Chasing Luck

by Brinda Berry

  Mother held my hand minutes before she died. JT and I were together when he was shot.

  I take one look at Ace’s beautiful face and make my decision. I grab Trina’s hand. “Yes.”

  Trina and I move through the people, sometimes a body bumps into mine and I flinch, but I’m focused for the most part. It’s taking too long to make our way across the club to the restrooms. I’d intended to lose her in the restroom, but I feel her grasp loosen for one second and our hold is broken. Losing her here is better.

  I don’t look back.

  Mom? Mom? Where are you Mommy? My own childlike voice echoes inside my head from long ago.

  I think you were made just for me. When I die, I want Ace’s words to hold close and comfort me, give me the peace I need. I’ll do anything to protect him. If I’m alone when death comes, he won’t get hurt.

  The door stands at the end of a long trek and I make my way outside to the sidewalk. The bouncer gives me an appraising look and says, “You shouldn't walk too far alone.”

  “I’m getting a cab,” I answer.

  He nods and looks at the couple in front of him.

  I check my cell and the countdown app shows I have four minutes. I force myself to stay calm and walk as rapidly as possible in the high heels I should’ve considered when dressing tonight. I make it a block away when I hear the first scream behind me.

  I twirl, trying to determine the source. Someone yells, and it’s back in the direction I came from. I hesitate before jogging back, retracing my steps.

  There’s something going on in the club. People are pouring out of the entrance, shoving and screaming like a scene from a horror flick.

  No, no, no.

  I run toward the sounds, losing one high heeled shoe before I sling off the other.

  People are everywhere. Bile rises in my throat, a partner to the adrenaline rushing through my body.

  I shove my way through, and it’s like a salmon swimming upstream. Someone grabs my arm to stop me, and I look. It’s not Ace. I’m feet away from the door and another hand grabs my shoulder. I try to get away from the grip. Then I look up to see the person’s face.

  Collin stands with his outstretched arm attempting to hang on to me. Trina’s by his side, looking scared and confused.

  “Stay here,” he yells.

  “Where’s Ace?” I demand. I take a deep breath and try to keep upright, but a girl runs into me. Collin’s hand pinches into my upper arm.

  “In there. He’s looking for you.” Collin’s fingertips scrabble as he’s being pushed farther away from me. He grabs my hair but he’s losing me. “Stay,” he yells.

  I jerk hard and there’s a moment of pain as my hair is released. I’m a step away from the door. It’s difficult to squeeze through, and bodies batter my limbs in the process. Everyone wants out.

  As soon as I am through the door, the heat slaps against my skin. Perspiration pops onto my face and arms and legs. At the opposite end of the club, the dance floor is lit like a funeral pyre with flames licking up heavy velvet curtains on a stage I hadn’t noticed earlier. I search the faces in front of me. A crowd surges toward another exit, and people stand bottlenecked, maybe stunned, maybe drunk. The chaos in the scene before me is a slow-motion mosh pit of a fiery hell.

  The panic makes it impossible to breathe or think. I have to find Ace and get out. I’m short in my bare feet, so I jump to see better. My eyes burn like I’ve doused them in gasoline.

  The image from the third box was a phoenix rising from the ashes. I need to throw up.

  I point at the exit and several girls move that direction without question. I don’t see Ace’s blond head. My lungs scream for fresh air. There’s no time to feel sorry for myself. I have to find him. I look up at the DJ box and the guy holds a chair that he smashes again and again against the front glass.

  The DJ can’t get out. We make eye contact. He looks to a door and back to me, yelling something I can’t hear.

  A loud pop shatters some glass to my right. Bottles in the mirrored shelves of the bar are bursting and flames run along the top of the bar. I shield my face and eyes with my hand.

  Burning flesh assaults my nose, the stench immediate and horrifying. Melting plastic from something above spirals down in a disappearing magic act of flames.

