Cuts Like Glass

by Dana Feldman

  “I need to tell you everything that I’ve been able to positively confirm as fact,” she begins, now pulling a thick red file from her bag and placing it down on the table, on top of the other file, facing me. She turns the pages as she tells me about the man I thought I knew.

  “Gabe had eventually been promoted into a very small, elite agency that reported directly to the President. There were just four agents involved. Two were killed on assignment years ago and the agency disbanded afterwards. Gabe was to blame; he went rogue and was the apparent cause of their deaths. He was completely out of control. He and the other agent disappeared soon after.”

  I follow the pages as she turns them. I see the many incarnations of my husband over the years and feel sick to my stomach. He changed his appearance along with his multiple identities, and I wonder if he even knows who he really is.

  “What we’ve concluded is that Gabe knew about the FBI takedown of the group and used White’s fingerprints to create a new identity for himself as he planned to leave. White had been so meticulously vetted that these prints were the most viable for use, or re-use, as is the case. He’d had such a clean record prior, flown under the radar for so long. He was essentially the type of person with the cleanest record of all because he was a professional and wasn’t thought to be in any government database. It was as if he didn’t exist. This provided him a clean slate in the white-collar criminal world and made him that much more vulnerable at the same time. I’m not sure just how Gabe and White were involved with one another, but I’ll find out.”

  “It seems quite risky to use White’s prints if the guy was working with the Feds,” I say, thinking about Bob’s usage of the term ‘Dark Shadow’.

  “Unless Gabe had eyes and ears on both sides. The FBI had swabbed White and had taken his prints, as well as hair samples and dental impressions just in case he disappeared. If Gabe knew anything about White’s DNA being on file, then he clearly believed that he’d gotten, and hidden, White’s information in time. The moment White turned himself in he was damaged goods. He was as good as dead at that point anyway, and he most likely knew it. Gabe used all of this to his own advantage.”

  “A lucky break that they were able to find his body. Or what was left of it,” I mumble.

  “Agreed. The disposal of his body might’ve been sloppy but whoever killed him was quite careful. When White was found, the tips of his fingers had all been removed and his teeth had been ripped out with, what appeared to be, pliers. What your husband hadn’t counted on were the records of White’s DNA turning up after so long. My suspicions are that he believed that he’d destroyed any records pertaining to White. We were able to positively ID White by a shard of bone and some tissue. I suppose whoever killed him figured that the animals would take care of him if he were left out in the elements long enough.”

  The room is now spinning.

  “Gabe would only have had access to these fingerprints had he been directly involved. My belief is that he was an intelligence officer with the government, in a unit above the FBI or the CIA: a specialized division. If so, then there will be some sort of identifying record on him.”

  “Such as?”

  “They tracked their people via retina scans,” she explains. “The problem with this is that they’d be the only ones to have those records and everything was destroyed when the group went down,” she adds, looking truly defeated.

  “So, if we have nothing else to go by, and these prints were used to create an alias, then who is Gabe really?”

  “We don’t know. Yet. But we’re working on it. We’ll find out,” she adds, forcing me to look her in the eyes.

  I don’t doubt that she’ll find out whom it is that I actually married. I just don’t know if I want to know anything further. My life has been turned upside-down as is. There’s only so much a person can take.

  “This government agency, were they involved in the killings of innocent people?”

  “There have been investigations into targets that were, for all intents and purposes, innocents. To clarify, those who weren’t involved in the agency, but who had threatened them in some way, knew too much. Wives, for instance.” Her words hang in the air like a toxic gas. I have to remind myself to breathe.

  And there it is. My life continues its descent into a place too dark to put a name to. She puts her hand on mine, a gesture of friendship that has helped to pull me up, back out into the light, in the past. Though this time the information that she’s giving me is more than I could ever have imagined, even on my darkest of days.

