Chaz puts the phone down. With adrenaline leaving his body, he thinks nothing sounds better than a hot shower and some sleep. He’s been up all night and his body is screaming for rest. After nearly passing out under the rainhead shower, he pulls on the fluffy robe and crashes out on the bed.
The blaring ringtone wakes Chaz from a deep sleep. Looking at the clock and seeing it’s now past noon, he recognizes Charlie’s number and picks up, “Yup?”
“You sitting tight?”
“Yes.”
“I made some calls on your behalf.”
“You didn’t have to do that—”
“I know, you didn’t ask me, but there is a reason why you called.”
Afraid of the answer, Chaz asks, “What’s the word?”
“You want the good news or the bad news?”
“Bad news.”
“You probably don’t run in these circles, but that money wasn’t intended to be out in circulation. There’s a guy here, or, was here before he got busted, Jay Jay. Anyway, one of his generals is now wanted for that cash – money that was supposed to be delivered at 8 A.M. this morning.”
Chaz does not want to know how Charlie knows any of this, but he summons his courage and asks, “What happens if he doesn’t turn it in?”
“That is unrelated to you, Chaz.”
“So what’s the good news?”
“The good news is that they don’t know who you are.”
“But you’re telling me some guy is going to die as a result of the money I currently have?”
Charlie sighs and says, “Probably.”
Chaz, who has been pacing, sits down heavily on the bench in the bedroom. Finally, he asks, “What would you do?”
“These guys aren’t nice, Chazzy. There is no way they would do the same thing in your shoes.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“I don’t know. It could be too late.”
“But there’s a possibility it’s not?”
“I don’t know, kid. I really don’t.”
Chaz looks across to the safe with money and sighs, then he asks, “What about this kingpin, didn’t I hear something about him in the news a few months back?”
“He was busted.”
“By some kid, right?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, maybe instead of getting this money back on the streets, I don’t know, I could donate it to her or something.”
“Sounds noble.”
Chaz stands up and shoves his feet into the free slippers and walks in circles. Finally, Charlie says, “I’m not going to tell you what to do.”
“I’m not expecting you to.”
“But I will say it sounds like you might be onto a nice idea.”
“Thanks.”
“Look, me and Pepe need to get going, but let me know whatever you decide.”
“Thanks.”
“And I do hope we can meet up for a drink sometime in Vegas again. That was real nice.”
“It was.”
“Take care.”
“Safe travels.”
Chaz puts down his phone and looks at it – wondering if the conversation really took place – if any of this past twelve hours have been real. He walks over to the bar area and opens a bottle of water, drinking all of it. Feeling hydrated, but still tired, he looks in the mini bar and digs out a Red Bull, cracks it open and downs all the sugary liquid. Sighing, and still no closer to a decision, he wishes he had a computer.
What is he doing with his life?
Picking up the phone to the front desk, he says, “I have a strange request.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
July 4, 6:56 P.M.
It is a bad day.
Unfortunately, it is a day like any other.
She is traveling with her parents and while most teenagers would be happy to get a suite in a fancy hotel by themselves, Carina Sardellis feels more alone than ever. It wasn’t as if they notice. Her grades are fine, she is as social as anyone expects her to be. When she started wearing long sleeve shirts all the time, they hadn’t bothered to ask – probably thought it was some inane fashion trend she was following.
And when she is alone, as she is now, the compulsion is the worst. When she can’t control herself, when taking a razor to her arm is the only thing she can do.
She tries to think of anything else. Attempts to motivate herself towards any other activity. To watch television, to spend time goofing around online, to take a bath or a walk or any of the other thousand things she could be doing, but as of this moment, she cannot stop thinking about how good it will feel to drag the sharp edge of the blade against her skin.
She can’t remember exactly when or what triggered the compulsion to start harming herself, but there they were, all the same. Too many emotions – clouding her head, taking up her entire mind, crowding out rational thoughts. These screaming voices won’t go away until she cuts.
With her parents out on some fancy client dinner for the evening, she has no one to turn to in this city far from home. They won’t even bother checking in on her until the following morning. Not for the first time, Carina wishes for a sibling. Someone she could look after, an older sister who would be watching out for her. But she is an only child. And there, in the bathroom, like any hotel, is a plastic razor, wrapped and ready to use and no one is around to stop her. Not that she needs the Winchester’s safety razor, there are small blades in her makeup bag, safety pins and other sharp objects stored and tucked away at home, but the thought of a brand new razor holds particular appeal.
Unable to stop herself, Carina goes into the bathroom. There is something particularly lovely about cutting in a clean space where she can’t be interrupted, where the evidence can be washed down the sink. Rolling back her sleeves, the evidence of other sessions is present – her most recent cuts from not even a week ago.
From her make up bag she removes gauze, which she will use to staunch the bleeding when she finishes. The collection of oversized bangles and bracelets will hide the rest.
