“But how do I do that?”
“What do you want more than anything else in your life?”
Nathan.
“I want to be free. Make my own decisions. I want to have fun.”
“Good! That’s good stuff. You’ve come a long way, knowing so much. Now, how are you going to achieve that?”
An idea is forming in the back of my mind. An old dream that I haven’t really thought through. When I don’t answer, Jesse continues.
“Keep that goal like your shining beacon and let everything you do take you in that direction. And now, tell me what’s really eating you, sugar? A man?”
“No,” I say quickly. Too quickly.
Jesse laughs. “Tell me when the time is right. No worries. Was there anything else? I’m on my way—”
“No, it’s good. I’ll come by New York again soon. I had a good time.”
“You’re always welcome, bebe.”
“Jesse, thanks. You’re more than awesome.”
“I know.”
Disconnecting, I close my eyes as the memory of my last time in New York washes over me, meeting Nathan in the bar, unaware what a profound effect he would have on my life only a few hours later. My heart speeds up. He has a home there. If I go… My chest tightens. New York is huge. And I don’t dare.
Around me people sunbathe, read, relax, kids play, joggers chase after each other, striving for health and perfect bodies. I never run on the beach. It’s hot, sandy, too far from a shower, uncomfortable. I thought I would take a piece of the Dominican Republic with me, that I had changed. In the end it turns out I haven’t. Is it because I won’t allow myself to think about it, because it reminds me too much of him? My heart speeds up and something dark flares inside me. Why do I let him affect my life? A few days with a stranger and I am turned upside down. Admittedly, I was also drugged, close to raped, witnessed a murder, but what I carry with me the most is that feeling of belonging I got a taste of. It has hampered my life since, I’ve lived in limbo. Not anymore. I’ll hold on to this anger and use it.
That night I don’t sleep.
I sit on the window sill with a large mug of tea cupped in my hands and watch how the street lights sway back and forth below me in the storm. Jesse’s words ring in my ears as I make plans for my future. I want my own little hotel. Me and Jayna would kick some serious ass. Together we know every aspect of the business. She isn’t bound to this city, neither am I. We’ve been joking about it, but it isn’t only a distant dream now. I need to do this. I have money saved, but it’s not enough, so I’ll keep working on increasing that pile. I’ll start scouting locations, real estate. Tomorrow I’ll talk to Jayna. This is happening.
Chapter 23
Nathan
I hear it before anyone else: sounds of machine guns, an engine revving, shouts, anguished screams. The sounds of people dying. Panic spreads like wildfire as people around me start reacting.
From the far end of the main street an old military truck approaches fast. A kid, no more than three years old, stands in the middle of the fucking road. A woman wails loudly from the other side of the street. The kid hiccups and seems transfixed by the approaching vehicle. ‘A deer in the headlights’ never fit better. I make a quick decision to snatch the kid to me and hide here again, but then the stupid mother destroys everything. I’m already moving when the woman comes running, grabbing the kid, then she freezes as well, as if waiting to get mowed down. I’m already in motion and change tactics, I throw myself at the couple and push them in front of me, landing in a heap on the other sidewalk. Now we have no protection. I cover the two with my body as the truck roars past us, my heart pounding like mad as I wonder if this is it.
The woman squirms and tries to get up. She cries uncontrollably and almost crushes the kid to her chest. I hold them down a moment longer, listening, but there’s nothing but shocked silence around us, soon replaced by whimpers that grow louder with every passing second. I let them up, pushing myself to my feet too as I take in the mess. Enrique talked about cartels shooting each other to pieces. I shake my head, a bitter taste filling my mouth as I brush off my dusty hands on my jeans. This was my little haven.
My elbow itches, and when I scratch it my fingers come back red. Angling my arm, I look at it, realizing I scraped off a good chunk of skin when I took that dive.
