Erasing Faith

by Julie Johnson

  He broke off, and I could tell he wasn’t ready to say it.

  “I know, Wes,” I said softly. “Just come back to me when you can.”

  His eyes bored into mine. “Always.”

  Chapter Thirty-One: WESTON

  ONE LAST NIGHT

  “Tomorrow.”

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  This wasn’t happening. Not now.

  “I need more time.” I tried not to sound like I was pleading. I tried to get control over myself. But all I could see was Faith.

  “You can’t have it.” Benson’s voice was cold. “The bug you planted on the kid—”

  “His name is Konrad,” I growled.

  “I don’t give a fuck what his name is. The only thing I care about is the fact that we now have the intel we need to move on Szekely’s compound.”

  “It’s too soon. We need more information before we strike a facility we know essentially nothing about.”

  Benson’s voice went arctic. “The access codes we’ve obtained from the boy may change any day. I’ve already sent a team — they’re en route to you as we speak. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Abbott, but I need you to retrieve your fucking balls from wherever you’ve stashed them and get on board with this plan. You will lead Team A into that damn compound tomorrow, while Team B simultaneously raids the Hermes office. If you can’t do it, I’ll get someone else. This mission is happening, with or without you.”

  Fuck. I clutched the phone in my hand so tightly, I worried it would snap in half under the pressure.

  “Your source suggested the prototype will be in the sub-basement,” Benson said, as if I needed a refresher course on the intel I’d procured. “Priority is to retrieve it, along with any other advanced weaponry you find there.”

  “And Szekely?”

  “Dead or alive, we want him. If you have a shot, you’re authorized to take it. We don’t want this mess coming back to bite us in the ass in the future.”

  I cleared my throat. “If we just waited a week, I’d have a clearer picture of what we’re walking into.”

  Please. Just a few more days with her.

  Benson snorted. “We have the building layout you’ve constructed. We have intel from your sources. We have perimeter and internal video. We have the access codes. And, most importantly, we have audio confirmation of Szekely’s presence in that building from the bug you planted on the kid. If Szekely leaves, this is all for nothing. Another week won’t make this any more actionable. We’re moving on it, and we’re moving now.”

  “But if I just—”

  “Abbott!” Benson’s voice was exasperated. “This isn’t a negotiation. These are orders. And you will follow them.”

  My eyes pressed closed. “Yes, sir,” I muttered darkly.

  “Call me when the team arrives to discuss op-tech and link up our comm feeds.”

  The line went dead in my ear.

  I sat for a long time, staring down at my left hand. When a drop of water fell and splashed against the white cord on my ring finger, I looked up at the ceiling for a leak before realizing that it wasn’t even raining outside. The leak wasn’t the shoddy roofing — it was me.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried. But as I thought about leaving Faith, I couldn’t help myself.

  One last night.

  I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

  Not yet.

  Not ever.

  Chapter Thirty-Two: FAITH

  POWDER-KEG

  He was quiet when he came back.

  It was late, nearly midnight, and I was tired after a long day of cramming for the end-of-summer exams, which were approaching far too rapidly for my taste. Sleepy or not, I saw something in his eyes when he looked at me — a sadness that hadn’t been there before. I heard it in his voice, how it saturated his tone like the world was coming to an end. I felt it in the way he touched me, as though he was memorizing the feeling of my every curve, my every freckle, when his hands glided across my skin.

  Mostly, it was there in the way that, for once, he didn’t hide behind any walls when he looked at me. Tonight, his emotions were right there, burning bright on the surface of his eyes. His gaze was brimming over with things that made my heart race. He wasn’t holding anything back.

  It should’ve overjoyed me. Instead, it worried me.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Maybe it’s just human nature — when things finally fall into place, we immediately begin to worry that something will come along and blow it all to hell.

  Before I could dwell too much on devastating possibilities, Wes was on me, all over me. Distracting me with his hands, pressing his body against mine until I forgot my own name and all I could think of was him. The future faded away and all I had was us, this single moment in time where we were connected and all the world shrank until it fit into his eyes.

  He didn’t say a word as he stripped my clothes off one by one, his hands impatient as he dropped them to the floor and pushed me onto the bed. In his touch were no traces of the tenderness he’d exhibited last night. He touched me like a starving man might clutch at vital sustenance, like a man who’d wandered the desert for far too long in search of water and finally reached a life-saving oasis. He gripped me with urgency — all rough hands and rushed caresses. And when he sank into me, eyes glued to mine, I felt something inside him snap, felt the control he exercised over every aspect of his life bow and break like a steel box filled far beyond its capacity. The cage that had contained his feelings for more than two decades burst wide open, its metal sides bending like butter under the strength of his emotions.

  He pounded into me, my hips rising to meet each thrust, and we were a single entity — feeling, breathing, moving as one.

  His eyes said I love you though his lips were still and silent.

  And, for now, as I felt myself turn to liquid gold beneath his touch, that was enough.

  ***

  “Do you still believe in fate?” Wes asked softly.

  “How can you even ask me that, when you’re here in my bed?” I responded in an equally quiet voice.

  He fell silent.

