, and said with sparkling clarity, “You’ll leave me, too.”
He shook his head as he ran his
fingers through her long hair. “Shh, no I won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”
She looked up at him with wide eyes. “You promise?”
And it struck him, that beneath that exterior of a confident woman, she was nothing but a lost little child. But, then again, wasn’t he? It was the reason why they were drawn to each other.
He grasped one of her hands and squeezed gently. “I promise you Liv, I’m not going anywhere without you.”
29 | WHEN FATE CATCHES UP
The next morning, Olivia was not surprised to find Smith waiting for her outside Daniel’s apartment building. The perpetually jovial man was wearing his usual jeans, sports jacket and a dimpled smile, leaning against his car with a coffee cup in hand.
“What are you so happy about?” Olivia asked as he held open the car door. Despite the sun-drenched morning, she herself could not find any reason to smile.
Smith cocked his head and shrugged. “Good night’s rest and a toffee mocha always puts me in a good mood.” He climbed into the driver side and started the engine. “And how was your night?”
She hesitated, unable to articulate the specifics of her emotionally taxing night. “Lousy.” She leaned back in the warm leather seat and tried not to think about how helpless she’d been, how much vulnerability she’d allowed Daniel to see. “Let’s go to my apartment, then to the Lincoln Center, please.”
They drove on in silence, until Smith cleared his throat. “Are you planning on seeing your father today?”
“No,” she said, feeling every bit the brat that she really was. But after all that had transpired, she figured she was allowed a bad mood or two. “He hasn’t even called me.”
“Actually, he did.” Smith handed over Olivia’s cell phone. “You left it in my car last night. Your father called once, and your friend Alex called three times.”
“You didn’t talk to them, did you?”
“No way, mate. That wasn’t in the job description,” Smith said with a hint of a smile, his disposition grating on her nerves. “Personally, I feel like your privacy has been invaded enough. My answering your phone or checking our messages, well, that just crosses a line.”
“You don’t think the line’s already been crossed?”
Smith turned to her, his green eyes full of sincerity. “Honestly, I don’t like this anymore than you. And I don’t mean that you’re hard to like, which you are a little abrasive and, honestly, behaving like a child, but that’s beside the point. I mean, I don’t like being here against your wishes.”
Olivia regarded her bodyguard through narrowed eyes, not sure whether to be suspicious or relieved.
“So I’ll make a deal with you,” he continued, his eyes back on the road. “I’ll do my job as best as I can but I will try to be invisible.”
“Works for me.”
He grinned. “And in return, I’d like for you to treat me with some modicum of respect. It’s not easy babysitting a brat like you.”
Olivia paused, finding it hard not to like the man, even just a little. “Okay,” she said reluctantly. “We’ll try it your way for a little while.”
Olivia extended a hand out to the ballet master of the New York City Ballet, Maggie Howard, who had so generously given her a second chance despite her unplanned two-day absence. “Thank you so much for being so understanding.”
“Understanding? For goodness sakes, Olivia, you were kidnapped! I’m just thankful you weren’t seriously hurt,” she said gently. “Of course I understand. I’m just surprised you want to come back to work so soon.” Maggie frowned as she contemplated Olivia’s face, which had already almost healed, then ushered her into her thin, motherly arms.
As Olivia returned the embrace, her throat opened up and tears sprung to her eyes. And before she could contain it, a sob escaped her throat.
I miss you, Mom, she thought and squeezed Maggie tighter to smother the pain in her chest. She closed her eyes and leaned into the older woman’s shoulder, her tears leaving ink-blot-like stains on her salmon-colored shirt. To her horror, a flurry of sobs erupted from Olivia’s chest and she finally gave in and let her anguish out.
After a long, tear-filled while, Maggie finally placed her hands on Olivia’s shoulders and gently peeled her away, urging her down onto the upholstered chair. “Oh, sweetheart.”
Olivia fought to contain her sobs as she wiped at her damp face with a tissue from Maggie’s desk. She closed her eyes and found her center, sealing off her issues with duct tape to open for another day. “I’m sorry about that outburst, Maggie. It won’t happen again,” she said and looked up into the woman’s surgically dignified face. The obvious show of pity made Olivia’s eyes burn once again.
“My dear, I think you should take a few more days off.”
