by K Larsen
“Mike just fucked me, told me how special I am to him and left me,” I cut her off.
“Wait, what?” Nora’s voice alone sends a ripple of ease through my body. She’s always the one to hold me when I fall apart. I’ve always been the best friend to the quiet, reserved nerd. It felt like I had the personality, that I tried to force Nora to also have a big personality. She was my shadow. But lately, it feels like I am the shadow now. That I am just, the best friend. That’s it, no personality, no identity. Just a title. A little surge of jealousy rushes me. “Aubry, are you still there?” she asks.
Sighing, I answer, “Yeah. I’m here. I’m struggling, Nora. Hard.”
“It’s okay. We can struggle together.”
“I’m mad at Mike for using me! I’m mad at you for outshining me. I’m mad at Salve for not investigating my case harder. I’m so fucking mad.”
“Stop being a brat. I don’t outshine you.”
“I legit just had a moment of pure jealousy toward you and all you said was ‘wait what?’ to me.”
Nora’s throaty, infectious laugh bursts through the speaker into my ear. “Okay, so you’re angry and partially taking it out on me. I’m okay with that so long as you move forward.”
“Seriously,” I squawk. “Why are you so nice?”
“I’m not really. Only to a select few. You just happen to be one of them,” she laughs.
“Actually, that makes me feel better. You are pretty bitchy to strangers.”
“I know right? Now can you please tell me about Mike? Why was he in your room this late? What the hell happened that you ended up sleeping together? And why would he leave you like that?”
I suck in a deep breath and roll my shoulders before snuggling deep into my bed.
“Nosey Nora.”
“Hey, you called me, remember?” she says. With a self-effacing smile I start the story from the flowers he brought.
26
Mike
I didn’t anticipate the backlash I would get. That was a mistake. When Nora showed up at my door at seven am, pounding like some drunk New Jersian until I shuffled to the door, sleep crusties still in my eyes and started calling me names so big that I wasn’t sure if she was mad or excited, I knew something was wrong.
“You slept with her, Mike? In the hospital? Who does that? Why would you do that, especially with all the confusion surrounding you, with her?”
Please universe, don’t smite me, I think. “What are you talking about?”
Nora’s eyes bug out of her head and she looks like she might spontaneously combust before she dives into a very accurate recounting of what went down last night. I school my features best I can but it’s mighty hard given the recap I’m getting.
I toss my hands in the air in surrender. “I admit, I visited and brought flowers. We were going to watch TV and have dinner together but shit got out of hand. She told me about identifying two men with Salve and how she wanted my help avenging her. She was fixated on the idea. I kissed her. She was so fired up it was hot. I know that wasn’t the right thing to do but…” I shrug and let Nora steep in the information.
“A kiss is not sex.” She shakes her head sending red strands dancing through the air around her.
“You’re right. I didn’t sleep with her. She got mad at me and I left,” I say.
“So, you’re saying,” she pauses, considering her words, “you weren’t there in the middle of the night and you didn’t sleep with her?”
Guilt seeps into my pores as my lies pile up. “Maybe she had a bad dream? But listen, do you want a cup of coffee? It’s early and you woke me up.” I drag a hand through my hair and yawn.
Suddenly Nora grimaces, cheeks pink and stretched in a sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry, Mike. I’ll go,” she says and heads toward the door.
“It’s okay. I know you’re just worried about her like the rest of us.” With one hand on the knob she turns to face me.
“She’ll be home soon. Maybe you should not visit her for a while. Until she’s made some progress with Dr. R.”
I frown, feigning disappointment, but that’s another lie, Aubry told me to stay away and if she saw me now I have no doubt her fiery attitude wouldn’t hesitate to turn to violence against me, so no, I wouldn’t be visiting her any time soon. I have a bigger agenda to tackle anyhow.
“Just for a little bit, Mike.” Nora’s words are delicate, as if she’s trying to let me down easy. She of all people should know that when it comes to Aubry, there is no easy.
