by C. E. Murphy
“You’re welcome. Dafydd, I came here to tell you I’m all right and that I’ll get you out of here. They can’t keep you here for kidnapping if the victim shows up and says she wasn’t kidnapped.” Determination turned Lara’s voice to steel.
“Can they not?”
“They won’t,” she said flatly.
Something curious came into Dafydd’s expression and Lara glanced away, discomfited. The strength in her words was unfamiliar to her; she was accustomed to being quiet, unnoticed, and gentle in her interactions. She had thrown some of that away simply by entering the Barrow-lands, and had been obliged, once there, to push herself far beyond where her confidence might usually have lain. She knew it, but Dafydd’s recognition of her changes said they ran both deeper and more clearly than she’d imagined possible in such a short period of time. But it was necessary, if she was to succeed in getting Dafydd out of prison, much less face the questions the Barrow-lands offered. “I don’t know how long this will take. Not too long, I promise.”
Dafydd smiled. “Promises spoken by a truthseeker are not to be taken lightly.”
“They’re not given lightly, either.” Lara couldn’t remember the last time she’d made a flat promise; absolutes were too difficult to deal in. “Dafydd, I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. I need to find a lawyer for you, for me maybe, in order to make this work.”
“It’s all right. I’ve endured these long months here. Another few nights won’t harm me.”
“They’d better not,” Lara muttered. “I don’t want to explain to your father how I lost you to the American prison system.”
“I can hardly imagine how he would react to that,” Dafydd said drolly, then, more softly, “I’m glad you’re well, Lara. I was worried.”
Lara smiled and pressed her hand against the glass. “Me, too.” She thumped the glass, then stood abruptly. “We have so much to talk about and none of it can be done here. I’m going to go before I get indiscreet. Dafydd, I—” Audacity took her breath and left her wondering at the intensity of emotion she’d been about to voice. “I’ll get you out of here,” she whispered instead. “As soon as I can.”
He nodded, and she left with her final image of his amber eyes in a grateful face.
It was late enough when she returned to the city that it made a viable excuse to return home, pretending the day was over. The temptation to do so was great enough to keep Lara idling at a traffic light, distant with thought as the light turned to green.
An impatient beep behind her jolted her into action, knocking the turn signal on and making a decision for her. She made the turn and entered an underground parking lot that others were deserting as the hour ticked past five. It was only a few minutes’ walk to Lord Matthew’s, and Lara rang the entrance bell stiffly, wondering if Steve still worked long hours that would make him late for dinner.
Cynthia’s voice came through the intercom system, polite and more mature than Lara remembered: “One moment, please, and I’ll escort you in.”
Lara took a breath to offer her name and a protest that she didn’t need an escort, and let it go again in silence. The radio or one of the ubiquitous twenty-four-hour news stations might have announced her return by now, but Cynthia was unlikely to have heard either between school and work.
The door opened, and Lara felt her expression go slack-jawed. The high school senior she’d known was nearly nineteen now, probably in college, and had left the last vestiges of childhood behind sometime in the past year and a half. Instead, a poised young woman in a high-fashion shirt and skirt, beautifully made but catching the edge of exuberant youth, stood before her with her eyes going increasingly round.
Then Cynthia blurted, “Oh my God, it was you, I’m so sorry,” and fell on Lara in a teary hug. Lara caught her, almost laughing with relief and not especially caring that they were making a scene on Lord Matthew’s doorstep. It took several sniffling moments before Cynthia pulled her inside and demanded, “What happened?” in such a high-pitched voice that Lara thought perhaps the high school senior hadn’t been left so far behind, after all.
“I can’t talk about it,” she answered softly. “I will if I ever can, Cyn, but right now I just can’t. I’m okay, though. I’m all right, and I’m so sorry I disappeared like that. I didn’t know it was going to happen.”
“Well of course, nobody knows they’re going to disappear. I’m just so glad you came back and you’re okay and oh my God, Lara! Dad! Dad! Daddy!”
Lara winced. “If he’s with a client—”
“He isn’t, he’s just going deaf. Daddy! Lara’s back!”
