West-End Boys (Naïve Mistakes)

by Rachel Dunning

  I shook my head. "I can't believe how many people have died since I've met you."

  Conall said nothing.

  "You know I don't mean that weirdly, right?"

  "I don't know how you mean it," he said. "But I've been around death many times. My sister. When I thought Alex was dead. Then the first PI to get taken out."

  I knew he had. And I knew it had defined his life, made him cautious, over-protective of the ones he loved. I rubbed his knee.

  "I thought Brad was only going to take care of security for the house. You have him onto your PIs as well now?"

  "How do you know Brad is involved?"

  "I saw you talking to him at the club. Even a blind man could see the worry on your face after that. I just put two and two together."

  He thought a second, then his lips tugged upwards. "I'm going to have to get used to this. I mean, living with someone. Not being able to keep things to myself."

  Whoa... We hadn't really spoken about that yet—about 'living together.' Even though, technically, we were. There was so much to consider, and it had been something I'd wanted to go over with him soon—college, my job, how we'd see each other.

  But not now.

  "What do you mean?" I said.

  "I mean that I'm so used to being alone that I forget you're with me all the time, and that maybe I should be more careful about what I show you in my expressions."

  "No. Don't be more careful." My voice was soft now. "I want you to let me in. I want you to tell me."

  Conall sat forward, rested his elbows on his knees. "You don't want to know the half of it, Leo." He ran a hand through his hair.

  "Yes, I do."

  He stood, sharp and quick. "No, you don't." His voice was stern. He moved to the balcony sliding doors.

  I sat back, nerves forming in my stomach.

  "Brad is a good guy," he continued. "He's street-smart. I like having him working for me. I wanted him to liaise with the PIs instead of me, keep up with what they discovered. I'd decided to put him onto that even before he arrived in England."

  "You figured he was a good guy just from one mutual fight you fought with him? You guys had never even spoken."

  "I never fought a fight 'with' him, technically. If you'll remember, he and his cronies held up this Raphael Scum of The Earth bugger and I told them to let him go, took care of the rest alone. But, yes, I could tell all of that from that one fight. Because he was there for your friend, nothing else. It says a lot about a man's honor and his sense of right and wrong when he puts himself at risk like that. But that wasn't all." He turned to me. "You trust him. And I believe in your judgment of character."

  Great, now I was feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. Conall, the big negotiator. "You always know what to say to win me over."

  "It's the truth."

  And in his eyes, I could see it was. Although I had less trust in my judgment of character than he did. But that was an internal argument I'd have with myself at a later stage.

  Somehow I needed to lighten the mood. "Conall Williams, when you seduced me, little did I know that I was going to be swooped up by a drug-investigating, bad-guy-busting bad boy!"

  The faintest wash of humor ran across his face, gone as soon as I'd seen it. He moved back to the couch, sat, put an arm around me. Moved in closer. "I never seduced you, Leora. I was seduced by you... Or we seduced each other. I hope you don't regret—"

  "Shhh." I put my finger to his lips. "You are the darkest, most fascinating soul I've ever known. You're like Batman, you know?"

  He scoffed, shrugged. "Some bloody Batman. I couldn't even protect you—"

  "Hey! Enough. And you did! And I've got those Gravity Magic classes coming up with Trey for self defense anyway."

  "Gravity what?"

  "You know"—I waved my finger, confused—"Grav—Krav—something or other."

  "Krav Maga!"

  "Yes, that stuff."

  He shook his head, laughed. Real humor this time. He was lightening up.

  "Maybe we should stay here longer," I said. "I mean, until the cops know something more about this PI of yours that was killed."

  His answer was quick and final. Indignant. "The cops don't know shit. And even if they did— Never mind." Silence lingered for a while, waiting for completion of his thought. It never came. Then, "Leo, there's no point in running. Besides, I wasn't this guy's only client. And it could've been a robbery for all we know."

  "You really believe that?" I cocked an eyebrow.

