Imperfect Forgery: (A Dark Romantic Suspense)

by G. D. Madsen

  When the rain turns into a drizzle, we head out for a late night pizza, because delivery, apparently, is also out of the question.

  His near paranoia baffles me until the next afternoon when Aurelia tells me the rest of their story, and its latest twist, as we stroll along the beach. This gracious dancer is an equal target, like me. The perpetrator might be different, but no less dangerous.

  "He's been after me for years," Aurelia says when we rest on a broken tree by the shore. "Wrecking Lucas's family was not enough for that man and his minions. After Lucas started digging into his father's murder and the scheme of building a toxic waste disposal plant on the shores of this very lake, these men tried to scare him off by hurting people he loved."

  Aurelia leans forward and scoops a handful of sand with her fist. "I couldn't care less about myself, but if anything happens to him, my parents, or my baby brother... There's only one way to end this, I'm afraid."

  "I understand you," I whisper, staring at the grains slipping between her fingers and seeping back to the ground in thin streaks.

  Ever since I read the files David brought, I've been desperate to remember something. Anything! Somewhere deep inside the furthest corners of my mind, those memories still remain, but I lose myself in the labyrinth built by Silvio's manipulations and drugs every time I try to reach them.

  Would any prison sentence be enough for a man like Silvio? Most importantly, would he get away because of all the puppets he controls? Those men and women he keeps on a leash would never expose themselves for the sake of justice. I should know. Nobody ever came to my rescue.

  "Do you think Silvio deserves to live?"

  Aurelia unclenches her fist, letting the remaining sand drop. "No," she replies before looking at me. "Maybe I spent too much time with Lucas, but I believe even death is too little of the punishment for what this psycho put you through."

  She kicks her sandals off and walks to the lake. I join her. The sight of waves washing over her toes is so innocently alluring I cannot help but follow her example. Warm splashes of water effervesce against my feet, and for the first time in years, this does not frighten me. "I think one day I'd like to learn to swim."

  "You are incredibly strong," Aurelia says still gazing at the cloudy horizon, where the sunrays, spreading across the surface, color one long thin patch emerald. "I always assumed I had a rough childhood, but mine was child's play compared to yours."

  "Except I cannot remember half of it." I smirk, taking a step deeper, my soles sinking into the sandy gravel. "I only begin to slightly recall the timbre of my father's voice."

  "Why don't you focus on that?" Aurelia looks at me and smiles, her greenish-blue eyes resembling the color of the water. "I mean, try to enjoy those moments, without pushing yourself to remember more, and new pictures will unveil themselves eventually."

  "There you are!" A distant male voice startles us both.

  I turn to where the voice came from and see a man standing on top of the dune, his hands rammed into his hips, his attention focused on a little girl and her dog playing on the shore. "Your mom is going to skin me if we don't get back in time for dinner. Come on, off we go!"

  "Only if you catch me, daddy!" The girl sprints our way, her white ball-of-fur companion by her side.

  Her father roars imitating a wild beast and runs after them. She squeals as her father catches her and lifts her above his head a few feet away from us. The furry dog barks, jumping around them.

  The man has his girl over the shoulder when he spots us. "Oh, hey! Sorry for the havoc we caused."

  "No worries," Aurelia replies first. "It's always nice to see the loving bond between father and daughter."

  The man lands his kid on the sand. "Don't be fooled. Sometimes there is a little devil hiding inside her tiny head, driving me mad." He winks and takes her hand in his, probably making sure she doesn't run off again. "But I love the angel and the devil alike."

  The girl tilts her head up. "I love you too, daddy!"

  I love you too, daddy... The words rattle down the dark alleys of my mind.

  Even when I watch Aurelia chat with the man and his daughter, even when I wave them goodbye, the child's voice in my head is all I can hear.

  Until this feeble voice finds its way back into the world. "Ya tebia ochen liubliu."

  "What?" Aurelia stares, her eyes wide. "You just spoke Russian!"