For a man purported to be going deaf, Steve Taylor appeared with remarkable alacrity at Cynthia’s last shout. He looked older, too, Lara thought: more gray at the temples of his curling hair, and circles under brown eyes. He stared at Lara a moment, then, much like his daughter had, swept her into a hug. “Thank God. Are you all right?”
“I am.”
“Okay.” Steve set her back, hands on her shoulders, and looked her up and down as if making sure she was telling the truth, then nodded. “Okay. That’s all that matters. That’s all that matters.”
“Steve, I hate to do this, I can’t explain where I’ve been—”
“It doesn’t matter.” There was so much passion in his voice that Lara faltered, overwhelmed by the music of his conviction. She’d known he cared about her, but hearing the depths of his relief told her that Steve Taylor was, in truth, the closest thing to a father she’d had. Suddenly teary-eyed, she stepped forward to hug him again, and his reassurances were murmured over her head: “You’re alive, you’re safe, you’re home. I mean it, Lara, that’s all that matters. We’ve missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” The answer came automatically, not even a lie, though all the missing she’d done had been crammed into the twenty-four hours since she’d learned she had been gone for well over a year. She wiped her eyes surreptitiously, stepping back to look up at him. “Steve, I need a lawyer. Dafydd—David, David Kirwen, he didn’t kidnap me, he didn’t hurt me, nothing like that happened. I need to get him out of jail, and you’re the only person I know who even has a lawyer. I’m sorry to ask, especially like this, but—”
“Lara.” He squeezed her shoulders and spoke more gently. “Listen to me. I don’t care if you took a vacation to the moon. You’re home, and nothing else is important. If you need a lawyer, then I can help you. There is no ‘especially like this’ for you to apologize about.”
“I care if she took a vacation to the moon,” Cynthia said abruptly, though not seriously. Steve stepped back, taking his cell phone out, and spoke beneath Cynthia as she continued, “I want pictures, at least, and I want to go with her next time because one-sixth gravity would be awesome.”
Lara giggled, aware it was a surprisingly pathetic sound. “I didn’t go to the moon. Sorry. No Earth-rise photos from me. I didn’t even have a camera.”
“I’d say bring one next time but I don’t want you to disappear again ever.”
“I’d rather not myself,” Lara admitted, and Steve closed his phone with a snap.
“My lawyer’s on her way. Welcome home, Lara. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Twenty-Two
Law and Order, Lara was convinced, had an uncanny ability to zip back and forth through time: all the cases took place simultaneously, rather than one at a time as they were portrayed. There was no other explanation as to how the legal proceedings shown could take place with such apparent rapidity. Steve’s lawyer, a handsome, no-nonsense woman named Marjorie Oritz, had seen a ray of hope in Dafydd’s case because he hadn’t actually been put on trial and convicted yet. Otherwise, despite Lara’s reappearance, it could be months, even years before he might be released. Like Detective Washington, though, her mouth had drawn thin and tight at Lara’s refusal to explain her whereabouts. She had left the office with a grim, but not hopeful, promise to see what could be done, and Lara had retreated to Kelly’s apartment feeling defea
ted.
“You’re going to have to stick to your guns,” Kelly said helplessly. “I’m a much better liar than you are and even I can’t think of a story that would stand up to investigation. Unless you want to say you were kidnapped by the government and held at Guantánamo for the last year and a half. You could be a terrorist.”
“Armed with a needle and a box of pins?” Lara smiled, surprising herself. “I think the government would deny it, Kelly.”
“Well, that would be the point! It’s not like they’d throw open Gitmo’s doors and invite people to come take a look to prove they hadn’t been holding you. So your best bet is to either accuse the government of something outrageous or keep your mouth shut.”
“I think I’ll keep my mouth shut.” Lara tucked her feet up onto Kelly’s couch and curled her head down against the arm with a sigh. “Marjorie said with a miracle this could take days, but it was likely to take weeks. I don’t want to leave him there that long, Kel. Prison’s not good for him.”
“Prison’s not good for anybody.”
Lara muffled a short laugh in the couch arm. “No, but it’s worse for him. It’s an iron cage and it’s making him sick. So I have to find a way to make this move faster.”
“I take it you won’t be going back to Lord Matthew’s, then.”
