by C
It still rained, so she scurried down the steps of the Met, huddled under her umbrella. She glanced at the parked cars nearby, wishing to spot Ethan’s red Anaconda, just as it had been waiting for her another time. If only he were there now. She longed to see him, to feel him. Now, with the sketch actually done, she wouldn’t be pulled away from him any longer. Ethan had promised they would talk later that day, but she couldn’t wait that long. As soon as she got home, she would call him. With that driving motivation, she hurried her steps along.
~~~
Nikki stood sentry by the window, her breathing rapid and shallow. She glanced at the tracking app on her phone: Amanda came closer, a flashing dot of red making its way down the block … red like the fiery rage burning inside of Nikki. She clenched her free hand into a fist, her manicured nails digging into her palm. She pushed them deeper into her flesh, welcoming the sharp pain: a concrete way to release the pressure building in her chest.
Maybe ten more minutes and then the flashing dot would reach this location. Ten more minutes until Amanda would step into the apartment. The rain was probably making her curls even more frazzled. Nikki would give anything to be able to yank each strand out of that freakin’ creep’s head.
Amanda had spent her morning—again—at St. Patrick’s, fraternizing and consulting with a classified perpetrator, known only as “Morgan.” They still didn’t know his last name, but Nikki would have recognized his face anywhere: his picture was plastered all over the NCP monitoring systems. He would not be a threat for long. Morgan would be taken care of tomorrow night. The problem was Amanda.
Just the thought of her name made Nikki’s head pound like the jackhammer tearing up the street below. Amanda dared to spend even more time at St. Patrick’s—that accursed place—and then had the nerve to show up now at their apartment, acting like they were the best of friends. To think that the miserable traitor slept in the bed next to her … Nikki’s stomach churned. The girl was a complete fake. She had sensed it from day one, and she had been exactly right. The cheap, beat-up sneakers, playing tagalong like a needy puppy, the constant awkwardness: it was all part of the persona Amanda had adopted. Nikki ground her teeth.
And, of course, Ethan had played right into Amanda’s ploy. He had fallen for it—and for her—completely. He was so blinded by his pride and desire, he couldn’t see it. How much info had Amanda sucked from him? What classified details had she then passed along?
Nikki’s pulse raced. She swallowed and forced herself to inhale. She had this. Ethan was worthless: she couldn’t give a crap what happened to him. But Amanda … Amanda was dangerous. She had completely infiltrated their inner group. That little twit was so confident of her plans that she was associating with defectors in broad daylight!
That wasn’t all, though. Amanda could destroy Ethan. … She could destroy Nikki too. If the top leaders of the NCP found out what was happening, then Nikki would be implicated. How could she not be? They were living together! Sure, she never really trusted Amanda and had been tracking her. That wasn’t going to get her off the hook, though: she should have turned in the imposter a long time ago.
She caught sight of the portrait Amanda had done of her. The bold rebelliousness in the painted face was her favorite part of it. Amanda had seen that in her. … She had seen too much. Well, fine: now Nikki would use that violence against her. She’d be damned if she would let that phony take her down. No, she would make the next move. It would be easy enough. The gun was under her bed. She could frame it as a suicide—coerce Amanda to write a letter to her family, stuff a bunch of pills down her throat.
Nikki’s phone buzzed. She looked down: the red dot had reached its destination. She glanced out the window at the street below. No sign of Amanda. She was probably already on her way upstairs. Click! There was the key in the lock, then the doorknob turning. If only she had the gun in her hands right now, she could blow Amanda’s brains out before she could utter one more cursed lie …
She stood there, staring at the front door. Amanda scuffled into the apartment and, upon seeing Nikki, jumped. Could Amanda read the sheer hatred written on her face? Amanda dropped her umbrella, and little streams of runoff trailed across the linoleum floor.
“Umm … hey. Are you … Were you waiting for me?”
Of course she would play the part of the fool. “Yes.”