I start walking the way the attackers came from. Where I was, no one got shot. When I get further the crying increases. I see people lying in pools of blood. Some are lost causes, some will live. A man sits by a woman who’s bleeding profusely from her thigh, she’s pale and quiet. He’s clearly in shock. I curse to myself, unbuckle my belt and pull it off, then I crouch by her side and wrap the belt high up on her thigh, tightening it, making a tourniquet. I look at the frightened man, but I have no words of consolation.
I step between the bodies strewn along the sidewalk, grabbing people’s hands, showing them how to apply pressure, to lift a bleeding limb, how to keep airways open.
Maybe I’m saving lives to make amends for all the lives I’ve taken? All I know is that something changes in me, sacrificing myself for the kid and his mom, the brush with death. The victims on the street all have Sydney’s frightened eyes and I have no defense against the onslaught of grief that overcomes me.
When I get home, I realize I tremble. I feel ill and my head is spinning. I’m covered in other people’s blood. With a feeling of just having witnessed purgatory, I sink down on the floor, right inside my front door, lean against the wall and breathe. It’s like when you dive: control your breaths. Slowly, measured. In, out, in, out. I empty my mind completely and try to think of nothing. I like life. I appreciate being among the living. One day your time is up and that’s that.
I don’t have faith. I don’t believe in Heaven. I hesitate about Hell, to be honest. But most likely the soul you imagine having, the energy that is your mind, your will, and your interpretation of life will fade into oblivion. We’re all nothing but aimless flashes of electricity bouncing between neurons. What happens when you snuff out a light? Nothing. It just goes dark.
Life is too fucking short for regrets. I suddenly know what I must do. I won’t fight it anymore. I won’t stay away. Take me or leave me, but I must give light a chance. I have to find Sydney. If I don’t, I’ll live the rest of my life with no purpose, with no hope. I always figured I was content with being alone, letting no one in, finding solace in my isolation after a fucked-up start in life. For the first time I want to share. I want her here, to sit under the shade on my patio, have a glass of wine with me and just be.
I rub my eyes and jerk when I realize I’ve rubbed the blood of a dozen people all over my face. I dart up and take a few long strides into my bathroom and start a shower. While the water warms up, I go and pour myself a very large whisky.
One whisky turns into two, turns into whatever, I don’t care to count. Sitting on the edge of my patio, the world tinted orange from the sun, bursting into color in its last dying breaths on this day of blood and death, I call the only person I can even remotely talk to.
“Christian. Need to talk.”
“I thought you never talked. Women and rock ’n’ roll, remember?”
“Fuck that,” I mutter.
“Are you drunk?”
“Very.”
“Where are you.”
“Mexico. Come’ere.”
He laughs, “I can’t. I’m tied up.”
“Literally?”
My brother barks out yet another laugh. “No, bro, not literally. So, talk to me.”
“Everything dies.”
“Such is life.”
“I’m a monster.”
“Also true.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I can’t help you. Only you can help you. What’s eating you? What makes my machine of a bro lose it?”
“Someone I met.”
“A woman?”
He sounds way too surprised. I don’t like it. Why
is that so impossible? I drain the glass and refill it, feeling blessed numbness wrap itself around my brain as a thick layer of cotton.
“Just someone.”
“You’ve been acting weird lately. You’re not feeling it anymore?”
I shake my head, which he, of course, can’t see.
“You were always the odd one out. Not that I was that much older, but three years makes a helluva lot of difference when you’re in your teens. I think you broke.”
“I think so too,” I whisper and drain the next glass too. My umpteenth.
“You gotta do what’s right for you. If you’re not focused, you’ll be a danger to yourself and the whole organization. Salvatore won’t be easy to convince, though.”
“You’ll help me, right?” I slur, because it’s getting very hard to form words.
“When have I not? I’ll always have your back.”
“Me—yours too.”
Christian laughs. I disconnect and fall on my back, wincing as I knock my head on the tiles. This is it for today. I’ll drink myself into oblivion, until I fall into unconsciousness. Tomorrow, I’ll think.
