When Fully Fused

by Shari J. Ryan

  I straighten my posture. The anger is back. It’s spiraling around my stomach and electrifying all of my emotional wiring. "What do you mean, soon?" He's never hinted at me actually finding out this deep dark secret. Why now?

  He pulls me back in and hushes me. Seriously? He’s actually hushing me? His arms are wrapped so tightly around me that I’m getting the sense something isn't right—more than a secret he won’t share. "Love you, Chlo," he says with a deep inhale. "Let's go see what Sammy's up to." He's great at changing the subject. And now I’m faced with two options, ruining the night with an argument that I won’t win, or giving up as always and spending a nice quiet night with my husband and son.

  “Okay.” I comply, even though my head is screaming to keep battling.

  I release a heavy sigh; making it known I’m not letting this go but merely dropping it for now. He sits down next to Sammy on the living room couch, wraps his arm around his little body, and kisses the top of his messy blond curls. "Ready for bed, bud?"

  "No, Daddy! I have to watch this first." Sammy smiles and turns his attention back to the TV.

  "Okay, I guess I have no choice," Alex says, his voice rising into a playful octave.

  "No!" Sammy shrieks with laughter.

  Alex lifts Sammy up over his head and flies him down the hall like an airplane, wind noises and all. Alex likes to put Sammy to bed every night. It's his special bonding time with him. He's been working so much lately that he feels like he's missing out on Sammy's life. This new job at the accounting firm has him on a tight leash, but he enjoys the paycheck, and I appreciate him taking care of us.

  He's worked so hard to get to where he is. Over the past four years, he's been taking night classes, interning, and serving as a gopher for various executives. Finally, a few months ago after we decided to move here to try and escape the freaks following us around, and to be closer to Celia, he applied at a local firm. To our surprise, they offered him a job. We quickly uprooted from Charleston and moved here to San Diego. Since we moved here, we’ve lived in three different locations in hopes to escape our followers. They’re winning.

  "How was work today?" I ask him as he's walking back down the hall from Sammy's bedroom.

  "It was good. Same old stuff. Let's not talk about work or strange men coming to the door. Let's just sit down, relax, and watch a movie. Can we do that?" He lifts my hand and pulls me toward the couch. “How’s my girl?”

  “Good, now that you’re home.” I smile and fall into his arms. I switch the channels on the TV and choose the first movie I see on the menu. Alex places his arm around my shoulders and sinks into the couch. "My mother called today, again," I say.

  His lips press firmly into a straight line as he lifts the remote and clicks the TV off. "Chlo, you're going to have to answer it eventually. She can't do anything to you. You're a married woman with a child. Maybe she just wants to make things right." I wish she would just leave me alone here. She shouldn’t be part of this world we’ve worked hard to create. She isn’t welcome, and I definitely don’t want her to see Sammy.

  “I don’t want to talk to her.” I’m surprised she hasn’t just shown up here. She’s always managed to find a way in before. Maybe she is trying to do things right, but she has done things so wrong for so long, that there is no possible way to make things right.

  Not now. Not ever.

  Alex doesn’t seem to understand this, though. Maybe I’ve haven’t been clear enough recently how horrible she really was to me. He seems to think I owe her another chance. I’m just not sure why.

  "You're telling me, if Sammy ever went missing, you wouldn't go to the ends of the earth to track him down?" he asks.

  "Of course I would. My mother, though, she can't stand me. It’s different with her. I guarantee you there's an ulterior motive to her search. For all I know, she's probably after that stupid locket, too." The second the words leave my mouth Alex's eyes widen, and he presses his fingers into the stress lines on his forehead.

  "I didn't even think of that," he says vaguely.

  "Seriously? I was half joking. There's a chance my mother knows about this thing, and I don't?"

