by Tia Louise
“And… it’s not a problem to bring my sister?”
“Of course not! I could never ask you to leave her behind.”
A flicker of relief moves through my heart. Gratitude is an emotion I can use to fight the pain. I focus on that and take his arm. “I’ve never traveled—”
“And you need a suitcase.”
“How did you know?”
He grins and touches my nose. “I guessed.”
He pulls out a thick leather wallet and hands me several hundred-dollar bills. My breath catches at the sight of them.
“Buy whatever you need. And don’t come back with anything left, so if you see a dress or two or a little treat, anything else you like…”
I step forward into his arms and hug him tightly. He chuckles and hugs me back. “You make me very happy, mon chou. I hope I do the same?”
His eyebrows arch as I look up at his face. “Thank you, Freddie.”
He leans forward and touches my lips with his, then pulls me into another hug. “God, I’m so happy to see you again. It felt like I was gone an eternity.”
He releases me. “Get some rest now, and I’ll pick you up around lunchtime, yes? What’s your address?”
“Here. I’ll be here saying goodbye.”
“Of course,” he smiles. “And I’ll be counting the minutes.”
Then with one last kiss, he bids me adieu.
The door closes, and I collapse into my chair. I lean forward on my dressing table as tears fill my eyes.
“Oh, Mark,” I whisper, eyes closed. “Mark…”
I ache for him, but I have to follow Roland’s instructions. I have to hold that pain away for a little while longer, until we’re safe. I lift my head slowly and stand, but in that moment I hear a voice in the passage.
“Just a quick visit.” It’s Guy, and panic grips me.
I break out in a cold sweat and quickly search for anything I can use as a weapon. My lamp? No. A shoe? No.
My door is still unlocked. I dash across the small room, but it’s too late. He shoves it open and knocks me back with it, standing tall in the doorway.
“There you are.” His gleaming eyes scan my body. “None the worse for wear, it seems, and I trust you’ve been dreaming of me?”
I’m screaming, scrambling to crawl away, but he lunges forward and grabs my arm, jerking me to my feet.
“Come now, let’s have a little kiss. We can catch up right here.”
He slides his hand inside my dressing gown, down below my waist, and presses the pad of his finger against places that haven’t healed.
My knees buckle, and I scream.
But just then I hear a hollow thump. Guy’s grip goes slack, and his expression changes. His eyes roll, and as I step aside, he drops like a stone onto my dressing room floor.
Roland steps over his body and tosses a wooden stage pin onto my bed.
“I saw him in the hall and got here as quick as I could.” He closes the door. “Change. Fast.”
My dressing gown slides to the floor, and Roland goes to my closet. I hear him quickly sliding hangers aside as he pulls my clothes out of the closet.
“You shouldn’t stay here tonight.”
I step into my jeans, my entire body shaking as I stare at my attacker lying powerless on the floor. The pressure of his fingers still echoes on my skin, on my hips. I look at the hand nearest me, at the golden pinky ring.
He strangled me with that hand. Images of the panic I felt flash through my brain. Images of the men beating Mark. I remember the noises of pain, the way Mark’s body slumped, but they never stopped beating him even after he was...
Tears flood my eyes, and I step over his leg and pick up the wooden stage pin from my bed. It’s the size of a baseball bat. I hold it a moment, testing its weight as I stare at Guy’s unconscious body.
It isn’t enough just to knock him out.
“You can leave this.” Roland’s back is to me. “Grab a bag. We haven’t a moment to lose.”
Just then Guy’s head moves. He makes a sound, and faster than I can think, I raise the pin over my head and slam it down as hard as I can on his skull. A dent appears in the side of his temple. It’s strangely satisfying, so I raise it again and slam it down, then I do it again harder.
My eyes are hot and damp, and a strange roaring fills my ears. I can barely breathe, but I keep slamming the pin into his skull. The dents turn into holes, and the holes turn into sticky red-brown mush. Particles fly up and stick to my face, and I keep slamming.
