by Platt, Sean
“So, Cromwell’s the target?” Larry asked.
“Yeah, do you have info on him? Where I can find him?”
“Let me make a few calls. I’m pretty sure we can get to him. You wanna do it now, with the sun coming up? Or wait until tonight?”
“Well, it depends where he is. If he’s at the office or anywhere near Omega, we’ll have to wait until tonight,” John said, sighing. “I need Mathews and everyone else to still think I’m missing. Besides, I don’t have my lightproof uniform, which is just as well. And Tiny doesn’t have one, so we’d be screwed if we’re fighting anywhere near daylight.”
Larry looked at John, “So, what are you gonna do if you find her?”
“When I find her.”
“Okay, when — what are you going to do? We’ve got Jacob to deal with, again. And you’re probably gonna piss off Omega if you strike at Cromwell.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I only know that once I have her, I’m never letting her go again. Not ever.”
“I still don’t get how she’s from your world! This is way too trippy.”
“Tell me about it,” John said. “I don’t know how I couldn’t tell. Humans give off a different aura from Otherworlders. It must be a mistake. The list has to be wrong.”
“A bit too convenient to be wrong, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it — you were willing to end your life for her,” Larry explained. “You love her with the kind of love I’ve not seen outside of chick flicks. Maybe you two are so deeply connected because you’re from the same place.”
“Hey, guys, I love all this Hallmark stuff, but we need to catch some sleep a bit even if we wind up heading out today.” Tiny turned to Larry. “You got a dark spot where we can crash?”
“Yeah, I have a spare room upstairs I blacked out just for Johnny, so you guys can share. Sorry, but there’s only one bed. You’re gonna have to bunk together.”
Tiny smiled, “I dunno, can you keep your hands off me, pretty boy?”
John smiled. “I’ll try my best to resist.”
Tiny said, “Okay, I’m gonna shower. You wouldn’t happen to also have some fresh clothes?”
“Got some for John, but we don’t carry size giant.”
Tiny laughed. “It’s good to see you again, Larry. Forgot how damned funny you are. So, you got a washer and dryer, then?”
“Yeah, right through there.” Larry pointed at the hallway leading out to the garage. “But I don’t want you walkin’ round my place all naked ‘n’ shit. We got a kid, ya’ know.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll wear a towel,” Tiny said. “How is Abigail doin’ these days?”
“She’s okay. I think she’s actually taking a shower in the guest bathroom, so let me show you to the master bath,” Larry said, leading Tiny upstairs.
John could feel Abigail — still upstairs in the shower, upset. He couldn’t tell why without probing her mind, and didn’t want to invade her private thoughts. He paced the kitchen, waiting for Larry when his eyes were drawn to the front of the fridge where three of Abigail’s drawings hung, all in crayon.
He moved to look closer.
One was of a dog playing with a ball on a field. John wondered if it was someone’s dog that she knew, or perhaps a dog she had as a child. He couldn’t remember seeing a dog in any of her previously shared memories. Maybe Abigail wanted a dog, but was afraid she might kill it with her touch. John made a note to tell her she wouldn’t. Their touch was only deadly to humans, non-vampire Otherworlders, and some — but not all — of the monsters from his world. Pets were fine. The second drawing looked like a mermaid, with long blonde hair. The third drawing showed Abigail, Larry, and a woman standing side-by-side, almost like a family portrait.
This must be Katya.
John was happy to see Abigail accepting the woman Larry hired, but felt a twitch of jealousy, or maybe regret, at his omission from the drawing.
Larry came back downstairs with a serious expression and a hushed, non-hyper Larry voice. “We need to talk.”
“About what?” John asked.
“Abigail. She’s not doing well.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t even know where to start, man. But I suppose the squad of fire trucks down the street is as good a place as any.”
Twenty-Six
Hannah
Hannah froze as Greg pulled his chair from the table and asked her what she was listening to. Her mind flashed back over what she’d heard him say in the recording — what seemed like certain betrayal. Questions screamed in her mind.
What is he doing?
What’s going on?
Who was he talking to?
What is he planning to do to me, or with me?
Who is John?
A second voice split through the madness, the same inner whisper that led her to record Greg in the first place — some wiser part of herself that saw through her “boyfriend’s” charade.
“Don’t let on that you know anything. Play dumb or you’ll never escape.”
Escape?
The thought of suddenly having to escape a man she loved, a man she trusted, seemed ludicrous to Hannah, bordering on insane. Yet, she definitely didn’t imagine Greg on the recording. Those were his words, and his voice. The trusting part of Hannah wanted to believe there was some sort of logical explanation. It wasn’t as though she heard the entire conversation. Maybe there was more. Greg could have said something to clarify his comments a few seconds after the part where she had to pause when Greg appeared in front of her asking what she was listening to.
I must’ve misheard him.
“You heard him correctly, girl. Stop second guessing yourself.”
Hannah promised herself she’d listen to the rest of the recording later. For now, she would do as her inner advisor suggested: stay calm and play stupid.
