by Anne Heltzel
And oh, the relief. To be rid of one of them. To be rid of the thing that you are as long as she’s alive. You’re still that thing; she’s not gone yet. You’re impatient for it to happen. Fidgety. Restless. But you know you have to be strong. It’s an exercise in willpower, this waiting for Lena’s death.
Once, you thought you could break up with her. You thought that would be enough. And you tried. But Lena is headstrong. She doesn’t just disappear. She hangs on, asks questions, demands answers and what she calls “respect.” What about you? Why does she always think about herself and her feelings? What about what you’re feeling? She wants you to be reliable, but you want her to disappear from your life. You want that entire life, the one you had with her, to disappear along with her. Finally you realized: you can’t do that unless she’s dead.
But why Lena? Why not Aubrey, the one who cheated?
It’s simple: because for Aubrey, you have something better planned. Aubrey will disappear on her own. She wants to disappear. She’s been waiting for a way out since the beginning. Lena’s like a tumor that grows bigger and more poisonous, threatening to take you over. Lena is the one who can’t be dismissed. She needs to be destroyed. Or she’ll destroy you. Like she was starting to do. And you can’t have that, can you? No. Everything is in place. Everything is set to happen the way it should. The day you’ve chosen—August 18—is tomorrow.
26
Lena
7:23 p.m., August 17
When someone tells you you’re going to die and you don’t know how it’s going to happen, or when—just that it’s going to happen within a day, unless you can somehow dodge the bullet and hop a plane home—everything slows down. It feels like time’s on hold, maybe because everything revolves around the moment when I step on that plane tomorrow and know I’m going to be okay.
If I could call the cops, I would. But I can’t. What would I say? I think my dead boyfriend is alive and is trying to murder me. No, officer, he hasn’t contacted me. No, nothing in particular has happened other than a mugging in Kerala that can’t be traced back to him, exactly, and a tattoo of a lamb that I got while blackout drunk, and a suicide note with tomorrow’s date on it. None of it is substantial; and yet, I’m more and more certain that Dana isn’t making anything up.
The wildcard is Adam. If Charlie led us here, to Bangkok, there was a reason, and Adam was instrumental. But Aubrey swears up and down that Adam couldn’t have been involved. And yet—she hasn’t reached out to him since we left Bombay. Neither of us has been on a computer. We don’t have local cell phones. Adam, to me, seems too good to be real—how else could we have found Anand and Kerala and Dana? How did Charlie manage to orchestrate that? And why Bangkok, why like this? For his plan to move along without a hitch, everyone we’ve spoken to would have had to have been in on it. All the whys no longer matter. All that counts is getting through this day and making our way back home. In the end, we decide to let Dana book us the earliest flight. It takes off at 5:15 a.m. tomorrow and lands in Boston at 8:40 p.m.
We wait until Dana hands us the printed confirmations. Then we split. We’re sitting curbside a few streets away from the bar, our tickets in our bags. I had to give Dana my gold and sapphire ring. It’s the only piece of jewelry Anand left behind—and probably because it fits so tight in this heat that it’s difficult to remove it without a good dollop of soap. Neither of us feels safe staying at Dana’s overnight.
“We should go straight to the airport,” Aubrey says. “Right?”
“If Charlie has big plans for me, he’ll find me there, too,” I tell her.
“They have security. It’s safe. Unless . . .” She hesitates.
“What?” I’m antsy, fidgety. My heart’s been beating fast ever since Dana told us about Charlie’s plan and I feel consistently lightheaded, as though I’m experiencing some low-level, steady state of shock.
“Lena,” Aubrey says, “we can beat this thing. We can outsmart Charlie. We’re better than he is. More stable. Crazy people always get impatient, make mistakes. We’ve got sanity on our side. Charlie thinks he knows us better than anyone . . . and that’s why we’re here. But we know him better than anyone—all sides of him. And we’ve changed. He doesn’t know us like he did. He brought us together, but maybe that’s what’s going to save us.”