  Alex responds with a loud groan. I should have figured. Maybe that’s why she’s hated me so much—the stupid locket again. That would actually make sense since it causes so much other turmoil in my life. "That's it," I shout. "I've had it. I want you to tell me right now what is so important about that old necklace." I throw my weight on top of Alex and pin him down to the couch. I straddle my legs over his waist and place my hands firmly over his shoulders. “Tell me.”

  “Or what?” he says with a challenging grin.

  “You don’t want to know what,” I say, raising an eyebrow.

  He fists his hands around the collar of my shirt and pulls me down flat on top of him. He crashes his lips into mine and moves his hands slowly up the sides of my shirt. “Or what, Chlo?” he mutters against my lips. I slide my hand between us and unhook his belt, letting my hand wander down under his zipper. My lips slide across his jawline and down his neck, and as he replies with a soft groan, I know it’s my chance. I’m playing dirty now. Maybe it will work. I pull my hand out and sit up with a smile.

  “That’s what. You’re on probation…from me until you tell me all of your secrets, Mr. Levette.”

  “Hey now,” he whines. “No fair, you tease.”

  "Alex, I want an explanation." I punch his chest playfully. “You give me what I want, and I’ll…give you what you want.” I press my lips back up against his.

  He whines and flips me over onto my side. "Chlo, it's one of those things you'll know about when the time is right.” He sweeps his thumb down my cheek. “You promised you’d stop the future-knowing questions. Remember?” His voice is low and pleading. “Just think of the locket as a piece of gold that everyone's after. Except, it belongs to you. Someday you'll thank me for protecting your secret."

  "My secret?" I reply.

  "I wouldn't protect anything else this much if it weren't for you and Sammy." He pulls my head down onto his shoulder and places a kiss on my nose. “Please?” He presses his lips against my collarbone. I don’t know if he’s pleading for me, or for my questions to stop.

  As I try to release the consuming pressure building within the walls of my chest, I focus on his moving lips, the craving in my belly, the crickets chirping outside of the window, and…gravel being scuffed against the ground. "Hey, do you hear that?" I ask, propping myself back up.

  "Hear what?" he asks, jumping up like he’s ready to pounce.

  I glance in every direction, feeling claustrophobic in my own house, now wishing we had shut the blinds before sunset. I'm nervous to look toward the front window near the door, but my head naturally turns in that direction when I hear the scuffling noise again.

  The darkness outside of the window accents the two tiny white lights shining into the house. I press my fingers into Alex's tensed arm, and he pulls me off of the couch and lowers me to the ground.

  "Stay here," he whispers. He makes his way toward the two lights. As he approaches the window, he slams his fist against the glass and the lights disappear almost instantly. He unbolts the door and unlinks the chain in one swift motion, flinging the door open.

  With no further action from Alex, I watch as he hesitantly bends over to retrieve something from the ground. "What the hell?" he asks, scratching his head.

  "What? What is it?" I ask, panic still saturating my voice.

  "There's no one out here, but there are two tiny flashlights sitting here beneath the window. Someone obviously had to be holding them. But, you'd think I would have at least seen them running off?"

  I peel myself up from the floor and pull one of the flashlights from his hand, inspecting it for clues. "Hmm...,” I sigh.

  "What? Did you find something?" Alex asks.

  "Yeah, it says Ocnarf & Co." I flip it over to see if there is anything else. Nothing. "Google it…" Before I even finish my sentence, he
's sitting at the computer desk, pounding his fingers into the keys on his laptop.

  "Unknown. Of course," he says, slamming his hands onto the desk. "I need to call Celia."

  Alex pulls his phone from his pocket and presses two buttons before flattening the device up to his ear. "Are your blinds closed?" he asks calmly, probably trying not to freak her out. "Okay. Are your doors all locked?" he continues. "It's okay, don't worry. I just wanted to make sure everything is secure there. Sorry for waking—" His words cut off. "Mom, really, everything is fine. Go back to bed, and I'll talk to you in the morning." He clicks a button on his phone and drops it onto the desk.

  "Everything okay?" I ask.

  "I think I freaked her out pretty good," he says, rubbing the tension out of his neck.