Holding the razor, she easily extracts the blade from the razor, throwing the plastic cover away, listening to it clatter in the empty trash can, then steps into the bathtub – an easy place to clean up after herself.
Leaning up against the angled side of the bathtub, she makes the first incision.
The pain is expected.
The blush of scarlet on her wrist sends a sense of relief coursing through her.
There is a ritual she follows – quick and slow cuts, first the left wrist then the right wrist, always the same amount of scratches.
When she’s finished and looks to see the spatter of blood around her, the strange patterns they make, she knows she should feel shame, but instead she only senses emptiness. However terrible the hollow feeling is, it is better than the cacophony that preceded the session.
Her wrists are raw, and her hands are shaking.
She wishes this would be the last time, but knows it won’t.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
July 7, 2:03 P.M.
As the bellboy closes the door, Dr. Amy Mathews and Zachary King are left in the silent room.
Although not specifically voiced aloud, this weekend is supposed to be an effort to save their marriage. Neither can remember when their relationship went wrong, when things drifted apart or why they necessarily got together in the first place.
They chose the Winchester, because the hotel was the site of their first date.
Like many modern couples frustrated by the lack of places to meet and interact normally with others seeking relationships, the pair had individually turned to online dating. The bar downstairs, Fringe, turned out to be neither of their style, but they had such a good time they persevered. Now, the Winchester has come to stand for special occasions and of a reminder of how things could be.
Amy, a successful pediatric surgeon, only has some time to
wonder what caused her to fall in love with a roving photojournalist. Their schedules do not match, nor do their future hopes and wants.
Already thirty-two when they met (although Amy looks not a day over twenty-eight), Dr. Mathews had more or less resigned herself to an existence alone. Naturally a reserved person and rather introverted, Amy didn’t feel like she was missing out on too much. After all, she had a very rewarding job, great colleagues and wonderful friends. It was only through a friend’s urging that she put her details online. Too fussed and shy to check or pursue any of the potential partners, like any one of her ‘to do’ lists, after two weeks of having an active profile, Amy made time on Saturday afternoon to go through those who had responded to her. By cross checking and making a points system based on age, suitability, background and location, she had come up with three potential matches. Zach had been her second date, and the only one she had chemistry with.
That had been three years and a wedding in Las Vegas ago.
Now they are strangers. Trapped in the same house, going through the motions of a marriage which doesn’t make sense. She is relieved when he is called out of town on assignment, so she can have her house to herself once again. So she can lounge in the bath and not feel guilty for not brunching, or going to farmers’ markets or trying to be the perfect wife. She wasn’t raised in a traditional home, she doesn’t know what a successful marriage involves. As intensely private as she is, she does not discuss her marriage at work, and rarely with friends.
Is this how it is supposed to be?
Looking at him, with his shaggy blond hair and nervous hands shaking for a cigarette, Amy’s desperate to know what he’s thinking, but can’t form the words.
“I made a reservation at the steakhouse for later tonight,” he says.
“That’s nice,” she responds, wondering if there’s a deeper subtext to his comment. Zach is late, messy, and chaotic. He rarely plans for things in advance – always preferring spontaneity.
“Shall we sit outside?”
“Sure.” Quirking a delicate eyebrow, she says, “You know this room is non-smoking,” then immediately feels bad for admonishing him. He is a grown man capable of making decisions on his own.
Although she has tried since meeting him to break her husband of his smoking habit, it’s something she’s not had any particular success with. She’s lectured, cajoled, and held out on sex for a few weeks before she learned he is well and truly addicted to nicotine.
He opens the door for her and they settle into seats in the warm afternoon sunshine. It is strangely peaceful above the traffic on the street. Also, something about the situation feels particularly decadent – checking into a nice hotel in the middle of the day in the middle of the week is a luxury. Amy’s off work for an entire week and Zach is between assignments.
“So.”
“So.”
Amy, not prepared for all out conflict had sent Zach a passive aggressive e-mail, clearly outlining her feelings and suggesting their excursion today as a need to reconnect. The logical side of her knows there are countless therapists they can meet with – all recommended by others at the hospital. Unfortunately, having been in a single parent home for her entire childhood, she also realizes that sometimes people are just meant to be apart. The failure of this relationship is one of the few things in her life she will have failed at, but she tells herself it will make her stronger.
“You think things are unfixable?”
“Don’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question and she feels bad for immediately turning around his question with one of her own. She wanted to be calm and open, not defensive.
He lights a cigarette (loyal to Marlboro Lights for many years), and smoothly exhaling the smoke, answers, “I’m not sure. I’ve never been married before. I don’t know how this is supposed to work.”
They sit, proud, neither willing to give an inch.
Unexpected tears fill her eyes. She tries to blame their arrival on a recent set of grueling rotations, but knows it’s more than that. She doesn’t want to let him go. Sounding ever the emotional female, she asks, “Do you still love me?”