Tomorrow, I’ll find Sydney Lewis.
I wake with the mother of all headaches, entangled in the sheet and drenched in sweat. I have no memory of getting into bed. I’m happy I didn’t sleep outdoors. My lips are dry, and it tastes as if something died in my mouth.
Birds chirp. Two flies chase each other across the ceiling in the rays of sun that hit the opposite wall. It already smells warm. Like hot dust, grass, flowers. It’ll be yet another beautiful day in the supposed paradise that is Cancun, Mexico.
Last night was too close. Once might be all right, but if this is something that’s going to keep happening, I’ll find another paradise, further away from shit like this. When I have time off this is not the kind of thing I want to deal with.
I shower and make a cup of strong coffee before I fall into one of the sunbeds on the patio, nurturing my aching head.
Alejandro is at his father’s shop. He’s standing at the desk, dark-skinned, torn jeans, wearing a dirty wife beater. He’s a skinny kid and his pants hang low on his hips. He’s not the only one there. Locals stand in small groups and chat in low voices. When I come inside, the bell above my head chiming and announcing my entrance, everybody turns silent for a moment and stares at me, then they turn away and keep talking. I nod at a few as I walk up to father and son. Alejandro leans against the counter, his tall body hunched over. We acknowledge each other with a nod, then I turn to Enrique.
“How’s it going?” I ask and glance over my shoulder, into the depth of the little store, before I look back at him.
He wrings his hands and shakes his head. “Not good, Señor Russo. Not good. The hotels are emptying.”
I understand his plight. He needs to support his family. “How are the locals?” I ask and lean my hip against the counter next to his son. He shakes his head. I don’t push it. “I need some Advil.”
Enrique turns to a shelf behind him and reaches for a small carton, putting it on the desk. I grab my wallet and pull out a bill for him as I turn to Alejandro.
“Wanna go grab your gear?” I ask. He makes a small grimace in acknowledgement. You have to know him to understand him sometimes. I leave the change and give a curt nod to the two men. “See you by the boat in an hour?” Alejandro grimaces again.
I shake two pills out of the bottle and swallow them dry. In an hour I’ll be in my little fishing boat with the kid, going a bit off shore before we dive beneath the blue surface of the ocean and into the quiet, weightless underworld.
I lay low but my mind works on overdrive. I scuba dive with Alejandro every afternoon, hiding from the sweltering heat. In the evenings I sit with my neighbors. I barely speak Spanish, and most of them don’t speak much English, but we get by anyway. I’ve been coming here for years. The difference from the last time I was here, about half a year ago, and all the previous times, is stark. I always had a woman on my lap. Tourists, happy with a kinky adventure with a mysterious man. I used them, they used me. No hard feelings. I carefully stayed away from local girls because that wouldn’t have been taken kindly. There would have been pitchforks and torches.
This time I sit alone, night after night, nurturing a beer.
One night, I rise and put the beer down. Nodding goodbye to the people by the fire, I walk the short distance back to my house. I sit at the edge of my patio, my naked feet planted in the rough dry grass beneath it as I light a cigarette, staring out into the dark, listening to the music in the distance and the cicadas’ high-pitched shrieks.
Putting out the cig on the terracotta tiles, I pull up my phone and make a call to the number that’s been burning on my list of contacts for the last week.
Sydney
I’m startled by the sound of my phone ringing. The pale blue digital numbers on the oven shows ten-thirty. Who calls at this hour on a Tuesday night? I flip over the papers on the table in front of me in my hunt for the phone that keeps ringing and ringing. Shoving the real estate documents to the side, I finally find the source of the noise. ‘Unknown caller’. I reach across the table to lower the volume of the radio.
“Hello?” I’m a bit irritated but try to quell it. Maybe it’s important. Should be at this hour, at least. I wait. On the other end there’s absolute silence, then I hear a faint noise, like the rustle of clothes. But no one’s speaking. “Who is this?”