  "Alex. Clearly, this is getting worse. We need to figure something out. Witness protection or something. I don't know." I shake my head with frustration.

  Alex lets his head fall back, and he releases a loud throaty laugh. "Did you just say, 'Witness protection'?" He laughs again. "You do know that's for someone who watched the action of a crime and may be in danger for being a witness, right? I'm not quite sure our situation falls under that category." He walks away, snorting and whispering the words, witness protection under his breath.

  As I'm peeling the throw blanket from the ground and folding it under my arm, Alex shouts from the kitchen, "I'm having an alarm system installed tomorrow. That will help us out a bit."

  Just as I smooth the throw over the top of the couch, I see another light shining in through the window. "Alex, there's another light," I say, keeping my voice soft.

  He runs to the door again, but by the time he's close enough, the light disappears.

  CHAPTER TWO:

  ARCHIVES

  "THANKS CELIA, I appreciate you coming over to stay with Sammy," I say, giving her a quick hug.

  "You don't have to thank me. I'd do anything to spend the afternoon with this little guy," she says, combing her fingers through Sammy's curls. "Just curious, where are you heading to?" She looks me over as if she’s searching my face to decide if I’m about to lie or tell the truth. I break our eye contact and straighten one of the decorative pillows on the couch.

  "I just have to do a few errands." I offer a slight smile, hoping she doesn't read between the lines.

  Her eye squints a bit, telling me she’s on to me. “Don’t get into any trouble now.” She opens the front door, motioning me to leave.

  I kiss Sammy on the head and walk out the door. But before both of my feet cross the threshold, Celia wraps her fingers around my arm and pulls me to turn around. "Chloe. Don't…"

  My heart lodges in my throat. I can’t lie to her. I can’t look her in the eyes and tell her I won’t do what she’s afraid I’ll do. My mother I could lie to. Celia, it hurts to do that. I step back in through the door. "I'm really just running to the library to get a book and then the grocery store." It’s not a lie. I’ve just left out the details.

  "Just…be careful. Please." The lines around her lips quiver with worry. She’s aged in the past couple of years. The stress gets to her, but she tries to hide it. I’m not sure if it’s for our sake or hers, though.

  I raise an eyebrow and smirk. "I'll make sure the watermelons don't topple over on me today." I stifle a laugh.

  She nods her head with amusement and pushes me back out the door. “Good-bye, Chloe,” her voice sings.

  I plop into my car and grip the back of my neck as I let my head fall lightly against the steering wheel. I have to find something. I have to find the answer to all of this. This aggravation and curiosity is going to get the best of me if I let it. I slide the key into the ignition and start the car.

  As always, I glance into my rearview mirror and look in every direction. A black sedan is parked three driveways behind me on the right. I’m willing to bet myself he pulls out the second I turn my wheel. Yup. Do they think I can’t see them? Are they stupid? Am I stupid for thinking they’re stupid? I drive down as many side streets as quickly as I can. I continue driving in a maze until I’m sure I’ve lost him. It’s been four streets since I’ve seen him, and I think it’s okay to continue on to the library. Or at least I’ve given myself enough time to get inside before they catch up.

  I walk through the large glass doors that make me feel vulnerable, as if I’m being watched in the reflection. I can feel I’m being followed, likely by someone different than the person following me in the car. I also know that the man in charge of my friendly neighborhood stalkers is smarter than the simple house alarm Alex seems to think will protect us.

  I smash the pad of my thumb into the elevator button five times before the doors open and spit out at least twenty people. Just as the doors begin to close again, I sprint inside and jab my thumb into the number three button and then the close door button. I tap my hand nervously on the rail along the elevator wall, waiting out the long twenty-second ride to my floor.

  The doors glide open and I find myself surrounded by a capacious circular room covered with newspaper clippings, magazine covers, and various pieces of art—leaving not even an inch of wall to be seen. The first sight of the room makes me want to spin around in awe. The library is new, and I’ve never come up here. Last night while I was contemplating the lightshow outside of our door, I came up with the idea to search through newspaper archives for hints.