  He blushed, shook his head. "I've just never run away from things. It's not in my nature."

  "Running sometimes is smart. Running from the bulls in Spain means you'll live. Sometimes running is what's needed."

  "I always thought the guys who ran with the bulls were a bunch of blooming idiots. Why jump in with the bulls in the first place?"

  I looked at him with my best Oh yeah? look.

  "Right, I see the irony." He put one hand up to stop me from even commenting on it.

  "Are you going to stop? I mean, hunting, getting data. It's become...a little obsessive, don't you think? And now that Alex is safe..." I wanted to also say, And now that we're together. Now that we have something to really live for...

  Conall leaned forward. I could see I hadn't stepped on any toes by saying it, that he'd probably considered it already himself, judging by the lack of surprise in his face.

  He sighed frustratedly, ran a tired hand through his hair. I saw the small white scars on his knuckles, caused by all those punching bags or countless times in the ring sparring it out with Trey, fighting the demons within him, outside him, seeking inner peace in a world so set on quelling any effort toward it.

  His next words were filled with sorrow and regret. They dripped off his lips like blood from a hanging corpse. "They've taken so much from me. But who are 'they' exactly? The target, the enemy, has become too general, and, yet, I still want to pinpoint it. It's almost like I'm hoping I'll find that one guy, that one cartel that will make it all right. The one organization on top of it all.

  "I used to believe, in the early days, that there was one guy at the top. But you know what I learned, Leora? You know what was the hardest lesson to sink in? It isn't one guy! It isn't one organization! It's anyone and everyone who gets a piece of the pie.

  "It's the dope runner, the bad cop, the medical doctor making a cut from writing a few extra prescriptions for Ritalin so it can be sold and snorted on the streets as kiddie coke. It's the dude hoping for a free fix.

  "And so it goes. It's a fucking losing battle...

  "I don't give a fuck about humanity, about crack-heads and pot-heads... They screw their own lives up. But this scene has taken so much from me personally. Do you know I haven't seen my brother since last year? For all I know he's dead, OD'ed under some bridge, rotting and being eaten away by rats."

  I traced one of the scars on his knuckles with my index, down to his middle knuckle, to the nail. I kissed it.

  He grabbed my hand, brought it to his lips, kissed my fingers once. "I can't give it up," he said. "I can't. It's...it's my own drug, I know. And I have no use for the information and— No, that's not true. I do have use for it. It helped save you, didn't it?"

  Shit, he was right. I nodded reluctantly.

  He put my hand on his knee, rubbed it. "But you're right, I need to stop. It's enough. Alex is safe, you are safe. It's enough now. A new leaf, like the Twilight soundtrack."

  I smiled, remembering how he'd started listening to that as a sign he'd let go of his past.

  "Like the Twilight soundtrack," I agreed.

  I saw in his face that he suddenly took a warp-speed trip somewhere and left me in his dusty wake here in the lounge. "Conall?"

  "Huh?"

  "Where did you go?"

  He smiled embarrassedly. "Sorry... I'll let it go, Leora. Except for one thing... There's just one more thing I need to take care of in this area. I can't let this one go."

  I stared at him. Af
ter an awkward moment it became obvious he wasn't going to tell me what it was. "When will you let me in on it? You can't keep shutting me out anymore, Conall."

  "And I don't want to shut you out. Call it old skeletons. If I could, I'd tell you, Leora. Hopefully it will be over soon, then you'll know it."

  I frowned. "I don't like it."

  "Neither do I." Then again, more quietly this time, "Neither do I."

  I lay on his knees, stretching out on the red leather couch. My eyes closed, occasionally opening to see the flames of the fireplace still burning, sending me into another world, a world without light, without earth or the Atlantic, without the great gulf between two countries that are brothers but which are also not. I thought of a pond, a man, a tattoo, a death...

  -3-

  I dreamed. And in my dream I was in water. Black water where things or fish swam against my toes and then through my legs, against my butt, my crotch...

