Line in the Shadow

by Clancy Nacht

  Ike inhaled deeply and nodded to himself. “I want to hear it, Rex. I want to know what happened with her and with you. Am I in danger?”

  “No,” Rex answered immediately. It boded well he didn’t have to think about it. The rest of his words were chosen more deliberately and delivered with unmistakable melancholy. “Arrests have been made. We apprehended the culprits behind Sylvia’s death and the attempt on your life. They caused many other deaths as well, and worse. If they hadn’t been caught...”

  Ike nodded. If they hadn’t been caught, Ike might still be in danger. He looked out onto the road. “So when you broke it off with me, did you know the threat had to do with Sylvia? Were they trying to kill me over that drive?”

  Rex’s cheeks turned rosy. He looked uncomfortable as he sat staring straight forward when they braked at a red light. “That would’ve been too clever of me. I had a vague understanding it related to Sylvia. All I knew for certain was that they did not want you talking to me. Broekner was clearly sent to seduce you for the information.”

  Rex finally looked at Ike, distinctly embarrassed. “It’s what they thought I was doing. They were certain I knew about Sylvia’s information and was...serving my country bodily.” Rex’s face reddened further, but he looked away, accelerating as the light turned green. “They thought Broekner would do a better job of it than I could and positioned him to pump you for the information it appeared I hadn’t yet acquired.”

  “Pump me for information, so to speak?” Ike tried to laugh, but the whole thing left him boggled. “You said that wasn’t why you were with me and I believed you. I didn’t give you the information until after you broke it off.”

  Ike shifted in his seat. Obviously he didn’t have any more information to give, so perhaps Rex’s presence was good, a sign he’d told the truth.

  Or maybe this was just an obligation, letting Ike know he didn’t need to worry.

  “If I’d known what you needed at the start— I mean, if I’d known that Sylvia’s death was anything other than exhaustion, I would’ve demanded justice for her. I was so naive, though. They told me there were no skid marks because she’d been asleep. They said she would’ve died instantaneously and felt no pain. Wouldn’t someone have looked for cut brake lines? How many people were involved? Were you sent to look into it?”

  “I didn’t know anything about it.” The weary way Rex spoke carried the ring of truth. “I didn’t know Sylvia, didn’t know about her having looked into Broekner and Turner’s team, didn’t know there was anything suspicious going on at all. I was looking for connections in the Middle East, but they were here at home. It was right under our noses, and no one caught it but Sylvia, and they killed her for it before anyone else could know. I’m sure their handler made arrangements for the scene reports; in time, we should uncover all the data we need to punish him the way he deserves. One of our recovered assets will fill in the gaps.”

  Rex turned into a quiet neighborhood and slowed to the crawl suggested by a street sign. Another just beyond it warned of children at play. The beautiful lawns illuminated by the headlights stood empty at this hour, their playing children in bed asleep, like Kaylee would be soon at her friend’s house.

  As if thinking the same thing, Rex asked, “When do you need to be home? If I start this story, it’ll take a while to finish.”

  “She’s staying the night. I wasn’t sure how the night was going to end.” Ike couldn’t meet Rex’s gaze. This was the second time Rex had rescued him from settling for Nate.

  This time, at least, Nate was left in a good place.

  “So, the guys are in custody? Will you need me to testify?”

  Rex’s flush drained away, leaving him pale as he took a left onto a tree-lined street with fewer houses. “I can’t guess what prosecution is planned. It’ll be a closed court situation, to say the least.”

  Rex shifted in his seat, checked his mirrors, and cleared his throat. “I do promise you this, Ike: The men responsible will never walk free.”

  Ike took a deep breath. He’d read about indefinite detention. If ever there was a situation to lock ’em up and throw away the key, it was this one. Even so, he didn’t know what had happened. A trial would’ve helped Ike understand, but it didn’t sound like that was happening. How was Ike supposed to feel about that?

  “So they’ve all been captured? Where does that leave you?”

  “It leaves me right here, with you.” Rex gave Ike a blank look, obviously holding back.

  He pulled into a dark driveway and pressed a button mounted on the dashboard. The garage door raised, Rex drove inside, and the door lowered behind them. Then Rex turned off the car and pulled the key from the ignition.