“Oh. Sorry. What is it?”
“Cut the crap, Amanda. I know exactly what game you’ve been playing.”
“Wh-What are you talking about?”
“You think you’re clever, right? You play your role well. Say all the right lines. I mean, you do it so well that you’ve even convinced Ethan.”
“Nikki, please. I don’t know—”
She couldn’t take it—she couldn’t stand still a second longer. Springing toward the kitchen counter, Nikki grabbed the nearest object—a cup—and hurled it against the wall, where it burst into dozens of pieces. Amanda jumped back, flinching from the sound of the impact.
Nikki’s voice rose to a scream. “Stop! Stop pretending that you don’t know what I’m talking about! I know where you were today.”
“I was at the Met. Finishing my sketch. But how did you—”
“Yeah right … at the Met … sure. That’s been a real convenient pretense. I warned Ethan over and over about you. I’ve told him you’ve been visiting St. Patrick’s. I told him who you’ve been with.”
Amanda’s face relaxed. “Oh, you mean Morgan! There’s nothing to worry about. Honestly, he’s just been helping me with my art assignment. He’s an old friend from back home.”
“‘An old friend?’ … Of course you’ve been friends for a while. You and all your buddies at Valor. You must be great friends with lots of benefits. I can only imagine the kind of ‘projects’ you’re working on together.”
“What! I would never cheat on Ethan!”
“Lies. You’ve been lying to me from the very beginning.” Nikki positioned herself in front of Amanda, letting her rapid breaths push Amanda’s dangling curls back and forth. Nikki dropped her voice to an icy whisper. “I’ve been watching you. And I won’t stop until I’ve crushed you.”
Amanda swallowed. Then, cowering away with her head lowered, she hurried into their shared bedroom.
Nikki smirked. What a wimp. That should shut Amanda up for a little while.
For now, she would need to focus on tomorrow’s work, but then, as soon as possible after that victory, she would be free to take care of Amanda for good … a permanent solution. Then she would be the one praised by NCP leadership, not Ethan. She would be the one who took down, single-handedly, that filthy spy.
She yelled out one final time, “Don’t go to Ethan with your sob story! He’s at work and won’t talk to you.”
~~~
Amanda returned the phone to her pocket and sat on the edge of her bed, her eyes not straying from the door. Her teeth were chattering, even though she didn’t feel cold, but she still pulled a blanket around her shoulders. She tried to process what had just happened. Was Nikki crazy? Did she have a psychiatric condition? Had she taken too many pills?
Whatever the case, Nikki had wrongly accused and threatened Amanda. So much for any friendship they’d shared. There was no point to argue and debate with someone who already had her mind made up.
She glanced at Nikki’s bed, just a few feet away, and squirmed at the thought of sharing the same bedroom tonight. She probably wouldn’t sleep at all. Maybe she could stay the night somewhere else? Ethan wasn’t an option: as Nikki had said, he was working. Obviously, spending the night with Morgan wasn’t a wise idea—no sense giving credence to Nikki’s false claims. She didn’t know the others in Ethan and Nikki’s social circle well enough to impose upon them. Besides, they were Nikki’s friends anyway.
So she had nowhere to go for now. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough. Then she would see Ethan, and she could ask him about Nikki’s episode. He would have some advice or even offer her
a place to stay for the time being until this blew over.
But maybe this wasn’t just a passing thing with Nikki. Maybe Amanda would never be safe here again.
Chapter Thirteen
Unveiling the Painting
Amanda arrived at 5th Avenue, between 50th and 51st, the next morning and found St. Patrick’s even more stunning in the early-morning radiance. She paused on the sidewalk, admiring the cathedral, awash in sunshine.
