The Red Ledger: 5

by Meredith Wild

  Goddamn, she’s a vision. I’m hooked on her. Totally obsessed.

  Judging by the way she’s been tempting me with almost-touches all afternoon, she’s got to know it. She slides into the coffee shop booth beside me, sips her hot cocoa, and starts flipping through the pages of the term paper topics Brucher handed me earlier today.

  I couldn’t care less. Not with Isabel’s leg pressed against mine. Not with the possibility of us hanging at the end of every exchange. Every wordless look that means this is going somewhere.

  I drape my arm over her shoulders and pretend to look down at the paper, but all I’m doing is worshiping her and letting my mind drift. Spending two evenings a week with Isabel has mixed results. I can’t concentrate worth a damn when we’re together, but when we’re not, I work harder. Keeps Brucher happy, and it keeps up appearances so she can go on taking the hour-and-a-half journey into the city.

  “Which one do you want to do?”

  I press my nose against her hair, breathing in her vanilla shampoo. “I don’t care. You pick something.”

  “I think you should probably have a say in it.”

  I drag the back of my hand down her arm. So soft. What I wouldn’t give to take my lips over every inch of her skin. I’ve tasted her mouth, but God, I want so much more.

  “I thought you were going to write it for me?”

  She makes a little sound of amusement. “I’m not writing this for you. I have my own papers to write.” I’d almost believe her, except for the way she tilts her head ever so slightly, giving me better access to her neck, where I can’t help but kiss her.

  Her eyes close, and I know she’s paying about as much attention to the term paper possibilities as I am.

  “You’re sure?” I mutter.

  She nudges me away with a coy smile. “You’re not paying attention.”

  “I only want to pay attention to you.”

  “Well, that’s not going to get this paper done. We should figure it out so I can help you outline it.”

  I sigh and force myself to focus on the paper. Blah blah blah. I really don’t care. “What if we worked out a trade?”

  “A trade?”

  “You can write my term paper, and…”

  She looks over at me, her eyebrow lifted. “And what?”

  I lick along my bottom lip, all my thoughts pivoting toward her once more. “And I’ll kiss you all over your body while you do it.”

  Blood rushes to her cheeks, turning them a dusty pink. “That sounds like it could be a little distracting.”

  “That’s what you do to me. Even when you’re not here, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  “Tristan!” Townsend’s on his haunches, pointing to the water bottle. “Drink, or you’re going to dehydrate on me. You’re not looking right.”

  “Isabel,” I mutter.

  He stares at me, amusement glittering his eyes. “Isabel, Isabel. It’s the only word you know, Red. That girl’s going to be the death of you. Mark my words.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Isabel

  Bones is back. I can tell by the mix of voices behind the door and the vibration of his heavy steps through the house. The little girl outside is too far away, and the risk is too great. I stack the boards back up along the wall and hope I get another chance later.

  I go back to the mattress and wait. A few seconds later, the lock jiggles and Bones barrels through the door. I press back against the wall, seal my lips closed, and stare down at his boots. If it’s routine he wants, he’ll get it from me. He drops a packaged sandwich onto the mattress.

  “Eat,” he says before closing the door behind him.

  It doesn’t latch this time. A blessing and a curse.

  The lock gives me an extra couple of seconds to react before someone comes in. But at least I can reach Tristan if I need to, and I can see some of what they’re doing. I curve my fingers under the mattress until the tips reach the spindle. If one of them leaves again, I could try something. Townsend’s nothing like the other man. He’s not thin, but he’s not a physical killing machine. I could hurt him given a good opening.

  I think about Vince and how I hesitated. Not this time. If I’m lucky enough to get a gun in my hands…

  The voice in my head, the one who’s bent on getting us out of here, isn’t a voice I should recognize. But it’s mine. I’m scared to death, but I’m ready to fight for Tristan when he can’t fight for us.

