by Susan Cliff
This moment felt like that one, big and gaping. Swallowing his heart and eating away at his soul.
Layah took care of his side and his elbow before moving on to his thigh. She tried to apply a numbing agent, but he refused. He wanted it to hurt, and it did. She had to dig out a piece of shrapnel with forceps. He endured the pain without flinching. She flushed the wound and covered it with a bandage, then lifted her gaze to his face.
“You know,” she said.
“When were you going to tell me?”
“Right now.”
“Right now it’s too late for me to do anything about it,” he said, his jaw clenched. “Why not before we crossed the frigging border? Why didn’t you say, ‘Hey, Hudson, it’s been fun, but we’re going to Iran now’?”
“We crossed at the river. I thought we were being pursued.”
He stood abruptly, raking his fingers through his hair. Iran was the worst country for him to get stranded in. He’d rather go back to Iraq. There were US air bases in Iraq, and in Turkey. There were allies to contact. In Iran, he was completely isolated.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Are you?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“No. I don’t.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I think you did.”
“For what reason?”
“For Hasan.”
She drew in a sharp breath, as if his words pained her.
He didn’t buy it. “Why didn’t you tell me he was your brother?”
She stood, wiping the tears from her face. “I wasn’t sure you remembered him.”
“I remember him.”
“Would mentioning his name have made a difference?” she asked bitterly. “Would you have rushed to help Hasan’s surviving family members?”
“That’s not fair.”
“I will tell you what is not fair,” she retorted. “My brother bled to death in Syria, because he was your interpreter. That is not fair. His wife died in childbirth because the Da’esh threatened to kill anyone who assisted her. That is not fair. Ashur has no parents and I have no husband! That is not fair.”
“And you want to make things fair,” he said in a low voice. “That’s why I’m here. An eye for an eye.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “No. I care for you.”
“Don’t you dare say that,” he said, closing the distance between them. “You screwed me. You used me to get out of Iraq, you let me get you off, and then you screwed me. But not the way we both wanted.”
She slapped him across the face.
The sharp crack echoed through the room and his head tilted to the side. It was a direct hit, but he hardly felt it. He was too focused on his own rage, on the darkness inside him and the blood pounding in his ears. This moment had been coming since he’d left the torture chamber. It had been building to a flashpoint.
She retreated a step, her throat working. She was afraid of him.
Good.
He advanced, lightning-quick, as she shrank back against the bathroom door. He braced his hands on either side of her, using his arms like bars to hold her prisoner. She couldn’t escape.
“Just admit it,” he said, crowding her. “You brought me here as payback. You wanted me to suffer because you blame me for Hasan’s death.”
She shook her head in denial, lips trembling. He slammed his palm against the door, overwhelmed with fury and frustration. He wanted to shake the truth out of her. He wanted to kiss her until she confessed her sins.
Then he felt the cold bite of metal against the side of his neck. It was Ashur.
“I blame you,” the boy said.
A strange sensation came over Hud as Ashur pressed the blade to his throat. He could only describe it as an out-of-body experience. He looked down at himself and saw a man he didn’t recognize, using his strength to intimidate a woman. He saw a manifestation of anger and violence and toxic thoughts.
He saw his father.
He took a deep breath and snapped back to reality. The point of the knife cut into his skin, dangerously close to his jugular. Layah stared at him with wide eyes. Hud couldn’t make any sudden movements. Ashur had already nicked him. Blood trickled into the hollow of his throat.
“You sharpened your dagger,” Hud said.
“Move away from her or I will kill you.”
Hud stepped back from Layah, his hands raised. When Ashur lowered his knife, Hud grasped the towel at his waist to keep it from falling.
“Sit,” Ashur said to him.
Hud sat down on the edge of the bed. Layah stayed where she was, with her back pressed against the wall. Hud could disarm Ashur easily, but he didn’t. They needed to hash this out. “You think I failed Hasan.”
“I know you did.”
“You’re right. I did. We all did.”
Ashur blinked at this unexpected admission. A month ago, Hud wouldn’t have made it. Now that he’d spent time with Ashur and Layah, he felt compelled to give a deeper explanation. And maybe, Hud wanted to come clean.
“He was a member of our team, but we didn’t protect him,” Hud said. “We didn’t make sure he traveled with an armed guard. We didn’t put him in a safe house or insist on bringing his family to live on the base. We let him down.”
“You promised him a visa for one year of service,” Ashur said.
Hud nodded, though he didn’t handle those arrangements. It was the usual reward, and many interpreters didn’t live long enough to collect.
Ashur continued, his voice flat. “After a year passed, he was told that he had to wait for visas for my mother and I. So he continued to work for your military. Do you know what happened to him?”
“Yes,” Hud said.
“Tell me.”
“He was killed.”
“How?”
“His throat was cut.” Hud omitted the part about the missing tongue. Ashur might not be aware of every detail. “Your mother was heavily pregnant at the time. She went into hiding because of threats made by Hasan’s killers. She couldn’t get medical attention. We sent a doctor from the base, but it was too late.”