Inside, she paused for a moment in front of the Pieta, one of the cathedral’s prized works of art. The Virgin held the dead body of her Son in her arms. They were two figures, but the sculptor had fashioned them as a unified composition: so interconnected that they were almost one. She could understand that. She knew well the bond between a mother and child … and the pain that came when death severed that bond. The anguish and devastation Amanda carried inside, she saw reflected back on the Virgin’s face. But something else was there too, evident beneath her veil. The Virgin wore a look of peace, of resignation. Amanda shook her head and backed away. How could anyone find peace when she literally looked death in the face?
She found Morgan in a front pew, praying. She sat in the pew behind him, taking in the beautiful resplendence of the building.
He then made the Sign of the Cross and turned around, facing her. “Good morning, Amanda.”
His greeting was a bit more subdued than usual, his smile not quite so wide. She sat up a little straighter in the pew and peered at him. “Hey, Morgan. Everything okay?”
“I just have a lot on my mind today.”
“Work stuff? Still hard?”
“Something like that. But how are you? What brings you here today?”
“I don’t know actually. I just needed somewhere to go and think. Somewhere peaceful … My apartment isn’t the most welcoming place right now.” She shuddered a little. “You know, as I’m sitting here, looking around, I can see why it’s your favorite place. From an entirely aesthetic standpoint, the cathedral is very impressive.”
“I’m grateful that you’ve had the opportunity to experience it.”
“I might stop in here again. Not to pray, but just to be here.”
They began to walk down the aisle together.
“It’s kind of an oasis in the center of New York,” she said.
“I spend hours just being present here. Words aren’t even needed.”
Outside, they lingered on the sidewalk.
Morgan faced her. “How did things go at the Met yesterday?”
“Yeah, I wanted to tell you about that.”
“How about we take a walk to Central Park? There won’t be many more beautiful mornings like this.”
“Okay.”
The trees lining the park revealed hints of autumn colors: auburn, gold, and crimson. It seemed odd that there could be such beauty in something that was dying. The air felt cooler today, and she wrapped her corduroy jacket closer around her.
Morgan glanced at her. “So tell me about Portrait of a Mother.”
“The experience wasn’t what I expected. I kind of enjoyed it—I just sat and thought about her.”
“What did you learn?”
“I’m not certain I learned anything about her, per se. I suppose it’s more of a feeling. You were right: I could understand the painting better once I stopped trying to conquer it. The mother is paradoxical. On the surface, she’s like any other mother, just sitting there and holding her child. Yet there’s this unspoken majesty and power about her that draws you in and holds you there. I can’t express it fully.”
“I think it would require a lifetime, gazing upon that painting, to understand her.” He paused by a park bench. “Do you mind if we sit?”
She looked around. In front of them, the pond water rippled in the slight breeze, shimmering crystals sparkling in the light. She had been here before: this was the precise spot where she and Ethan had sat on their first date. It made her miss him even more.
They took a seat, neither one speaking. She didn’t need to cover the space between them with words: their connection filled any emptiness. Meanwhile, the haunting, andante strumming of a nearby street guitarist provided a musical backdrop. The acoustic melody seemed to come from some other time and place. She leaned back on the bench, tilting her head toward the sun. The song transported her away from her worries and cares.
The final note trembled in the air, and she kept her eyes closed, not wanting to leave the brief moment of tranquility just yet. “Thanks for suggesting that we come here, Morgan. It’s nice just to sit in the sunshine.”
“I wish it would rain.”
He spoke with heavy sorrow. Rattled by his unexpected reply, she opened her eyes and studied him. A frown creased his normally bright and jovial countenance, his blue eyes troubled. She had never seen him like this before, and it jarred her. All she wanted in that moment was to erase the pain that marked her friend’s face and to return the beaming smile that was so inherently Morgan. Impulsively, she leaned over and hugged him. His pain had become her pain too.
Footsteps approached and stopped just behind them. She sensed someone’s presence looming behind her. She pulled away from Morgan and turned around.
Ethan’s face was dark in the shadows where he stood beneath a leafy maple. Yet his eyes, furious and accusatory, couldn’t be more obvious. She bolted from the park bench as if it had been on fire and stared at him.
