ALEX
The riverboat. Our riverboat. I’ll never forget today for as long as I live. Those eyes. They looked right at me. They were begging me to move in closer. I was scared if I did, I might ruin everything. But the look she was giving me, gave me hope that maybe I wouldn’t.
My heart was beating so hard I didn’t know if it could pump enough blood to get me through the next minute of my life. I had dreamt about it for years. I imagined what it would be like, what she would smell like, taste like, and feel like. I just never imagined it would be like it was.
Her eyes were locked on my lips, and I couldn’t take mine off of hers. I moved in slow, careful not to push her away. I needed to make sure it’s what she wanted too.
When our noses touched, her scent dragged me in. I couldn’t stop. I pulled in what little breath I had left, hoping to have enough to outlast the length of the kiss I wanted.
My lips pressed against hers and my stomach ached with pain, a sensational pain, one that I would endure minute after minute for the rest of my life if I could. My tongue swept across her bottom lip, and tiny explosions lit up my insides. She tasted like sweetened cocoa. I wanted to breathe her breath, to hear her thoughts, to feel her emotions. And I think I did. My body was acting on its own. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t breathe, but it didn’t matter. I needed more. I needed her. My hands tightened around her and for a moment I thought maybe I was hurting her. But she didn’t complain. Her hands felt just as tight around me.
I moved my hand up to her cotton soft cheek. The warmth from her skin heated my hand and then the rest of me as well. My head became light, and I pulled away for a breath. Those emerald eyes. They sparkled in the sun. It was like I could see forever within them.
My arms folded around her. She’s so tiny that I could almost wrap my arms around her twice. I pressed my face into her hair, and inhaled the beautiful scent from her shampoo. It made me weak. I wanted to fall over, but with her. I wanted her. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life. My desire for her is the equivalent of my desire to breathe. She’s my air. She is my everything.
I stole a couple more seconds with her lips, her perfect rosebud lips. It had to hold me over until I can be with her again. I’ll need this memory to sustain me.
Three days might feel like forever.
I touch my fingers to my lips, recalling the sensation. Recalling the urge in my stomach. Recalling the speed of my beating heart that beat just for him. Now it’s beating merely to survive.
Since sleep doesn’t have a place in my life anymore, I lie here, searching my head for an answer. Blame and anger are my two crutches. They are my release, but they are also my captives. Franco should be feeling my burden and pain. But instead, he’s free within the comforts of four padded white walls—a permanent bed to relax, bareness to help his mind escape—an endless playroom for his unruly thoughts.
Bastard.
I should free him. I should. I should free him. Very bad ideas spark my dead mind. That’s it.
I’m going to free him.
My scattered thoughts are now organized into a beautiful web of organization. The spotlight of sun is peeking through the one broken panel of the window’s blinds. I smooth my hand over Sammy’s hair. His eyes peel open slowly, and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
“I’ll stay with Grandpa today,” he says.
“How did—? Sammy, what do you know?” I ask, taken back by his perception.
He smiles. “Just go,” he says.
I nod, understanding my now-five-year-old son as if he were a grown man who had seen what the future holds. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the depth of his understanding.
“Happy Birthday, little man.” I give him a kiss on the cheek. “How about I spend the day with you and we do whatever you want?”
“No. For my birthday, I want you to find what Daddy told you to find.”
I’m stunned. What five-year-old would wish for something like that on his birthday? Most would ask for a toy or a bike. Not him.
“But, I want to be with you,” I tell him. “How about I take you to a toy store and we get you lots of presents?”
“I want my daddy back. And the necklace will make that happen.”
My words have been stolen. Alex will come back when I find the necklace? It doesn’t seem possible. Then again, nothing in my mind ever has. But this is real. This isn’t in my mind. Alex is dead. And people can’t come back from the dead.
“Sammy, Daddy—“
“Yes. He can. For me. Please, Mommy.”
I can’t argue with him on his birthday. I take Sammy by the hand and lead him out into the living room. My father is sitting at the breakfast bar, hunched over a cup of coffee. His hair is tousled, and the bags under his eyes point blame to me. He lifts his head and raises his eyebrows. “Morning,” he says.
“Dad,” I begin.
“It’s okay, Chlover-Belle,” he says, his voice forgiving.
“I am sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
He nods. “What’s on the agenda for today?” he asks.
“It’s my birthday, Grandpa!” Sammy announces with vigor.
“No way!” My dad responds with the same amount of excitement.
“For my birthday, I want you to take me to the movies, Grandpa. Just me and you.” He grins from ear to ear, and my dad gives me a questioning look.
I shrug. “That’s what he wants.” I pull Sammy in against me. “I’ll try to do a little research while you both are at the movie and I’ll meet back up with you after.”
“Please, Grandpa,” Sammy begs.
“Dad, I have an idea.” My idea is more likely to help me more than him, but I can keep that to myself.
“You do?” His eyes flash open. “Will you be safe?”
Most definitely not. But this is the only way. “Yes,” I lie. “But, I’ll need you to take Sammy to the movies while I work this out.”
He smiles at Sammy and pinches his chin. “Looks like we need to find a good movie, kiddo.” His attention switches back to me, question darkening his eyes. “What is your plan?”
