Somewhere Bound

by Fiona Keane

  “It’s just two blocks from here,” I said, holding her shoulders from behind while we walked back into the dining room.

  Toby smiled from his laptop while Matilda sipped from a small espresso mug, her pinky eloquently pointing out while she sipped. Together, this pair reminded me of Thomas and Elizabeth, had Thomas owned a soul and Elizabeth had the courage to call him out for being a soulless prick. Isn’t it a little late for espresso?

  “I’m going to take Sophia to the hotel and come back,” I informed them.

  Matilda swallowed, placing her mug on the table and stepping toward us. She gestured wildly, her long black hair flowing with her movements.

  “Absolutely, Jameson. Please. Take all the time you need. I guess, well, we don’t really have time while you’re still Burke and Reid though…”

  I felt Soph stiffen under my arm, her body rigidly shivering against me. While I spoke to Matilda and Toby, my hold tightened against Soph, hoping to reassure and calm her. I have to remember this is new to her. She has always, only ever been Sophia Reid. She’s going to grieve and I’ll be there for her, guiding her just as I wish I had been.

  “Then I’ll be quick.” I nodded, adjusting the strap across my chest. “Soph?”

  “Okay.” Her hushed voice was barely audible, but then she looked up to Matilda and Toby, glancing back and forth between them. “Thank you.”

  Toby nodded, his lips meeting in a thin line. Matilda squeezed her hand around his shoulder while smiling at Soph in such a gentle, affectionate, and understanding way that it reminded me of the way Soph’s aunt would look at her.

  With Soph by my side, our stolen one hundred thousand dollars, and whatever else she had spraining my back with its weight in my bag, we padded across the apartment. I slowly turned the knob once we were in the hall, wanting to remain as quiet as possible. Soph was slowly rocking while she stood before me in the hall. I lifted my hands to her shoulders, steadying her posture, and watched her eyes. The bright blue was softened, grayed by the limbo in which we were floating.

  “The hotel is supposed to be really nice,” I whispered to her. “…Soph?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m terrified too.” Her eyes finally caught mine. “Giving up the physical or intangible ideas of what you’ve known for your entire life is an enormous adjustment. But all the good, the happy times, the memories of your mom and Oregon, the memories of us…that’s always going to be in your heart, no matter what name you have or where you live.”

  “I’d really like to say goodbye to her. Before we go to Canada. Can you do that for me?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll find a way to make it happen.” I kissed her forehead, my lips aware of her relaxed energy.

  Soph took my hand, urging me to leave the building before we scaled the flights of stairs to the busy streets of downtown Memphis. The sidewalk had a fresh covering of raindrops, which I knew the instant we stepped outside would bring a much-needed smile to Soph’s delicate lips. Peering down at her, my heart was validated.

  “I didn’t even hear the rain start,” she exclaimed, a newfound eagerness in her tired voice.

  “They probably have their walls soundproofed. I know Thomas had that done at our house. Their house. Whatever.” My head shook. “The hotel’s just two blocks from here. That big brick building up ahead. See it?”

  I watched her spin around to take in the enormous structure in the distance, beckoning the heaps of wealth from Memphis.

  “It’s probably a fortune.” Her eyes widened. “We can’t stay there.”

  “We are. It’s just tonight. Don’t worry about it.” My head shook. I didn’t want to argue about the cost of the hotel. I only wanted to get Soph inside so she could sleep in an actual bed—a clean bed that hadn’t risked being the scene of a murder or porno.

  Her heavy sigh vibrated through my ribs as she nestled against my side while we walked. At least we’re moving; she can’t be that against the hotel if she’s following me.

  “I love the rain,” she mumbled. “You’ll probably hate Oregon.”

  “You lived there your entire life, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then I owe it an enormous thank you for raising you and helping shape you. Don’t I?” She looked up at me, her nose scrunching while she smiled at me, her head shaking with amusement.

  “You don’t have to woo me, Jameson.” She blushed. “I’m already at your side.”

