Erasing Faith

by Julie Johnson

  Margot and I had been eager to check out Iguana for weeks, but this was the first night we’d succeeded in getting through the velvet-roped doors before closing time.

  “Drinks?” I yelled to Margot.

  “What?” she shouted back, cupping a hand over one ear.

  I blew out a huff of frustration and mimed a drinking motion with my hands.

  She nodded in comprehension, but her expression turned forlorn as she took in the sight of the bar. When I glanced over, I couldn’t blame her — it was so crowded, we couldn’t see the bartenders behind the mass of people waiting for drinks. It would take ages to reach the front of that line and, in my experience, club drinks were usually overpriced and under-liquored.

  Thankfully, I’d been a Girl Scout for approximately two months during second grade. I hadn’t learned much in that short time span, but one vital lesson — always come prepared — had stuck with me. Well, that, and a love of delicious mint-chocolate flavored cookies.

  Snapping open my clutch purse, I pulled out two mini, airplane-sized bottles of Fireball whiskey from my stash. I’d had to leave my phone at home in order to fit the nips inside, but it had been worth it.

  I grinned at Margot’s stunned expression as I pushed one of the tiny bottles into her hand.

  “Classy,” she mouthed at me, her fingers curling around my gift even as the insult left her lips.

  I shrugged, grinned, and unscrewed the plastic cap. “Down the hatch!”

  “What?” she yelled again.

  Rolling my eyes, I poured the alcohol between my lips. I swallowed and my senses were abruptly overtaken by the warm, cinnamon burn of the alcohol. It tasted like the Wrigley’s Big Red bubblegum I’d chewed as a kid, and I happily licked the remnants from my lips. Margot spluttered a bit, but managed to swallow hers in two gulps.

  “Good?” I screamed in her ear.

  She nodded, a smile curving her mouth.

  I snapped my clutch purse closed, saving the remaining two bottles for later consumption, and grabbed Margot’s hand once more. Tugging her toward the center of the undulating mob of dancers, I felt my hair grow damp around the temples and wished for a hair elastic to pull it up. I was definitely working up a sparkle in the intense heat created by hundreds of moving bodies.

  We reached a point when the wall of people became so thick, there was no way to get any closer to the DJ booth, which was elevated on a high, circular platform. On the lofted stage beside the speakers and sound equipment, four female dancers in skimpy green lingerie and shimmering makeup shook their bodies to the pulsing beat, much to the delight of the male patrons below. Similarly-clad performers were scattered on platforms along the club walls, putting on a nonstop show under the dizzying, multicolored light beams that throbbed in harmony with the song’s tempo.

  Every few minutes, confetti would blast from the ceiling in an explosion of color, raining down on the dance floor below, and everyone in the club would raise their arms into the air and scream. The thin, colorful pieces landed on sweaty limbs and stuck like paper-mache — after a few confetti explosions, the entire crowd was awash in rainbow hues, a sea of club-goers covered in scales like some strange species of vibrant, deviant fish. We were an ocean of immoral mermaids and mermen, our bodies pressed flush together, gliding so languorously, it wasn’t hard to imagine the air flowing around us was water.

  Iguana was definitely an experience.

  Margot and I danced for what felt like hours, pausing only once to finish off our supply of whiskey. When a set of arms wrapped around me and a hard, male body pressed into me from behind, I glanced up at Margot and widened my eyes in question.

  “So hot,” she mouthed, flashing me a quick thumbs-up sign before turning to face the attractive man who’d just approached her.

  Somewhat giddily, I grinned and gave myself over to the music. All too soon, however, I found my happiness wavering as my partner’s unskilled hands guided me into a inept, inconsistent gyration that stirred horrible flashbacks to junior prom night and called to mind an image of Otto, my childhood dog, humping his bed pillow with unchecked vigor.

  Unfortunately, I seemed to be the pillow in this situation.

  Either my partner was severely rhythmically challenged, or seriously intoxicated. Judging by the smell of cheap gin emanating from his pores, it wasn’t too hard to guess which.