Olivia shot out of her chair. “But that’s the rest of the performance! I’ll miss the whole run!”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re ready for the stage so soon after your… situation.” Maggie moved back behind the desk, which was just as well because Olivia was beginning to feel an unusual amount of rage accumulating in her veins. In all her life, she had never deliberately encouraged the idea of hurting anyone with her bare hands, and yet, here she was, fists clenched involuntarily, longing to punch the ballet master in her proud nose.
“And besides, your face is not yet entirely healed,” Maggie added with a small flick of the wrist that made Olivia feel self-conscious for the first time.
Olivia touched her cheek, where the wounds had all but healed and only slight purple marks remained. “Makeup will cover that.”
Maggie shook her head. “I’m sorry. My mind is made up. Cheyenne will dance the rest of the week. And after you heal, you can come back and audition for another solo.”
Olivia seethed. As much as she liked Cheyenne, she had worked too hard to lose Odette to an understudy now. She’d be damned if she was replaced on account of a few justified tears. “You will let me dance as Odette tonight, and for the rest of Swan Lake,” she said with a steady voice, her eyes fixed on Maggie’s face.
Maggie blinked and began to nod. “Yes, you can come back tonight,” she said, but as she spoke, her thin, black eyebrows knitted. “But pay Dr. Hewitt a visit on your way out, okay? Just to be sure you’re all right.”
Olivia stood up, feelings of guilt and relief warring in her head so that she felt a little lightheaded. Had she done the right thing? “If you don’t mind, I’d rather see my own psychiatrist, Dr. Vogele.” After the week she’d had, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk to a professional.
Maggie looked surprised at the mention of the most sought after psychiatrist in all of Manhattan. “Well, by all means,” she said with a nod. “I just want to make sure you have a clean bill of health.”
Olivia left the ballet master’s office a few minutes later, feeling a little of the guilt lifting off her chest.
It wasn’t like I robbed a bank, she thought as she walked down the wide halls of the ballet school she’d come to view as her second home. Would it be considered an abuse of power if she had merely used her silver tongue to get what was rightfully hers? The way she saw it, God had given her two gifts – of dance and of persuasion – and it would be an outright show of defiance if she didn’t use them.
A smile had already formed on her face, the sting from her cut lip completely gone, as she exited the building. Finally, her life was getting back on track.
* * * * *
The moment Coral stepped inside the dim cathedral, her gaze swept upward from the rows of pews to the white columns rising majestically to criss-cross on the ornate ceiling, and she was left with nothing to do but gape. She had been to this house of God many times in the past, yet each visit always imparted in her a sense of unearthly grandeur, an imposing reminder of a greater power at work.
She walked up the aisle slowly, wishing for a vision of a white dress and a waiting groom. With a sigh, she sat down at the edge of a pew and trained her eyes towards the altar. It had been a
long time since she’d last entered a church, a fact that filled her with shame and worry. Would God still listen to her, recognize her voice even?
She pulled down the kneeler and assumed the position, her fingers wound tightly in front of her face. “In the name of the father, the son, and the holy spirit,” she said under her breath as she performed the sign of the cross. She gazed up past the marble pulpit, to an unseen being beyond the stained glass window. “I know it’s been years since I’ve been to mass or confession, but I could really use some guidance here.”
Daniel Johnson’s attractive face appeared in her mind, and once more, she found herself yearning for the dream wedding. But more than the elaborate ceremony and the tuxes and the big cake, she wanted most to belong to someone unequivocally.
“You brought him into my life for a reason, Lord, and I thank you. But I learned something about him that could change the world, and if I tell him, it will change his life forever. It will change him as a person. So what do I do? Do I tell him and risk being hated by the most extraordinary man I know? Or do I keep it to myself? Which is right and which is wrong?”
She sat back and closed her eyes, allowing the incense-scented serenity to fill her lungs. She listened closely for a whispered answer or perhaps a string in her gut to start pulling one way or the other, but the answer did not come.
“Come on, please,” she whispered, squeezing her hands and eyes tighter. “I need to know what to do. Please give me a sign.”
But, it seemed, God was not in a sign-giving mood for all remained as it was, especially the clutter in her brain.
Coral sighed deeply and grasped the wood pew as she stood up. And as she emerged into the sunshine, she made the decision to take matters into her own hands, consequences be damned. This kind of information was simply too fantastic to keep to herself.
* * * * *
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