She slipped the phone back inside her purse, hoping Greg didn’t notice she was in The Dictator app, and not a music player. Fortunately, he never seemed to give much attention to details, especially when it came to things like her apps or music. Hannah figured her secret was safe, unless she gave it away with a look of sheer terror when he surprised her.
“Just listening to some music,” she said, painting her mouth with a phony smile she hoped didn’t look like what it was. Joking, she said, “So, who was that on the phone? Your other lover?”
“Yes,” Greg took a sip of wine, then swallowed and said, “She’s meeting us later for a threesome. Hope you don’t mind.”
“In your dreams.” Hannah faked a laugh and hoped she wasn’t overselling it. She lifted her glass and sipped, but her wine had turned from a light plum to vinegar. She winced, set the glass back on the table, then steered the subject toward tomorrow’s plans, wondering if that would be when Greg did whatever it was he’d been scheming to do. Not that she expected him to announce his secret, sinister plans.
“So, what’s on our agenda for tomorrow? I’d love to go shopping in town.”
“Yeah, we can do that,” he nodded, seemingly preoccupied.
She wondered what he was thinking. Or what sort of conversation he’d just had. Had his boss, or whomever he was talking to, told Greg to act sooner rather than later? Maybe Hannah didn’t even have until tomorrow. Maybe he was planning to do something tonight.
Another sip of vinegar.
“Don’t get drunk. You’ll need your senses sharp.”
They finished dinner, stretching it another hour with reels of small talk, as if neither were in a rush to end the evening. They even ordered dessert, which they rarely ever did, a dulce de leche cake that would’ve tasted amazing under any circumstances where Hannah wasn’t mulling her safety or sanity.
Small talk turned slightly bigger as it fell to trips down memory lane. Greg asked, “Remember that time we had that really snooty waiter who kept enunciating everything in a horrible attempt at French?”
�
��Oh, God,” Hannah laughed. “He was awful.”
“And how he kept getting the order wrong and acting like he didn’t?”
“Worst waiter ever.” Hannah smiled, trying to mine Greg’s true intentions from his guarded eyes. He stared at her intently, never breaking his gaze as they spoke. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking — if he was jealous of the man in her dreams, or if it were something else, perhaps a part of Greg that was there from the beginning, with her blind to his existence until now. The trip down memory lane felt like a farewell dinner, which only scraped her frayed nerves.
An uncomfortable silence stretched across the table and forced Hannah’s wine back to her lips. She took another sip, ignoring her admonition to stay sober. She swallowed and a glimpse of memory swirled into her head — a man with long dark hair and piercing blue eyes, staring back at her. The man she’d seen in a glimpse while making love with Greg. The imaginary man whom she fantasized about while Greg was inside her.
“John. His name is John.”
The name felt familiar, not just from hearing Greg’s mention, but also like something from a dream. But there was more there, just past the edge of her memory. He seemed real, like a long-forgotten love. But how could that possibly be? How could Hannah not remember someone she loved? She’d never had a much success in relationships. Hell, her luck was so bad with men, it was a running joke with her few friends in college. Though, oddly enough, she couldn’t recall a single college friend’s name through the haze of merlot.
Troubled, Hannah tried hard to remember her friends more clearly, but picking her brain for a minute could barely recall a reasonably hot redhead with a big mouth, her most outspoken friend.
Carla? No, not Carla. That doesn’t sound right. What kind of friend am I that I don’t even remember people I was so close to during the best years of my life?
“You ask this when you can’t even remember John?”
He can’t be real.
“If he’s not real, why is Greg worried about him? And discussing him on the phone in secret?”
She thought of the accident and temporary amnesia. She didn’t remember much of the hours she’d first come to, but now started to assemble bits and pieces. She’d thought of John then, too, she realized. She’d even asked Greg where he was.
But who is John?
Maybe Greg is talking with my doctor. Or consulting with a friend, unsure of what to do. Maybe he was planning to ask me to marry him this week, and now he’s not sure since he overheard me talking about some guy named John in my sleep. Maybe I’m just blowing this all out of proportion.
“No, you are not. Greg isn’t who he says he is. You know it, so stop denying it.”
Hannah looked up from her glass and found Greg’s eyes on her again, still staring. If he wasn’t who he claimed to be, who was he? The whole thing seemed almost on the verge of paranoia.
“What are you thinking?”
“That you’re going to kill me and dump me in the woods, you psycho.”
“Nothing,” Hannah said. “Just tired. Getting a migraine, I think.”
“Too much wine?”
“Maybe,” she tried to laugh but shrugged instead, this time reaching for her water, its ice long ago melted. She swallowed two large gulps as the waiter returned with their bill.
“Need to use the restroom before we go.” Hannah stood and grabbed her purse from the table.
“Okay,” Greg said, downing his wine
She went to the restroom, relieved to find it empty. It was a tiny bathroom with dark walls, a stone floor, and two stalls. White Phalaenopsis Orchids with blush-colored centers sat in potted planters on the sink, draping low between the bowls. Hannah hoped to find a window, something she could crawl out of and run, though she had no idea where she could go once she did. Her heart pounded, her breath shallow with a sudden, urgent need to escape. She wasn’t sure if it was irrational fear, or some instinct for self-preservation kicking in, but Hannah wanted to run: fast, far, and without looking back.