  "Who—who are you!?" I demanded in my dream. Demanded of the water itself because the water was alive, breathing, pulsing. Its cover was as the cover of a lung, hissing and calling and—

  The fish or thing under the water stroked my leg again. It felt like cold fingers, bony and moist. Calloused. The water itself throbbed once and whispered my name. Called me down below and so I went into it and swam down, down, down into the dark depths and looked at its blackness.

  Then I saw the man.

  "Hey, baby, what joo doin here?"

  Raphael Varela sat on a throne, Kayla bent over his knees, her white bottom bared up to the world. He held a scepter in his hand. A scepter that became a whip, and he lashed her. He hit her and cut her beautiful bum until it was red with streaks of flailed skin and all the while he smiled. Smiled with gleaming white teeth and said, "Hey, my little chiquita, want some E? Do joo? Jour friend here"—he whipped her again and she gasped—"she liked the E. She liked it so much that she fucked me for it!"

  His smile disappeared and he bared his fangs, deadly and bloody, and he threw her body on the ground and kicked her once in the ribs. Blood trickled down her lips. She stretched out her arm to me and I tried to run to her but I couldn't. I was stuck. I tried to scream, tried with all my will but no sound came out!

  I thought of her dying, of what life would be like without her. There would be no life. None at all.

  Raphael approached. Donned in a regal red and purple robe. He sauntered over toward me, gold scepter flashing, changing into a whip, then a scepter, a whip.

  He cracked it once so that it stung my nose and a fire flared on my face where the whip had been. My hand went to it. He laughed. Laughed so that it echoed in this room whose walls I could not see. When the echoes returned they were not his voice. They were the voices of children, bullies on a playground. And they were hitting another child, a smaller one, a little girl, with a stick, so that her screams also echoed back and entered my mind like the discordant clash of instruments screeching in my ear.

  The little girl screamed as the other children beat her.

  And yet, I still couldn't see them, could only hear their voices, their echoes.

  Raphael's continuing laughter swirled around me like a thick blanket, thundering and penetrating. It hit me in the ears and sank to my stomach, laughed inside me. Laughed so much in me that my body trembled and quaked.

  And in my mind I was thinking, I know gravity magic. Come to me you fucking bastard!

  And he came to me. He flung himself and I readied myself to attack and called upon the magic—

  I called upon—

  Oh, fuck. It's not magic. It has another name. Oh, no, I forgot it! "Conall, help!"

  I felt the cut against my ass, hot and thin, and heard the crack of his whip. I was on his knees now. How did I get here? His hand wrapped around my naked butt. No, please no...

  "Joo want some E, baby?"

  No, I don't. This is a mistake. No! I don't want any E!

  No words escaped me. I thought the words but nothing was said. And then I felt it. Razor-sharp. A slash against my ass again and the crack of a whip, hot as magma, searing and burning.

  In my thoughts I'm screaming, howling over the mountains and through the trees.

  But no one hears me in this room.

  Kayla's body is below me, her eyes hollow, her skin livid. She has a fixed look on her face. She doesn't seem to be breathing. Or is she?

  I think I see blood on her chest. I think I see—

  "Joo want some E, baby?"

  Crack!

  No! No! I don't want— I don't want—

  -4-

  "I don't—" Gasp!

  I quickly looked around the room. Where was I? What—?

  Monsters and figures of Raphael jumped at me from the shadows of the chalet bedroom cupboards for a second or two until I put the side-lamp on. How had I gotten here? Did Conall carry me? I fumbled on my left, felt a body. Panicked. Realized it was Conall. Was it? I moved the sheets. Yes, yes, Conall.

  I breathed, touched him again. Inhaled slowly. Swallowed hard. Kissed him once on the head.

  The dream had been so vivid and real that I knew I'd fall straight back into it if I closed my eyes again, even with the lights on. I got up, went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face, looked at those light-brown almost-nineteen-year-old eyes of mine in the mirror that appeared, tonight, like they belonged to someone who was ninety, someone who'd lived all they could and lost all they had.

