by John Rector
“There’s a lot behind what you saw,” I said. “Things haven’t been easy between us for a long time.”
“She was really angry.”
“That’s my fault,” I said. “It was stupid of me to go over there. I should’ve listened to you.”
“At least you see it now.”
I laughed, but when I looked over at Abby, her eyes were closed and her face was blank. I watched the shadows from the streetlights pass over her, dark then light then dark again, before turning back and looking out at the road ahead.
We drove the rest of the way in silence.
17
I pulled up to my apartment and parked along the street out front. Abby and I went through the double doors and into the lobby. She stopped next to the elevators and looked around at the plastic plants and the thin, cushioned couch and chair along the far wall.
I pushed the call button and waited.
“This is a nice place,” she said. “You made it sound like some kind of rooming house.”
“It’s cheap.”
Abby shrugged. “I’ve lived in worse.”
Something about the way she said it made me feel bad for complaining, and I let the subject drop.
The elevator doors opened and we stepped inside. I pushed the button for the third floor, then leaned against the wall as the doors slid shut.
“Does that hurt?” Abby touched the bridge of her nose with her finger. “It doesn’t look so good.”
I reached up and felt the sides of my nose. It was swollen, but there was no pain, so I didn’t think it was broken.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Not the first time.”
“Not the first time you’ve been hit in the face?”
“I used to get into fights as a kid.” I tilted my head down and pointed out a few old scars. “That’s why I’m so pretty.”
Abby leaned in for a closer look, then touched one of the scars under my eye with her thumb. Her skin felt warm and soft against mine, and I held my breath.
“There’s nothing wrong with the way you look.”
I laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
I shook my head, didn’t answer.
She started to push, but then the elevator doors opened and I stepped out, ending the conversation.
“Come on,” I said. “I’m at the far end.”
Abby followed me down the hall to my apartment. I unlocked the door and held it open for her. She walked in and looked around.
“This is cute.” She turned to face me. “I can’t believe you don’t like it.”
Before I could say anything, she crossed the room toward the windows along the far wall.
“Oh my God, look at your view.”
I took off my coat and draped it over the arm of the couch, then walked up and stood next to her and looked out over the city skyline and the shadowed stretch of mountains along the horizon.
“It’s so pretty,” she said.
“You should see the sunsets.”
Abby stood at the window, the reflection of the city in her eyes. “I’d live here just for this view.”
“One good thing doesn’t outweigh the bad,” I said. “I like it here, but it’s not home.”
Abby turned to me. “Where’s home?”
I shrugged, didn’t answer.
“With your wife?”
“At one time,” I said. “Now I’m not so sure.”
Abby stared at me, and for a moment I thought she was going to say more, but she just looked away.
“That’s a bigger story,” I said.
“I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”
She was right, but at that moment I didn’t care.
I motioned to the kitchen. “Do you want a drink?”
She shrugged. “Why not?”
I walked into the kitchen and took two glasses from the cabinet, along with a half-empty bottle of Macallan. I carried everything back to the living room.
Abby was still at the window.
I set the glasses on the coffee table, then reached for my coat. I picked it up off the couch and felt the weight of the manila envelope in my pocket. I took it out, unfolded it, and then set it on the coffee table next to my glass.
My head was beginning to ache, low and dull. I closed my eyes and touched the bridge of my nose.
“Are you okay?”
When I opened my eyes, Abby was coming around the coffee table. She sat at the other end of the couch, one leg folded under her.
I told her I was fine, then reached for the bottle, pulled the cap, and poured.
“You don’t look fine.”
“It’s been a bad day.”
Abby made a dismissive noise. “Tell me about it.”
I smiled, held up my drink. “To better ones.”
She touched her glass to mine and we drank.
For a while we were both quiet. I leaned back on the couch and thought about Kara. For the first time I let myself consider the idea of leaving without her. I wanted to believe that there was still a chance we could start over, but the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I was kidding myself.
I turned to Abby. She was staring out at nothing and absently running her thumb along the side of her glass.
I finished my drink, then poured another.
“Tell me about yourself,” I said. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Abby looked up and smiled. “Really?”
“Sorry.” I cringed. “I’m not very good at small talk.”
Abby laughed. “No, no boyfriend.”
“Good for you. Men are a mess.”
“People are a mess.” She finished her drink, held the glass out. “Every last one of them.”
I frowned, then took the bottle and refilled her glass. “You’re too young to be that cynical.”
“Age doesn’t matter,” she said. “Once you’ve seen how the machine works, you can’t unsee it.”
“And you’ve seen how the machine works?”
I was smiling when I said it, but when Abby looked up at me, something cold passed behind her eyes, and I stopped.
