by Abbi Cook
Great. Now I’m losing my touch at my job in addition to the rest of my life. Damnit, this woman is going to be the end of me.
“So now you’re an expert who knows more than I do?” I snap.
“No. I just thought I’d check in,” he says more than a little reluctantly.
I stand from my spot just outside her backyard and start heading down the pathway separating the houses on Garrison Lane. Grudgingly, I have to admit Samson’s right. I’m not thinking clearly. Hell, I’m not even sure I intended on doing the goddamned job tonight.
Or any night, for that matter.
By the time I reach Samson’s car, I don’t feel like beating myself up anymore. Settling into the passenger seat, I lean back and pinch the bridge of my nose to forgo the headache growing behind my eyes.
“So nothing tonight?” he asks, and I can tell he’s smiling even before I turn to look at him.
“Maybe I should shoot a smartass underling who can’t remember his fucking place,” I grumble.
“Underling? Man, that hurts,” he says with a laugh. “The rest of it is certainly true, but damn, Alexei. Underling cuts me.”
I know he’s busting my balls, but I nod my understanding that I stepped over the line anyway. “Would you prefer associate? Maybe colleague would work better for you?” I ask with a smile.
He lifts a cigarette to his lips and lights it before taking a deep drag. “Let’s go with associate,” he answers in almost a strangled voice before he lets the smoke billow out of his mouth through the open window. “It has a nice professional ring to it. Colleague sounds like we’re both goddamned college professors. Definitely associate.”
“Fine. Associate it is.”
My makeshift apology settled, we sit silently looking out the front window of his car at Natalie’s house. The downstairs light still hasn’t turned on, which means she’s upstairs with him. Fifteen minutes after he got home. Fifteen minutes after he walked upstairs where she is.
“So as your associate, can I ask a question about this job? Or is that not what associates do? If I have to be a colleague to ask it, I’ll change my decision on my title.”
As much as he’s not busting my balls now, Samson’s trying to keep things light, even though I have a feeling he’s about to ask a question that’s anything but light or easy to answer. His need to ask me questions like this is one of the very few things I don’t like about him.
“Can I stop you?”
He looks over at me and smiles. “You’re the hit man. You can shoot me, like you threatened to a minute ago.”
“Then who would I have to watch this place?”
Samson throws his head back in laughter. “You could always train Roman. He can’t forever be your Guy Friday sitting at that desk outside your office and pretending you’re some import-export guy.”
I roll my eyes at the very thought of trusting my half-brother with something as important as watching out for Natalie. “First of all, it’s just importing. I don’t export anything. And second of all, just because he and I share the same father and his DNA doesn’t mean I want him that involved in my business.”
“Well, since it seems you’re stuck with me as your associate, I’m going to ask my question.”
I keep my gaze focused on Natalie’s house and sigh. “Thanks for the warning.”
Samson points across the street and then looks over at me. “So about this job. You had me find out everything except her grades in preschool. You have me watch her house day and night, which to be honest may be the most boring thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. These people do absolutely nothing. He goes to work, and she stays in the house, except when she goes to one of her relatives’ houses or that doctor.”
“I know all of this already. I didn’t just come in on this movie in the middle. What’s your question?”
After taking another long drag from his cigarette, he asks, “Why haven’t you finished the job yet?”
That’s blunt. One thing I can count on with Samson. He doesn’t mince words. Usually I appreciate that. Tonight’s a different story, however.
“I don’t know.”
That’s a lie, and he knows it. Fuck, anyone who’s watched me deal with this job knows it. Roman probably knows it, and he pays little attention to anything, except those strippers he blows all his money on every week.
Samson levels his stare on my face, but I don’t look over at him. “Don’t know. Okay.”
I glance up at Natalie’s bedroom window, and when the light goes out, my chest feels like someone the size of Samson is sitting on top of me. She’s lying in bed right next to him. She could be with me, but she’s there.
With him.
“I’m not sure I’m going to finish this job,” I say, breaking the silence surrounding us.
“Not sure? There’s actually a chance you’re going to go through with killing her?” he asks like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.
Tilting my head left and right, I crack my neck to get some relief from the tension headache that’s making my head pound tonight. “It is what I do, isn’t it?”
“Not always. You didn’t kill Mina, and I don’t think there was another person you wanted dead more than her.”
“That was personal. I let my emotions get to me with her. What I do can’t have emotion involved.”
Samson clears his throat and hums. “Well, it seems like that’s what’s happening here. So if you aren’t planning on killing her, what am I doing here day and night?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions. You know what you’re doing here. I need to make sure she’s okay. Her fucking husband wants her dead.”
“Then why didn’t you just take her back to your house when all that went down? Who knows what the fuck he’s doing in there with her?”
I can’t stop myself from shooting him a glare. “Don’t remind me, okay? And I didn’t take her because she’s not ready. I just hope that coward doesn’t decide to take things into his own hands.”