  A quick peek around the door, and I spot Tristan lying on the floor. I grip the wooden edge of the door tightly. I focus on him, study him until I’m sure I can see his chest moving. Bones is in the chair on his phone again. Townsend isn’t in the room. I can’t risk pissing Bones off again, so I close the door as quietly as I can and creep back to the loosened boards.

  I take them down, slowly, carefully, when I wish I could rip the whole damn wall down and scream like the caged animal I’m turning into. But I don’t. I take my time and pray I see the girl when I lie flat to the floor to look outside again. She’s there, but closer. My heart leaps. Excitement and fear. She can help me, but she’s just a child. Someone I can’t reason with as easily as an adult.

  She’s got dark-brown hair pulled into a high ponytail. She’s marching through the grass, swatting the high blades with a stick. Daylight’s broken. The hum of cars and life in the daytime give me hope. This place is alive.

  “Los pollitos dicen

  Pío pío pío

  Cuando tienen hambre

  Y cuando tienen frio.”

  Her young voice dances through the field. Her little body lurches forward with long steps that mark each stanza of the song. Something in Spanish about little chicks telling their momma they’re hungry before bed. The girl can’t be more than four or five, which would make sense why she’s here playing and not getting ready for school.

  I just need to get her attention. I glance back at the door, barely cracked. Not enough of a sound barrier for me to call out to her. Lying down, I thread my bound arms through the opening in the wall. Once I’m as far out as possible, I snap my fingers. Twice. Quickly. I pull my arms back and look through the hole.

  She’s stopped and is staring at the house. I can see her little brows wrinkled in confusion. I freeze and strain to hear movement in the house. Nothing. Quickly I shove my arms out again and wave as wildly as I can. Please see me. Please come closer. And for the love of God, please stay quiet.

  I pull my arms back and look through. She looks around and back to the house before taking a few hesitant steps closer. Yes. My chest is heavy with the effort not to scream. Not to cry. She takes slow steps toward the house until I can see her better. My heart is flying. I’m scared to death she’ll scream or make a racket and get me killed.

  It feels like an eternity by the time she’s close enough to the house that I could whisper and have her hear me. I bring my face to the hole and smile, hoping not to scare the living hell out of her.

  Her brown eyes are wide. I bring my finger to my lips and hush as softly as I dare. Then I crook my finger to motion her closer. She doesn’t move. Please, little girl. Please, I promise I won’t you hurt you.

  Too bad she can’t read my mind. She holds her place, too scared to go farther. I lift up on my shoulder and glance around. There’s a dirty matchbox car in the corner. I grab it, try to clean it with my shirt, and push my arms through the hole again, offering the crappy thing to her in my desperate attempt to bring her closer.

  Seconds tick by. Then the warmth of her little hand snatching away the toy. I pull my arms back slowly and look through. She’s close. Close enough.

  I smile, and she smiles too.

  “Can you whisper?”

  She shakes her head. She can, but I don’t think she understands me.

  “Yo soy Isabel. ¿Como te llamas?”

  “Mariana,” she says softly.

  Heavy, hot tears burn in my eyes, but I suck them back.

  “Necesito ayuda, Mariana.”

&n
bsp; “¿Esta es tu casa?”

  “No. Un hombre malo me llevó. ¿Puedes llamar la policía?”

  Her eyes go wide, and she shakes her head fervently. She looks around as if someone’s suddenly out to get her. She’s going to run away, I know it.

  “Mariana, está bien. Está bien.”

  But she’s backing away and then runs out of sight. Back home.

  I sit up, trying not to let the hopelessness pull me under as I place the boards carefully back and crawl to the mattress, where all I can do is wait.

  Mariana.

  That she shares the name of my dead sister feels like an omen—an auspicious one or not, I don’t yet know. I close my eyes and try to envision the little girl running to her house and telling her parents about the house where the bad man is keeping me. Maybe they’ll call the police. Maybe they won’t. Maybe Mariana will have just learned to play in a safer yard. One where murderers don’t lurk.

  Tears fall down my cheeks, but I don’t make a sound.