  My lips met her hair, quickly reminding Soph of my affection toward her.

  “Soph, I like the rain as much as the next guy. I grew up in Chicago. Remember? I’m not a Florida boy. The beach was nice and all, but the sand in strange places, debilitating sunburn, and the risk of waking with a gator in my shower were getting old. Oregon will just be one stop on our journey to Canada and…” I shrugged, “…I’m really excited to see that piece of you. I was only in Seattle once and I was like…eight. I haven’t been to the coast.” Her heart rate perked; I could feel the pulsating vibration through our skin.

  “If you love me, you’ll love it up there.”

  “Then I guess I have no choice.” I smiled down at her, in awe of the brief moment of peace.

  It was easy to forget everything spinning around us—the trauma in our lives, the haunting reminders of what we left behind in Florida, and the fear of what was to come. With Soph in my arms, the planet could spin and I would be none the wiser. She was my world, spinning, beautiful, and mine.

  The pungent odor of slick oil and street mixed with rain was a surprisingly hypnotic aroma. Living in Bradenton, everything was always washed away by the warm Gulf breeze.

  “Yikes,” Soph groaned. “This place is enormous.”

  I glanced down at her, releasing my hold of her graceful body. I studied the delicate way with which Soph’s eyes met mine—challenging and inviting, all while still worried and haunted. Sophia Reid. The mystery, the puzzle, the one with a story of which I had no comprehension or ability to fathom. The sweet, innocent, beautiful girl who trapped me, pulling me against all I had practiced and contrived, just to be loved and to love me. And within the next half hour, Sophia Reid will no longer exist.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sophia

  I had been walking in the dark hotel room for fifteen minutes, pacing back and forth along the window that flickered with flashing lights from the city below. Matilda’s phone was burning into my hand, the metal and plastic practically melting beneath my vexed grasp.

  My mouth had gone dry, speech a foreign concept to my tongue and throat. The only feeling swirling beneath my skin was a lonely pain of guilt. With my lips pierced between my teeth, I somehow found the courage to dial Jules’s phone. Still unable to speak, I sat on the floor beneath the window while it rang…and rang…

  “Hello?” Her voice sounded frazzled, as though this was a call she had unknowingly anticipated.

  My lips opened, but nothing slipped from them. Thoughts vacated my mind and I choked. She repeated her greeting three more times before any sound could leave my throat. It was a gasp…a croak…barely even noise…and I hung up. Staring at the silent object in my hands, I screamed at it, pouring my heart into all the words I wanted to tell her in that call. The call I was too cowardly to complete.

  “C’est moi! Je doi m’en aller. Je dois partir. Je suis sauf. Jameson est avec moi.” The only thing computing between my tied tongue and empty mind was French. “Merci…pour tout…je…je t’aime, Jules…”

  But…my heart.

  Had I called Jules and told her goodbye and given her the hope that I was actually somewhere outside of Florida, she and Simon might come looking for me. I wasn’t as naïve as the outside world thought. One tragically wonderful characteristic of being so introverted was my overthinking—and before the third ring, I knew exactly how the future would unfold.

  If I told Jules I was alive, somewhere, she would want to find me. The cruelest thing I could do for her would be to give her hope. Hope. Hope was something
I had to steal from Jules, the peculiar motivation my soul required to complete this journey. I couldn’t give her hope. I owed her some semblance of peace, if that was at all possible. She needed to grieve me, just like I had to grieve for me.

  I was dying. Right now, Jameson Burke was literally killing Sophia Reid. I hoped he gave me a quick, peaceful release. Anything to comfort Jules.

  The phone tumbled from my hands as the thoughts swirled throughout my mind. Dying. Dead. Gone. All my life had been erased. My birthday. College applications. How I learned French. Sophia Reid’s future. Everything.

  The tightening of my throat was unbearably strong; my lungs were collapsing within my ribs, strangling my heart as I fell to the mattress. My mind screamed at me repeatedly, attempting to reassure me that this, that Jameson, was what I wanted. He was what I needed. There was no going back, ever. My palms unconsciously wove their way around my throat, fanning fingers along my skin, trying to ground me and pull me out of the overwhelming waves of fear.