“So…no job here? Just me watching the house to make sure she’s okay? I’d probably be able to do that a hell of a lot better if I had eyes and ears on the inside of that house, Alexei. Who knows what he could be doing in there when the lights go out?”
Balling my hands into tight fists, I have to stop myself from taking a shot at Samson. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you think I want to hear that?”
My anger surprises him, and he shrugs. “I was just trying to point out that would help me watch over her a lot better.”
“Just fucking keep doing what I tell you to do. Call me if you see anything,” I say in disgust as I open the car door. “And maybe look into what you might set up to get you eyes and ears in there.”
I don’t look back when he chuckles and mumbles, “Whatever you say, boss.”
Whatever I say. Sometimes Samson thinks he knows too much.
When I stop across the street from her house and look up toward her bedroom, I hate how much I don’t know about what’s going on up there. And how much I can’t get this woman out of my fucking head.
I need to kill someone. At least if I do that, I’ll still be able to recognize myself after all of this.
Chapter Thirty-One
Natalie
"Welcome back, Lauren," Dr. Trevino says with a warm smile that goes all the way up to his eyes and makes the skin around them crease. The wrinkles give him a distinguished look and make me think I made a good choice in coming to him.
If just one thing I’ve done recently can be good, that’s all I ask. Just this one thing, please.
"Thank you. I want to tell you that I felt really good about everything after our first session the other day. I'm looking forward to today's too."
His smile grows broader as I speak, putting me even more at ease. "That's the kind of attitude a doctor wishes for in all his patients," he says with a chuckle. "This process is a whole lot easier when the patient wants to do the work."
"Oh
, I absolutely do. You know, I like the way you always refer to what we're doing as work. Other people might not, but to me, work always means something is created or produced. Progress is made. I like that."
I watch him write the date at the top of a blank page in his notepad and draw a line under it before he looks up and nods. "Good. Therapy is work, but it will show progress. I promise you that. Now let's get started. Last time you told me about one of your nightmares. Have you had any since then?"
Shaking my head, I answer truthfully, happy to report I haven't. "No. I did have a flashback. Or maybe it's a vision. I'm not really sure what to call what they are."
It’s so hard to focus on the madness in my head when the madness in my life feels like it’s about to overwhelm me. For now, though, I need to work to figure out what’s going on with me.
My answer clearly surprises him. His eyebrows shooting up into his forehead tell me that, but I don't get the sense that there's anything wrong. At least I hope there isn't. I don't know what I'd do if he suddenly blurted out that having those automatically makes me crazy. Or worse, if telling him that means I need to be locked away.
Instantly, I regret mentioning them. Fear of what he'll say fills me until I feel like I'm going to burst into tears. What if Adam is right and people who have my problems are shut away in mental institutions?
"Lauren, are you okay? You look like you're going to cry. It's okay if you do, but tell me if you're feeling upset about anything."
I rub my hands together in my lap, nervous now that at any moment people will come in to take me away. "It's just the way you looked when I mentioned what happened. I'm not crazy. I'm not. I don't deserve to be put away just because these things happen to me."
His expression softens, and that warm smile I like returns. Shaking his head, he says, "I don't think you're crazy, and I'm sorry about my expression. I might have had too much coffee today. Please don't think it meant anything because it didn't. Why don't you tell me about these flashbacks or visions so we can see what we can figure out about them?"
As much as I fear Adam's warning about people like me being locked away, I can't help trusting Dr. Trevino. I know I've only had one complete session with him, but I felt so good after it that I trust him.
"Okay. I don't really know what they are. I think of them as flashbacks, but I don't think they're true memories of the past, so I guess they wouldn't be flashing back to anything. That's why I started to call them visions, but that sounds so otherworldly. They aren't like that at all."
"Well, describe one to me. These aren't while you're sleeping?" he asks, leaning forward slightly in his chair.
"No. I call those nightmares or dreams," I answer with a chuckle. Not that any of this is funny, necessarily, but the naming of all these things that happen to me now seems silly. "These occur when I'm wide awake. I'll be sitting at the table or lying in bed, and all of a sudden, it's like one of my dreams is playing out right in front of my eyes."
"Very interesting. And you don't think these are memories of anything in the past?" he asks as he jots down notes.
"No. Well, I don't think so, but I can't be sure. Some I feel pretty sure have never happened, but others I don't know. The one I had recently I have no recollection of that ever happening. If only I could remember, I'd be able to tell you for sure."
The doctor puts his hand up to stop me. "It's okay. We'll figure it out. For right now, let's just say they're waking dreams and go from there."
Waking dreams? I've never heard of them. "Is that a real thing or just something therapists call things they can't figure out yet?"
My question makes him laugh, which is good because as soon as the words left my mouth, I wondered if I'd been rude. "Some people believe in them. The term works for our purposes right now, so I wouldn't worry. I'm more interested in the content of them than what name we give them. Tell me about the most recent one you had."