I hit him for raping Molly.
I hit him for raping me.
I hit him for hurting Roland.
I hit him for the men who viciously beat Mark.
I hit him for destroying my love.
I hit him for all the used-up dancer-whores he wanted to see die in the streets.
His head bounces slightly off the floor, so I hit him again for that.
It’s then I realize something is slipping, fumbling to catch my forearms. I hear myself screaming and close my mouth. Bright-red blood covers my arms and hands. It’s rushing out onto my dressing room floor like someone dropped a gallon of milk.
I’ve reduced Guy’s skull to a glittering black hole, and a sick satisfaction fills my stomach. I almost smile.
That’s enough.
He’ll never hurt anyone again.
“Oh, God.” Roland holds the bloody pin. “Oh, God, Lara.”
He steps across the body, drops the weapon, and rips the sheet from my bed, doubling it then folding it again before wrapping it fast around Guy’s head. He wraps it several times, covering the bleeding pulp like a turban then he stands back and stares at it.
“He’s dead.” His hands shake as he wipes them on a towel. “Clean yourself. You’ve got to get out of here.”
For a moment I don’t move. I wait for the fear to come, the guilt.
All I feel is glad.
“Don’t stand there staring, clean up! Get your clothes!”
I pull out a makeup remover wipe and clean my arms. Then I take my black sweater and pull it over my head.
Once I’m dressed, Roland takes my hand and leads me over Guy’s dead body to the doorway.
“The sheet will hold him for now, but you can’t stay here. I’ll make sure Molly stays with Evie then come back and dispose of the body. You’ve got to stay at Mark’s.”
I freeze. “I can’t do that. I can’t go there without him.”
“I don’t have anyone else I trust to keep you, and if I get caught… you can’t be here.”
“I won’t let you take the blame. I’ll stay and help you.”
“If someone calls the police, murder won’t be the only charge brought against us. You’ve got to hide until you leave with Freddie, whether it’s at Mark’s or somewhere else. Now come on.”
We creep into the passage, and Roland pulls out a key, locking my room. A door slams a little further down, and we both jump, setting off in a run. Around two corners and down another narrow passage, and we’re at the opposite door. I stop as he helps me into his overcoat and hat.
“Just go out and stay close,” he says. “I’ll come looking for you as soon as I’ve made sure everyone’s settled.”
I slip out into the cold night and walk west a block, then north. I’m not sure what to do, so I wait, leaning against a wall. My hair is tucked inside the coat, making it difficult to tell if I’m a man or a woman.
In the darkness, my whole body shakes. I’m not sure what I feel, other than numb. I think of Guy lying dead on the floor, and I’m not sorry.
A car passes slowly, and I duck my head. Then a couple walks past, but they’re too involved in their conversation to notice me. I’m beginning to worry when I hear my name being shouted in a whisper and I run toward a dark figure in an overcoat.
“It worked,” Roland says when I reach him. “He’s secure in your room for now, and everyone thinks you’re in there asleep. They won’t disturb him.”
The h
orror of it all has me strangely giddy, but Roland takes my hand and pulls it into the crook of his arm. “Don’t be afraid now,” he says. “I’ll take care of it. Come on.”
We set off at a brisk pace away from the theater. We take the few blocks north to Bourbon and then over to the Marigny.
My heart clenches.
Unbearable pain twists in my stomach the closer we get to his door.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper. “I can’t be there without him.”
Roland stops and faces me, studying my face. He turns on his heel and we start off in a different direction. We go two more blocks north and then another block east. We walk up to a narrow house, and I realize he’s taking out a key. One half of this small place is his.
We step inside, and I’m in a living room. Just past it is another room, I assume the bedroom. Finally, in the back is the kitchen with a small bathroom off to the side.
“I’ve always wondered where you live,” I whisper, stepping slowly on the wide plank floors.
