by Dylan Madrid
I have to get out of here. This place is gonna kill me.
As he always did in the dream, he stumbled outside to the sidewalk and into the night. The neon lights of the lonely city cast hues and patterns all over the cracked concrete around his shoes. The gaslit lamp on the street corner continued to burn.
“Kevin?” Quintin said, hoping his missing lover would finally return. So their life together could resume. So Quintin would no longer have to sleep alone, come home to an empty apartment after a long day at the office, wake up next to emptiness.
There was no answer to his cry.
But something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.
He turned.
From the shadows on the street, Luca emerged. He was bathed in a kaleidoscopic glow of multicolored lights, shimmering and throbbing—castoffs from signs above.
Their eyes met.
Quintin saw love in Luca’s.
“You’re not alone,” Luca said. “Never again.”
Quintin took a step in Luca’s direction. “I don’t want to have this dream anymore,” he said, holding back his tears.
Luca reached for his hand. He squeezed it gently.
“Then let go of it,” he said.
*
“Do you understand what you have to do?” Arianna asked.
Quintin stifled a yawn. It was unbelievably early in the morning. “Yes,” he said, still not fully awake. Arianna had knocked on the door and refused to go away until he crawled out of bed. At least she’d brought two cups of coffee and a pink box filled with pastries. “Luca made it clear. I need to get Regina to confess she was directly involved with the assassination of the ambassador.”
Even at this ungodly hour Arianna Russo still managed to look like a glamorous fashionista in a pale-lavender pantsuit with a rope of pearls at her neck. She sat down in one of two chairs at the small wooden table in the kitchenette. The hanging light fixture centered over the table cast a sharp beam of light onto her, as if she were being interrogated. “It is a very…complicated situation,” she said. “The same man was hired to commit two crimes.”
Quintin sat down across from her. He took a sip of coffee from the to-go cup, swallowed, and asked, “Grayson Miller?”
Arianna looked him in the eye. “He will stop at nothing to complete his mission.”
Quintin had stayed awake for hours after Fiona left the night before in search of both a cold drink and hot man. Trying to figure out if Kevin’s disappearance—and sudden, frequent reappearances—had anything to do with his assignment to get a confession from Regina Bremington. He was certain there was a connection, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.
And this was enormously frustrating.
He watched as Arianna lifted her coffee cup with the grace of a ballet dancer. He wondered how a woman who was strikingly beautiful had become an agent. What was it about her line of work that appealed to her? The unknown? The risk? The element of danger? Had Luca inspired her to become a spy like him? Their mother? Their grandmother? When did the family legacy begin?
You’re a woman of a million mysteries, Arianna Russo. And your brother is just as intriguing. Your grandmother is adorable, but your mother scares me a little. I can only imagine what family dinners must be like, the topics of conversation.
Although the sun had risen just seconds before she arrived, Quintin had been happy to find Arianna in his doorway. He knew she might be able to help him find the answers he was searching for, as far as Kevin was concerned. Maybe once he had a concrete explanation, he could finally let go of the past and move on. Maybe the reoccurring dream would finally fade away.
Quintin decided to tread lightly. “Do you think he has something to do with Kevin’s disappearance?” he asked. “Maybe he’s threatening Kevin for some reason.”
Arianna looked perplexed. “The man the detective was asking you about when she was here yesterday?”
Quintin nodded. “He’s my former…well, I don’t know what we were to each other.”
“Were you lovers?” she asked, getting right to the point as she always did.
It felt strange to discuss the relationship. Never before had Quintin even tried to define what he and Kevin had been to one another. He’d never shared the details of their life, their history, with anyone.
Not even Fiona.
“Yes,” he said. “And he disappeared five months ago in the middle of the night. No explanation at all. He just slipped out of my life. But I saw him on the boat to Calais a few days ago. He was there. I know it was him. And also he left me a note yesterday, under the door. It said not to look for him. But I need answers. I want to know why he put me through this. The heartache.”
“If he was on the boat with you and my mother, why didn’t you ask her to stop him?” she asked. “She’s very good at that sort of thing, you know.”
Quintin shrugged before he spoke. “I don’t know. I should have. I just need to know why he left…why did he disappear and turn his back on what we had together?”
Arianna leaned back in her wooden folding chair. “How did you meet this man?”
“Believe it or not, I was introduced to him by Howard Burke. Right after I moved to London. I guess he figured since Kevin and I were both Americans…”
“This is odd information,” she said. Quintin could hear the suspicion in her voice.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You do realize that Howard was the one who contacted our agency,” she said. “He’s the one who suspected what Regina was planning to do. He brought it to our attention.”
Quintin thought about the short old guy with his ever-present grin and mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. He was always such a source of light and positive energy it was difficult to imagine he would have any knowledge of something as evil as the ambassador’s assassination. It didn’t make sense. Howard Burke didn’t fit into this world of secrets and shadows.