Abby must’ve noticed, because she laughed and took a drink, and whatever I’d seen in her eyes disappeared behind the sound.
“I’ve got a question for you,” she said. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want.”
“One more drink and I’ll probably tell you anything.”
“Is that right?” She reached for the bottle and topped off my drink. “In that case, tell me what happened between you and your wife.”
“Wow.”
Abby smiled.
I sat there for a minute, thinking, not saying a word. Then I took a drink and eased back against the cushions.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I said. “I’ll answer your question if you answer one of mine.”
“What’s your question?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ll have to think of one.”
Abby stared at me, shrugged. “Sure, why not? But you first. Why did you two split up?”
“You really want to hear about that?”
“We did just make a deal, didn’t we?”
“I guess we did.”
I thought about my answer. I didn’t mind telling her about Kara and me, but my head felt light and warm from the scotch, and it took a minute to get started.
“Poker.”
A line formed between her eyebrows. “Cards?”
“I lost a lot of money, all of it Kara’s.”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand dollars,” I said. “Not huge, but not nothing, either. It was our entire savings. Definitely more than I could replace working as a desk writer for the Tribune.”
“And that’s why she
left you?”
“It wasn’t the first time I’d screwed up,” I said. “I’d had bad beats before. This time she’d had enough.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Everyone has their breaking point, and that was hers.” I lifted my hands and looked around my apartment. “Now I’m here.”
“Now we’re here.” Abby smiled at me, bit her lower lip. “It’s funny how things work out, don’t you think?”
I felt a twinge, and I tried to ignore it.
“Okay,” I said. “Your turn.”
She sat up. “I’m ready.”
“Tell me about you,” I said. “Where did you grow up?”
“All over,” she said. “My mother kept us moving, the South mostly, then the West Coast. We spent a year in Alaska. That was my favorite.”
“You liked the cold?”
“I liked the solitude,” she said. “The fewer people around, the better things usually are.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I looked down at my glass and the light reflecting gold off the amber.
“How did your mother die?”
I felt Abby stiffen across from me, and I immediately regretted the question.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“You said one question.”
“You’re right, I did.”
Abby didn’t say anything else, and I finished my drink, cursing myself under my breath for being me.
“We should get some sleep, anyway.” I set my empty glass on the coffee table and pointed to a door by the kitchen. “There’s the bathroom. I’ll get you a pillow.”
“Thanks.”
I grabbed the manila envelope off the table, then got up and went into my bedroom. The scotch was spinning through me, and I stood for a moment, letting the room settle. Once it did I walked around my bed and opened the drawer on the bedside table. I slipped the manila envelope inside, then crossed the room to the closet. I took two blankets and an extra pillow off the top shelf, then went back into the living room and set them on the couch.
I could hear water running in the bathroom.
“It can get cold in here,” I said. “So I brought you an extra blanket. If you need more, just knock.”
I turned toward the bathroom.
The door was open and Abby was inside, standing with her back to me. Her shirt was off, and she was staring at herself in the mirror, examining her left breast. The skin around her nipple was torn and bruised black.
I stood there, watching.
Abby noticed, and she looked up at me in the mirror.
For a moment neither of us moved. I knew I should say something or at least be a gentleman and look away, but I couldn’t do either.
Abby turned and faced me.
She didn’t speak, and she didn’t try to cover herself. Instead, she stared at me, half smiling, then reached out slowly and closed the door.
I stood there for a while longer before walking back to my bedroom with my heart pounding hard in my chest.
It was a long time before I slept.
18
In the dream I’m drowning.
Spinning in black water.
Choking.
I fight and open my eyes. I’m in bed, and my room is filled with swirling gray shadows. I hear rain falling outside, and several dim flashes of lightning spark behind the curtains.
I focus on the sound of the rain and try to force myself to wake up, but the harder I try, the deeper I go.
Drowning forever.
And I’m not alone.
Someone is standing in the doorway—a figure, clean and dark, silhouetted against the gray.
A pulse of fear starts in the center of my chest and builds, spreading through me like a fire. I try to sit up, try to say something, but my throat closes over the words and nothing comes out.
The figure in the doorway doesn’t move.
I close my eyes.
Wake up!
I hear movement, a series of rapid clicks, like claws scuttling across hardwood, and I open my eyes.
The figure is gone.
At first I don’t see it. Then I do, crouched at the foot of my bed, a shadow among shadows.
The panic burns through me.
Wake up! Wake up! Wake—
I watch as the figure slides along the floor, inching closer, and then rises up until it’s leaning over me. I can feel its breath on my skin, wet and rank. Then I see its face, worn features carved into cold flesh, dark-socketed eyes the color of bad dreams.
