“How do you know where it leads?” Lily asked, trying to unfold the map to see where in the hell they were going.
“I don’t, but I know there’s a lake around here. I bet there’s houses,” he told her, turning off the headlights. A half moon was out, lighting them up just enough to see where they were going. Lily struggled to read as they drove along for a while.
“Yeah, okay, there should be a lake.”
“Look to your right.”
She glanced out her window and sure enough, a body of water had appeared next to them. Moonlight shined across the surface.
“What is it? It just looks like a circle on the map, like a watering hole or something. ‘Mahmouda’,” she sounded out the name as she read it off the map.
“I don’t care. There’s a road, there’s a body of water, and we’re in the desert. Someone lives out here,” Marc sounded positive.
He wasn’t wrong. They finally came upon a decent sized home, and luck of all lucks, there was a generator alongside it. Marc drove past, went about a quarter of a mile, then ordered her to wait in the car while he checked out the house.
“I want a gun.”
Lily turned to stare at him as he opened his door. He glared back at her. She held her ground. She had earned a weapon, she thought. She’d had his back in that kitchen. She could’ve done nothing, could’ve not thrown the skillet, could’ve not tripped the second guy. She could have a clean conscience, could have lived with knowing she’d done nothing, that she hadn’t actively pulled a trigger and ended someone’s life.
But she’d done all those things, to save him. To save herself.
She was fully prepared to spew all those thoughts at him, but he capitulated. He yanked one of his guns out, put a fresh magazine in it, thumbed on the safety, and handed it to her. She went to take it, but he held fast.
“I’m trusting you,” he said in a soft voice. She nodded.
“I know.”
Then he was gone, jogging off into the night.
Lily got out of the car. Stretched her body. Then she climbed onto the hood of the car and knelt so she was leaning against the windshield. She braced her arms on top of the roof and she waited. If Marc had any trouble following him when he came back, she could help.
After about half an hour, a person appeared at the top of the hill. Lily froze, but as he got closer, she recognized it as Marc’s form. He had a distinct way of walking, almost a swagger, like he was always carrying weight. Probably from years of wearing a flak jacket and gear and a billion guns on him everywhere he went.
“What did you find?” she whispered, sliding off the hood as he jogged up next to her.
“Exactly what I thought.”
“Which is …?”
“No people.”
Lily was shocked and she hurried to get back in her seat.
“How did you know there wouldn’t be any people?” she asked as he backed up the car, turning it around.
“Because Eid al-Fitr is tomorrow,” he said, as if that explained anything to her.
“And that means?” she probed.
“It’s a Muslim holiday – most of Mauritania, the country we’re now in, is Muslim. Eid al-Fitr is the festival that marks the end of Ramadan. Huge celebrations, people break their month-long fasts. This house is so isolated, I figured the people who owned it had probably traveled elsewhere to celebrate with friends or family, like to Mali or Algeria,” Marc explained as he pulled up to the house. He’d gotten the gate open during his little excursion and he drove right into the property.
“How do you know they won’t come back?” Lily asked.
“I don’t, but the festival is tomorrow, so I doubt they’ll be coming back anytime soon. At least not until the day after,” he guessed. He circled the car around and pointed it towards the gate, then backed up as close to the front door as he could get.
They got out and Lily watched while he ran back to the gate, pushing it closed. Then she leaned back into the car, grabbing his backpack. When she turned around, he was right in front of her, and he plucked the bag out of her hand.
“So much for trust,” she snorted.
“I don’t think you’ll shoot me, but I have no doubt that you’d drive off with those diamonds in a heart beat, given half the chance.”
She didn’t deny the allegation and followed him up to the front of the house.
He’d picked the lock earlier and left the door open, so they walked right in. She was nervous, but he assured her that he’d “swept the whole house” – no one was home.
“Does that thing outside work?” she asked.
A few minutes later and he had the generator going, though he recommended not turning on any of the lights in the front of the house.
“Wanna know the best part?” his voice almost sounded teasing as he lead her down a hallway.
“What?” she asked, leery of nice-Marc. She’d gotten too used to surly-Marc.
“Two separate rooms. You don’t have to sully yourself with my presence,” he informed her as he pushed open a door and turned on a light.
Lily stayed quiet as she wandered into the room. It was nice, and it was clean. There was an actual bed, and it was made up. There was a window that faced out over the desert behind the house. And it was all hers, apparently.
The same time yesterday, she would’ve killed for a room of her own. For ten minutes away from him. But now … the idea of being alone felt like a weight. Like something to be dreaded. She didn’t want to be alone and close her eyes.
All I see is blood.
“Nice,” she managed to say, folding her arms in front of her chest.
“Gee, sweetheart, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were sad at the idea of being away from me,” he said, and this time his voice was definitely teasing. She turned to face him and rolled her eyes.
“What about food?”
They lit candles and tore the kitchen apart. Every non-perishable they could find, they stole, carrying it out to the car. They had saved all their empty water bottles and now refilled them, putting them in the car, as well. No one said it out loud, but she knew they were prepping the vehicle in case they had to leave in a hurry.