I hope that what I’m about to say isn’t the byproduct of my panic. “You mean, we beat him at his own game?”
Aubrey nods. “You know he was able to hack. He might be able to check our email, wherever he is. So let’s lead him to us the way he led us to him. Except we’ll lead him in the wrong direction—and then we’ll spend the rest of the night doing all the things Lena and Aubrey, as Charlie knew us, would never do.” I draw my knees to my chest and think. Aubrey taps her foot while I consider the implications of what she’s saying.
“Okay,” I begin. “Let’s try to get into his head. And out of ours. We can’t go to the hostel or the airport. That’s where he’d expect us to go if we were running.”
Aubrey looks at me hard, her eyebrows furrowed.
“You’re really okay with this, though? Are you sure you’re not just . . . reacting?” she asks.
“Of course I am. I’m reacting to everything. That’s all we do, react and react and react. How do you think we got here in the first place?”
Aubrey’s voice is quiet. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I’m not okay.”
“You’re not the one who might only have one night left to live.”
“We’re leaving first thing tomorrow, Lena. You’ll be fine. We were never supposed to know about this—we were supposed to stay in Bangkok and walk right into whatever spidery mess he laid out for us. We have choices now. Just don’t fall apart.”
I flash her my widest grin, though inside, my heart is hammering and tears are welling up at the back of my throat and behind my eyes. If Aubrey weren’t here—if there were no one to put on a show for—I don’t know what I’d do. Aubrey’s asking me not to fall apart, and I won’t.
“I think it’s time to call home,” I say. “Shake them up a bit.” I give her a wink to show that I’m okay, I’m fine, totally! See? But she gnaws on her lower lip and shoots me a sad smile. It’s all I can do not to burst into tears. I can’t look at her anymore. I can’t stop myself from feeling like I’ve gotten the raw end of this deal. I spent three years with him, she only spent one; I fell in love, she kept her heart under wraps; I’m the one he wants to kill. She plays it safe and she stays safe. I’m the wild one, the one always getting into trouble for leaping before I look. And now it’s caught up with me. My throat tightens. I’m afraid of what I’ll sound like when I call home. I’m afraid I won’t be able to pull it off. I turn on my phone. This is the last time I’ll use it; I’m too frightened now that he’s tracking it somehow.
It rings four times. No one picks up. Then I remember: 7:30 p.m. here is 6:30 a.m. there. They’re still asleep, and their phones are on silent.
“Hi, Mom; hi, Dad,” I say into voice mail. “Hi, Cara. Hi, Chester; hi, Freud!” This last group shout-out is to Cara’s canaries. “Hope you guys are doing okay. Just wanted to let you know that, um, I’m going to be home in a few days. Don’t blame Cara, Dad. It’s my fault the flights were wrong . . . as I’m sure you’ve guessed.” I laugh at this, my eyes welling. “I can’t wait to see you guys in a few days. We have midnight flights on Thursday,” I say, hoping there’s a flight that really exists around that time. “I’ve missed you a lot. Please trust me—there are just a few things out here I need to take care of. I met Charlie’s brother, and he’s great. We’re safe with him. Later today Aubrey and I are going to Chatuchak. And we’re going on a riverfront cruise,” I say, improvising. “Remember how you told me you guys loved that on your anniversary? We might even get foot massages.” I pause, trying to breathe. I’m rambling, and it’s got to be sounding weird to both my family and Charlie, if he’s listening. I want to say a proper goodbye, something profound, but whe
n I open my mouth I find that I can’t. I need to stay breezy and casual as always, or Charlie will be suspicious.
“Anyway, I’ll see you at Logan on Thursday,” I say keeping it upbeat. “Can’t wait! I’m—I’m sorry . . . to—” There’s a long beep and the message cuts off. I was going to say, I’m sorry to put you through all this. I just hope I have the chance to say it in person. I hand the phone, with clammy palms, to Aubrey. “You should call yours too,” I tell her.
“I can’t,” she says. “I’ll send them an email. I can’t get them on the phone. I won’t be able to go through with it.”
