by Vivian Wood
14
“Get your bags. We’re moving,” Callum said from the doorway of Vi’s room.
Vi blinked a couple of times, sitting up. They weren’t on any type of regular schedule here at his apartment, so she was on bartender’s hours still.
As in, not awake yet.
Callum left the room, left her to pack and make herself ready. She dressed blearily, putting on jeans and a t-shirt, then lugged her suitcase out to the front.
Callum was waiting with a suitcase of his own and a brooding look.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded, yawning. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere away from the harbor, where it’ll be harder to spot us.”
He led the way out and down the elevator, Vi following tiredly. She saw that yesterday’s sedan was gone, replaced with a sleek white Mercedes. He put both their bags in the trunk, then paused as he closed it, looking around.
The moment stretched, the second turning into a minute.
“What?” asked Vi, surveying the scene.
Callum held up his hand, silent. It was obvious that his hackles were raised, but she had no idea what set them off. It occurred to Vi that Callum was really smart, smarter even than she’d given him credit for.
“Get in the car,” he told her, shaking his head. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”
They both got in and he pulled the car through the garage, onto the streets. She watched him drive, clearly evading detection, though try as she might, she could see no one.
“I don’t think anyone is going to follow us,” she said, gripping the handle by the door as they took a tight right turn.
“They better not.”
He was more relaxed now, as they pulled onto the highway. She eyed him, in his charcoal grey button-down and dark, neatly-fitted slacks.
Modern-day mafia. Maybe it was her sleepy brain, but he looked good in that outfit.
She looked away, out the window before her brain could get her in too much trouble. She watched the world outside slip by instead, noting when they went from highway to a more calm two-lane affair.
“You should memorize this neighborhood,” he said, calling her attention to the small clapboard houses. “This is where we’re going to be staying, so you should be able to look out and tell if it’s normal.”
“I know that,” she said defensively. “I’m street smart.”
Callum looked over at her with a smirk. “Yeah?”
“Uh, yeah,” she shot back. “I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.”
“Mmmhmm,” he said. He looked back at the road, a little smile on his face.
That smile slayed her. She went back to memorizing each house like she was supposed to be doing, but a strange wobbling started in her stomach.
God, did she like him? Oh God, she did…
She was still reeling from her revelation when Callum pulled the car up to a one-story house with peeling blue paint.
“Is this it?” she asked, peering out the car window.
“It isn’t much, but it’ll keep you safe.”
“Us, you mean. It’ll keep us safe,” she said, climbing out of the car.
“Yeah,” he said with a frown. “Declan and Cormac are here, so be ready.”
Be ready? she wondered.
Ushering her to the porch, he produced a set of keys and unlocked the door. She stepped into a quaint but impersonal living room, and the unamused faces of Declan and Cormac.
Well, more Cormac, who was looking at her as though she were some sort of spoiled meat. Declan at least gave her a smile, though she could tell he didn’t mean it.
They both wished her gone, no doubt.
“Hey,” Callum said with a nod.
“Hey,” said Declan. Like Cormac, he seemed to have eyes for nobody but Viola.
It gave her the chills.
“I’m afraid we have something to talk about,” Cormac said, turning to Callum. “Something that can’t wait.”
Callum blew out a breath, then motioned to the outside.
“Go,” he said to the guys. “I’ll meet you outside.”
With another look, Cormac headed outside. Declan followed, giving Vi a polite nod. Callum watched them go, looking at Vi.
“You’re not going to leave, are you?” he asked.
She didn’t answer right away, then shrugged. “I guess not.”
“Don’t even think of stepping outside this house, Viola. Not for a pack of gum, not to see what the neighborhood’s like, none of that. You hear me?”
His accompanying pointed finger soured Vi’s stomach.
She turned on her heel, ignoring the fact that the house was totally unfamiliar, and stalked back to the bedroom. She inspected the bed, the sheets, and found them clean.
Good, cause she needed something to throw herself on and sulk. Head under the pillows, not looking at you kind of sulking.
Vi heard him bring in the suitcases, heard him pause at the doorway…
And then heard his footsteps recede, right before she heard more than one car pull away.
Great. Just great, she thought.
Now she had nothing to do, nowhere to go, no one to do it with.
Rolling over on her back, she sighed. This confinement was proving more restrictive and less useful to her the longer it went on. It seemed like a whole lot of sitting still, something that she didn’t do very well.
The question was, was she going to stay put?
Her mind drifted back to New York, before she left. When she was living with Jason in all but name, and studying constantly, Jason had been… well, bored. He lazed on one couch in the library, while she was buried in schoolwork.
“I don’t understand why you won’t go to dinner with me,” he said. He was all dressed up to go out, suit and everything. His dark hair was slicked back, the usual style now that he’d started working at his dad’s law firm.
Viola sighed and moved the stack of books that were between their faces.
“Because, honey, I have a ton of stuff to do before class tomorrow.”
He pulled a face. “None of the other students are going to do whatever you’re doing.”
