Dark Mysteries

by Jessica Gadziala

  "You said I'm in charge," he said, smiling at her frustration. He stroked her calves, grabbing her knees and pulling her legs up in the air to rest on his shoulders. Turning his face, he planted a kiss on the inside of her ankle. It was chaste in comparison to what he had just been doing, but she felt the intimacy somewhere deep inside her chest, unfamiliar yet recognized and welcomed.

  He reached for her hips, grabbing and pulling her slightly up onto his bent legs, her legs on his shoulders. He took a deep breath and thrust deep inside of her, hearing her gasp, her hands reaching to cover his.

  But he didn't move. He just stayed there, buried deep inside her until she was whimpering, trying to move her hips against him. "You're evil," she said, lowering her brows at him.

  Which only made him smile, leaning forward slightly and pressing a hand hard against her lower stomach, making her feel him even deeper. And then he started moving, the pace fast, each thrust feeling deeper than the last.

  Ellie cried out, loud, wild, completely lost in the feeling. The angle made his cock feel like it overtook every inch of her depths, his hand pressing on her belly, making each thrust more powerful. His other hand slipped from her hips, moving between their bodies and stroking her clit, pushing her harder and faster toward her peak. The heels of her feet dug into his shoulders, the muscles feeling strained, her legs feeling heavy.

  His eyes were locked on her face, his jaw clenched tight, his brows lowered. His dark eyes were intense, seeing through her. A strand of dark hair fell over his forehead, sweaty, and she wanted nothing more than to reach up and brush it away. But his thrusts became uncontrolled, frantic, and she knew he was as close as she was. She felt the suspension, was held there for the barest of seconds before his cock thrust forward and his finger pressed harder on her clit.

  And then there was only pleasure.

  Fireworks.

  And she knew with a new and blinding clarity that she was falling a little bit in love with her private investigator.

  Sixteen

  He left to ran some errands, leaving Ellie in the bed, half numb from the sex as well as her new realization. She was falling in love with Xander. She heard the front door close and jumped up out of the bed, pacing the floor, naked, sore, panicked. She couldn't have feelings for him. It wasn't smart. Or safe. Or fair to him.

  She walked over to her clothes, slipping on underwear, a bra, leggings, her gray sweater. She carefully tied up her hair and slipped into the leather jacket Faith had given her.

  She knew what she needed to do.

  A sharp pain stabbed through her chest as she moved around the apartment, trying to ignore it, trying to let it go. Her stomach turned fluid, feeling much like that sensation on a roller coaster when the cart finally tipped over the edge.

  That was what leaving Xander felt like.

  Sick. Terrifying. Wrong.

  Ellie covered her face in her hands, bending forward, almost crumpling down to the floor. She pressed her hands tight to her mouth and let out one scream. It was a soul-crushing, defeated, hopeless sound.

  Then she swiped at her eyes, brushing the tears away. Because this was what needed to happen. She needed to protect him. He was too important. People in her life who became important ended up in headlines and graves.

  She walked around, collecting her things, tucking them into the box neatly. Aside from her wallet, she would need to leave them all behind. Even the books she loved, the books that she should have known to keep safe in K's care. They were the only things she had from her mother.

  Wuthering Heights. Tess of the d'urbervilles. Jane Eyre.

  She could buy new editions. She could write favorite quotes on the inside covers. But they would never be the same. But if there was anywhere in the world she wanted to leave them, it was with Xander. It was only fitting. The four things in the world that she loved all in one place.

  She went into Xander's office, grabbing a piece of the yellow lined paper he used so much of and sat down to write. She had to write. And the first thing that came to mind was a quote from Jane Eyre. It was from when Mr. Rochester knew Jane must go away.

  "I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you -- especially when you are near me, as now: it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous Channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly. As for you, -- you'd forget me."

  She let herself cry as she wrote, knowing it was the last piece of her Xander would ever know and wanting to pour out her soul into the words. She finished the quote, taking a deep breath.

  Xander- I had to go. I'm sorry it had to happen this way. It's not safe. For me. Especially for you. I need to disappear to protect you. I owe you more than you can ever know. More than I can ever express. You have given me more peace and happiness than I have ever known. And you did it all with no questions. No expectations. You're truly the best person I have ever met.

  Please don't worry about me. I'm fine. I've done this more than I care to admit. I am good at it. I am safe. Maybe when the threat has passed, I can send word. Let you know I made it to my next location. But that won't be for weeks. Possibly months. Look for an envelope without a name. An address that links back to the middle of nowhere.

  As for you, you wont be able to respond.

  Keep protecting the little strays that show up on your doorstep. You're better at it than you give yourself credit for.

  I owe you for the baton

  Ellie

  She stood, moving back into the apartment and leaving the note on top of her box of possessions which she stacked on the foot of the bed where he would know it was out of place. Within an hour he would know she was gone.

