by Alexa Riley
EVERYTHING LUKE HAS EVER DONE HAS BEEN on a grand scale. The PR for the show is much of the same. Tickets sold out within minutes. It makes me nervous. It makes me content. As content as I can be with a broken heart.
This show is for him.
An entire catalog of our time together.
The songs I wrote from my first moments in captivity to the moments I fell in love with Javi. And then… the songs that express my grief in the only way that I can.
It is a timeline of our entire relationship. A small blip in the enormous number of seconds and hours that have compiled my life. But these seconds and hours I spent with him are the ones that have impacted me most.
The ones that will haunt me for the rest of my days. The ones that I will treasure. There is only one thing I need to complete the story. One more song for the final chapter.
You can’t choose who you love, for better or worse.
But there is one thing that will determine the way that I remember Javi. The thing that will help me to understand him. To have my closure. The thing that will provide me with the lyrics for one last song. And this thing cannot be found at Moldavia.
In fact, there is only one place that it can be found.
And I am not certain that anyone else even knows this place exists. Except for me. Because I am paranoid, like my father. And because I did not trust him after Javi was poisoned. I tracked him up here into this cabin in the middle of the woods.
As I stand here in the clearing, I know that this is where my answers lie.
I have observed my father closely over the years. I have witnessed the fashion in which he sought out devices. The places he would hide things he did not want found.
I am well informed of the precautions he takes and the way he goes about his security measures. And this is how I know that what I’m looking for will not be inside the cabin at all. When I find the loose floorboard on the porch, I know I am right.
I lift it up and reveal the visibly undisturbed earth below. A trick my father once taught me. To everyone else, it looks like nothing. Just dirt. To me, it looks like a tarp below, covering something else. Something more sinister.
I am right.
When I brush my hand over the dirt, there is plastic beneath. I pull it up, only to reveal a shoebox below.
It is not high tech. Anything the agency would have my father keep would not be kept here. This is something he has done on his own. In a hurry. Something he intended to come back to. And I must get to it first, whatever it is.
I don’t look inside. I take the shoebox and replace the tarp, covering it with dirt. Then I leave, checking my mirrors the entire drive back to Moldavia.
My heart is racing, and my palms are sweating, and I am afraid of the answers this box might carry. Something that once opened cannot be undone. But I have come to realize that what Javi said rings true.
Nobody can hurt me anymore. I have a built a fortress around my heart. Whatever this box contains, I can handle it. No matter how sinister. I am ready to know the truth.
I am ready to learn my father’s secrets.
So, when I am secure inside of Moldavia, I open it up. On top, there is a file. An old file, with handwritten notes. It takes me some time to read the messy scrawl. But it is clear from the header that it is a medical record. For Javi’s mother. It speaks of her illness. Her mental decline. The tumor in her brain. An incurable tumor.
Her illness was not random. It was because of the tumor. A tumor that would prove fatal in time, as evidenced by these very notes. What I can’t understand is why my father would keep the file hidden away like this. Why it would matter to him.
There is so much paperwork that most of it seems irrelevant. It is the entire history of her medical records from the time she was first diagnosed to her last appointment.
And then there are transcripts. At first, I think they are part of her records as well. Until I see the dates.They were after her death.
They are transcripts from something else. An interview performed by my father. An interview of Javi. He was only a child at the time. Eleven years old. It was after his mother had died.
I read through the entire transcript. Three times. My father always told me how dangerous Javi was. He told me how he had killed his mother, and what a tragedy it was. But it was never true.
The truth is right here, printed in ink. A truth that I can no longer deny. My father has been lying to me for so long. But even worse, he has been lying to Javi. Javi told him what happened that day. He told him how his mother believed there was a device implanted in her stomach. That she had to retrieve it. How she made Javi watch as she gutted herself like a fish and tried to perform her own surgery. She died of the blood loss, despite Javi’s best efforts to save her.
It is a secret he has lived with his whole life. Allowing everyone around him to believe he was a murderer. That he murdered his own mother in cold blood. And my father has not only condoned the lie, but he has perpetuated it.
He turned Javi into a killer on the basis that he already was one. He inserted him into the operative training program and left him there.
A child.
He was only a child.
And I was wrong before that nothing could hurt me.
Whatever was left of my heart has now disintegrated. It aches in a way that there is no cure for. This is a memory that will haunt me for eternity.
I don’t know how my father can look himself in the mirror every day. But I can’t stop. There is a hunger inside of me to know more. To know everything. So I keep digging. And in the bottom of the box, I find six more tapes. Numbered, just as the ones hidden away in Javi’s wall were.
They are identical to those tapes. In brand and size. It is not a coincidence. It didn’t make sense for Javi to keep those tapes hidden away if they were blank. And it wouldn’t make sense for my father to have the same amount of tapes, with the same numbers.
