by Dana Feldman
“I’ll put a fresh pot of coffee on. Maybe make us something to eat?”
“Sounds great,” I say, now seated on the sofa with Hank on the floor just at my feet.
I watch as he makes the coffee and hunts in the refrigerator for something to make us.
“You like eggs?”
“Sure.”
“Are you one of those egg white only people?” he asks, as he rummages and grabs several items and throws them on the counter.
“Sometimes but not today. Today I’m actually quite hungry. I’ll let you create.”
“Ok. Any food allergies or aversions of any kind?”
“Nope. Well, I’m not too fond of sardines or liver.”
“Duly noted,” he jokes.
“I like it here. You and Hank are good company.”
“You’re welcome here anytime,” he says. “I mean that.”
“Thank you. And I’ll be sure to take advantage of that.”
Just then he comes up to me and reaches in his pocket for something. He hands me a key.
“Just in case you’re ever in the area and you feel like hanging out with Hank here. Like I said, anytime. You don’t need to call. There’s a number combination to the security system for guests. I’ll text it to you.”
I take the key and immediately put it on my key ring.
“My daughter, she would’ve been about your age now.”
I can see it now. He’s lonely. He has no one. No family. He’s like me, a loner by default.
“I never knew my father. I’d like to think that he’s a kind man like you.”
I reach over and hug him. I realize that sometimes in life you can pick your family. He gets up and goes back into the kitchen and Hank and I watch some television while we wait.
“Ok, it’s ready,” he says, as he sets up two place settings on the counter. I get up and head over, sitting on one of two barstools as he serves us. Hank sits just at my feet, waiting, hoping that some food finds its way to him.
“So, looks like everything is handled as far as the case is concerned,” he says, sitting down beside me. “If I’m correct, you’re now in the clear and safe.”
“Yep,” I say.
“You don’t look as relieved as I’d expect.”
“There are a few things that I haven’t told you,” I begin. He puts his fork down and turns to face me. He listens intently as I tell him about that day on the boat with Peter, Gabe and Bryer. I fully expect him to call the authorities, or tell me to do so. But he doesn’t. He instead looks me intently in the eyes and gives me some fatherly advice.
“Sometimes in life, Ella, we are forced to do things that we never even thought ourselves capable of. Life forces our hand and we do what we must, to survive. I, for one, am very proud of you. I wish that my baby girl would’ve done the same.”
“Were you close with Ashley?”
“Very. Until she got into that awful relationship, that is,” he says, sadness in his tone. “I think that the two of you would’ve been friends. You’re so much like her.”
“How so?” I ask, wishing that I’d had the chance to meet her.
“Fiercely independent and stronger than you know. Beautiful. Kind.”
“How can you say that I’m a kind person after what I’ve just told you?”
“You know the old saying about kindness and weakness?”
I shrug my shoulders. I’ve heard it, of course, but I’m still having a difficult time associating myself with someone who is good.
“Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness,” he says. “That’s what these perpetrators do. They see an open wound, an open heart, and they pounce.”
“I still,” I start.
“You need to know that you’re good,” he says, cutting me off. “You have to believe that because the world will tell you otherwise. The world will knock you down and flatten you if you don’t know who you are in here,” he adds, putting his hand to his heart and then his head. “Do you understand?”
“I do,” I answer, nodding my head. “I do.”
After I leave Bob and Hank, promising to come back over the weekend for a BBQ, I call Evelyn. I need to tell her everything. I don’t in any way want to compromise her job, and I’m ready to face any consequences, but I just want my relationships to be based on truth.
After the other night at our place I know that she felt the tension between Peter and me. I know that she knows that I haven’t told her everything.
I am relieved when she answers and has the time to meet with me. This time I’ve agreed to go to her place. I have never been there before and I’m curious.
On the drive to Santa Monica it occurs to me that maybe Bob is right. I am good.
CHAPTER FORTY
BECAUSE OF PEOPLE LIKE YOU
When she opens the door I’m surprised to see her in sweatpants and a t-shirt. She’s always eloquently dressed in a suit and heels. Today she’s barefoot and relaxed.
“I was just going to open a bottle. Care for a glass?” she asks, holding up a bottle of red.
“Yes, please.”
The place is gorgeous. A large, open concept apartment with a clear view of the ocean, I walk around the sunken living room and admire her minimalistic, yet warm, taste in furnishings. I can tell the building was built in the sixties. With steps down into the living room, rod iron railings on both sides and high vaulted ceilings with wood beams painted white and cream-colored carpet, the place is inviting and cozy.
She has the large brick fireplace going. Two gray and black tweed print couches are lined up across from one another just in front of the massive fireplace. A wood and glass coffee table separates the couches from one another.
The entire wall before me is of windows overlooking the sand and sea. I open the sliding glass door and am hit with a cooler than normal breeze for this time of year. I walk out onto her balcony and lean on the railing, breathing in the salty air.
“I love it out here,” I say as she walks out with two glasses of wine. She clicks my glass with hers.
