Killmore

by Martha Sweeney

  “I’ve never heard of it,” Paul mentions.

  “Most people don’t hear about these types of clubs or organizations,” I say. “It’s secretive…like Bohemian Grove, the Masons, or Skull and Bones.”

  “You would place this country club with those high level organizations?” Aiden questions.

  “Yes,” I confirm.

  “Why?” Paul asks.

  “Because of who owns the country club,” I explain. “The Welles family practically established this town. They’ve been here since their great, great, great grandfather’s grandfather…I think.”

  “So, the Welles might be our link to Quintin,” Paul surmises.

  “Possibly,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders.

  “Have you ever met them?” Paul continues.

  “Who?”

  “The Welles?”

  “No,” I answer. “I’ve seen pictures and saw them in passing once in town, but that’s it.”

  “They’re usually not here though, right, Laurie?” Aiden says.

  “Correct,” I confirm.

  “Hmm,” Paul sighs, taking a chug of his beer. “We need to get something…anything….”

  Aiden nods in agreement as he throws back a gulp of his drink.

  “Do you mind me asking how long you’ve been following him?” I ask politely.

  Aiden looks to Paul, checking to see if anything can be shared.

  “A while,” Paul states. “There were several times where just as we’d find out where Quintin was and got there, that he’d suddenly disappear…staying hidden and untraceable for another long period.”

  “Is that typical?” I ask.

  “Depends on the mark,” Paul reveals.

  I nod and sip my beer.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes. My gaze bounces between the two of them, studying their faces, waiting for a clue, hoping they’ll reveal a non-verbal conversation that may give something away, but nothing surfaces.

  “Does he have a wife or children?” I suddenly ask.

  “Not that we’re aware of,” Aiden answers.

  I know they aren’t going to share information with me easily.

  “What about mistresses or male lovers?” I search with a chuckle.

  “We’ve never been able to catch him that close to find out,” Paul states.

  “How old is he?” I inquire, hoping to gather some bit of information tonight to help with my investigation.

  The two of them are quiet for a few beats.

  “We’re not quite sure,” Paul informs. “We’d say he’s probably around my age.”

  “Probably? How can you probably know what he looks like while you’re here to monitor him?” I say, not completely understanding.

  “We only have an old photo of him,” Paul addresses. “His current face isn’t in the system, which makes it hard to monitor and track from a distance.”

  “How can you not have everyone in the system now thanks to the power of the internet, cell phones, drones, and all of the cameras that are literally everywhere?” I say stumped.

  “He’s not considered a threat at the moment,” Paul shares.

  My mouth drops open, readying to say something, but my voice cracks in astonishment. “Can’t you use a software program to do some kind of facial recognition based off of what you think he may look like?” I check.

  “I can’t confirm or deny whether we, or the agency, have that type of technology in place,” Paul says with a little irritation.

  “Whatever,” I comment in disbelief. “I can’t believe that with the way technology is, and with how the government uses it to manipulate the masses, that you don’t have that kind of program in place. What’s seen in movies is far more accurate that what the government would want people to know is true with regards to their monitoring and people watching…but then again, you’re completely disorganized with certain things like communication.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Aiden challenges.

  “Seriously?” I huff. “You two didn’t know who the fuck I was when you met me.”

  “That’s because of the type of asset you are,” Aiden states.

  “Plus, for all you or I know, you may be monitoring the wrong guy…or, if he’s the right guy, even if something did happen, I bet your hands would be tied to do anything about it.”

  “Why do you say that?” Paul asks.

  “Seriously?” I laugh. “We all know that bombings like the attacks on September eleventh, the whole Taliban and ISIS personas are all orchestrated by the American government to keep people in line…to distract them from what’s really going on.”

  “And, what’s really going on?” Paul inquires.

  “I’m not answering that,” I snap.

  “Why? Because you don’t know the answer?” Aiden states.

  “No,” I challenge. “Because, you’ll twist my words and make me out to be a paranoid conspiracy theorist just like the rest of them to cover for the fact that there’s so much shit really going on.”

  “Like what?” Aiden pries.

  I roll my eyes and let out a heavy breath. “I’m not interested in you mocking me.”

  “I wouldn’t mock you,” Aiden defends.

  “Besides, I shouldn’t have to explain to you about the real workings of the agency slash government whom you work for…you’re probably in on it and monitoring me just because I see through the bullshit and lies.”

  “Laurie,” Aiden coaxes, with pain in his eyes.

  “Don’t deny it,” I challenge.

  Aiden’s eye slowly fall, becoming transfixed on a spot across the room as disappointment and sadness flicker in his gaze.

  In this moment, I realize that regardless if Aiden knows the truth or not, that he’s hurt by my accusations about his conscious knowledge or involvement in deceiving people. Can he really be one of the good guys, trying to correct the system from the inside out?

  My gaze shifts to Paul and I can see the same pain and disappointment in his eyes, but he hides it better than Aiden. However, I have a sense that Paul knows something that Aiden does not. I shouldn’t be surprised that he would know more. He’s been working with the Feds a lot longer than Aiden and Paul has had at least one partner die. I wonder if the death is tied to this case.