  I nod, the image of a large hand enveloping my cold fingers floating in front of me. "I used to tell my dad I loved him in Russian, to make him happy."

  She hugs me tight. "That's amazing! You see, the memories will eventually come back!"

  I should be happy; instead, every hair on my body rises. "I'm afraid," I confess, hugging her back. "No, I am terrified to remember how I ended up with Silvio."

  ∞∞∞

  That night I dream of my father, my hand in his. I dream of vast halls full of paintings. They are all talking to me, recounting me their stories in a cacophony. A tornado of sounds and colors swallows me, tossing me around like a rag doll. An endless vortex of shades, thousands of faces, hundreds of tales, but only one familiar voice.

  "Judy..."

  It grows stronger, and the whirlwind dissolves leaving me standing in the middle of a room, cramped with easels and canvases.

  "Judy, look," the voice says to me. "You see the young woman in this painting? She's my favorite; just like you. My Judith. When I watched you cry louder than any other baby in the hospital nursery, I knew you were going to become special. Strong, beautiful, and capable of slaying any monster in your life."

  The earth beneath me shakes, and I jump upright in David's bed, panting. A thin, cold film of sweat covers my face and body. I wandered in darkness until this moment. This dream was like the light somebody turned on, illuminating one canvas for me to see.

  I clearly remember that day now. I was sitting on my father's lap, watching him paint something that looked like it belonged in a museum.

  Earth trembles again, and choking fear cripples up to my throat. Was my father working for Silvio?

  What if David was right? What if my father is alive and well? What if he handed me over to the monster I was unable to slay?

  I don't think I can fall asleep again, not when all those different scenarios flood my mind. I leave the bedroom and head toward the blank canvas waiting for me by the balcony door. A soft breeze carries night sounds and smells into the living room through the door left ajar.

  Inhaling another post-storm freshness deep into my lungs, I pick up a brush and lose myself in a new painting.

  "Wow, when did you do all that?"

  My brush slips from between my fingers and falls to the floor, red droplets staining the white oak.

  "Damn it!" I glare at Lucas before reaching for the paper towel.

  "Let me." He snatches the roll from my hand and wipes the stains. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. How long have you been awake?"

  "A while," I say when my heartbeat reverts to a more regular pace. "I couldn't sleep. Honestly, I didn't notice it was morning."

  Lucas hands me the brush and stands beside me, looking at the canvas. "Impressive. Who's the lady?"

  "Judith," I smile. "The one from the Old Testament story."

  "Judith? That is your name, right?"

  I nod.

  "So how do you feel about it? Aurelia told me you remembered more details about your father. Does the name feel more familiar to you now?"

  "Honestly?" I sigh, looking back at the painting. "I don't know. When I say it in front of the mirror, it still feels strange, but when I remember my father calling me Judy, it feels right in every way. Lavinia has never been my name, not even when I knew no other. Lava was somewhat better, but it is still part of my captivity. I don't ever want to be called by any of those again."

  Lucas steps closer to the canvas. "So what do you say if we forget that other name?" He extends his right arm. "Hi, my name is Lucas. And yours?"

  I smile. "Judith
. My name is Judith, but you can call me Judy."

  Maybe it is my lack of sleep, but I swear a hint of warmth flashes through his eyes.

  "Nice to meet you, Judy. Now as much as I admire this painting, Judy, something's missing. Or someone, to be precise." Lucas laughs. "Where is her Holofernes? Isn't she supposed to be beheading the guy?"

  Not my Judith. Not yet at least.

  I raise my eyebrow at him. "I am not quite finished, you know."

  "Oh yes, forgive my intrusion." He presses his palm to his chest and bows slightly, one corner of his lips tilted up.

  I catch myself admiring his looks now that he does not look stone-cold. Lucas could be a good model: the tan skin, a near buzz-cut, revealing his symmetric and strong facial features, his eyes that look like dark honey, and the confident stature so similar to David's. No wonder as they grew up together.