  When my mind finally snapped itself from its state of limbo, having floated somewhere between nightmare and Memphis, I was drenched in sweat. My body was drowning in itself, working through an attack while my mind zoned in another universe. I don’t know how long I had been staring at the ceiling, admiring the bumps of plaster and clean white crown molding. Limbs were frozen, but heart and lungs functioned. Right now, that is all I can ask for.

  The door clicked open, alerting my thumping heart. I waited, bound in the fluffy down comforter and crisp sheets, my eyes frantically searching the shadow of the foyer. His shoes kicked off, lightly hitting the wall, and something fell against the table just inside the room.

  “It’s done,” Jameson said, observing me in the bed. “No more Reid.”

  “No more Burke.”

  “No.”

  He stood in the entrance of the room, his body and mind probably transfixed on the enormity of what he had just done. Jameson erased us, further separating himself from Gabriel. We stared at each other, our eyes burning, fuming with emotion that neither could speak. I could feel the panic beginning to swell in my chest, but I had to shut it down. I needed to set it aside and be strong for both of us. Swallowing the ball of nerves that bounced in my throat, I began lifting the covers from around me and swinging my legs off the side of the mattress.

  “Sophia.” Jameson stormed toward me, slamming my back against the mattress without warning.

  He was trembling. His body was grieving, coping, and desperate for comfort. When his head lifted, pressing our foreheads together, I held my hands around his face. The glow of gold was there; I could see it, faintly, sparkling beyond the damage in his eyes. It was promise. It was hope.

  “We’ll be okay, Jameson,” I whispered, watching his eyes flicker back and forth between my own. “That’s our only option. We’re going to—”

  “I’m going to kiss you, Soph.”

  “Okay.”

  And with one touch, one gentle brush of his lips against mine, the lost, frightened girl was given a eulogy. With Jameson’s desperate longing, the greedy pressure against me, I felt Sophia Reid pass, carrying all the pain, all the loss, all of it, away with her.

  His kiss was not the gentle, delicate exchange of emotion as all had been before we died. It was new. It was a release; a passionate, promising embrace that burned my skin and moaned with liberation. It was like falling asleep after a long day. It was the first sunlight after a long, dark winter. This kiss was the beginning and end of everything. And, oh, did my heart scream for it.

  “I love you, Soph,” Jameson whispered, resting his forehead against mine while his panting breath collected. “You amaze me.”

  “Thank you.” I blushed at the words coming from his beautiful mouth. “I love you too.”

  My eyes closed, reveling in the feeling of his hands knotting through my hair while his lips pressed forward to kiss me again, reminding me of the dreams we had yet to fathom. My lids lifted, slowly absorbing the burning hazel against my face. I was weightless, floating in his arms and wrapped in the serene comfort of Jameson until the silent hum of the room phone broke his gaze.

  “Who knows we’re here?” I whispered, studying his face, hoping to read his nervous expression.

  “Just Toby and Matilda,” he replied, reluctantly unwinding his hands from around my curves and setting me against the mattress.

  My breath held as he reached over me to answer the phone. Suffocating for a split second under his body was an ideal way to go.

  “Hello?” I listened to his curt conversation. “Yeah…no way. He’d never have a chance. Yeah. Are you kidding?”

  I sat up, sensing the tone in Jameson’s voice change. My worries were validated when I observed he was now standing next to the bed, his right arm lifting to rub the mess of hair on his head, his eyes narrowed into the window.

  “Shit. How long do you think we have?”

  “What…?” I mouthed from the mattress, pulling on the hem of his shirt.

  Jameson didn’t respond to me with words, but his hand fell from his head and wrapped around my wrist, holding it against his stomach.

  “Dammit,” he growled, slamming the phone down and looking at me. “Soph. We have to leave.”

  “What?”

  “My car. My damn car, Soph. How could I be so stupid? Here I am, trying to think of every way we can get the hell out of Florida, when…when…”

  “What is happening, Jameson?”