  It was completely dark for a moment before a faint click and crackle heralded an overheard light illuminating. A second later, Rex opened his door and climbed out before peeking inside the cabin at Ike and gesturing for Ike to come with him.

  Rex seemed changed by the act of climbing out of the car, or perhaps by arriving at this place, whatever it was. There was something playful about his movements as he led Ike to the entrance and entered a code into a keypad by the doorframe. Wherever they were, it was high security, but Rex didn’t seem tense anymore. It was the most relaxed Ike had seen him

  As Rex stepped inside, he looked back at Ike. “I promise this will answer your questions, at least the ones I can answer.”

  Ike followed Rex inside to see that, despite the advanced security, it was indeed a residence. They passed through a shadowy dining nook into what looked like the den. Heavy drapes of dark, striped fabric covered the windows, and the walls were the old-fashioned wood paneling popular in the ‘70s. It smelled musty, as if it wasn’t often occupied. As a remodeling expert, Ike guessed this part of the neighborhood was older than the more built-up section they’d passed through, probably almost as old as Rex was.

  The bookshelves on every wall were stacked with novels, vinyl albums, CDs, VHS tapes, and a complete set of encyclopedias. There were also what appeared to be scrapbooks and photo albums laid out on a coffee table. An ancient leather sofa stood just beyond it, its back draped with what looked like a hand-knitted afghan throw and its corners laden with an eclectic mixture of cushions. There was an armchair as well, and a big old-fashioned corduroy-upholstered recliner with iron-on patches reinforcing the threadbare arms.

  “Have a seat?” Rex suggested, gesturing at the couch.

  Ike obliged. The thrill of learning more about Rex faded before the knowledge that Sylvia’s death wasn’t an accident. Ike didn’t understand what forces within his own government led to that, and he didn’t expect Rex would tell him.

  “Very retro chic. I hope you didn’t bring me here to consult on a remodel.” Ike smiled weakly at his uncomfortable joke. “This your place?”

  The question seemed to sadden Rex. He looked vulnerable as he glanced around the den and then back to Ike. “Yeah. No one’s been here but me, not for years. It’s my bolthole. Thought it’d be easier to... I dunno. I don’t know what I planned. I just wanted to...show you something special enough that you’d forgive me or at least understand the whys or—”

  Rex rubbed his face and smoothed back his hair like he needed something to do with his hands. Then he changed modes. “Would you like something to drink?”

  Ike took Rex’s hand and squeezed it. “Yes, please, and then tell me what I’m forgiving you for, what forgiveness means.”

  Rex clung to Ike’s hand for a moment, not meeting Ike’s questioning gaze. Then he let go and disappeared through the dark dining nook back in the direction of what Ike supposed was the kitchen. A fridge creaked, and then cabinet doors rattled, opening and shutting.

  Without Rex standing there to keep Ike’s attention, he looked around at the scrapbooks and albums on the table in front of him, the shelves loaded with Rex’s possessions. It was so different from the anonymous hotel room they’d always met in. There the only personal possessions Rex had were his wardro
be and work materials.

  The closest album read “Memories” on the cover, and when Ike flipped it open, there was an 8” x 10” photograph tucked loosely inside of a young Rex in jogging shorts and running shirt standing with his bare arms around the shoulders of two other college-aged kids. Rex looked so different in some ways—no gray hair, no lines on his face, in the kind of shape one expected of Olympians—but that sadness was still in his eyes. Even in the faded photo he radiated a sort of longing that created more questions than it answered.

  Turning the pages, Ike saw more photos of Rex, all seeming to be from a training camp. There were no names, no identifying landmarks or features. Maybe it was from when he was recruited to the CIA. Before Ike could pry any further, Rex cleared his throat and Ike glanced up to see him standing in the doorway of the den.

  Ike’s instinct was to slam the album shut and pretend he wasn’t doing anything, but it was far too late to feign innocence. His cheeks were warm. “You don’t really strike me as the scrapbooking type. I take it these were from days before your personal life was a matter of national security?”