“Say the same things I said,” I tell her. “I want him thinking we’re here, not there. I want him thinking we’re doing all the things we’d normally do. I figured a riverboat cruise was something you’d like. The massage is my usual deal. We’re not doing any of that. When we do get home, we’ll go to the cops. Tell them everything—tell them someone out here saw Charlie.” Aubrey nods, typing quickly on my iPhone. She flashes the screen at me when she’s done.
I’m safe, it says, after the other stuff I told her to write. I’m flying home Thursday. There’s so much to talk about when I get home. I love you both.
It’s just a few lines, but when I’m done reading, I nod in approval.
“I had a million emails from them,” she says. “They’re so worried.”
“They must be good parents.”
“They are,” she says. “When I called them the one time from London, I told them I’d be gone for a while and asked them to trust me. I don’t really deserve it, but I think that’s what they’re trying to do.”
I nod. My parents have always given me a lot of freedom; but by now I know that Aubrey’s are more helicopter style.
“So we’ll just lie low?” she asks. “In, like, random places?”
“Fuck, no,” I tell her. “We’ve got to go to places he’d never expect us to go. Charlie expects us to be scared and to hide right now. But I’m not going to let him do that to me. We’re going to see this city and do all the things I’d want to do if this were actually the last night of my life. Because it’s not,” I clarify. “But if it were . . .”
“It’s not,” Aubrey says firmly, handing my phone back to me. “I like this plan.” My bravado is mostly show, and I know she can tell I’m scared. But I’m determined not to give in to it. I do a quick scan of my own emails and notice a hello from Carey in Paris. I open it and read quickly—he’s dating a new guy, wants to tell me about it. My heart sinks; it’s been so long since I’ve messaged him. Carey’s always been the better friend. But messaging him now would be too risky—too traceable. I pocket my phone, vowing to focus more on him when this whole mess is over.
“Still, nothing like the threat of death to push a girl outside her comfort zone.” I stand up and brush my palms on my jeans. They’re dotted with little indentations from the gravel on the sidewalk. There’s this nagging voice inside me that says, This might be it. I can’t explain what it’s doing to me. I can’t explain how it makes me feel, other than reckless. I just know that I’m infused with adrenaline, and I’m going to live this night like it’s my last. Because maybe it is.
“I can think of a couple things he’d never expect,” Aubrey says, taking a big breath. I look at her, and I feel myself breaking out into a grin. She meets my eyes and grins back, and my heart expands.
“How much money’s left on that credit card?” I wonder aloud.
“Enough to make this the best night we’ve ever had,” Aubrey says.
“That’s what we’re going to do. For tonight, let’s let it be just about us. About living and doing all the things two girls our age are supposed to do when they find themselves semi-stranded in Bangkok.” Aubrey giggles at this.
“I don’t know what life I’ve entered,” she tells me, “but it doesn’t feel like mine anymore.”
“It’s your new life,” I say. “Our new lives. So here’s the plan,” I continue, before I get too sentimental. “You’re going to walk up to that guy over there,” I tell her, pointing at a random scruffy backpacker in board shorts and flip-flops who’s standing at the opposite side of the road. “Ask him what his favorite thing to do here has been in the past twenty-four hours. Then we’re going to do that thing.”
“I like the way you think,” Aubrey says, her blue eyes lighting up. “I’m going for it.” I watch as she picks her way across the street, her shoulders squarer and her posture straighter than I remember it being. It’s like I’m watching a different version of Aubrey, one this trip has born, and I feel a swell of pride, because maybe in some small way, I’ve rubbed off on her. I like thinking of a more fearless Aubrey returning to sleepy Illinois, then blowing it apart. Aubrey nods, and the man scribbles something on a piece of paper, handing it to her with a friendly expression.
Aubrey skips back over, her face dimpling in a mischievous smile. I grin in return; it’s like we have a tacit agreement not to talk about what might happen. For today, it’s like we’re just girls on a backpacking trip. Still, the urge to run anywhere, everywhere, is almost overpowering. I discipline myself. I force myself to wait.