“Can I ask you to trust me?” As the words come out, I realize I’m asking him to trust me after I ran off in the middle of the night.
He arches one eyebrow and clears his throat. “Sure.” The hesitation in his voice says no, but the look in his eyes say he’s desperate.
I turn to Sammy and kneel down to his level. I comb his straggly hair backward, out of his eyes. “I need you to be good for grandpa today.” I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. “I want you to have a happy birthday all day.”
I pull Alex’s leather jacket from the back of the chair and slide my arms through the sleeves, flipping it over my shoulders. My father walks over to the coat hanger and digs his hand into his jacket pocket, searching for something. When he doesn’t find it, he looks over at me. “Keys?” He asks.
My face reddens when I pull his keys out of my coat pocket. I offer an uncomfortable grin. And he cocks his head to the side with yet another disapproving look. “Do you even have your license?”
I drop my eyes, knowing he already knows the answer. Who would give me license? I did in my drift.
“I’ll drive you,” he says.
He doesn’t know where I’m going. And he can’t know where I’m going. “It’s fine.” I hand his keys to him. “I’ll call a cab. I don’t want Sammy involved in any of this.”
He shoves his keys into his pocket and nods. “Okay.” He walks over to the kitchen counter and picks up his cell phone holding it to me.
I take it from his hands. “Thank you.”
***
“Belmont Street, please.”
The cab driver’s dark brown eyes study me in the rearview mirror. I do what I can to avoid eye contact with him. He’s creeping me out. The roads are slick and I’m sliding all over the corroded leather seats. The seatbelts are tucked into the cushions, and I have no desire to go diggi
ng for them under the coating of filth I’m sitting on. The scent of stale cigarettes is making me nauseous, and the driver is chomping on some kind of beef jerky. The stench is too much, so I crank the window a bit. It causes the dark eyed creep to look back at me, wondering why I’d be opening the window to let in the negative degree winds.
I count the stoplights that are left in this ride, and I’m trying to focus on not succumbing to my nausea, but it’s getting harder with each turn we take. One more stoplight.
“Where to?” he asks.
“Here is fine,” I say. He pulls over to the side of the road. I drop a twenty on the front seat as I climb out. “Thanks.”
He skids around in a circle and takes off in the opposite direction. I trudge up the snowy hill, wrapping Alex’s jacket tightly around me.
This street I’m on can go to one of two places. I turn left and continue up the sidewalk covered in compacted snow and ice.
The revolving doors are shuffling people in and out. My stomach sinks. I hate the smell of hospitals. I hate looking at hurt and sick people. It’s another reminder of how others looked at me—broken, sick, and helpless.
I zip the jacket all the way up to my chin, and I pull a ski hat from my pocket. I took it from my dad’s coat hanger, remembering what Charlie told me about concealing myself as best I could when coming here. I pull the black hat over my hair, and it pushes my bangs down over my eyes. The only thing that shows is my nose and the top of my chin. I look ridiculous, but hopefully no one will recognize me as a missing person.
I walk around the information desk, purposefully avoiding eye contact with any of the staff. I don’t know anyone here besides Charlie, but I’m not sure how connected the staff here is with the staff at the institution. I have to hope they aren’t affiliated. I walk toward the elevators, seeking a directory to find where I’m heading. The only other time I’ve been here was when I had Sammy, and I barely remember coming in or out of this place.
A shiny bronze directory glares me in the face. My eyes scan the list until they stop at the word chapel.
The tears start burning behind my eyes. My face fills with heat and my ears feel like they’re on fire. I pull in a deep breath and jam my thumb into the elevator button.
When the doors open, I’m faced with a nurse carrying a blood work caddy, a doctor who’s studying his clipboard, a man in a wheelchair, and a very pregnant woman with her husband. They all give me a once over as I enter into the elevator.
I keep my head down, avoiding eye contact with all of them. I hide myself in the far back corner and rest my hands on the conjoining metal railings. My floor number has already been pressed, and I can only hope I’m the only one getting off at the seventh floor.
The elevator takes forever to close. Each second feels like a minute. Most of them are uncomfortable, shifting their weight from foot to foot. The pregnant woman is having a contraction. She’s gritting her teeth together, the stress lines on her forehead become pronounced and sweat dribbles down her temple. Her husband looks scared but rubs her shoulders gently. I watch his mouth form into an “o” shape as he reminds her to breathe. Her hand is clenched around the railing and her eyes are scrunched tightly. I remember the pain. I feel her pain. At least she has her husband with her. At least she isn’t alone and scared of dying.
Their lives are beginning, and I’m going to pay my respects to the end of what was my life.
The elevator doors open and close three times, delivering everyone to their respective floors. I’m the last one left, waiting for the seventh floor to appear in front of me.
The doors open for the fourth time. This floor doesn’t look like the others. It’s dark, and there are stained glass windows lining the hall. I take a step out of the elevator doors, and I smell burning candles.