  “I should go,” I announce, feeling guilty for pressing and attacking them. They aren’t the ones who I’m mad at.

  “Laurie,” Aiden calls, standing immediately after I do.

  “I’ll let you two be alone,” Paul offers. “No hard feelings, Laurie.”

  My mouth curls up into a broken smile. “Thanks, Paul. No hard feelings.”

  “Goodnight, sweetie,” he bids for the first time.

  My heart breaks, understanding that he’s sharing so many emotions and thoughts with me with just those two words. He’s never called me a term of endearment before.

  “Goodnight,” I bid.

  Paul heads down the hall to what I’m guessing is his bedroom.

  “Do you want me to drive you home?” Aiden asks sweetly once we’re outside by my truck.

  “No,” I refuse politely, opening the door for the dogs.

  Aiden lets out a heavy sigh.

  “Aiden…I’m….”

  “Don’t,” Aiden interrupts.

  “But….”

  “It’s okay,” he soothes. “We both know that this isn’t easy for you in a number of ways.”

  “Thanks,” I accept softly.

  “Plus, we know the system is fucked up,” Aiden shares. “I’m not sure exactly how much fucked up…but, I know it’s fucked up…a lot. And, that’s why people like Paul and I are still in it. We want to help fix it.”

  “Aiden?” I say hesitantly.

  “Yeah, Pix?” he returns with a soft smile.

  “Do…do you ever think that no matter what you do, that you’ll never be able to fix it?”

  “Sometimes,” he admits with a breath out. “Sometimes it feels like we’re dealing with a hydra in
stead of a snake.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask inquisitively.

  “In war…if you chop off the head of the snake…the leader…the rest of the body doesn’t know what to do, so it dies. But, with a hydra…there are multiple leaders, each playing their own chess games within a chess game or games. As soon as you think you’ve got one of them, another sneaks up on you, catching you completely off guard. Or…as soon as you’ve cornered one…two more…or even three more pop up.”

  “Yeah,” I agree.

  “When more come out of the wood work…there are days we question why we bother. Why keep fighting, knowing that they’ll always be twenty steps ahead of us no matter what.”

  “Then, why do you stay?” I ask.

  “Hope,” Aiden states. “Hope that if we find the right head and take him or her down…that the rest will crumble with them.”

  “Makes sense,” I return, looking down.

  “You sure you’re okay to drive?” Aiden asks sweetly.

  “Yeah,” I reply with a fake smile.

  Aiden chuckles. “I know you’re lying to me.”

  “It’s no big deal,” I state. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

  “You did have a few beers,” Aiden reminds.

  “And, so did you,” I comment.

  “Touché,” he laughs.

  I look away, not sure what to say to make the uncomfortable energy between us go away.

  “Hey,” he says, lifting my chin to look at him.

  “What?” I reply.

  Aiden doesn’t say another word, but slowly takes a step toward me.

  I don’t move, waiting to see what he might do and feeling like I need something, some kind of comfort. My eyes stay transfixed on him after watching his gaze bounce between my eyes and mouth several times. His tongue extends slightly, moistening his lips. A few seconds later, Aiden delicately takes my mouth with his in a way he never has before. Needing the physical contact, my body leans slightly into him as we connect more. His hands rest on the small of my back and the side of my face while mine knot into his shirt at the sides of his waist. There’s a tenderness, a sweetness to his embrace, like he’s cradling me protectively.

  “I should go,” I remind, parting my lips from his.

  “Can I come with you?” he checks.

  “No,” I refuse gingerly.

  Thirty Six - Aiden

  The night Laurie left after our deeper than usual conversation was rough — rough for both Paul and me. It makes me question things and myself. It’s not like I haven’t been aware or know about the things Laurie mentioned. They’re all true, but to hear her say it, the way in which she did, with so much anger and pain right on the surface was hard to bear. I know that she didn’t say those things in an attempt to attack Paul and me, but that shit still hurts nonetheless. It hurts even more knowing how she really feels about what happened to her. She hasn’t forgiven. She hasn’t been able to move on. She hasn’t been able to heal in any form.

  My gut wrenches at the thought of her dealing with it all by herself. All I want to do is shield her from all of it — the bullshit and the pain. All I want to do is shower her with — love. I said it, and it’s true. I love her.

  “Aiden,” Laurie calls, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Hmm,” I return.

  “Here,” she says, offering me a glass.

  “Thanks,” I reply, immediately taking a sip of the iced tea. I turn back around to watch the monitors. I don’t mean to give her the cold shoulder, it’s just that I don’t know what to say, let alone do, to make things better.

  She’s been nicer to me the past few days. We’ve kind of kept to ourselves, not talking or seeing each other as much. I don’t blame her, and I don’t think she really blames me either. I think it’s just that neither of us know how to go from where we are. So much of our true-selves were shared that night in a way I didn’t expect it to. All the things that can be said when you’re talking about something completely different is mind-blowing and eye opening.