  I have to get higher to see everyone. I look up and the DJ in the glass room wipes his face with his knit cap and points at something. A staircase leads to somewhere important. Maybe I can find Ace from that vantage point.

  I slam my fists and rake my nails across a guy who attempts to force me to go with him. He’s snaking an arm around my waist when a girl falls at his feet. People step over her without slowing down. She wails and grabs for the guy’s ankles. He picks her up instead and I take the opportunity to wrench myself loose and run. The metal staircase winds up to the glass DJ box and is hotter than a curling iron. My bare feet burn as I run up each step.

  I scan the crowd and spot too many blond heads. Then I see someone pushing people out of the way and moving against the crowd, running toward the stairs. Relief floods through me, and I begin to cry. Ace is coming to me.

  There’s another loud boom and I turn back to the glass room to my right. The DJ stands ready at the glass booth door and points to a metal handle on the outside. I know from the metal stairs that I’ll burn my hand. I look around frantically for a cloth and down at my dress. I struggle to pull it out far enough to use against the heat.

  Another firecracker pop blasts against my eardrum, and I look down at a spray of sparks raining down on the dance floor. All I see is Ace. He looks straight at me, screaming something and running up the stairs. I turn back to the DJ. I can’t leave the DJ in there to burn.

  The handle turns against my frantic twist and the door opens. The DJ runs through the door and guides me forward.

  Smoke blinds me and I cough, searching for Ace.

  The DJ yells, “Go. I need to flip the manual sprinkler switch.”

  I nod and make it to the top staircase step where I ram into Ace. His furious face is enough to make me want to run in the opposite direction. Without a word, he picks me up, carries me down the stairs, and pushes his way through the remaining people to get to the front exit.

  The sprinkles douse us before we make it out the doors. Water sizzles as it hits the hot metal and wood. The sirens pierce my ears. The smoke smothers my lungs. My lungs burn as if they’ve been seared.

  Coughing wracks my lungs, my belly aching from the intensity, my head cottony from the lack of oxygen.

  Ace still holds me in his arms, stunned and not speaking.

  Firemen direct us away from the building and paramedics meet us on the sidewalk. Ace lets me down from his arms. He doesn’t speak. We’re both shaking and streaked in soot from the smoke. A paramedic tries to separate us until he takes a look at Ace’s face.

  Ace is livid, his lips mashed in a tight line, blue eyes glaring at anyone who touches me.

  “What did you do?” he says through his teeth. His hands clench and unclench, muscles flexing in his biceps.

  I don’t understand what he means, and I put my hand on his arm. For a minute I wonder if he thinks I had something to do with the fire. As if I’d set the fire.

  A deep hurt that can only be caused by words slices into my chest.

  He grips my shoulders in a tight hold. “Trina said she lost you. That you left her and went outside. Why, Malerie? Why did you do that?”

  My mouth opens, but I’m not able to speak. Will he understand I did it for him? That I didn’t know the danger was inside the club?

  He pulls me into his arms then and holds me tightly. We’re both shaking and the paramedic puts blankets over us. “Let’s check you both out, okay?” the paramedic says and we follow.

  I recognize the DJ the minute he walks up to me. “Found you,” he says.

  “Hi. You were looking for me?”

  “Wanted to thank you. I wouldn’t have gotten out of there if you
hadn’t saved me.”

  I’m embarrassed and look away.

  “She’s lucky she didn’t get herself killed,” Ace says under his breath.

  The DJ ignores Ace. “The door jammed, and I couldn’t get it to open. I’d be dead now if it weren’t for you.” He takes my hand. “Thank you. You saved me and other people in there. I got the sprinkler on before the whole thing went up. Had to do it manually since it malfunctioned.”

  I nod. “Do me a favor?”

  “Anything,” he says. “You name it.”

  “Don’t tell anyone I let you out. I don’t want to talk to the police or reporters about it.”

  He looks at me with a confused look on his face. “Okay. If that’s what you want. You saved a lot of people left inside. You saved my life.”

  The DJ leans over and kisses my cheek and is gone.