“Yeah okay, but will you at least text me to let me know how she is or when it is a good time to see her again?”
Nora’s eyes crinkle and her mouth spreads into a wide, easy, smile. “Of course,” she says. “Alright, sorry I barged in, again.” I toss her my best it’s-okay smile as she heads out.
When the latch clicks, I breathe a sigh of relief. What’s one more white lie at this point as long as Aubry’s safe?
I’ve combed through Liam’s old files on the transactions he and his father brokered with Yuri and Gregor. The docks were just one of the many properties they purchased. Liam would kill me for going through his storage unit, but hopefully, he’ll never find out and I need more information. I need something to leverage against them. To keep me alive and Aubry safe. But it’s becoming painfully obvious that my Go bag is my best option. I squat down in the dim light and squint at the deed of sale for a twenty-three acre farmhouse, four hours south of us. Useless. All this information is useless. I pull my phone from my back pocket and dial Candy from The Black. Most people don’t take the time to get to know any of the women at The Black, but because of who they please, they are a wealth of information. They are useful in their own right. I hate to make the call though. One more person with a grain of truth in a puzzle piece story doesn’t help my cause, but I’m out of options and she’s the quickest solution in the equation.
“Well hello, hot stuff,” she answers.
“Are you alone?”
“Yeah, at home. Why?” she questions, her voice lingering on the y.
“Does that arms dealer still, uh, visit, you?” My attempt at tact is poor and I hope Candy doesn’t immediately hang up on me.
She sighs and I can imagine she’s rolling her eyes. “Yeah. Again, why?”
“I need to purchase a gun. A scrubbed gun. No ties back to anyone.”
“Are you okay Mike? This is weird, even for you.”
“Gee, thanks for your concern. But yes, I’m fine.”
“I’ll text and ask him how much and when.”
“Perfect. Thanks.” I end the call. If I can’t find leverage, the only way out of this mess is murder.
Yuri and Gregor need to be taken out of the equation. I won’t give up Aubry, not now. I can’t risk Salve arresting them. If they talk … if they give me up, I lose everything. Aubry, Liam, my freedom, my trust fund.
Literally everything I give a shit about in life.
27
Aubry
I was sent home three days ago. Nora and Aimee came to get me. I’d bitched about Mike more than anyone wanted to hear. Nora was leery of him but did admit that when she accosted him the morning after his visit, he’d been horrified at my accusation. That was my cue.
Mike slept with me, here, home, after, and lied about it. The moment I pressed Nora for information, information she was reluctant to divulge because she was worried it would shatter my delicate state of mind, I knew without doubt that the jungle happened. I dropped all infatuation with the subject after that and told her maybe I did dream it. I’m nearly positive she didn’t buy that excuse; however, she did buy the next one—that I really needed to work harder with Dr. Richardson. And that my friends, is how you covertly get shit done. Having a secret like this gives me a heady, badass feeling. But then, real life slaps me in the face and reality crashes down around me.
In the kitchen at Mom’s, where Aimee is eating Greek yogurt with blueberries and worry etched in her face, I realize trage
dy changes a family. Sometimes it shatters it. Parents split up. Siblings pass away. Horrors rear their ugly heads. The surviving kids develop coping mechanisms. But until now, I thought we were all fine. I didn’t see Aimee’s shift in moods. Her need to stay in more, shut out more. I didn’t notice the new lines surrounding Mom’s mouth and eyes. The plethora of white hairs or the tired slump of her shoulders. Being home was supposed to be better than the hospital. I’ve tried to distract myself from the looks Mom and Aimee give me. The pity, the worry, the hardship, but I can’t seem to dive wholeheartedly into distraction.
There’s plenty of work to be done to jump back in to building my business up. I’ve got three clients asking for full redecorations for their homes and a spread in Interior Design Monthly slated for a few months out that I need to choose my best portfolio shots for. News of my safe return had a huge impact on traffic to my website. I’ve been fielding emails for what feels like the last twenty-four hours.