But what do I do after I run? Where do I go?
“Don’t worry about what; just go.”
First, she had to pee, especially with her nerves so swollen. Hannah sat, then fished her phone from her pocket. Before she knew what she was doing, she dialed a number from an unfamiliar area code as if her fingers were on autopilot. She didn’t dare stop to think about what she was doing, watching her fingers dialing, and then the numbers as they appeared on her screen.
The number seemed familiar, though she didn’t know why, and was dialed so automatically, she had to have dialed it many times before.
What the hell am I doing?
Hannah brought the phone to her ear. After a long moment, a man answered with a slight accent she couldn’t place.
“Hello?” she said.
“Hello,” the man answered, then a moment of silence as he waited for Hannah to say something else. “Who is this?” he asked when she didn’t.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
After a long pause, the man said, “Hope … is that you?”
Twenty-Seven
John
John showered, changed into jeans and a T-shirt, then stepped out of the bathroom to find Abigail waiting in the hall, pushing her striped toe sock into the carpet, making circles. Then she saw him, and the girl who could never be a woman ran up to her angel and threw her arms around him.
“John!” she yelled, her voice muffled in his chest.
He hugged Abigail tight. Tears welled inside him and a sudden warmth spread through his heart. While John hadn’t forgotten how much he missed her, he tried to bury the thoughts when they came, lest they weigh too heavily on his soul.
“Oh, God,” she cried, “I missed you soooo much!”
“I missed you, too,” John said, inhaling the scent of strawberry shampoo. While the shampoo was different, the girl’s scent was still there beneath it, permanently imprinted on him.
“Come on,” she said, “I wanna show you my room!”
Abigail took John’s hand, led him to her bedroom, then opened the door to a flamboyant clash of purple, black, and pink that somehow matched her. The first thing Abigail showed him was the teddy bear he’d given her more than a year before. “Look, it’s Mr. Bear!” she said, excited. “One of the cops Larry knows found it in the car I got taken away in. Can you believe it?”
She hugged the bear to her chest, squeezing almost as hard as she’d hugged him.
“Wow, that’s cool.” John wondered if it was in fact the bear he bought her, or if Larry had gone to the gas station to buy her another. Either way, Abigail was happy, and that’s what mattered.
“And look at these!” She pointed to the purple bookcase beside her bed. “I have all my favorite books, and even found some new ones!” She held up kids’ books, one by one — some he remembered her mentioning, some he’d had memories of from when he saved her life, and still others he’d never heard of. She went on, her face growing ever more animated, her voice slightly squeaky, cheeks pink, an undeniable glimmer in her eyes.
In that moment, knowing how sad Larry said she was, and how happy Abigail now seemed, John felt guilt crashing down like a two-ton slab.
This is how she’d be all the time if I was here.
John tried not to think of what might have been. That was a pointless, painful exercise in futility. All he could do was try to make things right. Find Hope, then take Abigail, and Larry if he wanted to join them. Together they could run far from the madness.
Abigail prattled on at a million words per minute. John wanted to hug her again and promise that things would get better. He was going to make thing everything right.
I can’t make promises to her again — it’s unfair. I just have to do what I need to do, then come back and deliver. Another broken promise will only break her heart.
It was hard not to promise, and harder still to shift their conversation to what Larry had told him downstairs, but eventually John
steered their exchange to the fire, and to Abigail’s breakdown in the restaurant.
They sat beside one another on her bed as she told him everything that had happened. After Abigail finished, she looked at him, her eyes going from happy and excited to sad and scared.
“Larry said we might have to move. Do you think we’ll have to?”
“Yes,” John said.
Abigail burst into tears. “But I was just starting to like it here. I’ve even made friends with this girl Katya.”
“I heard.”
“Then why do we have to leave? Are the police going to find out it was me?”
“I don’t know if the police will trace it back to you, but bad people will be looking for you once they hear about this.”
“I didn’t mean to do it,” Abigail said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, John.”
“I know,” he said, feeling naked next to her sorrow.
Abigail grabbed three tissues from the box on the top of her nightstand and blew her nose a few times before her eyes met his. “Am I broken?”
John tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help it. Abigail’s question, and the way she asked it, seemed so innocent, almost cute. It reminded him of just how much of a child she still was, despite all she’d been through, all they’d been through.
John pulled Abigail into another oversized hug. “No, Sweetie, you’re not broken. Not at all. Sometimes it’s hard to control the Darkness. I’ll help you work through it, though. I promise.”
Shit, I had to go and use the p-word!
“You will?” Abigail asked, her face still in his chest.
“Yes,” he said, stroking her hair until she finally fell asleep, a few minutes before he drifted off and joined her in slumber.
John woke feeling watched.
He opened his eyes and saw Abigail’s big brown eyes staring back at him. She smiled. “Did you know you snore?”
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do. Like a big, giant bear.” She imitated a bear loudly snoring and said, “That’s you!”