It’s clearly an ancient structure, but the inside is restored and well-decorated with traditional New Orleans trappings. Fleur de Lises and slate tiles, vintage wood and leather. He drops onto the couch shaking his head. Then he almost laughs.
“You did it. That bastard thought he could get away with it, but you did what I could never do. I actually feel like celebrating.”
I sit on the floor in front of his large coffee table. “It’s wicked to feel that way… isn’t it?” My stomach is so tight.
He shakes his head. “Perhaps. But you can’t say you wish he was still alive.”
I’m quiet several minutes, thinking. I remember my arms acting on their own, almost instinctively. I killed him the same way I’d slam my shoe against a palmetto bug. Repeatedly.
“I’m glad he’s dead,” I whisper. “But what now?”
Roland exhales and takes my hand in his. I study his face, which has become serious.
The muscle in his jaw twitches, and at last he speaks. “Now we continue like nothing happened. You leave with Freddie and stay in France. It’s the only place you’ll be safe until we’re sure no one knows what happened.”
I pull my hand back. “I’m afraid.”
“Of what? Staying in France or being caught?”
“All of it. That I did it. That it makes me happy, and that I have to run. That I’m a murderer, and I don’t care.”
“You’re a survivor. You did what you had to do to protect yourself and the ones you love from a monster. A predator.”
Tears fill my eyes. “I want it all to go away. I want none of this to have ever happened to me.”
“But it did happen. You have to face it, accept it for what it is, and then put it behind you. It’s a part of you now.”
My insides recoil at the thought. “I don’t want this to be a part of me.”
“Too late. It happened and there it is. If you pretend it didn’t, it wins.”
I don’t answer. I cross my arms over my middle, and turn away. “It’s too much.”
He slides off the couch to sit beside me on the floor and pull me to him. “It’s safe to admit that. But you will get past this.”
I shake my head. “I won’t. I’m not as strong as you.”
Instantly he releases me and laughs. “What? You’re strong enough to kill a man. You’re dangerously strong.” He slides a curl off my cheek. “Stop being afraid. Own your bravery.”
“I’m afraid of it,” I whisper.
“Oh, Lara,” he breathes. “Look at all the things you’ve survived. And you’re alive.”
“And this is what I have to live with.”
He slides his hand down the back of my head, holding the side of my cheek. “It’s going to work out. It simply has to. We won’t let the bad guys win.”
I lean into him, and he holds me for a bit in silence as I think about him and what I know of his past. He was abused like me, but unlike me, he isn’t trapped. With his talent, he could go anywhere, do anything.
“Why did you stay in New Orleans?”
He doesn’t answer, instead he glances at me with warmth in his eyes, sadness, too. My stomach tightens as I realize what he’d never said, the things he’d never spoken, but he’d demonstrated in so many other ways.
“You stayed for me.”
He shrugs and tries to swagger. “Well, not entirely for you. I also had this fabulous offer to be the musical director at a… somewhat decent burlesque show in town.”
“Somewhat decent,” I repeat.
“You have to admit, darling, between your voice and my songs we really took the old girl over the top. Take tonight, for example. You were phenomenal.”
“You didn’t trust Gavin. You stayed to make sure I was safe.”
Roland sighs and pats my hand. “Your mother got me out of more trouble.” His voice becomes tender. “She saved me.”
I study his handsome face. I don’t remember my mother. “I can’t leave you like this. I can’t put you at such risk.”
“I have always been at risk. At least now it’ll be easier. I won’t have to be constantly watching your back, too.”
He tries to act cavalier, but I’m not convinced.
“There’s nowhere else for you to go,” I whisper, and for a moment he doesn’t answer.
But with a wave of his hand, it’s gone. “Now that sounds very dire indeed.” His smile returns along with his playful arrogance. “I prefer to look at it as ‘limited mobility.’”
I shake my head and look down. He puts an arm around my shoulders. “It’s hard for you to see things clearly right now, but it’ll pass.”
“I don’t know what you want me to see.”