  She grabbed her wallet, tucking it into the jacket pocket. She stole the trusty baton from Xander's closet and held onto it like a lifeline. At least she would have something from him to hold onto. She walked out the front door, hood up, and ran, tears falling wild and unstoppable down her face, making her vision blurry. But she knew the route. She could run it blindfolded.

  Her apartment building looked different. It seemed somehow smaller and less familiar. She glanced around, making a dart up the stairs and unlocking her apartment. She felt Mary's eyes watching her through the peephole. But even if she called Xander, Ellie would be long gone before he could get there.

  She barreled into her bedroom, dropping to her knees beside her bed and hauling the suitcase out. She moved the straps over her shoulders and walked back into the living room, feeling sad. She always felt sad to leave. Even though she never really settled in anywhere. No mementos laying around, no walls painted a color she liked, nothing to miss when she left. But she did miss it.

  She missed her cramped apartment in Seattle that always smelled like soy sauce. She missed the sound of her neighbor's baby crying in D.C. She missed the throbbing music from the nightclub below her place in Philadelphia. She missed the bright walls and the happy, naked people she shared a commune with in Portland. She missed the pieces of herself she had to leave behind in each place, the slightly changed person she became in each new city, the habits she picked up, the places she walked past.

  But she had changed the most there, in New York. In the apartment where she had finally decided she wanted to stop running, where she had called every last private investigator in the phone book, where she had allowed herself to dream of a life where she didn't have to keep changes scenes, changing people, changing herself.

  She would miss her stupid diner job, her cat-breeding nosy neighbor, and Xander.

  Ellie took a deep breath, trying to push that thought away. It wouldn't help. She needed to keep a clear head. She was doing this to protect him. And she was just going to have to learn to live with the ache in her chest.


  Ellie's stomach sank to her knees as the living room door flew open, banging against the wall. But, there in the doorway was Mary. Her eyes were wide and she had a cat in her arms. "They're here," she said, her face like stone.

  "What?" Ellie asked, feeling frozen.

  "They're here. I just saw them walk int the building."

  "Oh, my God," Ellie said, her mind racing with her options. There was the fire escape and the possible broken bones from jumping from the too-short ladder.

  "Why are you standing here?" Mary asked, backing into the hall. "Get in my apartment."

  She didn't need to be told again. She flew across the hall with Mary, closing the door without a sound and sliding the locks into place. The footsteps were in the hall a moment later and Ellie felt her pulse pounding in her ears. Mary stood off to the side, her eyes wide, stroking the cat in her arms absentmindedly.

  "Where the fuck is she?" a voice screamed from inside her apartment and she felt herself shrinking away from it, a knee-jerk reaction. "You idiot," he yelled, presumably at Bobby. Then there were footsteps in the hall again, her apartment door slammed so hard against the jamb that she heard a splintering sound. "Get to the train station," he demanded and their footsteps retreated down toward the staircase.

  Ellie drew in a shaky breath, resting her face against the door. So close. That was so close.

  "So, I guess you're not taking the train out of the city," Mary said, putting the cat down on the floor, watching her.

  "I guess not," Ellie said, feeling frazzled. That was the way she had always planned it. There was always a train out of town. She could walk into the station and jump onto a train and be untouchable for the length of the ride. And every station she would wind up in would have another train, leaving for another place. That was how she preferred to travel. No guesswork. No way to screw up.

  "There's the bus," Mary suggested, "or the ferry."

  But the ferry would drop her in Jersey, would leave her stranded at a dock in Nick's backyard. She would need a taxi to get her to the train station from there. That would cost money she really didn't have on hand to spend.

  "The bus it is," Ellie agreed, her stomach clenching a bit at the idea.

  "Hey," Mary said, walking over the the closet in her living room and reaching inside. "Here," she said, pulling out a gray peacoat with big black buttons. "Switch jackets. If they saw you coming in, they'll know that one your wearing."

  Ellie emptied her pockets and slipped out of the old jacket, shrugging into the one Mary was holding open for her. She was busying herself buttoning it and slipping her things into the pockets while Mary went back to the closet. She came back holding a black cloche hat that she reached up and pushed onto Ellie's head. "There," she said, stepping back and nodding, "if you keep your head down, they'll never know it's you."

  "Thanks, Mary," she said, feeling a warmth spreading across her chest. So many good people wanted to help her. And she still felt so unworthy.

  Mary nodded. "He seems like a man you should stay away from," she said.

  "You have no idea," Ellie said, moving across Mary's living room to look out the window. They were climbing into Nick's car parked out front and then drove away. She took a breath and moved back toward the door. "Mary... can you do me a favor?"

  "Yeah," Mary said, her brows drawing together.

  "Wait a half an hour until you call Xander." She saw Mary's sad eyes, like she knew, and felt another stab in her chest. "He will try to stop me. But I need to get away. To protect both of us," she explained.

  "Consider it done. Now go. While you still have time."

  Ellie nodded at her. "Thanks again," she said and she was running, down the stairs, onto the street. Her suitcase was heavy, slamming into her back each time her foot landed on the pavement. She looked like any other tourist, sprinting so they didn't miss their bus.