  After five minutes of suffering, I was about to extricate myself from his grasp when, to my surprise, his hold on me suddenly vanished. Above the din of the music, I heard what sounded almost like a low grunt, and then his hands were simply gone from my waist. I managed to spin around in the crush of bodies, but there was no one behind me — as though he’d never been there at all.

  Puzzled, I started to turn back to Margot, but halted when my eyes caught on something that sent my heart stuttering. I felt a thrilled jolt of electricity shoot through my system as I stared across the expanse of dancers, straight into a pair of darkly familiar eyes. Eyes I’d been longing to see again, if only to prove myself right — that fate really did have a hand in whatever was happening between me and the handsome stranger. That we would find each other again.

  Startled by his presence, I blinked rapidly to clear my whiskey-blurred vision and to reassure myself that he was actually there, rather than a figment of hopeful imagination.

  When I opened my eyes not even a second later, he was gone.

  There were no signs of him in the crowd. In the place I thought I’d spotted him, two blonde girls in plastered-on dresses were entwined in an intimate embrace. Behind them, a pair of drunken tourists were having a competition to see who could stick their tongue the furthest down the other’s throat. My stranger was nowhere to be found.

  It only took a few seconds to convince myself that I’d been imagining things.

  Seeing him in the crowd because I so desperately wanted to.

  Disappointed, I turned back to Margot and, for the millionth time since I’d walked away from that café without getting so much as his name, I regretted my own stubbornness. If I never saw him again, I only had myself to blame.

  Chapter Eight: WESTON

  A GODDAMN DISTRACTION

  I hated places like this.

  Full of trendy music, migraine-inducing light shows, and stupid, superficial patrons.

  Clubs like Iguana were all glitz and glamour on the surface level, with their lingerie-clad performers and velvet-draped wall panels, but if you peeled back that thin veneer of glitter, you’d find a black, rotten core. The dark ambiance and sexually-charged atmosphere created a haven for the worst kind of people.

  Predators. Pickpockets. Robbers. Rapists.

  They were drawn in like poisonous moths to an irresistible flame.

  I wasn’t talking about the mobs filling the dance floor, here to have a good time with friends. Not the tourists and exchange students, happy to have a night out on the town, or even the locals who got a kick out of foreign girls-gone-wild.

  I meant the ones who lingered in the shadows, who huddled by the far walls. The ones out of the spotlight. They didn’t crave attention; didn’t want to be seen. Their clothes weren’t flashy or form-fitting. They spent their nights watching. Waiting. Preying on the party-goers, who made such easy targets.

  I wasn’t the only monster here, tonight.

  My eyes tracked her as she moved deeper into the crowd, my gaze steadfast, unwilling to lose sight of her for even a moment. Every now and then, her hair would catch the light, flashing pink or green or some other hideous, fluorescent color. I ignored the feeling that swelled in my chest when I watched her laughing, her smile so bright, it practically glowed in the dark.

  I hadn’t planned to follow her tonight. I had far more pressing things I could — should — be attending to at the moment.

  Command had been requesting a debrief for hours. Cameras needed to be rigged on the Hermes entryways. Several suspects required tailing. Three separate phone taps had to be placed and monitored. The mov
ements of this girl shouldn’t have been high on my list of priorities and certainly didn’t merit an in-person surveillance detail.

  And yet, here I was.

  Earlier, I’d watched from the shadows and overheard her chatting with her roommate as they walked home from work. As I’d listened to them discuss their plans for the evening at the club, I’d found myself struggling to justify the need to watch her tonight.

  I told myself there’d be predators who could interfere with my endgame. If I didn’t protect her — as nothing more than an asset, of course — she could get into all kinds of trouble and I’d have to start over, laying the groundwork with a new mark. I fed myself bullshit excuse after excuse, knowing all the while that I was fabricating reasons to be around her.

  I knew I was getting too close. I was fully aware that the smart thing to do would be to pick another girl for this assignment.