Ashur’s mouth thinned. “You know these things, but you do not care.”
“I do care.”
“Liar,” Ashur said. He moved closer, touching the blade to the underside of Hud’s chin. Layah let out a strangled sob. Hud prayed she wouldn’t interfere. “You didn’t care enough to protect him! Did you know he was Assyrian?”
“No,” Hud said, swallowing hard.
“An Assyrian interpreter is a perfect target for the Da’esh. You should have known this. It is your job to collect information and understand the enemy.”
Hud couldn’t argue there. He’d assumed Hasan was Muslim. The Assyrians looked like Arabs to him, with their dark eyes and hair. Hud’s main concern was how well Hasan spoke the local languages, not his ethnic or religious background.
“I should kill you the way they killed him,” Ashur said, his hand quivering.
Layah bit the edge of her fist. Hud held very still, silently imploring her not to move. “I know who did it.”
“You lie,” Ashur said.
“No. I didn’t know enough about Hasan, but he was a good interpreter and a good man. He was a member of my team. I cared about him being murdered in the streets. So I investigated his death, and I went after the men responsible. I went all the way to Telskuf.”
Ashur took the blade away from Hud’s throat. “Telskuf?”
“I was convinced that the terrorists who killed your father were in a building in Telskuf. I moved in too fast, and I got trapped. I was filled with fury, so much that it made me reckless. That’s why I told you emotions and killing don’t mix.”
“Who?” Ashur demanded. “Who was it
?”
Hud shook his head in denial. The name would poison the boy’s soul.
Ashur pushed past Hud and grabbed a pillow from the opposite bed. He stabbed it repeatedly, making animal sounds of anguish. Feathers floated into the air. It was a poor substitute for the bloodshed he desired.
Layah slid down the wall and sank to the ground. Her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. Hud waited for Ashur to vent his emotions. He understood the boy’s rage and frustration. He knew how it felt to lose control.
When Ashur was finished killing the pillow, he dropped his right arm. Hud moved in and grasped the boy’s wrist. After a short struggle, Ashur let go of the knife. Hud secured it and gave the boy space. Ashur buried his face in the mangled pillow. His thin shoulders shook with silent tears. Layah rushed forward and joined him on the bed. She put her hand on his back, tentative. He turned toward her, seeking the comfort of her embrace.
Hud hid the knife in his pack and retreated to the bathroom. He wiped the blood off his neck and braced his palms on the sink. Summoning calm, he stared at his reflection.
He was in Iran. He was in Iran with a homicidal kid, a band of refugees and a woman who tempted him beyond all reason. This was a total goat screw of a situation. He didn’t know what to do about any of it, especially Layah. He couldn’t seem to guard his heart against her.
He touched the cheek she’d slapped, contemplative. Despite the wrongs she’d done him, he felt closer to her than to any woman he’d ever known. He admired her daring, even when it worked against him. He sympathized with her struggle for freedom and her concerns for Ashur. He still wanted her.
Yeah. He was clearly an idiot. She’d kidnapped him, wrangled him into an impossible journey and subjected him to nonstop danger. She’d lied to him at every turn. She’d used him as a stand-in for her husband. And Hud wasn’t opposed to going another round.
She knocked on the door. “May I come in?”
He let her enter. Of course he did. He might as well lie down and let her walk all over him. She closed the door behind her, moistening her lips. Her hair was uncovered, her eyes wet with tears.
“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “I shouldn’t have gone off on you.”
“I should not have slapped you.”
He nodded, though he didn’t consider the offenses equal.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Thank you for your help with Ashur. You are good with him.”
Hud avoided her gaze. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been just like Ashur as a kid, quick-tempered and prone to violence. Maybe Hud was still like that, though he tried not to be. “Is he okay?”
“He is resting,” she said. “I wish to explain myself.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“William—”
“Don’t call me that. Not now.”
She flinched at his words. “I hurt you, and I am sorry.”
“It’s not about hurt feelings. You brought me to Iran.”
“There was no other way.”
He shook his head in disbelief. He’d rather have taken his chances with the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
“We are here for one day only. Tomorrow we go to the Armenian crossing. It is an open border, without fees or restrictions. No documents are required. You will be able to enter Armenia in safety.”
Hud knew what an open border was, but he didn’t trust the Iranians to follow the rules. “Is there a checkpoint?”
“There are customs booths for information.”
“What if we’re stopped before we cross?”
She didn’t have an answer for that.
“Have you been in Iran before?”
“Not since I was a child. It is not safe for Assyrians.”
“How does your aunt manage?”
“She married a Muslim and converted.”
“Is that what you did?”
Her lips parted in surprise. “No. I did not convert.”
He noticed that she didn’t deny the first part of his question. “Iranians detain and jail Americans for no reason. And those are just the civilians, who come legally. With my tattoos, I won’t be mistaken for a civilian. My presence could even be considered an act of war. If we get caught, I’ll be imprisoned, convicted of espionage and executed.”