  “Are you certain? I mean, all of this sounds crazy. Maybe Gabe was in some sort of trouble and wanted a new identity and, I don’t know, bought this identification from some criminal.”

  “Ella, Gabe was directly involved. He had to be. There’s no other reason that he’d have used those particular prints on his identification under the alias Gabe Griffin. And it explains the professional job he did on his first wife, Peggy.”

  I think back to Evelyn telling me that Peggy’s murder had to have been a professional job, how no prints had been left behind, no evidence. That it was a clean job done by a professional.

  Things are, admittedly, starting to click. I feel sick. I push the cup of coffee away just as soon as the waitress refills it and walks away. I always knew that there were parts of Gabe that I didn’t know, would never know. I just never fathomed them to be anything even remotely close to this.

  “Who in the hell did I marry?” I ask, controlling my voice, keeping it low so that only she can hear me. I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs. But I don’t.

  “That’s what I’m going to find out,” she says, her tone strong and determined.

  I swallow hard and blink back tears. I have no idea who I slept next to for four years. Equally as important, I have no idea the limits to which he’d go to protect his life, his secrets. I have no doubt that he’d kill me in a heartbeat with no hesitation. He’s already tried, and if it is Gabe, or whoever in the hell he is, following me, or some other member of the agency he works with, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll finish the job.

  “I know he’s still alive out there somewhere. Waiting. Watching me.”

  “I believe you,” she says finally, after months of trying to convince her. “I’d like to put you in witness protection.”

  “No way,” I say, snapping back, knowing that there isn’t anywhere to hide if he’s who she’s telling me he is. “He’ll find me. No matter where I go, I know he’ll find me. It’s possible that he already has.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks, her voice grave.

  “I thought I was being paranoid, but I don’t think so now. I’ve been followed,” I say, looking her squarely in the eyes.

  “Tell me everything,” she says, whipping out a notebook and pen from her purse. “I need every single detail that you can give me no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.”

  “I saw a black sedan following me a few weeks ago. Just once on the freeway when I was in Santa Barbara. I couldn’t get a plate. It was a new car, and I didn’t see one, at least not on the front. And the windows were tinted so I couldn’t see the driver or tell if there were any passengers,” I begin. “Then, about a week ago, when I was bringing Peter home with me,” I say, stopping to look at her as she audibly gasps, “I’ll tell you that part in a minute, but it’s not what you think.”

  She nods and continues to write everything down.

  “There was a black Land Rover, also with tinted windows, following us a few car lengths back.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” she asks, her voice rising.

  “I wanted to be sure that I wasn’t being paranoid. Now I know that I wasn’t.”

  “Did you get the plates?”

  “No the car was always behind me several cars, and I wasn’t able to make out the plates. Again, the Land Rover also looks to be brand new.”

  “I’m going to have to put a few guys on you. They’ll
be undercover. You’re leaving me no choice,” she adds as I begin to argue. “You won’t even know that they’re there. Trust me, these are my best guys.”

  “Even if it’s not him, it could be someone that he’s working with,” I say, even more frustrated. “It was bad enough having to hide from one lunatic. How many do you think we’re dealing with here?”

  “I’m not sure, possibly two,” she answers.

  “I don’t know what to say or do,” I tell her.

  “Live your life as you have been. Keep an eye out at all times. Call me if you suspect that anyone is tailing you. Get plates, or any details that you can to me as soon as you’re able.”

  “I can do that,” I tell her, while trying hard to remain calm.

  She’s now looking at me expectantly. “Well, perhaps now is a good time to tell me about Peter coming home with you last week? Is he still at your place?”

  “Yes, that,” I say, wishing to avoid the topic altogether, but knowing that this is an impossibility.

  “Look, I can see that you’d rather not discuss him right now, but you might be putting his life in jeopardy,” she says, and this stings. I would never have had him stay with me if I’d known any of this. I knew Gabe was dangerous, but in the sense that he’d hurt me possibly, not anyone else. And I had no idea that he could be involved in anything beyond being a jealous, possessive, and controlling husband. Though I cannot imagine him ever hurting his own son, I realize that he’s not one to be underestimated in any way.