  “Did you know that we met on my birthday?” I asked, turning my head to stare at him.

  “No — you never said anything.” He scanned my face searchingly. “Now I feel like a bastard — I should’ve gotten you a gift.”

  “You were the gift.” I smiled at him when I saw his eyes melt like chocolate over flame. “We were meant to find each other, Wes. I’m certain of that, even if you still question it. And it’s okay. You don’t have to believe — I’ll believe enough for the both of us.”

  His eyes pressed closed, as though he was in great pain. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked a little.

  “My past… the things I’ve seen…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t believe in soulmates or fate or God. I can’t. But I believe in you. I believe in us.”

  My heart expanded in my chest.

  “You are the person I want to fall asleep with at night and wake up to in the morning, Red. You’re the person I want to share myself with — the good, the bad, the ugly.” He pushed a tendril of hair behind my ear. “You’re the way I want to live my life. The way I want to see the world. My guiding light. My religion… my faith.”

  I felt tears start to leak out of the corners of my eyes, and Wes’ thumb gently wiped them away. Leaning forward, I pressed a soft kiss against his lips. When I’d finally gathered enough composure to speak, my voice was laced with emotions I could barely name. I wanted to say it then — to scream it from the rooftops.

  I love you, Wes.

  But I didn’t want to rush him before he was ready. There would be plenty of time to say it later — it wasn’t like this was our last night together.

  “Well, it’s a good thing you married me, then,” I whispered instead.

  Wes’ crooked smile appeared for the first time all night and I knew, no matter what happened, we’d be oka
y.

  ***

  He was gone before I woke up.

  I knew he would be — he’d warned that he had an early workday before we fell asleep — but that didn’t stop me from missing him. The note on my pillow was simple: a lopsided heart, drawn in pen on a piece of computer paper. The heart was messy, masculine — not quite closed at the bottom, with two uneven sides, as though he’d never found himself in a situation that called for drawing such a shape before.

  I wasn’t sure if that made me happy or sad.

  Rolling over, I grabbed my phone from my nightstand and saw that it was still early — barely six o’clock. The screen displayed a blinking red icon, indicating I had a new voicemail, and I quickly tapped on it, thinking Wes might’ve left me a message. The voice that burst through the speaker was familiar, but it didn’t belong to the man I’d hoped for.

  “Faith, it’s Istvan. Look, I know you weren’t on the schedule this weekend, but I really need you to come in. It’ll be five hours, tops — Sunday shifts are special delivery only, no regulars. Janice is on-call today but she’s sick — some kind of stomach flu. I’ll even let you start early, if you can get here before we open at ten. You’ll be in and out, I promise. Plus, Sunday pay is double rate. Call and let me know.”

  I sighed and fell back against the pillows, considering my options.

  Either I could sit here all day pretending to study and obsessing about Wes every five seconds, or I could pick up a few extra hours at Hermes and distract myself while making some cash. Sunday shifts were always sleepy. There were few deliveries and even fewer couriers on staff — at most, one or two girls were on-call. Plus, if Istvan was running the show, I knew he’d let me get an early jump on what few parcels we had. I’d be out by noon — plenty of time to obsess over Wes later.

  I called Istvan back and agreed, promising to be there within the hour.

  Before I got out of bed, I flipped onto my stomach and buried my face in the pillows, smelling Wes and smiling at the thought of seeing him again tonight. If this — him and me, together — was the new normal, I certainly wasn’t complaining.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’d shrugged into a tank top and jeans, stuffed a clean uniform into my messenger bag, scribbled a note for Margot, and was out the door.

  Just the start of another normal day in Budapest.

  ***

  I was alone. Terrified. Running for my life.

  How did it come to this?

  Ashes drifted like snowflakes in a hot, hellish blizzard. I choked down smoke as I ran through the blackened maze of passages. Hands thrown out to the walls for guidance, my fingertips were soon coated in ebony dust. I could feel the heat radiating beneath the pads of each fingertip ― the fire raged just inches away, on the other side of a perilously thin barrier. The smell of charred furniture and smoldering wood stung my nostrils and made my eyes water as I stumbled along, praying for salvation of any kind. I wondered vaguely if I’d make it out alive. If I’d ever see the ones I loved again.

  Wes’ face flashed in my mind and abruptly my eyes were stinging from more than just the pungent smoke.

  I pushed all thoughts of him away, knowing they’d only torment and distract me.

  Despite my disorientation, I knew where I was. The Hermes office — I’d been here a million times. I knew these corridors like the back of my hand. On a normal day, I could walk them blindfolded.

  Today wasn’t a normal day.

  Today, I was lost. There were flames licking at my back, as a bright inferno tore through the space which once housed the fifty or so wooden lockers in the staff room. My cubby was burning into ash behind me, the fire consuming everything with greedy, white-hot tendrils that raced up the walls to the ceiling overhead.

  Blinded by the thick smoke, I blundered through the dark until I’d left the fast-creeping flames behind. I rounded a corner and dragged in a gulp that was equal parts smoke and oxygen. Bitter and toxic, it hardly soothed my screaming lungs, but I was relieved to be breathing at all.