  The paramedics release us. I have a text from Collin that I answer to assure him Ace and I are alive and well. I also have a missed call from Teddy.

  We get a cab, still not speaking to each other during the entire ride to the hotel.

  The doorman doesn’t blink at our disheveled state or my bare feet. In the room, we shower and it’s almost dawn when we crawl into bed. I wonder if he’s even going to touch me when he pulls me across the mattress and tucks me with my back against his chest.

  “You said you trust me,” he says, his deep voice holding back emotion.

  “I do.”

  “Why did you do that tonight? You ask me to take care of you and I try. You betrayed my trust. I’ve let you see me. The real me. But you left the club, and I don’t have any idea why you’d do that and now I can’t trust you, Mal.”

  “You don’t understand. I—” I turn to look at him. “The third box predicted something bad would happen last night. I was trying to protect you. To protect everyone else around me.”

  “You wanted to be alone? You made the decision to uninvolve me? Just like that.” His voice shakes with anger. “You made the decision to run. Because you were going to die alone to spare me. Ah well, thanks, Malerie.” His sarcastic tone tells me I’ve said the wrong thing.

  “I had to stay away to protect you.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this. We were facing this together until you decided to be a martyr.”

  “I’m so sorry I got you involved.” I face the wall and stare into the darkness, my heart as heavy as a concrete block. The ache of pushing him away is more than I can bear. I thought I’d experienced emotional pain in the past, but losing him feels as though I’m being flayed alive, layers peeled away to leave me raw and bleeding.

  He’s become my everything.

  24

  Ace

  “I want to not want. I want to not feel. I want what I’m helpless to stop.”~ Jelly Bean Queen

  I stretch out my arm to feel for her, but my hand slides across the crisp sheet. I bolt upright at a speed that makes me dizzy. We’re still in the hotel room, she’s still alive, and I blamed her. Blamed her for thinking she’s the cause of all the shit in her life.

  I’ve been so caught up in my attraction to her that I forgot about her obsession with the boxes and the timestamps.

  The sound of running water in the bathroom hums, so I lie back.

  Relax, man. She’s okay.

  I place an arm over my eyes and shut them. My mind spins with the ramifications of what went down last night. I’ve denied that the clues on the box were real. I pretended it was all a game. I ignored the fact I have real feelings for her that go beyond physical attraction.

  None of it was real until last night.

  And she left the club alone. Why?

  Because women are like that, I reason. They decide on what they want to do and the hell with what anyone else wants or needs.

  I replay the moment in my head when I finally … finally …found her and she stood at the top of those stairs trying to get that stranger out of the DJ box. I’m pissed as I was last night just from thinking about how close she came to getting herself killed.

  The girl is trying to die. I’ve dealt with one woman who had a death wish, thinking a needle will give her what she needs, and now this one thinks she can save me and everyone else. Even if it means dying in the process.

  She’ll have to do it alone. I get the same sick feeling I’d get when my mom brought home some random guy after shooting up. Her bloodshot eyes, twitchy feet, quick smile, and quicker temper flash into my head.

  My hands tremble and I roll over, pull the pillow over my head.

  Joe’s little face pops into my head. It’s nearly impossible to separate the two lines of memory. Both hurt so much. “Love you, Acky,” he’d say, the name he started calling me when he was unable to say Achilles.

  Malerie’s soft voice pops into my brain. She murmured words of love in this bed just yesterday.

  I should have whispered those words to her. Instead I said some bullshit about caring for her. Caring, not loving.

  She could’ve died without knowing that. I break out in a sweat.

  I am in love with her. The truth whips me like a lash across the back, sharp and biting. I remove the pillow and sit up. I have to quit pretending I don’t need anyone. I need her.

  If she rejects me, I’ll still love her. If she lies to me, hurts me, or runs from me, I’ll love her. It’s not something I can stop.

  “Malerie,” I call toward the bathroom. I get to my feet and go to the door.