I can’t look away.
And it watches me as I scream.
I sat up, my heart racing, the dream still fresh.
I put a hand to my chest and looked around the room, trying to steady myself. I was in my bed, and the sunlight shone warm through a break in the curtains.
I was alone.
I sat there for a while, waiting for the dream to fade. Then I got up, put on my clothes, and walked out into the living room.
The sun was bright, and the air smelled like bacon and fresh coffee. Abby was in the kitchen, singing along to the radio. The blankets she’d used the night before were folded and stacked on the couch, along with her jeans and shoes.
I walked around to the kitchen. Abby was holding a spatula and dancing along to the oldies station—LaVern Baker singing “Bumble Bee.” She was wearing her pink T-shirt from the night before, and the bottom barely touched the tops of her thighs.
When she saw me, she jumped, laughed.
“You scared me.”
“What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast.” Abby turned back to the stove and the bacon popping in the skillet. “It’s about ready. Are you hungry?”
I didn’t answer her right away. All I could do was stand there and watch. Part of me thought I should ask her to get dressed, but it was a small part and easy to ignore.
“I could eat.”
“Great.” Abby reached over and shut off the radio. “I hope you don’t mind, but I woke up in the best mood, and when I’m in a good mood, I want to cook.”
“I’m surprised you found anything to make.”
“You had more than you think,” she said, flipping the bacon in the skillet. “It won’t be the best meal you’ll ever eat, but that’s okay.”
Abby’s voice was bright, and I stood there, watching her as she moved through my kitchen.
“Why are you in such a good mood?”
“Because I figured it out.” She turned and faced me, leaning her hip against the counter. “I know what we’re going to do. I have the answer.”
I didn’t say anything.
Abby smiled. “You didn’t forget, did you?”
“I didn’t forget, but—”
“I fell asleep last night with nothing, and when I woke up this morning it was all there—all of it.” She turned back to the stove. “I figured out how you can talk to Patricia without raising suspicions.”
I kept quiet.
The last thing I was going to do was stick around and be a pawn for Victor. I might be in deep, but that didn’t mean I had to go deeper.
I started to tell this to Abby, but she stopped me and motioned to the cabinet.
“Can you grab a couple plates?”
I opened the cabinet and took down two plates. Abby spread the cooked bacon out over a fold of paper towels, then went to the refrigerator and found a half-empty carton of eggs.
“Coffee’s ready if you want to—”
“Listen,” I said. “We should talk.”
Abby looked up at me, and I saw a shade of worry in her eyes, but it didn’t last. “We will. Just let me finish this first.”
I wanted to insist, but it’d been a while since I’d eaten, and the smell of bacon was making it hard to concentrate on anything
else. I gave in and took two coffee cups from the cabinet and set them on the table. When I stepped back, I noticed my phone on the counter, and I picked it up.
There was a message from Charlie.
“Shit.”
“Something wrong?”
“No.” I slid the phone into my pocket. “I told someone I’d call, and I forgot.”
“You’ve got a few minutes before breakfast is ready.”
“This’ll take longer than a few minutes,” I said. “I’ll call him later.”
Abby cracked a few eggs into the skillet and splashed the tops with grease until they turned white. Then she set them on the plates and added the bacon.
“I didn’t find any bread, so no toast.” She put the skillet in the sink and picked up the plates and handed one to me. “This’ll have to do.”
It looked great, and I told her so.
She smiled, and we sat at the table.
Abby took a small bite of the bacon, then leaned back in her chair and said, “Do you want to hear it?”
“Hear what?”
“My plan,” she said. “With Patricia.”
“About that.” I took a bite, then another, chewing as I spoke. “Like I told you last night, as soon as I talk to Kara I’m leaving, one way or the other.”
“I know,” she said. “But just hear me out. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before, but Daniel came home from the hospital last week.”
“I thought he . . .”
“He wanted to go home. I don’t blame him. Nobody wants to die in a hospital.” Abby picked up her fork, then set it down again. “I haven’t gone to see him yet.”
I thought I knew where she was going, but I waited for her to say it. I didn’t wait long.
“You can come with me,” she said. “Patricia will be there. She has no idea who you really are or that we—”
“No.”
Abby stared at me. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not going to help those people,” I said. “That’s insane.”
“But . . .” Abby stumbled over her words. “You have to.”
I shook my head, then scraped the last of the eggs onto my fork and took a bite. “I don’t think I do.”
“But, Nick—”
“We don’t even know what they’re after.” I dropped my fork on the plate and leaned forward. “They could be trying to get launch codes or instructions on how to build a dirty bomb for all we know.”