The only conclusion that I can draw is that my father replaced them with blanks and took the real tapes.
I head to the conservatory and fire up the projector. I start in order, with the first tape. The image flickers to life, and it is Javi. Javi as a child. A child in the operative program. Being tortured. Burned. Beaten. Interrogated. Trained.
I can’t look away from the horrors on the screen. Not this time. I owe him this much. No matter how dreadful it is, I owe it to him to feel his pain. To understand it. Even if it is too late.
My father comes to visit him in the tapes. He sits across from him at a steel table and asks Javi to give him progress reports. Javi refuses to speak to him. Sometimes he is strong. Stubborn. But there are times when he cries. When he pleads with my father to take him home with him as he promised.
My father always says the same thing. Soon. Another lie. One so easily spoken from his lips. It is something I can’t comprehend. I feel as though I am losing my mind. I feel as though I am watching a movie that isn’t real.
I don’t know how this man can be so different from the one who raised me. The only father that I knew. The one who was distant and busy, but always loving. Fiercely protective. They were two different men.
One good.
One evil.
But they both lived in my father’s body. They both inhabited his mind. And they are both responsible for the horrors that were done to Javi. Horrors that I can no longer refute. I have seen the evidence. I have seen all that I need to know.
I watch the tapes on repeat. Until I am consumed with hatred and sadness. With rage and regret. Until there is nothing left for me to do but to put pen to paper and write one more song.
My last song.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I TOSS the girl over my shoulder and drag her through the desert. Within minutes, the compound is in chaos behind us.
This desert landscape is unforgiving, but it is no match for those with a thirst for freedom. And these operatives do thirst for freedom.
Their figures scatter around me in the
distance. I pay them no mind, and they do not bother me either. My only focus is on the horizon, up behind the dune where I know River and Ray will be.
I do not have many bartering chips. At this point, I only have one. Ray is not invested in her life, but I know River will do anything for her. It does not give me much to work with, but she is the only hope I have.
When I reach the top of the dune, I have my freshly acquired weapon at the ready, targeted directly to the back of her skull. But River knows me well.
He has prepared for the occasion. The guards have either been dismissed or disposed of elsewhere, and only Ray lies bloody and helpless at his feet.
River has his own gun trained on Ray’s face, but his eyes are on me.
“Let the girl go, Javi,” he instructs.
“Why should I?” I challenge. “It makes no difference to me whether Ray lives or dies.”
“Oh?” he arches a brow. “And what of your Bella? What would you tell her about daddy dearest? How he died like a dog in the desert after he had finally come home. And would she believe you?”
He knows very well that she wouldn’t. How could she after all that I have done to her? After the lengths I have gone to for my revenge. Bella would not believe that I did not kill her father. And I don’t know that she could ever forgive me for such an offense either.
“You know she wouldn’t,” River answers my unspoken thought. “How could she?”
“I will trade you then,” I tell him. “The girl for Ray. The deal is done. You have no reason to kill him.”
River considers my proposition. Despite his cool demeanor, he is desperate. River does not really know how to handle desperate. His eyes keep darting to the girl, trying to get a look at her face. But he cannot.
Not like this.
She is starting to rouse, and everything is going to go to shit if he does not make a decision soon. She makes a noise in the back of her throat, and River straightens his posture.
“Fine,” he says. “Fine. On the count of three, old friend.”
River counts.
I have always been a man of my word. But he has not. On three, he steps away from Ray. I release the girl and step back. She wakes- bound and startled- and her eyes move straight to River. Recognition flashes followed up with rage.
She struggles against her restraints in an attempt to get to him, and River breathes her name, low and quiet.
It is a secret to him. One that he does not wish to share with the world.
“It has been so long,” he says. “I know you are angry. Confused. But in time, this will change.”
“In time, I will cut your throat,” she snarls.
He looks away from her, unable to bear witness to her wrath. His eyes seek out mine, full of remorse.
“Old friend, I have always cared for you. That was never a lie. You must know this.”
“I can no longer believe anything you say to be true,” I answer.
He nods in understanding. And then he looks at the girl again.
“For you, my love.”
He shoots Ray in the head. Without warning. Without hesitation. I have already raised my gun, but it is too late.
His is aimed straight for my face.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
I AM MAKING a cup of tea when the doorbell rings.
The doorbell never rings. Not here at Moldavia. I retrieve the small pistol that I took from my father’s house and move towards the door.
“Isabella,” a voice speaks from the other side. “It’s me.”
My chest expands with air, and in a moment, I forget that I can no longer trust him. He is not a friend. But it doesn’t matter.
The only thing my mind can comprehend right now is that he is back.
He is the last link to Javi that I have. I keep the gun in my hand and open the door. River stands on the other side, apple in hand. Relaxed as ever. Casual as ever. But there is something very different about him.