  TRISTAN

  I do my best to keep my eyes open while Townsend paces, but I keep slipping in and out of consciousness. Every time his phone goes off, he steps outside. It feels like we’re waiting, but I’m not sure why. I manage to push myself into a seated position again.

  “What are we waiting for?”

  Bones lifts his eyes to mine, not answering. He drops his focus back to his phone.

  He’s no help. Maybe I shouldn’t press the issue until this drug is out of my system. Then again, maybe a hit of adrenaline is what I need to pull me out of it. I can’t get reckless with Isabel so vulnerable, though. Townsend comes around the corner.

  Bones looks up at him. “When are we taking him in?”

  I catch the briefest hint of hesitation in Townsend’s expression, which he quickly masks. “Soon, mate. Dunny’s still looking for Jay.”

  “What about the girl?”

  “I’m taking care of it,” he snaps. “Play your fuckin’ game, and I’ll tell you when I need you.”

  The veins in Bones’s neck pump up a little, but a moment later, he’s wired into his phone again. His thumbs fly feverishly over the screen. How many hours have passed? If they’re biding time before turning me in to the Company, what are they going to do with Isabel?

  “Where’s Isabel?”

  Townsend looks like he’s ready to snap. “For the love of Christ, will you throw him in the back with her? If I have to hear her fuckin’ name out of your mouth one more time…”

  Bones jumps to his feet and grabs my bound hands, dragging me unceremoniously across the filthy floor all the way to the back. He kicks the door open and shoves me over the threshold until I’m in another room.

  He leaves, shuts the door, and locks it. Isabel is curled into a ball on a mattress a few feet away. My first instinct is to shimmy closer and wake her, make sure she’s okay. Promise her everything will be. Once I can shake this fog and get my head straight. But I sit there a while just looking. Breathing. Trying not to completely freak out about the visions that have been plaguing me. Visions of us. Of the Isabel I used to know. They could be hallucinations, but they feel too real. Like the way they felt too real when I kissed her for the first time in Rio a month ago. The way I knew how she felt before I ever touched her.

  Whatever is in Townsend’s tried-and-true serum is pulling down memories I never asked for. But despite our dire circumstances, a part of me is glad to have them.

  I move closer in a few awkward slides. When I reach her, the mattress shifts a little, revealing a sliver of rough wood peeking out. I pull it free. A splintered chair spindle. A weapon I’m glad to see. I shove it back under the edge as Isabel stirs.

  She pushes herself up, blinking away sleep, but soon there’s nothing soft or relaxed about her expression. Her eyes glisten with emotion.

  “Tristan.”

  She lurches her body toward me, touching my face like she has to make sure I’m real. Finally she lifts her bound arms over my head so our chests collide. I can feel her heart beating through her thin shirt. Silent sobs rack her delicate frame, and I curse my inability to hold her. I fold my fingers into the band of her jeans and caress her soft skin.

  “I’m going to get us out of here,” I whisper. “I promise. My head’s just really messed up right now.”

  She pulls back. Her eyes narrow with concern. “What did they do to you? I saw you lying on the floor. I was so scared.”

  “I’m okay. I wasn’t going to put up a fight until I knew where they’d taken you. Townsend gave me some stuff to loosen me up so I’d tell him what I knew about Jay. He shot me with a tranquilizer before that. I’m just trying to pull out of it.” I shake my head a little, not sure how to explain the visions or if this is even the time.

  “I’m so sorry.” Tears spill from her eyes. “I tried to fight him off, but he was too strong. I never had a chance.”

  I brush my lips across hers, hush her, and tug her a little closer. I can’t help but imagine her trying to face off with Bones. It’s a miracle she’s alive and in one piece. “I had no idea they were tracking Jay or I would have never let you leave. Trust me, it’s not a mistake I’ll be making again. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m okay. Just tired…scared.” Her gaze darts to the other side of the porch and back to me. “I talked to someone outside. A little girl. I told her to call the police, but I’m not sure if she will.”