Regret made a knot around Lara’s heart. “Not right away. Which might mean never. I don’t know. I have to—” Her stomach rumbled and she put a hand over it. “I have to eat something. I don’t think I even had lunch.”
“Thus reminding me of how you stay slim. Never fear, I anticipated this. Dickon will be here within half an hour, bearing an enormous bag of Mexican food.” Kelly caught her lower lip in her teeth. “Lara, about Dickon …”
“I’ll tell him the truth,” Lara offered quietly. “He’s not going to believe it, but he’s your fiancé, Kel, and he’s been Dafydd’s friend for a long time. He’s going to have to talk to Dafydd to believe it, he’s going to have to see Dafydd to believe it, but it’s not fair to keep him all the way out of the loop.”
“I’ve told him about you and the truth. Maybe he’ll believe you.” Kelly sounded dubious. “But thanks in advance for trying, even if he’ll think you’re insane.”
“I’m willing to be considered insane as long as he brings dinner.” Lara pulled another tiny smile, then glanced around Kelly’s cozy apartment. “Are you sure I’m not in your way here? I don’t know how long this is going to go on.”
“The wedding’s in a month. I can handle having you as a roommate that long, Lar. Then if you want the place, it’s yours. What’re you going to do, if you’re not going back to work?”
“Find Emyr’s worldbreaking weapon.” Lara spread her hands as Kelly’s eyebrows went up. “I’m going to try, anyway. Ioan thought maybe it could be used to put things right in the Barrow-lands, so if I get Dafydd freed and we go back, it might be good to have it.”
“Ioan the kidnapper? That Ioan? And you belie—” Kelly broke off and made a face at the ceiling. “Well, Kelly, it was a hypothesis on his part, and not an outright lie, so of course Lara, who senses the truth, is going to give him the benefit of the doubt.” She reversed her gaze, smiling ruefully at Lara. “Sorry. I kind of forgot who I was talking to there for a minute.”
The door swung open on her last words and Dickon said, “You’re back after a year and a half missing and she’s forgetting who you are already? Lara, you need new friends.” His joviality sounded forced, and Kelly jumped up to get plates from the kitchen as he mustered up an awkward smile for Lara. He’d lost weight since she’d seen him last, though it did little to reduce his imposing size. The worry etched between his eyebrows, though, removed any thought of caution he might have inspired. “Holy crap, I’m glad to see you, Lara. I, um. Can I, like, hug you?”
A trill of strained laughter broke from Lara’s throat. “That would be great. I’m glad to see you, too.”
Dickon crossed the room in two steps and put the sack of food on the coffee table before hauling Lara off the couch into a bear hug. “Man, I knew David couldn’t have hurt you, but holy crap am I glad to see you in one piece.” He put her back down on her feet, expression so tight it looked headache-inducing. “Look, I know I’m supposed to give you time to settle in, Kelly made me promise not to come after you or harass you but what the hell happened, Lara? Where have you been?”
Kelly wailed “Dickon!” from the kitchen. He looked faintly abashed, but not enough for the curiosity in his eyes to fade.
“It’s okay,” Lara said, loudly enough for Kelly to hear, then smiled lopsidedly at Dickon. “Dinner first, and then I’ll explain everything, okay? I’m famished, and it smells fantastic.”
Dickon nodded jerkily. “Yeah, of course, okay. Kelly said you’d forget to eat.”
“She knows me very well.” Lara took the armchair Kelly had abandoned as Kelly came out of the kitchen armed with plates and silverware. Moments later a picnic dinner was spread across the coffee table, all three of them ladening their plates.
“Eat fast,” Dickon suggested. “I got sopapillas but they get tough as they cool.”
“We can soften them up again with honey and ice cream. Except I think I only have chocolate.” Kelly frowned toward the kitchen and Lara made a dismissive noise around her first bite of tamale.
“I’m too hungry to eat slowly anyway. I’m sure I can get to the sopapillas before they’re cold.” For a few minutes they were silent, eating quickly, and Lara finally gave a sigh of contentment as she took a couple of still-warm pastries. “Okay, Dickon. Tell me six things about yourself, and make two of them lies.”