“Cheers,” she says. Just then a gorgeous Siamese cat joins us from inside and meows loudly.
“Who’s this?” I ask, realizing I never even knew she had a cat. There’s so little that I do know about her, and I want to change that immediately.
“This is Mildred but I call her Millie,” she replies, as she affectionately bends down to pet her.
“She matches the apartment,” I laugh, noting how much she blends with the place. “She’s beautiful.”
“I agree,” she says. “Shall we go inside? It’s a bit chilly out here.”
“Sure,” I say, following her and Millie in.
“So, you said that you wanted to tell me something, that it was important,” she says, sitting on one couch and I on the other.
“Yes. I wasn’t going to tell you because I didn’t want to put you in a bad position. But now I feel that I have to come forward and accept whatever the consequences.”
“Ok,” she says calmly, as if she already knows what I’m about to say.
“I killed Bryer. It was in self-defense. And Peter killed Gabe, also in self-defense.”
“I know,” she says.
“I suppose that I figured you might.”
She doesn’t say anything for a few moments and I wait, wondering what will happen next.
“This job, it can be so hard for so many reasons. Do you know why I joined the LAPD?”
“To help people?”
“Yes, that. But the main reason was to put the bad guys away. But they’re like cockroaches. Every single time I get one and lock him up, there are ten more in his place. It’s all consuming. I want to quit all the time but I don’t. Do you know why that is?”
I don’t say anything. I’m not exactly sure where this is going.
“Because of people like you, Ella. Because what I realized is that it’s not just about getting the bad guys. It’s about helping the good ones, as well. So now I focus on that par
t of the job. I focus on the people like you. I’m not going to arrest you if that’s why you’re telling me this. I, for one, think you’ll be far more useful out here amongst the rest of us helping others with your shelter. I think that’s a far better use of your life than rotting in a jail cell because you defended yourself against a monster.”
She watches me for a few moments. “There’s some information that I think you should know.” I wait for it, knowing that whatever it is, I can handle it. Her face is so serious, but I keep my breathing steady and ready myself.
“There’s more to Gabe’s story. Only a handful of operatives in the intelligence community knew about the agency. Members were culled from the highest security federal prisons; each had been imprisoned for extremely heinous and violent crimes. These people were certifiably insane, diagnosed as such: psychopathic yet believed to be controllable with the right combination of drugs. They were like machines, highly valued commodities in their field. They’d do anything they were assigned. They had no conscience, no remorse. Where other agents struggled with guilt or PTSD after a tough assignment, these agents didn’t. They were higher than both the CIA and FBI with more power than the two combined. An executive order granted them the highest security clearance and direct access to the President of the United States of America. They used these guys because they’d do literally anything they were ordered to do with no questions asked. Gabe was about to be tried after going rogue on an assignment, killing a man later found to be innocent. This sparked a closer look into his past assignments with the agency and other killings he’d committed. He’d become a loose cannon, out of their control. He’d stopped taking the meds.”
“Let me guess, he disappeared before they could try him.”
“Yes. Members went through rigorous training for years. They were taught to disappear without leaving a trace. He was amongst the best of the best, the most highly skilled. He outsmarted even them.”
“Now it makes sense: the lack of fingerprints, the complete transformations he was able to pull off,” I say. “And he’d been doing this for years.”
“His joy for killing for the mere sport of it got him the job. They believed that they could control him but soon discovered he was uncontrollable. He was also brilliant; passed with flying colors every test they put him through. By the time they figured it out, they’d lost control over him. It was too late. He’d already killed more than once. The group was brought down soon thereafter. All members were put back into the cells they came from. He made himself a lot of enemies.”
“And Peter?”
“Peter is an altogether different story. While Adams and Thomas are busy chasing their tails looking for the two people that you and I both know don’t exist from the sketches, I’ve been doing some digging of my own.”
“What were you able to find out about Peter?”
“Quite a bit. Poor Peter. He really did start out in life as a good guy. He wanted to be the polar opposite of his father by all accounts. But unfortunately, his hatred for the man he believed to have murdered his mother, consumed him. He had a high security clearance in the military and used that to dig up information about him. He might be a good man at his core but he, unfortunately, became obsessed with knowing everything that there was to know about Gabe. This caused him only further grief.”
“So he knows all of this?”
“Not all of it. Remember this information is of the highest caliber of classified that there is. But he was able to find out enough dirt.”
“About his mother you mean?”
“Yes, and I’m afraid that was more than enough. His plans to exact revenge went deeper than I ever knew.”
“He’s not a lost cause, he’s just broken. But who isn’t?”
“You’re not, Ella. And you can’t fix him. You can’t save him from himself.”
“But I…” I start to tell her that I love him, but she stops me abruptly.
“I know that you think that you love him and that you can be the one person to save him, but you can’t. If I’ve learned anything in this life, it’s that each one of us is responsible for doing that for ourselves. It is not your job to fix another person.”