  A few minutes later, she was at the bus station, buying a ticket for Staten Island. From there, she could catch a train anywhere else. She would call K when she got there. Get the location of her new life.

  "Eleanor?" she heard a voice ask behind her, making her spine straighten, her heart leapt into her throat. She turned slowly, reaching into her pocket to rest her hand around the baton. There was a vague sense of familiarity there. It was a face she knew but couldn't quite place. He was young, younger than any of Nick's business partners. He was her age or younger with sandy hair and arms full of tattoos. She looked down at his hands, saw a tattoo of a capital A within a circle, the ink made to look like it was bleeding, like graffiti. The anarchist symbol. Then her eyes flew up to his again.

  He was a dealer. He was the one who was bringing Nick's heroin into the city, the one who was handing out drugs that were killing people.

  "Jason," she said, clutching the baton tighter. He didn't seem suspicious or particularly surprised to see her. Maybe Nick hadn't let the information get out that he was looking for her. Maybe he was keeping up a charade, pretending she was still his girlfriend, still in his life.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked, sounding casual, conversational.

  "Oh, I was just seeing the sights. Spent the weekend with a friend. Went to museums. Tourist stuff," she said, feeling like she was going to throw up all over his feet.

  "Oh, cool," he said, glancing around as if looking for Nick. Because she was never allowed to go anywhere without him.

  "It was nice seeing you Jason," she said, forcing a smile that felt weird, stiff. "But I have to go catch my bus. I have dinner plans with Nick... and I don't want to be late."

  "Oh, right," Jason said, nodding. He knew if she was late she'd get her ass kicked. That was no secret in Nick's circle. Everyone knew he kept his women on a short leash. "It was nice seeing you."

  "You too, Jason," she said, smiling again and turning. She tried to focus on making her walk slow. She glanced over her shoulder, Jason watching her as he reached into his pocket, stabbed something into the number pad and put the phone up to her ear. And then she turned and ran. Because that call was to Nick. And if she didn't get out of town immediately, he would get her, drag her off the bus, drag her all the way back to Trenton.

  She found her bus, barreling up into it, finding it almost full. She took a breath, ducking her head, and walked down the aisle toward the back. There was only open seat. She sat there, her heart slamming in her chest until the doors finally closed, until they started to pull away.

  Ellie slammed her head back on the seat, releasing the breath she had been holding. She watched out the window as the city passed her by, as she slipped back into survival Ellie. She shouldn't have gone back for her bag. That was the mistake. That was what almost got her caught. She could have jumped on a train out of the city, grabbed a burner when she got to the next station, called K, got the location of a bug-out bag. There was no reason for her to go back for her bag.

  She shouldn't have even had her bug-out bag in her apartment. It should have been stashed somewhere. Under a dumpster or under the counter in a bodega where she had bribed the owner to let her put it, stashed somewhere inconspicuous in Central Park. Anywhere but her apartment.

  Sloppy. She was getting sloppy.

  Seventeen

  He bought her a new teacup. He knew it was stupid, silly. But the teacups she had had at her apartment were pretty, delicate, feminine things with floral patters and thin handles. He had been browsing around the food store, getting stuff to restock his empty fridge and cabinets, when he saw a display. And his hand just automatically reached for a pretty porcelain cup with a yellow and white floral pattern. It made him think of her. So he bought it.

  He knocked once then reached down to unlock the door, feeling a bit sheepish about giving it to her.

  Xander walked into the kitchen, putting the bags down on the dining table, reaching into one to pull out the cup, wrapped in brown paper. It wasn't fancy, but she could unwrap it. Presents should always need to be unwrapped.

>   "Ellie," he called, looking around and realizing he didn't see her anywhere. He put the cup down on the table, walking into the hall and noticing the bathroom was empty. Where the hell was she now? He moved back in to the apartment.

  And that's when he saw it on the bed. Her box of stuff. There was a letter on top.

  He felt a spreading of dread as he walked over and picked it up. A part of him knew, knew what he was going to read, knew what happened.

  He unfolded the yellow paper and felt his heart sink to his feet. He actually felt unsteady as he read, moving to sit on the edge of his bed.

  So, she was gone.

  It shouldn't have mattered. She was a client. Sometimes clients changed their minds. Sometimes he got fired. It didn't mean anything that he slept with her.

  Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't true. He fucking wanted her to stick around. He wanted to wake up with her and watch her make her tea. He wanted to watch her do her crazy little cleaning routine and feel her curl up next to him reading one of her books.

  He reached into the books, finding the one from the note. Jane Eyre. He opened the front flap, looking at her handwritten quotes on the page.

  "I have for the first time found what I can truly love. I have found you."

  Xander slammed the book closed with a curse. He got up, grabbing his keys, and ran out of his office, not bothering to lock his door. He barrelled past Gabe who had tried to catch his attention. Maybe she went back. It was the only chance he had of seeing her.