He blinked at her, then took an overly large swallow of soda. “Um. Okay. My name is Dickon Edward Collins, I’m thirty-two, um, I drive a Harley, my mom was born in Scotland, I went to film school in Manchester, that’s where I met David, and I’m nuts about your best friend. How many was that?”
“Seven. And you don’t drive a Harley and your mother wasn’t born in Scotland.” Lara grinned as he straightened and looked suspiciously between her and Kelly.
“Kel could have told you either of those things. And you’ve been in my Bronco, so you knew I didn’t drive a Harley.”
“But I didn’t! And you do have a Yamaha,” Kelly pointed out. “Which I never told her.”
“Try me again,” Lara said. “I know Kelly’s told you about my truthseeking ability. Try something Kelly doesn’t know or wouldn’t have any reason to tell me.”
“I broke both my legs jumping out of a tree when I was seven.”
Mistruth jangled across Lara’s nerves, the same uncomfortable wrongness Dafydd’s Americanized name had produced, though much less intense. “Part of that isn’t true.”
Curiosity turned up the corner of Dickon’s mouth. “I broke both my legs.”
“True.”
“I broke both my legs jumping out of a tree.”
“True. But you weren’t seven.”
He laughed. “I was six. My brother was supposed to catch me. I think he got in more trouble than I did, but I paid for it. I spent the whole summer sweating in a cast. Oh my God, it itched. Okay, how about this: I met the Dalai Lama once.”
Kelly’s jaw dropped. “You did?” Her gaze snapped to Lara, whose eyebrows went up.
“He did.”
Kelly smacked Dickon’s shoulder. “How come you never told me that?”
“It never came up in conversation! I mean, you want to talk about name dropping to impress a girl? I don’t think so. It was at a peace conference in New York a while ago. I was part of a film crew. He was just like people say he is. Serene, happy, compassionate. He was amazing. That was pretty cool. Okay,” he said to Lara. “I still think Kelly could have told you most of that, or you could even have found out about me meeting the Dalai Lama online, but I don’t know why you’d look. So okay, we’ll say I believe you always know when people are telling the truth, and that you don’t lie because it bugs you.”
; “Gee, thanks,” Kelly said sardonically, voicing what Lara would never have said aloud. She laughed, though, and said to Kelly, “This must be why I don’t tell people about the truthseeking.”
Kelly sniffed. “Some of us are clever enough to notice it on our own.”
“Some of you have known Lara for years,” Dickon said. “This is only the fourth time I’ve met her.”
“And you hardly believe me, which I understand. It does mean you’re almost certainly not going to believe where I’ve been, but I think you should be told anyway.”
“I’m all ears.”
Lara felt a pained expression cross her face, and Kelly picked up the laughter Lara’d given in to a moment earlier. “You can’t say things like that around Lara, Dickon. Now she’s imagining you as a great big pair of Dumbo ears.”
“More like hundreds of little pairs of ears, like butterflies, but close enough,” Lara admitted. “Dickon, do you remember asking if Dafydd had asked me to run away with him?”
“Yeaaaah …”
“He actually asked me to go home with him, and I did.” Lara set her untouched sopapillas aside, gathering herself for Dickon’s disbelief. “And as far as I’m concerned, only a day passed. Rachel and Sharon moved last Saturday, in my calendar. I met you and Dafydd a week ago.”
“You went to Wales and think you came back again in a day? What the hell happened, were you in a coma?”
“No.” Lara shrugged, vividly aware there was no way she could couch the truth to make it palatable. “Dafydd’s not Welsh. He’s from a place called Annwn, and to us it’s a fairyland. He took me there, and was thrown back here without me. I had to make my own way back, which we think is why I got thrown out of time.”
Dickon stared at her a long time, expression so smooth it seemed like a falsehood in and of itself. Finally he said, “Kelly, can I talk to you?” and got up, leaving Kelly to look helplessly between him and Lara as he headed for the apartment door. Lara nodded, wincing at the idea she was giving Kelly permission to follow him. But it released Kelly from her place on the couch, and a few seconds later the door closed behind them. Tense, sharp voices came through, though the words were indistinguishable. After less than a minute Lara got up to clear the coffee table and clean the kitchen, glad of any kind of physical activity that would let her escape the semi-audible conversation.