“We won’t get caught,” she said. “I have a plan.”
He let out a frustrated breath. “You always do.”
“You can use Khalil’s passport.”
“I look nothing like him!”
“You are tall. You have dark eyes. If you shave, and cover your hair...”
Hud hated the idea. He hated everything about it. He hated her for risking his freedom, and himself for wanting her anyway. The walls of the bathroom seemed to close in on him like a prison cell. His chest felt tight, his skin crawling. He had to get out. He brushed by her and opened the door, sucking in air.
Ashur was asleep on the bed again. There were feathers all over.
What a goddamned mess.
He stretched out on the opposite bed and closed his eyes. He took deep breaths and pictured tall mountains. Not the snow-capped peaks of the Zagros, but the rugged Sierras, Mount Shasta and the sky-high cliffs of Yosemite. Hud could climb to his heart’s content without ever leaving California. He’d always liked California girls, too. He vowed to find a hot blonde to cure him of his feelings for Layah.
“I ordered kebabs,” Layah said.
His stomach growled fiercely at the news. He opened one eye.
“You like kebabs?”
“You’re evil, you know that?”
She smiled at his expression, spreading a blanket on the floor. She filled plastic cups with water from the bathroom sink. Oshana delivered the kebabs a few minutes later. Ashur woke up to eat, his hair disheveled. They shared a feast of rice, salad, hummus and meat kebabs. Hud’s argument with Layah didn’t fade away, but it seemed less important after a full meal. Ashur stuffed his face and went back to bed.
Hud climbed into the other bed, exhausted. Layah took her turn in the shower. He listened to the squeaky faucet and didn’t even picture her naked. He didn’t picture anything. His mind shut off, and he slept.
Chapter 14
Layah tiptoed downstairs at dawn.
She’d borrowed a nightgown from Aunt Miri, but she didn’t want to be seen in it. She ducked into the laundry room, which was empty, and removed the clothes from the dryer. Hudson’s belongings were mingled with hers. She brought his shirt to her face and inhaled. It smelled like laundry detergent.
Her aunt sailed into the room, startling her. “Good morning,” she said in Farsi.
Layah’s cheeks heated. “Good morning.”
They switched to Assyrian to chat while Layah folded laundry. Miri and her husband owned the hotel, and business was good. Miri was eager to hear any news about family. Like Layah, Miri had married an outsider, so she had very little communication with other Assyrians. Travel between Iraq and Iran was difficult, adding to her isolation. Layah could relate. She’d been estranged from her parents for years. She still hadn’t forgiven them for refusing to recognize her marriage.
“He is a big man,” Miri said. “Tall.”
Layah was in the process of folding Hudson’s pants. “Yes.”
“Is he good to you?”
She nodded, avoiding Miri’s gaze. He hadn’t been very good to her last night, but she didn’t blame him. She’d known he wouldn’t react well to feeling trapped in a dangerous place. Like Ashur, he suffered from post-traumatic stress.
“He has a charming accent. Where is he from?”
Layah couldn’t lie anymore. Not to Hudson, and not to her own family. Miri looked so much like Layah’s mother. Layah missed her dearly, despite the rift between them. “He’s not Khalil.”
“I know
.”
Layah stopped folding laundry. “You know?”
“Your mother sent me a picture from your wedding.”
“She didn’t come to my wedding.”
“I think she got it from your brother, and she passed it on to me. She gushed about what a beautiful bride you were.”
Layah’s eyes filled with tears. She had notified her mother about the deaths of Hasan and his wife, but she hadn’t said a word about Khalil. It was too painful to speak his name to someone who’d never accepted him. “Hudson is our guide. It’s a long story.”
“Did something happen to Khalil?”
“He joined the Syrian rebels. He...didn’t make it.”
Miri wrapped her arms around Layah. “I’m so sorry, habibi.”
Layah hugged her back, her heart lighter. Then she wiped her cheeks and took a deep breath. “Thank you for helping us.”
“I’m glad to. Give your mother a hug from me.”
“I will.”
“Do you need anything else?”
“Yes,” Layah said. “I need a map, a men’s razor and a keffiyeh.”
Miri nodded happily and wished her luck. Miri’s husband, Olan, would drive them to the Armenian border.
Layah gathered her stack of laundry and returned to the room. Ashur and Hudson were still fast asleep. Hudson was stretched out on his stomach with the sheets tangled around his hips. She knew he was naked because she had all his clothes in her arms. She could also tell by looking.
She placed his belongings next to him on the bed. He roused at the movement, rolling over abruptly. Her eyes drifted south as he pulled the sheets north. But she’d already seen him, and he was magnificent.
“Good morning,” she said in a husky voice.
He said it back in Arabic, the same language she’d spoken. It was the language she’d used with Khalil. She’d forgotten to speak English. For her, Arabic was the language of romance and desire.