  Lucas cocks his head pretentiously. "Are you studying me? I hope you're not planning to give the beheaded guy my face?"

  "Not if you bring me coffee." I chuckle and put the brush on the easel, but it ends up on the floor again. Lucas grabs my shoulders when the room around me sways. "You know what, I think I'll skip the coffee," I say, fighting the dizziness. "I should go to bed and try to compensate for my sleepless night. You two have a good day and don't worry about me."

  Despite my objections, Lucas helps me back to the bedroom. I flop across the mattress and drift away as soon as the door behind me closes.

  When I wake up, the whole room is drowning in purple. The clouds outside look like something William Turner would paint – sure proof of another late spring thunderstorm I apparently slept through.

  Raindrops, shimmering on the window glass, only confirm my initial impression. "No," I growl, rubbing my eyes with my palms. "I should have called David before lunch." I reach for the phone he gave me, but the bedside table is empty. I must have left it on the couch.

  Sure enough, the phone is there, on top of a note informing me that my housemates went to collect a take-out dinner from a Thai restaurant, and seeing they are not back yet, I guess the rain caught up with them.

  Eager to hear David's voice, I pick up the phone, but the screen remains black. He gave me his old phone and promised to call me as soon as he returned to Chicago and got a new one for himself, which he did.

  Now the advantage of an old mobile phone's long battery life is playing against me. I never thought to ask where the charger was.

  I replay the last days I spent with David and clap my hands when the image of him putting the phone for charging in his office resurfaces.

  I fly into the office and roam through all the stuff on his table until I finally find what I was looking for.

  Right under the folder I studied the night David threw me out.

  I choose to leave it be, but another flash from that night has my hands reaching for it.

  I begin to shake, freezing to the core, just like that night when Silvio poured ice-cold water over my lifeless body – the very night I saw the woman.

  Papers fly all directions as I dig through them to get to one particular piece. I pick up the photo with my trembling fingers, my whole body threatening to shut down again as I stare at the portrait, but I cannot allow the panic to delay me.

  I need to call David.

  Chapter 21

  David

  Those past three days were the longest in my entire life. I want to drop everything and rush back to the lake house because this case seems to drag everything and everyone down the rabbit hole. Whatever Greg and I try to do, whomever we attempt to talk to, we hit the wall of silence.

  The toxicology report on the CEO came back positive. We cannot get a search warrant on his house or his office, because the ME labeled his death as accidental, and the guy is being cremated this very hour. It is as if the whole city conspired against us.

  One positive outcome is the rumors we spread around Chicago of Beltrani abusing his now runaway daughter and son. The bastard must be more than pissed.

  I check the phone once I get into my car, dying to call my brave queen. There is a message from Lucas telling me Judy was asleep, and another one to elaborate on what she and my friend had agreed on.

  Judy suits her well, but in private I will call her only by one name – my Kahina.

  I decide to postpone the call to let her rest and talk to her when I return to my apartment. After all, what I want this conversation to turn into is not for public hearing or viewing.

  The trip is no longer than twenty minutes, but by the time I close the door behind me and throw the keys on the counter of my open kitchen, I am dying to hear her voice.

  I stall.

  For the first time, I actually look around the place I retire to every night of the working week, but I still cannot call it home. Funny, how I never even considered bringing Kahina here.

  In a way, this place reminds me of the apartment she and Mauro lived in – it is cold, empty, and soulless. No more than a set of light grey walls, with a dull, red canvas sofa by the door to the equally dull bedroom. I do not even own a TV. The kitchen is the place that sees the most action. Cooking brings me closer to places and people I miss, and I have been feeding on pancakes ever since I left the lake house.

  Tomorrow I am going to share those pancakes with her!

  One more lonely night, and I will hold her in my arms, I will kiss her soft lips...

  Hell, I am turning into a hopeless romantic, but maybe it is about time I did.