  My relief was short-lived. I was all too aware that even if the fire didn’t burn me alive, the noxious fumes entering my lungs with each labored breath would kill me just as quick. Thick smoke swirled in the air above me, gathering in a roiling, poisonous cloud on the ceiling and turning once-familiar corridors into an unnavigable maze of passages.

  I didn’t have time to think.

  I ran.

  My mind raced with fear and adrenaline pumped through my veins like a narcotic, fueling my flight. I could hear men yelling in the distance, though it was hard to tell whether their cries were of pain or anger.

  My coworkers.

  Trapped. Burning alive.

  The sizzling fire still roared at my back and, more terrifying, I now heard the foreign crack of gunfire, ringing out every few seconds like a macabre metronome. The bullets whizzed closer as the blaze chased me down hallway after hallway.

  It didn’t make any sense. It was Sunday — no one was supposed to be here this early, except me, Istvan, and a skeleton crew of other employees. When I’d arrived, the front doors had been unlocked but the offices seemed totally abandoned. I’d made my way to my locker with a secret smile on my lips, thinking of Wes and the things he’d said to me last night.

  Not ten minutes later, I’d been half-changed into my uniform when the offices literally combusted. Flames devoured the building faster than any natural fire had a right to. My thoughts turned briefly to the lingering scent of gasoline that laced the smoke around me, but I was soon distracted by more pressing dangers.

  Crack, crack, crack.

  Gunfire.

  Because apparently the actual fire was not enough to contend with today.

  For a moment, I stood frozen with fear. Every instinct I had was shrieking to run for the exits, to take my chances with flying bullets over flames.

  I reached up and rubbed at my stinging eyes, placing the sleeve of my thin uniform back over my mouth as soon as I’d blinked away some of the smoke. My throat burned with each breath I gulped down and my lungs ached, but I pressed onward.

  The voices were closer now, as were the sounds of gunfire ― definitely coming from the front lobby. I could see the swinging door that led into the atrium from here, maybe thirty feet down the hall. Men yelled in guttural Hungarian and, as I edged closer, I could make out some of the volleyed words despite my limited grasp on the language.

  A familiar voice called out, his pitch panic-stricken. It was Marko, I realized, half-stunned by the thought.

  “Who is it, the fucking CIA? How did they find us here?”

  Another man answered in a raspy, authoritative tone I recognized immediately. Istvan.

  “I don’t know. One of the girls tipped them off, maybe.”

  Marko spoke again. “You think they’re in the main compound, too?”

  A scoff. “No way they’re getting in if Szekely has anything to say about it.”

  There was a loud curse, then a short silence. The gunfire ceased for a moment. I glanced behind me at the hallway I just traversed — smoke was creeping around a corner and saturating the space around me. In a few moments, the passage would be fully engulfed in flames. There was nowhere to go but forward.

  Advancing slowly, I strained to hear more. Marko was speaking again.

  “Are all the files destroyed?”

  Istvan’s voice was calm, considering the circumstances.

  “I did what I could. The fire will take care of the rest.”

  The sharp staccato of gunfire again filled the air, and I flinched to a standstill. Feet locked in place, eyes wide with fear, I listened intently.

  Shots firing.

  Glass shattering.

  Screams of pain.

  Body pressed tight against the wall, my heart pounded double-time in my chest. I didn’t want to die here. The thought of leaving this earth before seeing Wes one last time was unbearable.

  I pinched the fleshy part of my palm, hoping to wake myself from this n
ightmare. This wasn’t my life. Things like this didn’t happen to normal people.

  I was a freaking history major. An American tourist. A twenty-one year old student who wanted a year abroad in a magical, fairytale city with cute boys, lots of medieval buildings, and plenty of cheap drinks.

  I certainly didn’t expect to die in an accelerant-fueled office fire surrounded by flying bullets and angry Hungarian madmen.

  Sparks crackled and hissed. Men cursed loudly, yelling about ammunition and exit points. Stray bullets flew and ricocheted. For a split second, I wished for a weapon to defend myself — but quickly realized that even if I had a gun, I’d have no idea what to do with it. In truth, I’d probably end up shooting myself and saving the bad guys a wasted bullet.

  I glanced back at the corner I’d just rounded — more thick, black smoke was funneling into the hallway. The inferno couldn’t be far behind.

  I looked forward to the doors ahead — the sound of rushing footsteps, heading quickly in my direction, was unmissable.

  Paralyzed by fear, I was caught between two very different foes and utterly out of options. Waiting for one to round a corner and kill me.

  I knew, with absolute certainty, that I was going to die. My eyes pressed closed as I accepted it without a fight.

  Wes had been wrong — I wasn’t brave. I was a coward.

  But then, his voice was in my head.

  Fears… either they own you, or you own them. Whether you let them rule you — that’s your choice, Red.

  I couldn’t shut him out.

  Faith Morrissey, you can do anything. Anything. Don’t let the world convince you otherwise.

  His words were my salvation.

  Five seconds of fear, or a lifetime of regret.

  Suddenly, I knew exactly what I had to do. I pretended Wes was there with me — staring into my eyes, cupping my face. Counting down the fear.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  Five.

  I wasn’t going to die here.