She didn’t recognize a lot of the food in the house, but she made do with what she could find and scrounged together a dinner of sorts. They sat at a table, one candle between them, and ate together.
“We’re leaving at sun up tomorrow,” Marc informed her. She nodded.
“Where to?”
“Boujdour is about a days drive. It’s on the coast of Western Sahara. I figure if we drive in shifts, we can make it in one push. Then stay the night, then one more days push to Tangier,” he told her. She nodded.
“How is Tangier going to go?” she asked.
“Didn’t you have a plan?” he responded.
“Well, yeah, but in my plan, I’d be getting there tomorrow morning. Things are a little different now,” she pointed out.
“Same plan, just two days late. You’ll drop me off somewhere else, and I’ll meet you at the boat. Do everything else the same.”
“Don’t you think that it’s gonna seem kinda odd? I show up out of the blue, two days late, and act like everything is normal?” she questioned his plan.
“Well, yeah. You’ll call Ivanov when we get to Tangier and explain to him that you had to shake me. Tell him you shot me, dumped my body in the desert, I don’t care. Whatever. You’ll be there, and your ferry guy can confirm that you have the diamonds, that’s all he’ll care about,” Marc assured her. She nodded.
“What about you?” she continued. She couldn’t stop with the questions, couldn’t let the conversation drag. Couldn’t let silence fall on her.
“What about me?” he asked around a full mouth as he shoveled in the last of his food.
“I give you the diamonds, then what? Poof? You disappear back into darkest Africa?” she guessed. He nodded.
“Something like that.”
“What’s your plan?”
“Jesus, is this twenty questions?” he snapped, finally looking at her. She stared at him for a second, at the way the candle light pooled in the bottom of his eyes.
“Just making conversation,” she finally answered.
“Is this how you have a conversation? Goddamn, you’re nosy,” he grumbled, shoving his plate away.
“Well, how do you have a conversation? Grunting and shooting?” she snapped at him as she leaned back in her seat. He finally smiled.
“Sometimes. I don’t know. Just talk. About shit. Anything. How old are you?” he asked, wiping a napkin across his lips before tossing it on the table.
“Twenty-seven.”
“Huh, I was guessing younger.”
“Thank you?”
“So what did you do, before all this?”
“I told you, I worked in a bank.”
“I meant your life, Lily. Are you always this boring?” he asked. She threw a fork at him.
“No! I don’t know, maybe. I went to college, but left because money at the bank was so good. I graduated from high school. I was a cheerleader, I was voted runner up for homecoming queen. I like old movies and I like reggae music. I like the beach, but I also like to ski. Anything else?” she prattled stuff off.
“Beaches, huh. Where’s your favorite place to vacation?” he asked. She thought for a second.
“I don’t know, haven’t really been on many vacations. I actually like the Oregon coast a lot. Not crazy busy, miles of sand, wild ocean. Maybe like Cannon Beach,” she was more thinking out loud than answering him, remembering vacations there from when she was little. Vacations with her family.
“Cannon Beach, I’ve been there. Good choice. There’s this little island off the coast of Tanzania, called Pemba Island. I love it there,” Marc sighed. Lily smiled.
“Never heard of it. It’s nice?”
“Beautiful. If you like beaches, you’d love it. White sand. Peaceful.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Maybe,” Marc started, running his finger across his plate to catch stray crumbs. “Maybe if we get out of this alive, we can go there.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“‘We’?” she questioned his use of the pronoun. He shrugged, running his crumb finger across his tongue.
“Yeah, why not. This has been a shit job, for both of us. I think we deserve a vacation,” he told her. She smiled.
“The other day, you threatened to … what did you say? ‘Gut you like a fish’, I believe were your words. Now you wanna go on vacation with me?” she laughed.
“What can I say, we made a good team today. And I don’t feel bad often, but I feel bad about this fucked up situation. A week on a beach in Pemba, on me,” he said. She nodded.
“Alright, Marcelle. If you can get me through this alive, and you survive your own personal war with the Bratva and the Liberians, I will meet you on Pemba Island, your treat,” she agreed.
“Only if you promise to never call me ‘Marcelle’ again,” he grumbled. She stood up and grabbed their plates, carrying them to a counter.
“Why? Is that not your real name?” she asked.
“No, it’s my real name, I just don’t care for it,” he explained, standing as well.
“Really? I think it’s kind of pretty.”
“Exactly. Do I look like a ‘pretty’ guy?” he asked.
Lily turned back around and leaned against the counter, letting her eyes wander over him. He was dirty, they hadn’t had a chance to really clean up since their battle back in Bamako. His arm had started bleeding again, from where it had gotten cut on the window, during their fight back in Liberia. It really should get stitched up. He also had three deep scratches, like he’d gotten hit with shrapnel, just above his right eyebrow. He’d also been mean to her, threatened her, knocked her around, and almost gotten her killed, on several different occasions.