  Laurie comes by again, probably an hour later since she gave me the drink, picking up the glass and refilling it without asking. My eyes lift to find her face and I half-heartedly smile and nod as my ears stay focused on noise and movement in Quintin’s house.

  “Aiden?” Laurie calls some time later.

  “Yeah,” I return as gently as I can, feeling frustrated by everything.

  Her voice mumbles something.

  “What?” I reply, taking the headphones off.

  “Are you staying?” she says.

  “If you don’t mind,” I answer.

  “No,” she confirms quietly. “I figured you might…it’s been a few days.”

  “Yeah,” I huff in agreement.

  “You hungry?” she checks.

  My stomach grumbles before my mouth opens to speak. “Yeah. Did you want to go out?”

  “If you want to,” she offers. “I know we haven’t been out as much…you know?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh.

  “Or,” she poses. “Or, I could cook.”

  “I thought you didn’t want me eating your food,” I manage to tease.

  “There’s too much for me to eat,” she comments with a small smile.

  “Yeah?” I say with a grin. “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” she affirms. “I don’t mind.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  “What are you in the mood for?” she inspects.

  My grin wides as an innuendo pops into my head, but I refrain from saying it. “I’m good with whatever.”

  “I’ll have something ready in about fifteen minutes then. Is that okay?” she asks.

  “Definitely,” I return.

  I resume my boring post in front of the screen for about another five minutes before turning it off and getting up. My joints crack a little as I stretch and stand. Transfixed by the woman I love, I watch her as her back is turned to me. All I want to do is touch her, hold her. It’s an aching need I’ve had since the day I met her and has grown since we last kissed. I know that we’re good, in the sense of what it means to be good for Aiden and Laurie. That kiss was everything. She didn’t fight it and I gave her what I needed to give her — my heart. I think it changed us, which is why things feel even more awkward between her and me than all the other times we’ve kissed, but I’m not sure.

  “What?” a voice says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “Huh?” I return.

  “Nothing,” she replies.

  “What?” I say, feeling completely caught off guard. “Did I say something?”

  “No,” she giggles. “You just were…I don’t know….”

  “What?”

  “Not here,” she mentions.

  My shoulders shrug to brush my thoughts away. “Do you need help?” I ask, wanting to redirect our attention.

  “Sure,” she returns.

  I refill my glass and her’s and set them on the table where she already started setting up, which I take over while she finishes with the food. We eat, not talking most of the time. I manage to randomly mention something here or there about insignificant things. I don’t know why except to ease the tension. I help her clean up and then we sit outside, having a beer as we take turns tossing a ball for the dogs. About twenty minutes later, I’m back inside, resuming my earlier task while Laurie curls up on the couch with her iPad and a book. The dogs bounce between her and me for attention and I don’t mind the distraction one bit.

  At some point, well after the sun has gone down, I start to hear an odd noise. A low thudding sound that keeps repeating. I turn up the volume of the audio and start scouring all of the camera angles for anything that will reveal where the sound is coming from. Frustrated after a few minutes, I give up, switching everything off and stand up in a furry.

  The sound continues, this time more prominently, and I suddenly feel like an overworked idiot. My head spins to the right and I find Laurie wearing a skin tight tank and shorts as she sweats
from pounding her punching bag. Not caring that she may see me, I just stand there, watching — admiring.

  “Hey,” she greets at some point, breaking my trance. She yanks the headphones out of her ears.

  “Hey,” I return, feeling a little embarrassed.

  “Did you want a turn?” she asks.

  “You’re in a zone,” I comment, not wanting to interrupt.

  “I don’t mind,” she states. “There’s plenty of room and I have another set of gloves.” Laurie points to a bin that holds her workout equipment.

  “You sure?” I ask, not wanting to break her stride.

  “Yes,” she confirms. “Besides, I could use a break.”

  “Okay,” I accept.

  Laurie heads into the kitchen as I strap on the MMA half finger style boxing gloves. Though I feel tight from sitting all day and running my ass off the past few days more than usual to get the antsy feeling out of me, I’m able to find my groove pretty quickly. My blood starts pumping, making me sweat easily as I begin to really let loose and take out all of my anger, frustration, and confusion on the bag. Blow by blow, my body becomes more alive. This is the feeling I’ve been searching for the past few days.

  “Did you want a turn?” I ask when I suddenly notice that she’s come back.

  “I’m okay for now,” Laurie answers, taking another sip of water.

  My eyes linger on the water and then her lips.

  “Did you want some?” she says.

  “What?”

  “Water? Did you want some?”

  “Yeah,” I huff. “Thanks.” I chug the rest of the glass. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Laurie states. “I was good. I had enough.”

  “Why don’t you take over,” I suggest. “I think I need more of this.” My hand lifts, showing her the empty glass.

  “You sure?” she checks.

  “Yeah,” I breathe out.

  Returning with a third glass full, since I downed an entire cup at the sink, I stand at a slight distance, not wanting to distract her. The curvature of her body, the force with which she strikes the bag, and the overall blood flowing in my body is a pleasant distraction from everything.