“Amanda?” His voice was icy with disgust and accusation. “This is how you work on your sketch?”
Her chest tightened. This had to look so terrible to him … “Ethan, this is my friend, Morgan. He and I went to Valor Academy together. He’s just an old friend.”
Ethan’s gaze shifted to Morgan, who had risen and now stood beside her. “I’m Ethan, Amanda’s boyfriend.” His words hung in the air like a swarm of bees. Ethan confronted her again. “I went to your classroom today to see you. You weren’t there.”
“I wanted to show Morgan my sketch. … I finished it yesterday and he’s been helping me with it, so I thought—”
“Wait a minute. Let me make sure I understand you: I offered to help you with that sketch weeks ago. You rejected my offer but let this guy help you? You told me you were going to finish the assignment as soon as possible so we could get closer. And now that it’s done, the first person you seek out is him? Have you been lying to me this whole time?”
“This isn’t what it seems! You know you’re everything to me. Morgan is just helping me with my assignment. I’ve known him for a while now. He … He saved my life once.”
“I thought I was doing that for you. But I must have been wrong all along. I assured you awhile ago that I would always tell you the truth. I won’t be strung along with lies and false promises. I have a good solution for you, Amanda.” He clenched his jaw. “We’re through.”
Ethan turned around and stormed off. She watched, stupefied. She should be beside him, holding his hand. Now he walked away from her, a permanent goodbye. She should call out to him, stall his exit from her life. At least she could run after him and clamor for some fleeting shred of reconciliation. But her throat constricted, and her feet froze to the pavement. Soon he disappeared into the distant crowd. Her whole being focused on those two acerbic words, words now burned into her consciousness: “We’re through.”
How could they be through? They were just beginning. Astonishment and regret at what just transpired, so unexpected and spiraling out of control, overpowered her.
“Amanda?” Morgan touched her arm.
She spun around and glared at him. “Leave me alone!”
“What do you mean?”
“How can you be so stupid?” she screamed.
A passerby stopped and stared at her, but she didn’t care.
“I’ve let our friendship destroy what I had with Ethan. You’ve been so nice to me, but look at the cost! Don’t you know how much Ethan means to me?” She was dizzy, the shock ebbing away to be replaced by a deep agony.
“What? Here you are, Mr. Holier-than-thou, and you judge him before even talking to him? You hypocrite! If our friendship means anything to you, I’d think you would at least care enough about me to be considerate to my boyfriend.”
“Why does he mean so much to you? If he were committed to you, how could he walk away from you so easily?”
“Maybe because I wasn’t committed enough to him. Or rather, I didn’t show it. But you know what, Morgan? You know nothing about it. In fact, you know very little about me. Ethan was the only one who truly knew me. Not the person I portray to others, but who I really am—the person I try to hide.”
“Does he really know you? Or did he just convince you that he does? It seems to me, if he knew you, he would be the one consoling you now. But where is he?”
“If you really knew me, you would know that the man who just left means more to me than anything else. You would know that I love him, and now I’ve lost him.” A stinging pricked her eyes and she startled. Tears? She hadn’t cried since her mother died. But of course she would cry now: she had let someone else into her heart and gotten hurt, just as she’d worried she would.
“Do you know what love is?”
She ignored Morgan, her thoughts wild with plans. She had to win Ethan back … she had to show him how much she cared … how much she loved him. She snubbed Morgan and strode away.
“Amanda!” He dashed after her. “Where are you going? What about us? What about the sketch?”
“The sketch is done. And so are we.”
“Where are you going?”
“That’s none of your business. I think you’ve caused enough damage already.”
“It is my business. I care about you. We have a connection.”
“No. We had a connection.” She stopped then, turning to face him. “I don’t want to see you ever again.”
“Please don’t do it.”
“Don’t do what?”
“What you’re planning to do. You’ll regret it, Amanda. Please, listen to me!”