But all she could think about was his story from the car, the boy in Haiti. And the guy in Mali, picking her up from the side of the road and telling her it would get easier. The man from Liberia, making every cell in her body come back to life, after five years of dormancy.
“No,” she agreed, her voice soft. “Pretty isn’t a word I would use to describe you.”
He gave her a tight smile.
“I’m beat. You gonna shower?” he asked, leaning over to blow out the candle.
“Yeah. Yeah, I probably should, I haven’t since Liberia,” she answered, wrapping her arms around herself and glancing out the window. The dark made her nervous now.
“Okay. I checked, the water tank is full, though I doubt there’s hot water. I’ll hop in when you’re done. If you wake up before me in the morning, come get me, okay? Don’t wander around outside. If you hear anything, stay in your room. Block the door. I’ll come to you,” he gave her instructions.
“Got it.”
“See you in the morning.”
And just like that, he strode out of the kitchen, leaving her all alone.
Lily scurried to the back of the house. Marc had his door shut. She didn’t bother with her room, just went straight into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The room was in the back, as well, so she went ahead and turned on the lights. She didn’t want to be in the dark anymore than was necessary.
You were planning on killing someone, anyway. What does it matter if you killed someone else? Someone who was going to kill you, first. No questions asked. It was nothing. It meant nothing.
Lily washed her body first, wincing at every new cut and bruise she found. Then she used soap to wash her hair as best as possible, scrubbing away any trace of blood from every inch of her being.
It meant nothing. It meant nothing. Two more days. Hold it together for two more days. Then you can cry all you want. Two more days.
The shower was basically a stall with no door, and it was built out of stout cement bricks. She sat on the floor and pressed her back against a wall, hugging her knees to her chest. She shoved her forehead against her kneecaps, praying for sleep. Praying to faint. But neither happened. Instead, she did what she hated most.
She cried.
Fake. Phony. All these years. You convinced yourself that you were something you’re not. Marcelle De Sant is the real deal, he didn’t even blink. But you, you’re weak. Crying on a shower floor. How could you think you could do this? So weak.
She wasn’t sure how long she was on the floor for; quite a while. Long enough to stop crying, but not long enough for the images of blood to leave her brain. She wanted them to be washed away. To not exist anymore.
“How long have you been like this?”
She lifted her head, startled to find Marc squatting down near her. She stayed hunched over her knees and lifted her hands, slicking her hair out of her face.
“Um, I don’t know. I kind of drifted off, sorry. I’ll get out, you can get in,” she said, twisting away from him and standing up, moving back under the spray.
“Lily, you’re no-”
“I can’t hear you! Two minutes, can you wait outside? Thanks,” she cut him off, raking her nails over her head.
There was silence, and she figured he’d left her alone, but then she heard a squeak and felt him moving right behind her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to turn around to face him. He was fully dressed, standing in the shower with her.
“Stop,” he said simply. She folded her arms across her chest.
“Marc! Get the fuck out!” she snapped. He laughed.
“Babe, I hate to remind you, but I’ve already seen it,” he teased. She shoved at his chest.
“I don’t care! This is my space, my time! You had me chained to you for a fucking day, just give me some goddamn space!” she shouted at him.
“I don’t think you want that,” his voice was soft, and he moved his hands to push her hair over her shoulders.
“I do. I do want that. I just want to be alone,” she breathed, letting her hands fall a
way from him as she dropped her head to his chest.
“What am I going to do with you, sweetheart?” he sighed, wrapping his arms around her.
“You’re already done too much. Maybe cutting me a break would be a good idea,” she mumbled. He snorted.
“Smart ass.”
“I didn’t want to kill him,” Lily whispered. His fingers trailed up and down her spine.
“I know.”
“I only wanted to kill one person. And it wasn’t him.”
“I know.”
“He was going to kill me. He was going to kill you.”
“I know.”
“But still … I didn’t want to kill him.”
“I know.”
She gripped his t-shirt in her fists.
“Say it again. Tell me it gets easier,” she begged. She felt him nod.
“It gets easier. You learn to shut it out. To not care. To recognize who deserves it, and who doesn’t,” he assured her.
“That’s what you do? Only kill those who deserve it?” she asked.
“Who I think deserve it, yes,” he told her. She shuddered.
“You said you would kill me.”
“I was bluffing.”
When she lifted her head to see if he was joking, he kissed her. She was absolutely floored. She’d figured their night together had been somewhat of a scam. A way for him to figure her out, to learn more about her job, so he could steal the diamonds from her. Then when it had become obvious that he wasn’t lying, that he really had been set up, things were too far gone. Everything was fucked. Sex was off limits. It would make everything even worse.
This was a bad idea. A huge, monumentally bad idea. Joking about vacationing together was one thing. Actually sleeping with the man who, a day ago, had threatened her with bodily harm multiple times, and actually hit her several times, was a bad, bad, bad idea. He wasn’t exactly a guy she could take home to meet her parents.
You can either spend the next two days feeling alone and terrified, or maybe for tonight, you can feel that moment in heaven again. Your choice. Reality or oblivion.
Best Laid Plans Page 11