  But for some reason, I couldn’t walk away from her. Not yet.

  She fascinated me.

  I’d been trained to watch. I could stare at the most tedious of targets for hours without so much as blinking, because it was my job and I was damn good at it. But it was no chore to watch her. She had a way of moving through life that was just… pure. Authentic. Real.

  Everyone in the world had nervous tells. Trademark gestures they made when they were scared or anxious. Some people blinked too much when they were lying through their teeth; others didn’t blink at all. A truly accomplished liar might be harder to spot, but even they had telltale quirks and mannerisms that gave them away, eventually.

  I’d been watching Faith Morrissey for a week now, and she didn’t have a single one.

  Not because she was the best liar I’d ever met, but because she didn’t live her life by covering things up. She laid it all out there, for the world to see. Her flaws, her beauty, her innermost self. There was nothing affected or superficial about her. There wasn’t a fake bone in her body.

  She didn’t do secrets, or half-truths, or lies.

  In every tangible way, she was my opposite…

  And a goddamned distraction I couldn’t afford.

  I bit the inside of my cheek to reground myself as I turned and headed for the exit. I couldn’t believe what a fucking pussy I’d become over this. How weak was I, if I couldn’t tear myself away from an average American girl? I’d never formed an attachment to a mark — never come close, not even after months of deep cover. I barely knew this girl. So, what the fuck was my problem?

  I berated myself all the way to the doors.

  You’re an idiot.

  You’re losing your professional edge.

  You need to regain focus on the big picture, or this entire mission will fall apart.

  None of my internal rebukes were enough to stop me from looking back at her one last time when I reached the exit. My eyes cut straight to her through the crowd and, despite myself, I felt my blood begin to boil when I saw some half-cocked local attempting to mount her from behind on the dance floor. The look on her face told me his attention wasn’t welcome.

  Walk away, Wes. This isn’t your business.

  I sighed. Bit my cheek. Cursed myself.

  Fuck.

  Not two minutes later, I’d shoved my way through the mob to reach them. His back was to me and his arms were still wrapped tight around her torso. Seeing his uncoordinated thrusts, the way he ground himself against her, instantly had me clenching my jaw. I felt my hands curl into fists even as my internal voice screamed to walk away.

  Self-restraint had never been my strong suit.

  One swift undercut to the left kidney and a strategically placed boot sent him reeling. With nothing more than a quiet oof of pain, he was gone, quickly lost in the crowd. The glare I shot after him made sure he’d stay lost.

  Before she could turn fully around to see what had happened to her dance partner, I was already fading into the crowd. For the briefest instant, I let my gaze meet hers across the sea of bodies. Her confused caramel eyes went wide in half-recognition, half-hope. Her mouth parted in a gasp. Her hand lifted involuntarily, reaching toward me through the crowd, as though she couldn’t help herself.

  My cock twitched in my jeans.

  Fuck.

  I whirled away, cursing myself once more for being a fucking idiot, and disappeared into the shadows where she could no longer see me, all the while promising myself I’d stay away for good this time. Find a new mark, move on without her.

  I was a shit liar.

  At least, I was when it came to deceiving myself.

  Chapter Nine: FAITH

  CHINESE WATER TORTURE

  My history lecture was boring me to tears.

  I’d been doodling on the edges of my notebook for the past hour while Professor Varga droned on in heavily accented English about King Andrew II’s Golden Bull of 1222. Apparently, as the first edict in European history to limit the powers of a monarch, it was significant enough to take up a whole class period.

  Yada, yada, yada.

  Snore.

  I felt my phone buzz in my bag. In an attempt at stealth, I slipped it from the side pocket and glanced covertly at the screen.

  Margot: Hey! I have a surprise!

  Faith: I hate surprises.

  Margot: You’ll like this one! It involves college boys and alcoholic beverages!

  Faith: ….I’m listening.

  Margot: Study Abroad Student Mixer! Tonight in City Park! It’ll be fun!

  Faith: I don’t know. It’s my one night off from work. I was planning to relax.