  Rex moved toward Ike, then hesitated like he was uncertain whether to take the armchair or the spot beside Ike on the couch. Then he handed Ike a glass of what looked like cold beer and sat next to him, though a respectable amount of space remained between their bodies. Rex sipped his beer and placed it on an old cork coaster on the coffee table. Then he pulled a photo album from near the bottom of the pile and spread it open across his thighs.

  “My personal life is my own. I give enough to my country that if I want to keep some memories for myself, I won’t let them stop me. And if anyone ever breaks in here, well...they’ll have earned the details they uncover.” Rex opened the second album to reveal a wedding portrait. The woman was beautiful, and James Bond wished he looked as good as young Rex. The tuxedo he wore in the picture wasn’t much different from the one he wore tonight.

  “That’s Heather,” Rex said without preamble. She was obviously pregnant and gazing up at Rex like he was some god. Rex was staring at the camera with a determined look.

  He flipped the page to show a photograph of a newborn in pink fuzzy hat and mittens, purple-white arms and legs sticking out at angles from a flower-printed onesie. Rex’s fingertip traced the side of the baby’s cheek tenderly through the protective plastic. His voice sounded thick as he said, “Piper.”

  Then Rex flipped quickly through the pages, giving Ike the impression of years passing, trips to Disneyland, birthday parties, school portraits with braces, then without. Piper was a beautiful little girl, but she looked nothing like Rex.

  Halfway through the album, the pictures stopped. Sandwiched between the first set of empty pages was what appeared to be a divorce decree. Rex shut the album and put it back on the table. Then he picked up one of the scrapbooks.

  “Childhood. My mom made it. I did the albums, but the scrapbooks were all her.” There was an odd note in his voice. Rex reached for his beer, drained half of it, and put it aside before going on. He flipped open the scrapbook and Ike realized he was looking at pictures of the house they sat in back when it was new.

  It was hard to imagine that the woman who’d looked at Rex that way no longer loved him. Apparently, it wasn’t much easier for Rex to accept, but last they’d spoken, Rex’s ex was firmly in the past. Ike hadn’t seen him in a while, but if Rex wasn’t spending New Year’s with his family, not much could have changed.

  Ike set his hand on Rex’s back and traced circles. “So, has your mother passed?”

  “When I was a kid.” Rex put aside one scrapbook and picked up another. Inside it was photos of a miniature Rex in his school portraits, holding up trophies of different kinds, smiling in a bright, hopeful way Ike had never seen Rex smile. Rex flipped through what looked like freshman year of high school. An endless series of straight-A report cards were given special treatment with stickers and big cursive handwriting proclaiming Rex’s specialness in glowing terms. There was even a photograph of Rex getting ready for a school dance. He was well-dressed for the era, and his date in the photo looked like she was probably a cheerleader when she wasn’t wearing a party dress and draping herself across Rex.

  Then, just like with Rex’s album of Heather and Piper, the pages went blank. Rex flipped another page and a loose newspaper cutting came into view. It was an obituary remarking on the passing of both Rex’s parents.

  “They were good parents, but they didn’t plan ahead, exactly. No next of kin could take me in. Ended up in the care of the state, in a home.” Rex’s mouth twitched, but his voice sounded calm, distant, like it was nothing to talk of being orphaned and unwanted. He looked sidelong at Ike, eyes as serious as Ike had ever seen them. “I tested into a special program. CIA wanted to see what I could become, if I was cultivated. This is all I’ve done my whole life, Ike. I know you don’t approve, but—”

  Rex cut himself off, brows drawing inward in frustration and fists balling atop the pages. “None of this is something I share. People would pity me. I don’t want that. But I want you to understand. And if you choose to forgive me for...making the choice for you about the end of what we had before, then maybe we can talk about what outcome you’d have preferred. Sometimes I forget that outside the Company, choice is not the sole prerogative of the party with higher clearance. Sometimes I forget that what’s wisest or most practical isn’t always what’s best, in human terms.”

  Ike wanted to wrap his arms around Rex and take away the pain, but that was exactly the reaction Rex didn’t want. Instead, Ike nodded and squeezed Rex’s shoulder. “Rex, it isn’t for me to approve or disapprove of you or your life choices. I’m not really concerned about what you do, other than the toll it takes on you.”