  I tense a little. I’d rather avoid a run-in with the cops, but I could use just about anything as a diversion right now.

  Her face falls as she seems to sense my hesitation. “Was that a mistake?”

  “No, it’s okay. You did the right thing.” I don’t want to tell her we can use all the help we can get, because she’s already at a breaking point, scared for her life and mine. Rightly so. I smile a little. “I found your shank. Remind me never to get into a prison brawl with you.”

  Another tear rolls free when she smiles. I’m not sure if my heart’s ever hurt so much, seeing her this way. Dirty and terrified, clinging to hope. This…this is every reason for pushing her away. Leaving her all those years ago may have been the least selfish thing I’ve ever done, because even now, even with our lives hanging in the balance, I’m not sure I could let her go again.

  “I don’t know what to do, Tristan.” She lifts her arms away. When she rests her hands in mine, the contact is like a shockwave.

  Little pulses of recognition take my thoughts in a dozen different directions. The past. Now.

  “Don’t get brave, Isabel. Not yet. I can’t…” I lie back and press the heels of my hands to my forehead.

  “Tristan.”

  Her hands are on me again. Then her lips. “Tell me what I can do.”

  “It’s okay. I just…” I sigh, not knowing how to finish, and let my body melt into the mattress.

  We climb the concrete stairs to the house. My mom is working a double, which means we’ll be alone until Isabel has to go back. Her parents have gotten used to her staying late, though I don’t think they like it, judging by the calls and texts she gets as the afternoons wear on.

  I’ve yet to meet them, but I get the feeling they’re not always happy about the time she spends with me. She says they’re compulsively overprotective. Letting her take the trip to Baltimore twice a week is a huge concession for them, but one she fights for even harder now.

  It’s been three months. My grades are up, but that’s no excuse to stop seeing each other. The year will go by fast, and we haven’t talked about where we want this to go yet. A part of me is afraid to ask. No doubt this connection we have is a wrench in her plans. I don’t think she took the tutoring gig to fall for a kid on the wrong side of the city.

  Still, she’s here. Following me through the door. Looking around the house with more curiosity than concern. For the moment, I’m relieved I’ve never seen her place so I don’t have to compare it to here. This is home. It’s my truth. A place with four walls, a roof, a decent land
lord, and rent we can afford.

  I slice my fingers through my hair nervously, waiting for her to say something. She walks into the kitchen, brushing her hand across the Formica countertop as she goes. Then her lips curve into a smile.

  “Is that you?” She points to the school photo curling under the magnet that holds it to the fridge.

  “Third grade. Way before things got awkward.”

  She laughs and looks with rapt interest at the rest of the little photos and mementos my mom has collected here.

  “You’re so cute.”

  Even if all we do is kiss and hold each other, I can’t wait a minute more to touch her. So I take her hand.

  “Come on.”

  We go to my room, where I ignore another pang of insecurity.

  “It’s nothing special,” I say.

  I’m a cocktail of feelings right now. Raw and exposed here but eager to impress her, to make her feel things that scare both of us.

  She walks to the window and turns her back to its unimpressive view a moment later. Her expression is calm, but my heart takes up residence in my throat. I manage an uneasy smile.

  “Sorry,” I mutter quickly.

  “Why are you sorry?”

  I shrug. “Your place is probably a lot nicer.”

  She comes to me, presses her hands to my chest, and gazes up at me. “I like it fine right here with you.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Isabel

  Tristan’s sleep is long and fitful, like he’s being held under against his will. I touch him but not enough to rouse him. Just enough that maybe in his dreams he’ll know I’m here. I try to focus on the positive. At least we’re alive. But Tristan is my rock. Seeing him this way, knocked down by whatever Townsend gave him, is heartbreaking and frightening. How can I protect him? How will we ever get free?

  A faint rapping interrupts my incessant worrying. Quickly I crawl to the other side of the porch. I lift away one of the boards below the window, then the other. I lie down and bring my face close to the opening. I smile when I see the little girl again.