  In the center of the room, there are a group of twelve archive computers—all occupied except for one. I rush over and claim the empty seat, subtly glancing over each of my shoulders, still fearful of being surveyed.

  I click the mouse over the search bar, and type: Locket + Paris, France + Catacombs.

  I hover the cursor over the search button and suck in a deep breath as I wait for a result. The page begins to scroll, providing multiple results for my search. The first title preludes an article that instantly captures my attention: Paris' Darkest Secret. I click the link, and an image of a sepia colored faded newspaper with typed print appears. I zoom in a bit, bringing the date into focus. March 8, 1905.

  I scroll down to the body of the article and begin reading:

  Louis S. Bonet, a local baker preparing for his daily orders became startled as the walls of his petit kitchen began to rattle at 5:07 a.m. on Tuesday morning. Mr. Bonet took cover and hid under a nearby counter as he watched his lifelong dream crumble around him. The bakery could not withstand the pressure from the earthquake's 7.0 magnitude—ultimately leaving Mr. Bonet with nothing but shattered appliances, counters, windows, and dreams.

  Regardless of the terminal result of his bakery, Mr. Bonet kissed the ground below him, thankful for still having his life.

  As the dust settled, Louis climbed out from beneath the counter and saw nothing but a blanket of dust covering everything in his surroundings. As he searched through the cloud to find an accessible exit, a gold shimmer caught his attention. He said, “It was like a magnetic force pulling me to beauty.” When Mr. Bonet retrieved the artifact from a hole within the crumbled foundation, he discovered it to be a locket.

  When we asked Mr. Bonet what happened when he opened the locket, he shook his head, refusing to release the information. As we were trying to find out more information on this mystery locket, we asked where he had placed it. The man’s eyes widened and he pointed to the ground. When we asked him once more, he clutched his hand over his left shoulder, fell to the ground, croaking the words, “C’est ici l’empire de la Mort.”

  It brings us great sadness to report that Mr. Bonet went into cardiac arrest at that moment and died shortly thereafter.

  We were unable to find out any further information on what we now call, "Paris' Darkest Secret." The general, superstitious public has whispered about it being the necklace that killed him, but it very well could have been the startling occurrences from the earthquake, causing too much distress in an elderly man.

  Nevertheless, we do believe that the locket has been placed somewhere in the Catacombs, but we
have not found a brave enough man to seek out the gold. Until we find that brave person, the locket will remain Paris' Darkest Secret, or as some are now calling it, 'The Necklace of Death.'

  I click the X on the top right corner of the screen and push my chair away from the desk. “’The Necklace of Death’?” I repeat to myself.

  Bonet—my mother's maiden name—not a coincidence. Sought after gold?

  I'm the connection to Paris' Darkest Secret?

  I think I need more than an alarm system.

  I have to remember what Alex always tells me—Paris represents my mind. The locket is the dark secret of my own mind. These words he says to me do not make sense. He tells me I’ll understand some day. Instead, I have spent every day for the past year since he told me that trying to figure out what he means. If what he says is true, then Franco is trying to capture a part of my mind. That’s impossible and makes no sense.

  The feeling of eyes burning into my back returns. I make a beeline for the elevator and pound the button until the doors glide open. I rush inside and rest my back up against the wall while pressing the button for the bottom floor. With only half a breath, I notice I'm not alone in the elevator.

  A tall man, lavishly dressed, light colored hair and eyes looks down at me, nods his head and says, "Let it be."

  The strange familiarity of his eyes draws my focus in to take a closer look at him, but the doors glide open and he brushes by me, leaving me frozen behind the closing doors. I press the door button quickly, but by the time the bottom floor of the library re-appears between the slits of the elevator, the man is gone.

  I burst out of the library, feeling as though my head is spinning in circles, partially from bewilderment and partially from paranoia.