  “I told you that I was planning to visit him in the hospital,” I begin.

  “Yes, but I was under the impression that you were just going to see him once, maybe twice, to see what, if anything, he knew about his father?”

  “That was the plan,” I say. “I don’t know how it happened, but I think we’ve become friends. It wasn’t planned or anything. I just feel this connection to him. And I know how ridiculous this all sounds, believe me.”

  “It’s understandable. You’re lonely, vulnerable. You lost everything you believed in,” she’s saying, but I quickly cut her off.

  “Great, so now you’re going to psychoanalyze me too? I already have a shrink,” I snap. She stops and stares at me. I’ve never spoken to her this way before. She looks stunned. And hurt.

  She’s been nothing but kind to me. “I’m so sorry, Evelyn. I don’t know what’s gotten into me regarding Peter. I’m so defensive of this thing with him. I don’t even know if there is a thing.”

  “It’s okay, it really is. I understand. Believe it or not I too have been lonely, lost someone that I cared deeply for. I get it,” she says. This makes me feel even worse for snapping at her.

  As she tells me about her ex-husband, I sadly realize that it’s the first time that she’s ever really told me the story. I feel so selfish. She’s listened to me talk about my life for months and here I sit, for the very first time, listening to her as she opens up to me. It’s not for a lack of asking. I have. But this is the first time that she’s ever felt it safe enough to actually tell me. I keep my mouth shut, letting her talk.

  “And so when he left me, I was devastated. Completely lost. I was a shell of a human being for months after that. So my point is, I understand what you’re doing and why you’re doing it.”

  I can tell that she needs someone to tell her story to as much as she needs to feel like she’s helping me to sort out my feelings with Peter. This is as close to therapy as she’ll get. I don’t stop or interrupt her.

  I do agree with both Evelyn and Dr. Bryer about how the initial attraction started. But Peter is so different than his father that it now has nothing at all to do with Gabe or whoever in the hell it is that I married.

  “Well, what matters is that Peter will leave when he realizes that I lied,” I say once I feel that she’s said all that she wanted to say. “I have to tell him everything, and I know he’ll leave when I do. I’m putting him at risk now, never what I’d intended.”

  “You don’t know that he’ll leave.”

  “Yes, Evelyn, I do. I’ve lied to him and once he knows that, he’ll leave.”

  “Do you want me to be there with you when you talk to him?”

  I think about this. His life is now in danger, and she is law enforcement. This might not be a bad idea.

  “Do you think it might help?” I ask, wondering if I’m just too afraid to do this on my own.

  “It might. We don’t really have any time to waste. Where is he now?”

  “At work. He’s helping out a friend of mine, Chris, who has a boat shop in the marina.”

  Before I have a chance to stop her, she throws money down on the table. We drain our coffee cups. Before I stand she’s already up, grabbing her purse from the seat next to where she was sitting.

  “Let’s go,” she says, and we quickly head out the door.

  I follow her in my car as we head to Marina del Rey. The sinking feeling in my gut gets exponentially worse as we get closer. We take the 405 north to the 90 west. I’m tempted to call her and cancel the whole thing, but one thing stops me.

  It’s one thing to put myself at risk, a completely unacceptable thing to put Peter in any danger.

  As we get off the freeway Evelyn gets behind me and follows me from Lincoln Boulevard to Mindanao Way. The sky is a perfect shade of blue. There’s a slight breeze that sets the palm trees in motion and the boats bob in perfect unison along the docks.

  As I turn on Admiralty Way and into the parking lot in front of the shop, I spot Chris immediately. The white paneled, blue-trimmed stand-alone structure sits just beyond the parking lot. I park and get out of my car just as Evelyn pulls into the spot beside me.