  What did all this mean? The possibilities dizzied Ike. Rex was opening up, asking what Ike would’ve preferred. What else was on the line? Ike had already provided all the intel he had, and it didn’t sound like Rex needed him to testify.

  “I don’t know what outcome I’m hoping for. What I’m allowed to hope for. I missed you so much, I can admit that. I hadn’t really had much hope of having someone. I gave up on that when I took on Kaylee as my own.

  “Being with you…I thought maybe I could have something more than the occasional hook up. Whatever it was for you, for me what we had was real.” Ike stared at Rex intently, voice shaky with emotion. “I want something real. I can’t go back to being just a nooner you can cut loose. I kidded myself that it was more to you, and that’s not your fault. I did that. It’s just not something I can go back to.”

  “It was more to me!”

  Hearing Rex raise his voice for the first time startled Ike. He chewed his lip, noticing Rex’s red cheeks, his wide, incredulous eyes.

  More quietly, Rex went on, “Everything I just said, all of it, you being here...” Then he trailed off, seeming at a loss.

  He shoved the scrapbook off his thighs and onto the coffee table with an angry gesture. His shoulders swelled with a deep breath Ike could see but not hear. It was as though Rex’s outburst had drained the sound from the world.

  Then Rex sighed and looked at Ike. “I fell for you, you idiot. I was like a kid with a crush. I saw you singing, and I wanted you like I’ve never wanted anyone. I felt possessed, like I would give anything if you’d just...”

  Misery warped Rex’s features, forming his lips into a grimace. It was horrifying and fascinating to see such unmistakable expressions on Rex’s face; his training had always seemed to prevent such openness.

  Whatever happened later, in this moment, Rex held nothing back.

  “I’d never let a man fuck me before that. Not ever. I thought about it, wondered if it would be... I don’t know. Expedient sometimes. But that wasn’t— It felt wrong to do something like that for those reasons. But when I came to you that night after the show, it was all I could think of, how perfect that might be.” Though Rex’s expression no longer looked miserable, his eyes were dewy wit
h unshed tears.

  Rex continued, voice growing more urgent by the moment. “I could have gotten into so much trouble, Ike. It wasn’t that I had reckless sex in a loo; plenty of spies have done that. It was that I kept going back. I couldn’t stay away. I wasn’t getting information. I didn’t know you had information. I just wanted you inside me so badly it was like an addiction. But it was to you. It had to be you. It wasn’t about the sex.

  “I’m not as attractive as I once was, but I’m pretty sure I could still talk someone else into using me for a while, if I just wanted to get off. And I thought that was what it was to you: just getting off with no strings attached. I thought it was a thrill for you to make James Bond your bitch, so you were willing to fuck me sometimes even if you could do better. You’re still young and so fucking handsome and very talented, and I’m this paranoid, middle-aged, pill-popping whacko with an extremely unpleasant and inconvenient job, and no personal life.”

  Ike flinched and looked down at the floor. “I don’t think that’s a fair assessment of who you are, and I don’t think you really believe it. Maybe it’s my fault that I didn’t make you feel how much you meant to me. I was doing my best.”

  Folding his arms over his chest, Ike looked up into Rex’s eyes. “I didn’t know where I stood. It wasn’t some James Bond kink. I’m sorry I ever brought that up. It was just the only way I could latch on to any clue of what you were doing. I’m not smart; I guess that was easy enough for you to see. I didn’t go to college. I barely finished high school. For all my writing and feeling and pontificating, I’ve never been in love before. I was in so far over my head with you, and all I could think was that I didn’t want to make the wrong move and ruin it.”

  Ike shook his head and looked away, examining the grain on the wood paneling. “‘Handsome.’ ‘Crush.’ You seem to think I could get anyone I want, and maybe you were mentally preparing yourself that I would. Or maybe you were just using it as an excuse not to see that I wasn’t. I didn’t. Broekner was most guys’ wet dream, and all I wanted when he was talking to me was to be with you. I would’ve dropped him as a client just because you asked, Rex, not because he was a danger to me, but because I was so fucking in love with you. I did everything you asked. I tried to make you feel everything you made me feel when we made love, and you pushed me away. You cut me loose, and I still can’t make myself feel anything for anyone else because no matter what they do, no one compares to you.”