He stubs the spent cigarette and returns her question, “How can you even ask that?”
“Are we down to clichés already?”
Zach stands up, looks over the railing and comments, “Listen, you wanted to come here. I came. You wanted to talk about our relationship, let’s talk. However, I don’t need you jumping to forgone conclusions. I don’t want you to try and rationalize this out.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want more than what the books tell you to do. I have no doubt you’ve been reading up on this for weeks.”
She won’t say anything, because he is correct. Perhaps he knows her better than she would care to admit. Instead, she asks, “I can try. What else do you want?”
Although they can be passionate, they both tend to avoid any sort of dispute. Usually one goes along with what the other has suggested. This discussion is one of the few times they have verbally disagreed.
“I want…” his voice trails away. From behind his lens, he’s witnessed tragedy, despair, and lives that will not improve for generations. He’s seen the world ripped apart by war, genocide, famine, and the elements. And now, given how minor their problems seem against what he’s seen, why can’t he tell her how he feels?
With his inability to finish a relatively easy question, Amy looks away, not ready to make eye contact and says, “We rushed things. We didn’t get to know each other, to think things through. It happens.”
“I disagree.”
“Why?”
“I’ve never met anyone like you. In fact, I never expected to meet anyone like you, especially online.”
“Then why did you respond?”
He pulls out another cigarette, after lighting it, says, “I was just back from Sudan. It suddenly hit me that I was alone…”
“Except for your various girlfriends stashed around the world.”
Zach had never been shy in holding back about how his nomadic lifestyle had impacted his love life prior to marriage. Upon meeting her, he never wanted to hide anything from Amy. In fact, during their first date he had been completely honest.
“I’ve told you a million times, they don’t… There’s only you. Since I met you, I couldn’t even think of being with another woman.”
“I’d like to believe you.”
“Have I given you any reason not to?”
“No.”
“So how does this end, Doctor?”
He is angry. When Zach is upset, he uses her title. While she thinks he has more of an impact on the world through his pictures than she ever will, even as a doctor, she knew there is some ingrained animosity towards her entitled background. With her mother hailing from a very well to do East Coast family, Amy had been educated from birth in expensive private schools and ultimately the top universities and medical college. Zach is Amy’s polar opposite. He was born and raised in a much different economic bracket. He attended public schools. He stole his first Canon. He is self taught and never attended college.
“I’m not sure.”
She wishes she had a better answer. She and her mother had nearly come to the largest fight of their adult lives when Amy had disagreed to sign or even consider a pre-nuptial agreement. Under California law, Zach would be entitled to half of the estate. While Zach does well enough to support himself, Amy has always been the major breadwinner in the family. It is her quaint house tucked away in Santa Monica they reside in. It is her money that funds most of their life. However, she can always earn more money. Finding another Zach seems like a much greater challenge.
“When did you first think we might not last?”
“Don’t ask me that.”
“Was it soon after we were married? Was it while I was gone? Is this because of our choice not to have children?”
Strangely, Amy is witness to mo
re templates to marriages than most would believe. In pediatrics, she usually sees mothers dragging the babies and toddlers to their scheduled tests and vaccinations.
“No. Not at all. Why would you ask that?”
“I just wondered if you had changed your mind.”
Not having children is what she thought she always wanted. But she’s seen the other side – beyond the poopy diapers and tantrums – she’s seen unconditional love and sacrifice. Purely from a biological view and partially from medical curiously, Amy is slightly interested what their offspring would look like. However, as honest as she was on their first date, and given their lifestyles, bringing a child into the world would be more or less setting the child up for failure. While Amy could afford a top notch, accredited au pair, nanny or day care, she wants her hypothetical child to grow up with a parent in the house. She looks across at her husband and can easily see him playing with a fluffy haired girl or a serious little boy in her own image.
“Given we’re having this conversation, I’m not sure adding a child to the mix would be the temporary band aid we need. Additionally, while I do genuinely worry from the moment you leave the door on assignment, I couldn’t and wouldn’t subject a child to the same ordeal.”
“Ordeal? You said you were fine.”
“Not knowing if my husband is going to be blown up, taken hostage or swept away? I know I don’t readily share my emotions, but I do get concerned about you.”
“Really?”
“How could you think I didn’t?”
“You always seem to have everything together.”
“If I…” she hesitated and started again, “If I allowed myself to think for one second that you wouldn’t be coming back, I would handcuff you to the bed and not allow you to leave.”
“Is that so?”
Crossing her arms, she answers, “Quit being charming.”
He puts his hands up in submission and replies, “No. I just want to hear more about my wife tying me up.”
“Can we get back to what we’re supposed to be talking about?”
“Okay, so you’re saying, you might want children but only if I didn’t travel for work.”
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