But, I don’t have the motivation to do any of it.
I schedule three posts to my Facebook fan page before I give up and decide I just need some fresh air.
“I’m going for a walk.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Mom asks.
“I meet with Dr. Richardson in an hour. It’ll be a short walk. I’ll be fine,” I groan.
She rolls her tongue over her teeth, the way she used to when I was a hard-to-tame teen and I shake my head at her.
“Mom, I’m a grown woman.” I plop my hands on my hips.
She gives up and offers me a curt nod and a smile.
Wind whips around me. I stuff my hands deeper in my pockets. I miss the jungle weather. The warm air and the way the clouds of mist danced on the surface of the river. The feeling of time not passing at all. I can almost hear the electricity from the power lines, nearly feel it. It’s strange to be surrounded by so much … everything. My laptop screen gave me a headache after an hour of use. The lights in my room are too bright at night. The volume on the TV, even when low, seems to assault my ears. And no one believes me because no one believes I was in a jungle, secluded at all. Or maybe they do and it’s just Mike’s participation they’re not buying. I don’t even know what I believe any more.
A chill creeps up my spine and I feel eyes on me. I whip around, checking the surrounding yards and streets but see no one. I zip my coat up to my chin and walk a little faster. My legs don’t burn the way they did just a week ago. The muscles are slowly rebuilding themselves and my back doesn’t ache from standing up too long. I don’t need any help in the shower which is a godsend because if one more person saw me naked simply because I was too weak to support myself, I might have screamed. I don’t know how people with illnesses do it. How when, their bodies fail, but their minds are intact, they adapt to the fact that certain modesties and privacies just … vanish.
A loud cough snaps me from my train of thought but when I look around, there is still no one around. Paranoia spreads through my thoughts like the roots of a weed. It penetrates my core and causes my breathing to become erratic. I stop walking, turn and head home. The walk doesn’t feel freeing anymore. It’s no longer an escape. I feel like an animal backed into a corner. This is all Mike’s fault. Yet still, just thinking his name, kindles a fire in my belly and a fondness in my chest.
“Are you settled at home yet?” Dr. Richardson’s voice is light and easy. She’s lost weight. I can see it in her neck and it makes me wonder what she’s been doing and why I’m only noticing now.
“Sure. I’m at my mom’s, which isn't ideal but it was easier than arguing with her over it.” She nods at me and smiles. Her finger slides down the page of her notebook then stops.
“I’d like to talk about your time held hostage.”
“Why?” I ask, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
“Because, you seem hyper-fixated on the jungle, on Mike, and how you arrived in Arizona, but not about your time missing. I think we should explore that.”
“It sucked.”
Dr. Richardson chuckles under her breath. “Yes. I imagine it did. But how did you survive it?”
I shrug. “I sang. I thought my family and Nora and Mike and most of the time, I think I was high so I don’t really remember doing anything.”
“Aubry, while I do love that you’re shunning the typical victim mentality, I am worried that you aren’t allowing yourself to truly process what you went through. It’s okay to be vulnerable.”
“What is the typical victim mentality? Can’t I be angry and a victim?” I huff.
“Absolutely. But you’ve not really communicated what happened in that room.”
“Because nothing happened. Literally nothing. I was sedated, or high. I was fed. And I had to listen to other women being brutalized. But nothing happened to me. It was as if I were a mistake. A liability they weren’t quite sure what to do with, so they did nothing.”
“How does that make you feel?”
I look everywhere but her. I don’t want to admit how fucked up my emotions are. I don’t want to be judged.
“I…” my voice trails off.
“It’s okay. I’m not here to judge.” For a moment I wonder if Dr. Richardson has some superhuman power, but I know it’s her just being good at her job.
“I feel guilty.”
“Guilty about what exactly?”
I groan. “Jesus, do I really have to spell it out? About, nothing happening to me. Guilty that they spared me-kinda, but not the others.”