“How is that even possible?” he asked.
Arianna looked at Quintin as if he were already supposed to know the answer to his own question, as she if assumed someone had already given him the explanation he desired. “Howard is a former agent,” she said. “We used to work for him. He brought us in because he knows were the best.”
“He’s what?” Quintin stammered.
“He probably knows where Kevin is,” she said. “If not, he can find out for you.”
“I don’t understand…how is that funny old man involved with this? How would he know Regina was planning on having her husband killed?”
Arianna sat up, straightened her posture. “Simple,” she said. “She asked him to do it.”
Quintin reached for his cup of coffee on the edge of the table, wanting something to hold on to as this new information whirled around him, making him feel more lost and overwhelmed than he already did.
“I’m assuming he said no,” he replied with hope in his voice.
“Of course,” she assured him. “But when he did…Regina somehow managed to connect with Grayson Miller. The one thing she didn’t realize…”
Quintin completed the thought for her. “Her husband had already hired him to murder her.”
“We can’t bring the ambassador to justice for plotting to kill his wife because he’s dead, but we can still catch her…but only with your help.”
“I don’t know if I can do this, Arianna. You know how clever Regina is. She’ll figure out I’m on to her.”
Arianna leaned in. “I knew you were having doubts.”
“I want to do this because it’s the right thing to do…and because of Luca…”
She tapped a manicured fingernail on the surface of the table for emphasis. “Don’t do this for my brother, Quintin. Do this so Regina Bremington won’t get away with murder.”
“I just…want to get on with my life. I’m already starting to miss my routine, my daily schedule, going to the office and working on the magazine.”
“All of that will
still be there once this over,” she said, but he knew better than to believe that.
“How long do you think it will take?” he asked.
“That depends,” she said.
“On what?”
“On you.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say that,” he told her. “I just don’t want to screw this up, Arianna. I don’t want you or your family to be disappointed in me if I can’t pull this off.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” she said. “That’s why I’m in the house with you. That’s why my mother is there. We’re watching every move Regina makes. We won’t let her hurt you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
Quintin locked eyes with Arianna. “I’m not afraid,” he told her.
She looked pleased to hear this. “We don’t have much time, Quintin. A car will be here momentarily to take you to the Bremington estate. I need to prepare you. You need to listen to me very closely.”
Quintin finished the last few drops of coffee and placed the empty cup on the table in the space between them. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looked at Arianna, and said, “I’m listening.”
*
“I will make this quick because we don’t have much time,” Quintin was told.
He was standing with Olivia Russo in the center of a guest room larger than his apartment. She was dressed in her formal black-and-white maid’s uniform and looked miserable in it.
He glanced down at his loafers, pressed against a thick Oriental rug. He looked up at the four-poster bed that looked like it was centuries old. There was a beautiful oil painting of a French countryside hanging above a stone fireplace. Heavy green drapes shrouded the windows, keeping the room in a somber mood. “This room is gorgeous,” he said, in awe. “This is where I’ll sleep if I stay the night?”
“Never mind about the room,” she said. “Take this.” She extended a hand in which she held a writing pen that was sleek and gold.
“Wow,” he said, accepting the instrument. “Do I get to keep this when this is over?”
“This is not a laughing matter,” she reminded him. “This is not a joke. You’re here in an official capacity.”
“I understand,” he said, and then repeated her words, “Official capacity.”
“There’s a recording device inside this pen. Simply click the top of it to activate it. Whatever is spoken within a close distance will be recorded.”
“Then I will use this whenever I’m alone with Regina,” he said. “We’re starting the interview process in a matter of minutes.”
“I know. That’s why we must hurry,” she said. “I need to caution you, Mr. Pearson. Our agency has not given us much more time to complete this assignment. We’re down to the wire, as they say. We need you to work fast.”
“I will do my very best.”
“If we are reassigned before you get the confession we need, we will no longer be here to protect you,” she said.
“You’re really good at what you do, aren’t you?” he asked.
She nodded. “Some people would agree with that assessment,” she said. “By the way, my son said to tell you he misses you.”
Quintin smiled at the thought of Luca. It felt like forever since their time together in Belgium. He couldn’t wait until they were finally reunited—whenever that would be. “Does this mean you approve?” Quintin asked Olivia.
She folded her arms across her chest and sighed before she spoke. “It’s really no business of mine whom my son chooses to be…intimate with.”
“I think we’re beyond that,” he said. “I don’t want to anger you because you already looked really pissed off they’re making you wear that uniform, but…I have a feeling about Luca.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure you do.”
“So…then…I have your blessing?”
“I meant what I said to you the other day on the boat. I chose you,” she reminded him. “I do believe you are exactly what he needs.”
Quintin stared into her eyes and said, “I agree. So let’s get this assignment over with as soon as we can.”