Still no answer. My heart begins to pound harder when intuition flares up. But it can’t be...
“Look, whoever this is, if this is your idea of fun—” The call disconnects.
My mind is absolutely blank. I stare at the phone in my hand, frowning, then I drop it on the table and rise abruptly. Walking over to the window, I look at the dark nothing as I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly cold. In the distance there are city lights, right before my nose the window is filled with my own reflection. I rub my naked arms and stare at the pale woman in the dark glass a few moments longer, then I grab my phone, unlock it and stare at the ‘unknown caller’-text before I turn it back off. It was only a case of a wrong number, nothing else. I squeeze my phone harder and my heart starts thudding heavier. It’s as if my body knows something I don’t.
Scrolling through the contacts, I find Jayna’s number. I don’t care if I wake her, or if she has to kick someone out of her bed. This is a freaking emergency. Pick up. Please pick up.
“Mmyeah?” a husky voice says in my ear. Jayna sounds like pure sex and I blush.
“Jayna. I think he’s back.”
I hear a rustle, then a thud and a curse from a distinctively male voice. “Sorry, Syd, I’ll be with you in a second,” Jayna says breathlessly. After a few moments I hear another thud. “There. I’m all yours. What’s going on?”
I’m beginning to feel really stupid. It was a wrong number, nothing to get my panties in a twist about. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you—”
She interrupts me with a laugh. “Jeez. I wasn’t sleeping, babes. Tell me. Nathan’s back? Is he there?”
“I-I don’t know. I got a call…” I pace back and forth, from one end of my apartment to the other and then back again. My heart pounds. I feel increasingly stupid.
“What did he say?”
“He didn’t—No one said anything.”
“But you’re sure it’s him?”
I’m quiet. Am I?
“Okay. Want me to come over?” she asks. “I’ll bring a bottle of tequila.”
I shake off the eerie feeling. “No. I’m good.”
“You sure? I’ll be there in fifteen. No biggie.”
“I’m sure. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“All right, girl. Be safe. Call again if you change your mind. Promise.”
“Promise.” I’m silent a moment. “Thank you.”
I end the call and stop my pacing. Sinking down on the couch, I exhale heavily and hide my face in my hands. I wish he’d said something. I
would have wanted to hear his smooth, deep voice one more time. The mere thought makes the hair stand up on my nape.
I shouldn’t want that. It wouldn’t do me any good.
He’s still the same man, even though I have selective memory. He’d still hurt me. One way or the other.
Chapter 24
Nathan
I rent a two-bedroom apartment on Miami Beach through a contact. It’s got an ocean view with nothing obstructing the horizon. The windows are floor to ceiling and cover two walls. I picture Sydney coming here. I have yet to see how she lives. It would have been so easy for me to stalk her and get to know everything about her life here, but I want to settle in first.
Or is Nathan Russo afraid?
What if she doesn’t want to see me? It’s been two months. Did she go back to her old life and forgot our meeting? Did she have to seek counseling after seeing what I really am?
How could I blame her?
I walk the streets of Miami. I’m used to heat, but the particularly moist, thick air of Florida is suffocating. Running mile after mile on the beach early mornings, when nobody is around, is a pleasure though. I run until I’m at my breaking point, every morning. When I can’t sleep, I wander the dirty, silent streets when it’s so late that it’s early, and even the cleaning crews aren’t up yet. The whores hoot at me and try to tempt me, but I’m not interested.
It’s been two months. I wonder if she’s forgotten about me. I need to know. I need to make contact. For the first time in my adult life I’m afraid.
She’s cut her long hair and her dark locks bounce on her shoulders. I liked it longer. I liked to wrap it around my fist and pull it until she did what I told her to. But she’s beautiful no matter what. I sit in a car across from her apartment building and watch as she leaves in the mornings. I scope out the hotel that is her workplace, and what little social life she has.
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