I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a few moments to remember the details. I made an effort to keep them all straight in my mind so I could tell Dr. Trevino, and this morning, I rehearsed them on the way here to his office.
"It's okay, Lauren. Don't be afraid. We're just talking about things here. Nothing else," Dr. Trevino says in a gentle tone that makes me smile.
I open my eyes and shake my head. "I'm not afraid. I just want to make sure I tell you every detail. I made sure to remember them right after it happened because I don't want to miss a thing."
His pen at the ready, he nods and waits for me to begin. I hope I don't forget anything important as I focus and start to recall my most recent waking dream, as we're now calling it.
"I'd been asleep for about a half hour before I woke up for some reason. I don't know why I did, but it was probably my husband rustling his work papers around. I'm not usually that light a sleeper, but who knows."
"Do you think you might have still been asleep when it began? You had been asleep before that."
Up until that moment, I hadn't considered the idea that I hadn't been awake when I saw the scene with Adam and my mother play out in front of me. I take a few seconds to think about it, but I don't think I was asleep.
"No, I think I was awake. Yeah, definitely awake."
Dr. Trevino nods. "Okay. Continue."
"I rolled over and saw him reading through some papers he brought home from work. Then out of nowhere, I saw an entirely different scene in front of me of him looking through papers but in a different location. He was in a chair like the one in my father's old study."
Suddenly I stop recalling the waking dream. "Oh, my God. I just thought of that. When I was trying to memorize every detail of it right after, I didn't think about that chair looking like the one in my father's study, but now as I'm sitting here telling you about him in a chair, it came to me. That's so strange. I haven't seen that chair in years."
Excited, the doctor waves his hand holding the pen in front of him. "That's good, though. Feel free to let yourself associate whatever comes into your mind with what you saw. It's all connected because it's all in your mind."
"Okay. So I saw my husband sitting in a chair like the one that used to be in my father's study and he was reading through papers he was holding. He seemed very interested in whatever was in those papers, and the way he was reading, it looked like he was examining everything very carefully."
"How did he look? Did he look happy or sad? Angry?" the doctor asks, making me think about how I felt Adam looked.
"Stern. That's how I thought of it as I was making sure I remembered everything I could about what I saw. He looked focused on what he was reading and stern, like he didn't like what he was finding out in those papers."
As I say that, the vision of how my husband looked in that waking dream comes back to me as clear as day. If I could draw, I know I could create a perfect replica of what he looked like. I'm not sure I've ever seen Adam look like that in all the time we've been married, though, oddly enough. He's been upset with me more than a few times, but I don't believe I've ever seen him look so severe.
"The room is dim. I forgot to mention that. Whenever I have these waking dreams, the room or area around the people in the dream is usually dim. The focus is always on the people."
Dr. Trevino writes the words WHICH PEOPLE on his notes as I watch him and then looks up at me. "Continue. What happened next?"
That the only people in these have been Adam and my mother flashes through my mind, but I'll mention that to the doctor later. Returning to what I saw, I say, "He was unhappy about whatever was in the papers. I couldn't read anything on them, so I don't know what they said. But he was definitely not pleased. He put them down on a table next to the chair he sat in, and then my mother appeared."
"Did she look like your mother, or did you just know it was her?"
I shake my head at the suggestion that it was my mother in some other form. "No, it was definitely my mother. She looked just like she looks in real life. Like she's always looked. I sw
ear my mother never changes."
"And how did she react to him putting the papers down and looking stern?" the doctor asks, gently guiding me away from talking about my mother's appearance.
"She was angry. I've seen my mother angry many times before in my life, and you can trust me, she was furious. They had an argument about those papers. At least it looked like they were arguing. I couldn't hear anything they were saying, even though I was seated on the other side of the room."
As I begin to move on to my mother and her wagging her finger at Adam, Dr. Trevino stops me. "Wait. You just said you were in the waking dream. Are you usually in them like you were in your nightmare about when you began menstruating?"
I open my mouth to answer but don't know what to say. Finally, after a few seconds, I admit, "I don't know. I'd have to think about that."
The doctor writes something in his notepad and then looks up at me. "Okay, keep going. You're doing great, Lauren."
"My mother was angry enough to wag her finger at my husband. That usually means she's lecturing you on something she dislikes. It didn't work on him, though. He just folded his arms across his chest. No, wait. He did that before that when he put the papers down on the table. I didn't mean to mix that up. When she appeared, they started arguing and then she did the finger wagging thing. She did that thing with her eyebrows too."
To help the doctor understand, I draw my eyebrows in angrily toward my nose like my mother does whenever she's very upset. "Like this. It's my mother's quintessential scowl."
"Okay," he says with a smile. "That certainly looks like she'd be unhappy about something."
Frustrated that I don't know what was in those papers that bothered both of them, I slump down a little in my chair. "I wish I knew what they were fighting about, but I couldn't read anything in the papers he was holding and they made no sounds as they argued."
"It's okay. You're doing fine. Was there anything more to the event?"