  “Ella!” he says, walking up to hug me. I bury my head in his massive chest. I smell sweat and aftershave, a not unpleasant mix. At six foot four, his tall and bulky frame might intimidate some, but if you know him and are considered to be a friend, there’s absolutely nothing to feel except safe in his presence. His mop of shaggy blond curls, green eyes, cleft chin and dimples make him a standout. He always has a gaggle of female followers.

  I watch as Evelyn approaches to see if she’s in any way affected. Her expression betrays nothing. She’s all business.

  “Chris, this is Detective Evelyn Milner,” I say, watching as the two shake hands. “She’s with the LAPD and has been helping me with everything.”

  “Detective Milner,” he says politely.

  “Mr.?” she asks.

  “Christopher Hill, but you can call me Chris,” he replies, looking a bit confused as to why I brought a detective here with me.

  “We were wondering if we could borrow Peter for a few minutes, Chris,” she says.

  “He’s not in any trouble or anything,” I add. “We just wanted to discuss something with him. If he’s around,” I say, scanning the premises but not seeing him anywhere.

  “Said he wasn’t feeling well so I told him to take the rest of the day,” he explains. I immediately have a sinking feeling in my gut. Something just doesn’t feel right.

  “Oh, ok,” I say, trying to brush off any inkling of anything being off.

  Evelyn pulls me aside for a moment. “Where do you think he is?” she asks, her voice low so that Chris can’t hear her.

  “He probably went home, I mean back to my place,” I say, noticing the look in her eyes. “Look, this past week has probably been difficult for him. It’s been an adjustment.”

  “Do you want me to follow you to your place?”

  “No, it’s fine. Really, I’m good. He probably went to get some rest, or maybe, he went out somewhere to get some fresh air.”

  She gives me a look of concern. “This air seems pretty fresh to me,” she says, motioning towards the water behind us.

  “Look, he went straight from college into the Marines for over a decade. Then he was in a hospital in New York and then one in Santa Barbara. Now he’s just expected to adhere to civilian life like a regular person in a week? Come on, give the guy a b
reak!”

  This seems to appease her. She agrees to back off and let me handle things. At least as long as I promise to call or text her the moment I find out where he is and confirm for her that all is copacetic.

  She’s in her car within minutes, pulling out of the parking lot. Chris approaches me.

  “Is everything ok?” he asks, his hand on my back comfortingly.

  “Yeah, everything is fine.”

  “Are you sure about that? She seemed kind of intense.”

  “Evelyn? She always comes across that way, but she has a heart of gold. She’s just trying to help me sort a few things out. That’s all. I promise,” I add to alleviate any of his concerns. He’s looking at me, searching for something.

  I’m not blind to the way he looks at me sometimes. I know that Chris has feelings for me. I just don’t look at him in that way. This is one of those moments where I feel him watching me as if he knows that I’m holding back from him. I know it bothers him when I withhold information from him though he’ll never let on.

  “Are you sure that you’re ok?” he asks, and I know that he wishes that I’d really tell him how I’m doing. I just can’t.

  “Yes, I’m ok. I’m going to go and check on Peter,” I say, seeing the hurt in his eyes. He looks away. I wish that I could feel the same way for you but I don’t, I think to myself. And then Peter’s face flashes in front of my eyes and my heart races.

  “One thing, you said that he’s doing well here?”

  “Yes, very. Customers love him. His work is impeccable. I couldn’t believe how quickly he picked up on things around here. He makes it look effortless. He has a talent. Seems to be able to fix just about anything.”

  “So he seems happy then?”

  “Yeah, as far as I can tell. I mean, we don’t exactly talk about our feelings,” he says jokingly. “But he seems fine to me. I was surprised actually.”

  “Surprised?”

  “Yeah, I mean it took me months to get back into a normal routine. And that was with therapy and meds. It’s not an easy transition. From war to civilian normalcy, whatever in the hell that is.”