“Explain, kinda.” Dr. Richardson uncrosses her legs.
“I mean, no one harmed me up until Gregor and Finch arrived. And even then, I wasn’t, uh, violated. I was just cleaned up and dolled up and packaged.” A chill ravishes me thinking about what or who I was being shipped to. “If Mike hadn’t rescued me, this conversation would be different, I’m sure. But he did. So all this hubbub is irritating because I’m here. Unharmed, untainted. And for me, the issue is that there were others. Other women. Who were being hurt. And no one is focusing on them. Just me. Who cares about me?!”
Dr. Richardson blinks a few times, taking in my rant.
“If you’re referring to Detective Salve, he most certainly is working on your case and following up on all leads about the other women. But Aubry, it’s okay to focus on both you and the other women.”
“But I’m okay.”
“You definitely seem like your usual spunky self, but there is the delusion of Mike and the jungle to work through.”
I grit my teeth and ball my fists. “It wasn’t a delusion.” Dr. Richardson scribbles on her pad of paper before continuing.
“Let’s go with your assumption.” I can’t contain the roll of my eyes. “If Mike saved you, why would he hide you in the jungle instead of bringing you home?”
I pick at a callous on my palm. I can’t tell her. But, if I don’t there’s no evidence that I’m sane.
“This is all confidential, right? You can’t take something I say in here and use it against someone else outside these walls, can you?”
“Not unless you, or someone else is, being harmed.”
The words tumble from my lips, a pent-up secret waiting to be shed, before I can stop them. “Mike smuggles sometimes.” Guilt with a side of regret rise up my throat. “That’s how he saved me. I was in the crate in his plane. It was just dumb luck. But, he’d get in trouble for not delivering me. So he set up camp in the jungle until he could work out a plan.”
“We’re talking about the same Mike who doesn't need to work. Who donates to N.E.L. routinely and volunteers at the center?”
I nod.
“Why would he smuggle? What’s in it for him?” Her tone is genuinely curious.
“I don’t know, I’m not his therapist,” I quip.
“So Mike smuggles. Inadvertently finds he’s smuggling you. Decides to keep you camped out instead of bringing you home and then what happened?” she asks looking up from her notes.
White hot heat f
ans out across my chest as she stares at me. My story sounds ridiculous.
“I got bit by a snake and that’s the last thing I remember. He must have flown me to a hospital.”
She pulls her bottom lips between her teeth in contemplation. “And didn’t stay? Didn’t check you in? He dumped you carelessly outside an ER and left?”
I slump in my chair and nod.
“And now he’s lying about it all, why?” Her pleasant tone vanished.
“That, I don’t know. Maybe to protect me?”
I hate that I don’t have answers. I hate that he’s the one I pine for. The one who drives me to madness. The one who’s ruined me. And I know that the longer it takes to solve a crime, the more likely it is that it will never be solved. And this therapy isn’t helping Salve’s case. Those bastards are roaming around free while I sit in this horrible chair across from a woman hell bent on dissecting my every thought, which is useless in the grand scheme of things.
“From what?” she prods.
“The Russians? Him? I don’t know exactly.” I shrug and let out a sigh.
Dr. Richardson’s face wrinkles. It’s exhausting trying to watch her make sense of the tale I’ve just told her. A spark of something flashes in her eyes and then, “What did Detective Salve say about all this?”
“Nothing because he doesn’t know. I’m not getting Mike in trouble. And you just said we have confiden—”
Her hands are in the air in mock defense before I even finish speaking.
“Breathe, Aubry. Our sessions are confidential. I was just curious if you’d included Salve in what information you have.”
I shake my head. “No. I didn’t tell Salve anything about Mike smuggling.”
Dr. Richardson swallows, but it’s so exaggerated that I can’t help but get the feeling that I’ve done something wrong. Admitted too much or maybe not enough to the right people. She is judging me, I can see it in her expression.