  I knock twice, a sound so loud in the noiseless hotel room. There’s no water running. I must’ve heard water in the pipes next door.

  I open the door and the lights are on but it’s empty. Her suitcase lies on the floor of the huge bathroom and I look to see if I can tell anything from it. The red dress from last night is in the trash. She’s brought enough clothes to wear for a week, so that tells me nothing.

  The box—that damned box—sits on top as if she’s had it out recently.

  I’m a man unhinged as I search the rest of the suite for a sign of where she’s gone. I even go down to the ice machine to check it and end up slamming my fist against the steel door, leaving a satisfying dent in the metal front.

  That’s when I realize she’s gone. She left. I call her cell only to leave a couple of voicemails. I stop myself because that’s fruitless.

  Call me. Call me. I’m sorry I acted the way I did. Call me.

  I glance at the clock and break out in icy chills when I see the time. How much time have I spent pacing the room and hoping she didn’t go far, like that day in the hotel in San Francisco?

  The clock is ticking, and I don’t know where she is. I throw on some clothes and search the hotel, only to finally ask for help from a very unhelpful concierge, and then approach the reservations desk. I’ll search the whole city if I have to, but I’m afraid I’ll miss her if she returns.

  “I need to keep my room for a few more nights,” I say, handing over my credit card. “And I’m leaving the hotel but I need to leave a message for my girlfriend.”

  The clerk smiles, punches some keys on the computer, and looks back up. “The room’s been paid for in advance.”

  “Okay.” I turn to leave. “Please let her know she needs to call me immediately. That I’m worried and looking for her.”

  The desk clerk types the message on her screen. “Mr. Sloan? Oh, wait,” she says. “There’s a note I didn’t see. Miss Toombs left an envelope for you.”

  Cold fingers of pure terror close around my windpipe. I struggle to stay calm. The clerk opens a drawer and withdraws a key. “I’ll be right back.”

  I tap my fingers on the counter and sweat like I’m in line for a death sentence.

  “Here you go. There’s probably a message by now on your phone with instructions on how to pick up this envelope, but you can ignore—”

  “Thanks,” I say and turn without letting her finish.

  It’s a hotel envelope stuffed full with something but I only hope she’s left me a note on where to find her
. I open it to find a wad of cash and no note.

  Damn it. She thinks I want her money?

  But I made her think from the beginning that my goal in life is to make the dough. Made her think money means more to me than honor and relationships. I stare at the cash and one bill falls away to drift back and forth like a feather before landing on the marble floor.

  “Sir.” The concierge hands me the bill. It’s a one-hundred-dollar bill. Crisp and new as if it were printed yesterday. “Can I help you with something?”

  “No,” I answer. I want to fling the envelope on the lobby floor, but I need to be smart. It may take cash to find her.

  I suddenly recall Teddy’s missed call from yesterday.

  Teddy.

  I glance at the time and pray—really pray for maybe the first time in my whole life—that he is still at his store since it’s the only number I have.

  When he picks up on the third ring, I slow my pace as I walk through the revolving door of the hotel. “Teddy, it’s Ace.”

  “Hi. I was wondering what’s going on there.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I talked to Malerie earlier. You are with her, aren’t you?”

  I rub my chest. Pain scissors around inside me, most likely cutting off my blood supply because this whole thing isn’t hard enough yet. I’m too damn young to have a heart attack, but you never know.

  “Teddy—no,” I growl. I steady my breathing and lower my voice. “Do you know where she is? We’re in Chicago, and she ran out on me.”

  “I don’t know. She finally called me last night. I gave her what I found—a log on a disk. I guess my father kept a journal. I searched for John Toombs and bingo, found a mention of the dreams, the boxes, and a series of ten numbers. It took me a while to find it because the order was over twelve years old. That’s a long time to save a gift.”

  “What do the numbers mean?”

  “Not sure.”

  “Do you think they mean something to Malerie?”

  “She didn’t seem to know either, but she wrote them down.”