I look to the left and right, wondering what direction to go in, but one side is closed off by a set of double doors. The other direction leads down a dark hallway. I walk down into the darkness, until I come to a left turn. The corner turns into a large room with flat red carpet, exposed brick walls and more stained glass windows. Tiny votive candles surround the room, and there’s soft classical music swirling around my head.
I take one step into the room, noticing I’m alone here. There’s no one in this room, but Alex and I. I’m standing before an aisle that leads to a coffin.
Five years ago, I was standing before an aisle that led to the rest of my life: Alex. Our wedding—our beginning. Now I’m heading to his funeral. Our ending.
I walk toward him, my knees trying to buckle, trying to keep me from reaching the seven-foot long wooden box. I reach the end, and I place my hands over the smooth wooden surface. Pain wells in my stomach and my chest. I hold my breath to relieve some of my pain, but I immediately feel light-headed.
This is too much.
Part of me wants to open the casket to prove he’s in there and to see him one last time. But even if he is in there, it’s not him anymore. It’s merely his body. His soul is somewhere else, and I have no idea where.
I lean over and place my lips over the casket. “I love you, Alex. Wherever you are. I miss you so much, and I’m hurting like hell. I would do anything to see you, to feel you, to smell you. Anything.” My voice breaks, and the tears pool over my eyes. My breath hitches in my throat and I lose control.
I fall to my knees, praying for mercy on my mind, my damaged, broken, hell-raised mind. I’ve never prayed until recently, but now seems like a good time to start. I can’t take this pain anymore. How do people survive this? Are some people actually strong enough to get through this? Because I don’t see any light at the end of this obsidian tunnel.
After my tears run dry and my chest hurts from my heaving sobs, I pull myself up to my feet and walk back down the aisle, alone, cold, and miserable—completely opposite of how I felt on our wedding day.
I exit the hospital, unseen, and still missing.
Now on to my next stop.
I turn the corner around to the back of the building and pull open the large red metal door. The rubber soles of my shoes create a sloshing noise against the dry cement floor, and the sounds encourage other sounds to grow from the cell a few doors down.
“Who’s there?” Franco shouts. His voice is gravelly and hoarse.
I can’t forget my confidence. This will work. It has to. I open one of the rusted lockers adjacent to the wall and pull the metal shelf out, releasing the ring of keys I hid when we originally detained him here.
Familiar with the key that unlocks his cell, I pull it from the other twenty keys and slide it into the lock. I take one deep breath, twist, and push.
He looks horrible and smells even worse. I know Ashley, my old institution comrade, has kept him fed, but showering hasn’t been an option here. I’m guessing if his men wanted to release him, they would have tried harder to find a way to get him out. But I think he’s using this opportunity to hide.
“Hello, Franco,” I say, walking dangerously close to him, while pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to block out the deadly stench.
“What do you want?” he seethes.
“To help you.” I can’t believe these words are coming from my mouth. I almost believe them. But I don’t think he believes them. I need to be more convincing. I don’t even want to know what Alex would be thinking right now if he were here.
He stifles a laugh and coughs through the dryness of his throat. “You—you want to help me?”
“Alex is dead. You did not kill him. My mother has the locket, and I don’t want her to have it. I would rather you have it.” Do I look like I’m lying? I don’t even know what I look like when I’m lying.
“You really hate her that much?” His voice sounds sincere, like he’s buying this.
“She kept me locked up as a prisoner most of my life. Just like she did with you. I’ve already told you this. Maybe you didn’t believe me, but I can change your mind.” I look down and knot my fingers together, trying to look upset. �
��I hate her as much as you do.”
He nods, an approving nod. “I can see that.” He tries to push himself off of the ground, but he seems too stiff to move.
I walk over, closer than I’ve ever wanted to be to him. I lean over and offer my hand. He looks me in the eyes, and the look on his face relaxes. His eyes widen and they almost look endearing. “How did you get here?”
“Cab,” I say.
“I’ll call one of my men,” he says.
“A gray suit?” A lump forms in my throat, and sweat beads up on my neck.
“A what?” he says, arching his eyebrows.
I nod. “Never mind.”
“The men in gray suits and the birds of death only exist in your mind, love,” he says.
That’s a relief. I think.
“Here, in the real world, my men wear blue suits. Don’t let that fool you, though. I would be much more afraid of these men than the ones in your mind.” He laughs a little. “But don’t you worry your pretty little face. They won’t hurt you.”
Right. Okay. Sure, I believe you, dear Uncle Franco. His men were trying to kill me last week, but I’ll just go ahead and pretend that didn’t happen.
“Do you have a phone I could use?” he asks.
I reach into my coat pocket and pull out my dad’s phone. I hand it to him. He dials a number and holds the phone up to his ear. “Now,” he says. He clicks the phone off and hands it back to me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN:
THREE BLUE SUITS
I HEAR SHOES clicking loudly against the floor. I thought he said one of his men, not a few. I poke my head out of the door and see three men in blue suits walking toward me. They stop when they see me standing here.
One of them says, “It’s her.” He reaches his hand around to his back pocket. “We know your husband has been lying.”
“Leave her.” Franco says, in an authoritative voice.
“But they lied about the locket,” the shorter of the three men responds.
“I’m aware. I’ve been aware,” Franco says.
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