  Margot: Oh, come on! It’s Friday night! You won’t regret it! I promise!

  Faith: Are you aware of how many exclamation points you use while texting? Because it’s a lot. Like, a lot.

  Margot: Shut up. It starts at 6. You’re coming.

  Faith: Okay(!!!) Sounds good(!!!)

  Margot: I hate you.

  Faith: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  ***

  Városliget — otherwise known as “City Park” to those of us who’d only been in Hungary for a month and were still struggling to master basic pronunciation — was a sprawling, magnificent garden that made every American park I’d ever been to pale in comparison. Nestled in the very center of Pest, the immense, green public garden was home to many of the city’s most beautiful sights. From the stunning Széchenyi thermal baths to Vajdahunyad Castle, which was perched on a lakeside like something straight out of a fairy tale, the entire affair took my breath away.

  I’d been here several times before, but never this late in the day. The weak light from the setting sun illuminated the walking paths, aided by hundreds of beautiful paper lanterns strung from light-posts and tree branches. There was magic, here. Wisps of childhood floated through the air and threads of long-forgotten dreams were called to mind as you strolled from one attraction to the next.

  Tonight was a perfect, sultry summer night, and the park was a popular destination for twilight strollers. Scores of couples walked hand in hand, gazing up at the lanterns or wandering the botanical gardens with dreamy looks on their faces. Families with small children hurried down the paths, eager to get their sleepy young ones to bed after a long day riding the wooden roller coasters and the hundred-year-old Ferris wheel at the amusement park.

  Margot and I meandered past a stretch of museums and eventually reached Heroes’ Square. I hadn’t been back since my chance encounter with the stranger last week and, as I peered up at the imposing statue of Gabriel, I felt the stirrings of inexplicable remorse deep within my chest. I wasn’t sure why I felt such a connection to the man I’d collided with — there was just something unforgettable about him. As though, once my eyes caught sight of him, they’d become so utterly fixated, they could’ve spent an eternity drinking in nothing but his image, and never felt a loss.

  “Hey, you coming?”

  Margot’s voice stirred me from my reverie, and I realized I’d drawn to full stop with my eyes locked on the archangel’s face hig
h above. Shaking myself out of the trance I’d slipped into, I forced a smile and hurried to catch up with my friend.

  “Sorry, got a little distracted.”

  “You and your obsession with history.” Margot snorted. “Doesn’t all that stuffy old architecture and ancient art get boring after a while?”

  I laughed. “As if studying languages is any more exciting. Who considers conjugating Hungarian verbs a hobby?”

  “Just keep up, will you? At this rate, we’re going to miss the whole thing.”

  I rolled my eyes. Margot had a tendency to exaggerate and was a total stickler when it came to being on time for events. “Margot, it started literally five minutes ago. We’ll probably be the first ones there.”

  “Less talkie, more walkie!” she ordered, giving me a light shove toward the path that would lead us to the lake. I sighed, but allowed her to steer me along.

  We walked for several minutes until the lakeshore came into view. A crowd of maybe forty people had gathered on one of the grassy banks, clustered around two rows of cocktail tables — a mix of young men and women in their twenties, most of them dressed far more formally than I was, in my casual jean cut-offs and summery top. As soon as Margot and I stepped off the path onto the bank, several sets of appreciative male eyes instantly clapped onto us and did a vertical sweep of our forms. I tried not to fidget, feeling insecure and underdressed beneath the collective weight of their eyes.

  Abruptly, I had a very bad feeling that Margot hadn’t been entirely honest about our plans for the evening.

  “I thought you said this was a study abroad mixer,” I hissed in her direction.

  “Did I?” she asked, her voice all innocence.

  “Yes.”

  “Oops!”

  “Margot, don’t make me torture you.” I glared at her. “Where have you dragged me?”

  “It’s a twenty-somethings speed-dating night! I saw a flyer for it while I was out riding during my shift yesterday, so I called and reserved two spots for us!” She grinned at me. “I thought it would be fun!”