“He told me to go to the floating market. In . . .” she trails off, squinting at the receipt the man handed her. “It’s called Khlong Lat Mayom,” she finishes, hardly stumbling over the words. “He said it’s a little outside the city, on Bang Lamad Road.”
“Can we get there by tuk-tuk?” I want to know.
“He says taxi’s best and super cheap.”
“Taxi it is,” I say.
We flag a taxi and slide in the back. Aubrey directs our driver toward the market. He nods and she relaxes in her seat, glancing over at me. A look of understanding passes between us; for a second, it’s like she can see into my soul.
“When this is over for us, and we’re safe and free of this nightmare, I’m going to art school.”
“What?” I laugh. As far as I knew, Aubrey was going to enter some kind of preprofessional program in the Honors College at Georgetown.
“I can’t do it right away,” Aubrey continues. “But I think I’m going to switch my major to art, then maybe transfer to SVA next year if I can.”
“That’s amazing,” I tell her, and I mean it. “That’s what you really wanna do, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she says. “And I guess I just realized while I was here, I’m sick to death of doing what other people want me to do. And of having this predetermined plan all the time. That’s how I wound up with Charlie in the first place. I figured my parents would like him. I’m not always right, I guess. Since then I’ve figured out that I need to do the stuff that makes me happy. I need to let things unfold on their own. Charlie didn’t get that, and neither did my parents.”
“What makes you happy?” I want to know. “Besides graphic novels, I mean.”
“I’m still figuring it out,” she says. “I’m not totally sure. But I won’t ever know unless I try some things.”
“What about Adam?” I’ve been wondering about this for a few days, but haven’t wanted to ask. Part of me still wants to know what Adam’s larger role in all of this was, if he had one.
“I’m not sure,” she says carefully. “But if I had to guess, I think I’m going to let that go.”
“After all that,” I say. My voice is flat.
“I think Adam isn’t right for me either,” Aubrey says. “I thought it could work because he made me happy in ways I didn’t expect. He made me feel cared about in a way that Charlie didn’t.”
I nod. It sounds reasonable. As usual, Aubrey is way ahead of me in terms of seeing inside herself.
“What about you?” she asks, as the cab pulls up at the marketplace. “What’s waiting for you back in Boston? You’re off to Rhode Island in a couple weeks, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it that much. I’m excited to go back to school. I’m excited to meet people. I wasn’t doing that as much before, because I was s
o focused on Charlie.” I pause, thinking hard, wondering how exactly to articulate what I’m feeling. “I don’t have anything I’m passionate about like you do with your graphic novel thing,” I tell her. “I like music, but I have no musical talent. It’s not like I can pursue that as a career.” Aubrey nods like she gets it, so I take a breath and continue. “I think for whatever reason, it’s enough for now that I just feel okay about being back and being on my own.”
“Without Charlie, you mean,” Aubrey finishes for me.
“Yeah. I guess I haven’t experienced me without Charlie for a long time. And it’s enough to get to do that. I feel okay about it.”
“That’s great,” Aubrey says. I can tell she means it. It’s not, like, a major step for other people, maybe . . . being without a boyfriend. But right now, for me, it means something that I’m not scared. I want to figure out what I’m like without him, put more time into the friendships I have managed to hold on to. I think about how, when I get back, I’ll give Carey a call. Maybe go out to Paris to visit him over fall break. Aubrey reaches over, takes my hand in her own, and gives it a squeeze. “We’re going to get out of this,” she assures me. “Tomorrow at this time, we’ll both be safe at home.”
I blink back tears. All this time she’s been trying to point me toward the future so I won’t focus on the danger that we’re in right now. “Aubrey,” I say, forcing myself to give voice to what I’m feeling, even though it makes me nervous in a way I’m not used to. “Thank you.” The words sound stiff, like cardboard—a pale imitation of what I’m feeling inside, which is intense and powerful. Still, she seems to understand. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. At moments like this one, I’m beginning to see, words aren’t important.