“But I do love him,” I argue, holding out my hand to stop her from cutting me off again.
“The saddest part about all of this would be if you were to end up in another relationship just like the one that you just got yourself out of. We’ve discussed this. Sadly, this is exactly what I see happening here.”
“Peter has helped me, protected me. Despite everything that you’re saying, he has helped me.”
“Helped you? Protected you? Peter didn’t get you out of this mess. You did that. What he did do is get you involved in yet another. I know you, Ella. You’re no cold-blooded killer! You’d have called the police after killing Bryer and after Peter killed Gabe. I know that you would have called me at the very least. But let me guess, Peter told you not to.”
“Not exactly,” I defend. I know that he stopped me that day but I still fight her on this.
“Not exactly? What does that even mean?”
“He said that no one would believe us. That we’d rot in prison for the rest of our lives for defending ourselves. And then he said that we had to get rid of the bodies and clean up any evidence. Dump the boat. He said that we’d never be able to explain both of their murders, that the police might believe the need to kill one of them, but that two of us surely could’ve controlled the other until help arrived.”
“Did you ever stop and ask yourself why he did that? Why he didn’t just agree to call for help? I mean, you were both kidnapped and had to fight for your lives. Why go through all the trouble to hide what wasn’t even a crime? I mean, it became one when you hid the very evidence that would’ve cleared your name. You committed a crime when you did that. But what I’m willing to do is make a deal with you. You help us get him and you’re a free woman. You can have a life, start over, do so much good in this world.”
“I can’t just turn on him.”
“Why? Because you love him? Please, Ella!”
“I do,” I say, covering my face in my hands. Absurd as it sounds, I do love Peter.
“No, you think you do. He came into your life and made things exponentially worse for you. You didn’t answer my question. Why do you think that Peter didn’t want you to call the authorities?”
“I don’t know,” I yell.
“Yes, you do,” she says, her voice remaining steady.
I sit there and try to push the thoughts that have been haunting me for weeks, away. I’ve barely been able to eat or sleep, and I’m beginning to question my sanity. If it wasn’t for Bob and Evelyn, I’d think I was crazy.
“He wanted you to be a part of this thing with him because he knew you well enough to know that you’d doubt yourself, that you’d become more and more dependent on him. He thought that eventually you’d trust him more than you trust yourself. You’d be so completely dependent on him that you’d have nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Sound familiar?”
I break down knowing that what she’s saying is true. “I’m so fucked up!”
“No, you’ve fucked up but you’re not broken. And you can fix this. I’ve been waiting for you to come to me for help. That’s why you’re here now. You want me to help you get out of this mess and I can. And I will.”
“What do you need me to do?” I ask, now surrendering to her. I doubt many things in this life but not the fact that Evelyn has done nothing but try to help me. She has my back and I don’t question that fact.
“You said that you finally felt free after we found Gabe. But you and I both know that you’re anything but. How badly do you want your life back? A life where you can help so many others who are also in a mess?”
“Badly enough to do whatever it takes,” I tell her, wiping the tears away with the back of my hand.
“Good. There’s someone else that I think can help us. But you have to trust me. OK?”
“Yes,” I tell her. “I don’t want to be this broken person. I want to be strong, like you.”
“You’re not broken, Ella. You’re putting yourself back together just like the rest of us. Do you think you’re the only person in the world that has a self-destructive pattern to contend with?”
“No. But you have to admit that mine is quite extreme, and I’m not the only one who gets hurt.”
“That’s life. It isn’t pretty or easy, not for any of us. But each one of us is the only one who can fix ourselves. Sometimes we all just need a little help. That’s what friends are for, right?”
For the first time I can truly see it, the light at the end of the tunnel. Even I can have that sought after happy ending. It won’t come easy and I need to do the right thing before I can have it.
“Ok,” I say. “I’m in. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
She smiles at me and puts her hand on my arm. She tells me that everything is going to be all right, and I believe her. Somewhere deep within my gut, I know that she’s right. And then I see just a glimpse of it: a normal, healthy life. It’s within my grasp. I can feel it.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
THE DATE
I’m surprised when I get home that Peter is dressed in a suit and tie. He greets me at the door with a warm hug and kiss. I’m immediately concerned and know that something is up.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask, trying to act normal. I force myself to smile.
“I thought that I’d take you out tonight. On an actual date.”
“Why? I mean, it’s a lovely gesture and you look great. I’ve just had a long day, and I was hoping to just stay in, to be honest.”
“I’ve planned everything. A dinner cruise for two,” he says, and my stomach drops. “Here,” he adds, handing me a large wrapped box.
“What’s this?” I ask, knowing that I’m about to get pulled into something bad.
“A gift. You have to open it to find out.”
With shaking hands I open the box and pull out a gorgeous black cocktail dress. “It’s stunning,” I say. I notice the Prada tag. He then hands me a smaller box. Shoes. I open the box and pull out bone-colored heels, also Prada. “They’re exquisite.”