His usual smirk is absent, and instead, his eyes are heavy and flat.
“Are you going to invite me in for a cup of tea?” he asks.
“No,” I answer. “But you can come in for the truth if you’d like.”
He gives me a stiff nod and joins me inside. The pistol remains clutched in my hand as he takes a seat at the counter island. I maintain a safe distance from the other side.
He eyes the weapon but does not appear to be bothered by it. I don’t expect him to. Some men hide their evil well. Men like my father. Men like River.
“You betrayed him,” I whisper.
I can’t keep the tears from falling this time. I can’t help getting emotional as I recall the horrifying details of Javi’s childhood.
“How could you?” I snap. “He thought you were his friend.”
River has the decency to look ashamed, and his voice reflects his guilt when he responds.
“I know,” he answers. “It is why I am here now. To make amends.”
“There are no amends,” I say. “It’s done. It’s over. The chance for that has passed. There will never be another one again.”
River does not argue me on this point, but instead goes on to say what he came to.
“I have always loved Javi like a brother. I did not do right by him, and for that I am sorry. It is something I will have to live with. But I had my reasons. And I think he would understand, had he been in the same position.”
“You just left,” I say. “You didn’t come to his funeral. There was a funeral. Did you even know that? I had to bury him, alone. Without anyone in the world who loved him. It’s not fair, River. You should have been there.”
“Isabella, I know you are upset. But the reason I have come to you today is not because of Javi.”
I blink and try to make sense of the gravity in his voice. I don’t know what it could be. What could be so serious that isn’t about Javi?
“It’s your father,” he tells me. “Isabella…”
His voice is broken, soft. And only slightly apologetic now.
“I don’t know how to tell you this. But your father is dead. And I am the one who killed him.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
MY BELLA IS beautiful under the spotlight.
The room is dim. Intimate. The seats are sold out. And it is not like most concerts. There is no screaming. There is no talking. There is complete silence when she takes her place on the bench, and they all hold their breath. Waiting for my angel to sing.
She adjusts the microphone and glances nervously into the crowd before turning away again. She speaks softly at first. Holding a hand over her belly. The place where my child grows inside of her.
“This is a new song,” she says. “It’s called Words Only You Can Hear.”
She looks towards the ceiling and closes her eyes, a solitary tear rolling down her cheek as her fingers begin to roam over the keys.
The music is soft and beautiful, just like Bella. And the words are songs she sang only for me. At Moldavia.
It is the first of many songs. She has been busy in my absence. Busy writing and playing. This show is a time capsule of our journey together, and then hers alone. She sings of her pain those first few months. Her fear.
And then later, her love.
She sings of her anguish when I left her. Of her anger. And then, of her solitude.
The last and final song, she dedicates to her father. But it is not what I expect. It is anguish again. Anguish over his lies, and her questioning who he really was. Torment over the things he did. And I know by the time the music has finished playing that she has learned the truth.
She knows he is dead.
And she knows the parts of me I could never bring myself to tell her about. I don’t know how. But my Bella is smart. She is curious. And in my absence, she has only grown stronger.
The room is still silent. The crowd holds their breath while they wait for her to speak again.
And finally, she rises from the bench. Like a phoenix rising from the
flames. Her head held high. Her grief behind her.
She picks up the microphone one last time before the crowd erupts into applause.
“Thank you.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
SECURITY USHERS me back to the dressing room where Luke greets me at the door.
“Out of the fucking park,” he says. “Baby, you were out of the fucking park.”
“Thank you, Luke.”
“So…”
He lingers in place, blocking my entry.
“So?”
“Let’s talk next show. World tour. Isabella, you have to give them more.”
He’s got dollar signs in his eyes, and I’m already shaking my head.
“I told you the deal, Luke. One show. One time. That’s it. I’m done. I’m out of the game for good.”
His shoulders fall, and he still doesn’t want to accept it.
“Baby doll, c’mon, did you not see that crowd out there? They were wild for you. You have to ride the wave.”
“There is no wave,” I tell him. “This was it, Luke.”
“So that’s it?” he repeats. “You’re just going to give all this up and go back to your hole and be a mom?”
I smile, despite the horrified expression on his face.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “Unbelievable. You’re going to miss it, Isabella. You’re going to want this back. This feeling. But you won’t be able to have it. Not if you wait too long.”
“It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’ll live with it if I do.”
He sighs. Shuffles from side to side.
“Will you call me if you change your mind?”
“You’ll be the first number I dial.”
He moves in for a creepy hug, and I hold my hand out instead. He shakes it, and then reluctantly moves along. I open the door to my room and sit down. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.
That’s when it hits me.
The scent. The unmistakable scent of wild roses. I open my eyes to find the stems laid out on my dressing table.