  My gaze was frozen as he frantically scrambled around the room, collecting our shoes, the paperwork he had from our death, and his school bag. Jameson slung the bag across his chest, his head shaking remorsefully, while he approached me with extended arms. I took his hands and let him quickly pull me from the mattress. My body is so tired. I don’t think I can move.

  “I can’t believe I was so stupid, Soph. The car. My car. Someone put a tracker on it. We have to go.”

  “Who? Do you think Thomas would do that?”

  Jameson paused, his eyes squinting at me as though that was a preposterous suggestion. “No, Sophia.”

  Adding the final two syllables of my name meant this was a situation way beyond passive care. If it wasn’t Thomas, which I had assumed based on his profession…he may have done with all his cars…that left one other option.

  “Simon’s following us,” I breathed, my words trembling with my shaking heart.

  “We need to leave.”

  Jameson held my wrist as though I was a rebellious toddler, dragging me from the hotel and out to the curb, where he frantically waved for a taxi with his free hand.

  “Jameson, let go of me,” I pleaded. “I’m right here.”

  His face snapped down at me, void of color along his beautiful complexion.

  “Jameson,” I repeated, watching the soft caramel pink return to his cheeks while his pupils slowly shrunk.

  “I am so sorry, Soph.” He looked at his hold around my wrist and wiggled his hand down to my fingers, where he quickly intertwined them. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Did I hurt you? We just had to get out of there.”

  “I understand.” I rubbed my wrist. “No. You didn’t hurt me.”

  He didn’t acknowledge me, quickly opening the cab door and ushering me inside. My tired body shuffled in against the vinyl backseat, followed by Jameson at my side.

  “Airport.” He nodded to the driver and turned to me. “Is your wrist okay?”

  “Yes,” I sighed. “We’re just going to leave your car here?”

  “Have to.”

  “But…in the movies, they’d take it somewhere else…somewhere not near where we actually were,” I whispered to him. His face was expressionless.

  “I don’t care.” He shrugged. “My priority is getting us out of Memphis. Toby might move it. Simon might find it. Who knows, Soph? Let me focus on getting you and I out of here and we can…”

  “Would you just stop? Please,” I groaned, placing my hands around his cheeks. “Look at me. Tak
e one breath. Just one. There. That’s better. Now, look at me, Jameson.”

  “Looking.” His sheepish smile was rewarding.

  “I am terrified,” I whispered, studying his face. “But I am too tired to even feel right now. When we get to that airport, can I take a nap?”

  “You can sleep against me during the entire flight to Portland.” A soft grin spread along his lips, one that reminded me of the first smile I ever saw on that beautiful face. Portland. Portland?

  ***

  We barely said anything to each other when we first arrived at the airport. I knew not to think too much of it, considering Jameson’s hands were reassuringly locked to me in some fashion for the entire ride there. We had circled the inventory of airline kiosks, trying to find the earliest flight to Portland and my feet were aching, my mind exhausted, but I was weightless at Jameson’s side.

  It didn’t feel right to stop once we found an airline that could take us further from the menacing trauma that haunted our shadow. The notion of waiting left me feeling desperate, defensive. I was squirming in his arms when Jameson and I approached the ticket counter.

  “Soph,” he mumbled, kissing the top of my head, “have a seat over there.”

  “And leave you?”

  “I’ll handle this.” His lips spread into a faint smile, a miserable attempt to comfort me while he guided my shoulders to the vacant luggage scale next to our ticket counter.

  The metal scale was cold beneath me, and becoming slippery with my sweating palms while I impatiently waited. Jameson’s left foot squeezed between my shoes while I sat there, anchoring himself to me as he purchased our tickets to Portland.

  I watched him pull an envelope and some money from our bag, but couldn’t manage to move my head or loosen the lost stare of my eyes. I was desperate to ask, but before my mind and voice could connect, Jameson was once more tugging on my hands and pulling me closer to the security check point.

  ***