“That I love this city. I love to make music. And dance.” He waves his hands and rotates his slim hips. “I’ll handle this, and I’ll be fine. Don’t you trust me?”
I close my eyes, leaning my forehead against his cheek. “I do.”
“I’m more worried about the show now,” he says. “You’re my muse, you know.”
The thought of saying goodbye to him overwhelms me. My first love who has always made me smile. My gallant music man who taught me to survive.
“Oh, Roland, I wish I could be more like you.”
“Darling, I wouldn’t change a thing about you.” He leans forward and kisses my nose. “Now come. Time for you to sleep.”
24
“Hope is like a bird that senses the dawn and carefully starts to sing in the darkness…”
Lara
Dancers and crew members are stirring and arriving as we sneak in through the back door the next morning.
Roland leads me down the dark passage to my room, looking around before pulling me inside. We dash into the narrow space, and I’m amazed. It looks exactly the same as it did before. No signs of blood, no signs of any disturbance.
“What did you do?” I ask.
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “There’s no place to bury a body around here, and it was too far to drag him to the river by myself.”
“So?”
“I did the next best thing. I scrubbed everything clean and put him in his bed. Once you’re away, I’ll tell Gavin, and we’ll have someone come and dispose of the body.”
I swallow the knot in my throat. “Will Gavin go along with that? It’s his brother. I can’t believe he’d just… do nothing.”
“What can he do? For all we know, someone sneaked in and attacked him. Plenty of people hated Guy, and Gavin won’t risk a police investigation here. Too much is at stake.”
Then he gives me a reassuring smile. “Try not to worry. It’s almost over. You’re almost free.”
I hug myself. “I wish I could believe that.”
“Freddie will be here soon to take you away. Then you’ll be safe.”
“But what about passports?”
“I’ve already told you. I’m on it. Now pack.”
I follow him to the door. He slips through it, and I slide the bolt be
hind him. That ache is back between my shoulder blades as I walk to my bed stacked with the clothes we pulled from the closet. I look down at the floor that was once covered in blood. Now it’s spotless. No trace of my crime here.
Dropping into the chair before my mirror, I lay my head on my hands. I changed everything last night when I raised that pin. I inhale a shaky breath and look at myself. The haunted look is back, but Roland is right. I have to prepare us to leave.
Freddie gave me money to buy a suitcase. I tucked it in an envelope and left it for Roland. Now I go to my closet and run my hand down the jeans and old shirts I’ve worn for years. His sister will see right away that we have nothing, but I hope she’ll chalk it up to my commitment to fame, my limited time.
A tap on the door causes me to jump. I step to it and listen, although I have no reason to be afraid. Am I expecting ghosts?
“It’s me,” a small voice says.
I quickly pull Molly inside and hug her to me. “Were you okay last night?”
She nods stepping out of my arms. “Evie gave me this suitcase for our things. Armand picked it out.”
“That’s lucky.” I take the large case. “It’s plenty for our shabby wardrobe.”
Molly frowns. “When do we leave?”
I glance at the clock and see it’s after ten. “Not long now. Freddie said he’d be here at noon.”
She nods, but her movements are as robotic as I imagine mine are. It’s going to take a while for us to heal. Hopefully we can find a way to pick up the pieces in Paris.
I put my arm around her shoulders. “We’re almost there,” I say, giving her a squeeze. “Just a few more hours.”
Our suitcase is packed and everything collected. I take one last look around my small room, and then drop to my knees. Spreading the drapes on my dressing table, I pull out the basket hidden there. From under the discarded stockings, scrap material, and ribbons, I take Freddie’s barrette, the remaining money from the purchase of Molly’s shoes, and the diamond bracelet.
The golden locket is in a silk pouch, and the last two items are my mother’s pen and the tiny perfume bottle. I hold them in my hand a moment before turning to tuck them into my suitcase.
“Here,” I say, holding the diamond bracelet together around my wrist. “Help me.”