*
Regina was waiting for him, perched on a deep-purple chaise lounge. She looked like a platinum-blond Cleopatra waiting for a circle of shirtless male servants to fan her with palm leaves and entertain her. She was already dressed for bed, in an almost see-through white chiffon nightgown and a thin robe. Her feet were bare, but waiting for her on the floor was a pair of pink satin slippers. In the center of a black coffee table in front of her sat a sterling silver tea set with porcelain cups and saucers.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting all day,” she said with what appeared to be a sincere smile. “I know it’s late.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “It gave me some time to do some extensive research on you, Regina.”
“I’m curious to know what information you found,” she said. “Was it interesting?”
He sat down across from her in an oversized love seat that was the shame shade as her velvet chaise. “To say the least,” he lied. The truth was he’d found very little about her past, but plenty about her present.
“Olivia made us some tea,” she said, gesturing to the shiny tea set. “With rose hips. Smells lovely, don’t you think?”
“We’re both American,” he said, as if she’d forgotten somehow. “No coffee?”
“Would you prefer coffee? I can have Olivia make us a fresh pot. I’ve gotten so used to tea over the last year.”
He leaned forward and reached for the handle on the teapot. It was heavier than it looked. “The tea will be fine,” he said. He poured them both a cup. He dropped two sugar cubes in his followed by a splash of cream. He sat back in the love seat and took a sip of the hot tea. The aroma was so strong that he blinked a few times, slightly overwhelmed.
“I see you’ve come prepared,” Regina said, eyeing the yellow notepad and gold pen he’d placed beside him on the love seat.
“Always,” he replied. “A good journalist should always be prepared.”
“So should a wife,” she shot back. “You never know what’s going to happen in a marriage.”
Instinct told Quintin to put down the teacup and pick up the pen and paper. He did.
“Do you want to start with your husband’s…death?” he asked, careful not to use the words assassination or murder.
Make her seem like the victim in the situation. You’ll win her over if you do.
“If it’s not too painful for you to talk about,” he said. “We can start there and work backward…if you’d like.”
She didn’t give his suggestion much thought. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve talked enough about his death lately. Let’s start with me. Where I come from. My humble beginnings.”
Damn.
Quintin was tempted to say “There’s nothing humble about you,” but refrained.
“Yes,” he said, rather reluctantly. “How does a girl from Fresno, California, end up marrying a powerful politician?”
“Everett wasn’t that powerful,” she said. “At least not yet. He was well on his way. But he made some foolish choices.”
“You didn’t advise him against them?” Quintin asked.
“I tried,” she said. “But he was stubborn. He never listened. If he had, he would have been vice president of the United States. Instead, he agreed to be the ambassador in gloomy London. Have you ever seen such a gray place? I often feel like I’m stuck in some Soviet country. Days go by without any sun. And then, out of nowhere…a heat wave.”
“Was there much sun in Fresno?” he asked.
“There isn’t much of anything in Fresno,” she said.
“Do your parents still live there?”
Her body tensed just at the mention of them. “Yes,” she said, “but we don’t speak very often. They keep to themselves a lot. I do the same.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t have much to say about Fresno,” she said. “It’s just a place I grew up
. I don’t think readers will want to know very much about my life then. It was so dull. I was just passing time. I knew I was destined for greater things.”
“But I’m curious about those humble beginnings you mentioned. Some people might be really inspired by how you got out, how you broke away.”
Regina took a long, deep breath before she spoke. Clearly, talking about her childhood required a lot of reluctant effort. “My father worked in a factory. My mother worked cleaning houses during the week,” she said, as if they were characters on a boring television show someone had forced her to watch. The disdain she held for them was evident in every word she spoke. “On the weekends, she was a seamstress. Always fixing things and cleaning things for other people. Yet she didn’t care about our house very much. Most of the work to keep up the place was left to me. If I didn’t want to live in filth with the two of them, I had no choice: I had to clean. Sometimes until all hours of the night. They just sat around and stared at me with these ridiculous looks on their faces…like I was from another world…because I was.”
Yep. She’s crazy. I see it in her eyes.
“Well, at least you have Olivia now to help you,” he said. “And the other members of your staff.”
A thin smile crept across Regina’s face. “You know, she reminds me of my mother,” she said. “She even looks like her. Same mean expression on her face. Like she just bit into a lemon. But Olivia is much…kinder than my mother was. I guess some people are just born cruel.”
Were you?
“It’s interesting…you just used past tense,” he noted. “You said was, as if your mother were dead.”
Regina gave a light shrug. “She might as well be,” she said. “But you’re absolutely right. I have Olivia now. And I’m starting to think she actually likes me. Then again, most people do. Or so I’m told.”
“Oh, she does,” he said. “You can tell by how she looks at you. Like you’re her actual daughter. The connection is there.”