  The short affairs I had, they convinced me I could not feel anything more than lust. Once the lust was satisfied, so was I, and the relationship no longer served a purpose. Yet, the pull toward Kahina is like nothing I ever experienced. And it only grows with each passing day.

  "You're in deep this time, lover boy," I say to myself, imitating Greg's voice. There is a fool grinning back at me from the dark screen of my phone, but he is a happy one.

  I am about to put the call on speaker when a doorbell alerts me.

  "What the..." I may not be Lucas, but I chose this place for its security. Getting through the entrance door is not enough. You need the code for the elevator to move anywhere.

  I cancel the call, pull out my Beretta from the kitchen drawer, and unlock the door, ready for the worst. But nobody could have prepared me for seeing a ghost because the ghost is what I fucking see.

  "Evelyn!"

  She smiles in response, as if there was nothing wrong with this picture; as if she was not shot in front of my eyes two bloody months ago. "David, it's good to see you."

  My feet become part of the concrete floor, and my mind goes blank. No coherent thought sticks around and only one stupid word leaves my mouth, "How?"

  "Won't you invite me in?" Evelyn steps closer. "There is so much I need to tell you."

  The sharp notes of her perfume attack my nostrils and generate a sudden onslaught of a near migraine. My vision blurs, lights flashing in front of my eyes.

  'So much to tell you?' I bet she does! She was alive, while I mourned her and blamed myself for failing to save her! I left the FBI to keep an eye on the murder investigation of this very woman spreading her scent all over my hallway.

  "How about you start by telling me where the fuck you've been hiding all this time?"

  "David…" She reaches for my cheek, but I move aside and motion for her to enter. Maybe I should have left her standing outside, or slam the door in her face, but I deserve a bloody explanation of why she had been hiding for the last two months, and it better be a good one!

  Evelyn strolls in as if she lived here, though she never did. The reason I got this apartment and kept it plain boring was to escape that downtown loft she decorated to her expensive taste.

  Her all black apparel – a tight knee-length dress, short leather jacket, and some designer, whose name I would never remember, stilettos – proves at least her loyalty in this field hasn't changed.

  Evelyn turns around, brushes her shoulder-length blond hair back with
her hand, and sighs. "David, I was afraid for my life, and yours. When I fell into the river, the stream took me. I was hardly conscious, but I fought my way to the shore. I collapsed then. When I woke up, the sky was turning blue. I wanted to call you, but my phone drowned. Luckily, I still had my wallet, so I stumbled into the nearest hotel and asked for a room. The bullet only grazed my skin, but the exhaustion of fighting the stream took its toll on me again, and I passed out only to wake up the next day."

  "Who stopped you from using the damn hotel line to call me?"

  "I know," she sighs again, leaning against the wall, and I realize I am still holding on to the open door, so I slam it shut and walk past her. I need a drink, but as much as the bottle of vodka in my fridge is calling my name, I am unwilling to lose my concentration, so I settle for a beer.

  "Aren't you going to offer—"

  "No," I cut her short. "Not until you explain why you never called me."

  "I was holding the phone in my hands already, but then I panicked they would come after me if they knew I survived. I was afraid, and I chose to leave. I rented a cabin by the lake to regain strength and to try to piece the events of that night together. But I couldn't stop thinking about you." Evelyn walks to me and puts her hands on my chest. "Those few nights we shared before the stakeout kept replaying in my mind, and those months alone helped me realize something," she murmurs, reaching for the buttons of my shirt, undoing one before I catch her wrists and step back.

  She studies me, her eyes revealing nothing, like only she knows how. "I was living a nightmare knowing you mourned me." When she speaks again, her voice trembles, and that for a change, is entirely unlike her. "I couldn't survive another day or night without you, so I went to your apartment, but before I got out of the taxi, I saw you leave, and I followed. I watched you go inside a building and decided to wait for you, but when you got out, I hesitated long enough for this young woman to walk out the door. I stood watching you both, speechless..." Evelyn frees her wrists from my grip and walks toward the couch.