  I rubbed a hand through my hair, splashed some more water on my face, then on my shoulders, my neck. Sighed. I looked behind me, using the mirror, the way someone does when they're still not entirely certain it had all been a dream, saw Conall's body. His chest heaved peacefully under the comforter.

  My Conall.

  I tried to understand why he meant so much to me, realizing as well that I meant as much to him. The thought made me smile briefly. Because it was magical, inexplicable. I'm sure some scientist some day might break it down into hormones and synapsing synapses or whatever. But what difference does it make? Despite all the discoveries they've made about semen linking with ovaries to make a baby and blah blah blah yawn— Does it change the splendor of a new-born child?

  Something had clicked between us—hormonally, physically, emotionally. Whatever. Who gave a shit what it was. It meant something to me and that's what was important. And we needed each other, needed each other fully

  What I would major in next year at college had little meaning left to me. It didn't matter. I knew my life would be lived with Conall, whatever I chose to do. And I knew that it would be lived in England. And if he moved elsewhere, it would be lived there.

  A flash of light reflected in the mirror and made my heart pause briefly. I gasped, saw that it was nothing.

  Back in the room I grabbed the paperback I'd been reading before the trip, snuggled into bed. I read until the sun rose. Finally I fell asleep.

  Thankfully, I was too tired by that time to dream again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  -1-

  On the last day of our stay in Switzerland we partied like animals and drank like mermaids. In the end, Kayla and I cried more than Natalie Portman when she won Best Actress for Black Swan. Alexandra was really staying behind.

  "I don't know how long it will be," she said, her voice barely audible above the Chillout din. We hugged and swayed and cried and drank and, well, cried some more. Alex looked happy. And me? I was going back...to the city. Back to noise and smog and fear and claustrophobia. I still hadn't spoken to Conall about us living together. What our plan was. I loved him, but he knew as well as I that I needed to get back to work. Back to proving to myself that I could survive without him.

  And what of next year, when I had to go to college? The University of England was two hours from where he lived now. I didn't expect him to move over to West Sussex because of it. And the time in between? Would I just move in with him? I practically had already. Maybe I could find a job in London. That way I could be with him. But was
I really ready to move in with someone, officially?

  With Conall, yes. Maybe I was. And yet, inside me, something burned with fear because of it. I had no explanation for it. The best I could figure it out was that I still wanted to prove to myself that I could make it on my own. The six months he and I had been apart had almost destroyed me. Now we were closer. And I knew that, if we had a choice, nothing would get in our way. But all the things that had gotten in our way so far had not been by our choice. They'd been external forces, people meddling, things out of our control.

  I was more afraid than ever of losing him. Conall had come to be my entire world. And life without him would end my own life. Of that I was absolutely and unconditionally certain.

  His comments of 'just one more thing to take care of' also had not helped.

  The thought of being away from him actually hurt. It felt like someone decking me in my stomach and then driving through all the way up into my lungs.

  I think that's part of why I drank so much that night. I couldn't face returning. I couldn't face the sky falling down which is exactly what it was doing. The time away had been great. I realized again that Dr. Gehrig had been right. And I completely and utterly comprehended why Alex was staying here.

  Because it felt safe.

  I didn't feel safe going back.

  And yet I had to go back. Because life goes on. And I needed to face it.

  -2-

  All I remember is waking up the next morning feeling like my Krav Maga Martial Arts lessons had started early or that I'd been slammed ten times over the head with a hockey stick. I took two painkillers (Conall was pissed about that) and slept on the plane.

  When we landed, my throat caught.

  "You OK?" asked Conall as we stepped off the plane at Gatwick. Smog crawled down my throat like needles embedded in glue.

  I tried to swallow, tried to answer. All I managed was a firm nod of the head. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and headed me over to the concourse.

  There were too many people, too many stores, too many sounds. It felt like Grand Central multiplied by ten with every person in it buzzing from too much Red Bull.