She gave him a long look.
“None of the other students are as young as me, or as driven as me. I have to work twice as hard to look respectable.”
“You look respectable without trying.”
She smiled at him, though she was ready to go back to working.
“I know you’re lonely, especially since you graduated law school and started at the firm. If I just apply myself, though, I should be done in a year. Then I can apply to med school.”
“You know you don’t need to work. My family will take care of you. They love you.”
Her smile wavered. “I know.”
“All the other guys at the firm, they all have their wives—”
“Trophy wives.”
“They all have somebody who cares about them, when they come home.”
She was silent for a minute, watching him intently.
“I care about you.”
“You study every night. No college student does that!” he said, becoming frustrated and standing up.
“I do that.”
He didn’t have an answer for that.
“I’m tired of having this argument. I’m not going to be one of those pretty, useless girls. I’m going to work hard, and go to med school, and grow up to save lives. I don’t know what more you can ask of me!”
He relented. He always did.
“Of course, darling. I didn’t mean it,” he said, shaking his head.
“Really?” she looked at him, hoping for honesty.
“Really, truly. I’ll just go out to the club with the guys, eh? A fun night of cards, that’s the ticket.”
“No cigars,” she said, mind already drifting back to her studies.
“Of course. Good night.”
By the time she thought to answer, he was gone.
The only answer she had was to bury herself in her books.
15
Vi opened her eyes, blinking to orient herself in the dark.
Where was she? Oh yeah, the safe house.
The details of the safe house bedroom came back; she’d passed out in here after a whole day wasted on silly daytime television. Thank God the house came loaded with some snacks, unlike Callum’s place.
Headlights splashed against the house, then went dark. She had no idea what time Callum should be home, if he was ever coming home; she was still pissed at him.
Pissed or not, she still got a bad vibe when the front door opened but no lights came on. She listened carefully for a few seconds, then heard an unfamiliar voice whisper, “Go that way.”
A strange man’s voice…
Shit.
Vi sunk to her knees on the far side of the bed. The underside of the bed was sparsely used, barely anything kept under there. If someone looked under the bed, she was easy enough to find.
Footsteps drummed down the hall. They were tearing something apart in the next room, though she was certain that hers was the next target.
Thinking quickly, she pushed her suitcase out of view and then grabbed a blanket. She rolled herself up in it and tried to make the most inhuman shape she could think of.
The tearing sound stopped, and footsteps advanced toward her room.
The click of a gun startled her as she huddled beneath the bed.
“What?” one said. “Man, put that thing down. You’re gun happy, motherfucker.”
“Shit. I’m just paranoid. The damn Irish and their bombs…”
She began to tremble as she imagined the intruders finding her, dragging her away. Or worse, killing her right here.
She heard them open the closet, and begin digging and tearing inside.
It went on and on, with Vi afraid of discovery every second.
Finally, the tearing sound stopped.
“All right, let’s get it,” said the voice again.
“One, two, three…” said another voice.
Vi carefully measured her breaths. Each one was painfully slow, even when they started tearing. There was nothing for her to do but wait and pray that they could be done soon.
“I got it,” one of the guys said.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
And then there were receding footsteps, and the sound of a car driving away…
But what if they left one guy behind? What if…
The what ifs kept her under that bed for almost an hour, shaking and cowering anew. Blinded, she was certain that if she made any noise, the men would know she was there…
She had a particularly frightening vision that not only would they find her, but they knew about the blood on her hands.
“Viola?” came a distant voice. “Shit. Viola?”
Callum.
Viola could have wept at the sound of his voice alone. She struggled to get out of her little blanket hideaway, pushing out from beneath the bed.
And into the line of sight of a very perplexed Callum.
“Callum!” she cried, throwing herself in his arms. “Oh, Callum…”
She dissolved into a puddle of tears, allowing herself to fall apart. She didn’t do it often, but when she did cry, she sobbed.
Callum, for his part, picked her up off the ground and held her close. After making sure she was okay physically, he calmed her down with bit of soothing neck patting.
“My mother used to do this to me when I was a boy,” he said, rubbing his fingers up and down the back of her neck. “She was always good at calming me down.”
When her tears subsided, Callum looked at her, then the mess in the middle of the floor.
“They knew exactly what would be here,” he said, standing up. “They just didn’t know it was going to have you here, too.”
Vi looked at him, and sighed. “They knew when to come, because you obviously wouldn’t have checked the safe house tonight if I wasn’t here.”
He ruminated for a minute, then shrugged.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Leave everything here, until I can get a chance to run your stuff through a metal detector.”
“Hey, I have stuff in there that I need!” she protested as Callum pulled her up and marched her out of the room.
“You’ll get it back, eventually.”
Callum had a stubborn look on his face, and Vi let it drop. He was taking her somewhere new; she’d worry about her luggage some other time.
Lights went by on the highway, but she was too exhausted to pay attention. He was strangely quiet too, but she didn’t know whether that was about the thieves, or something else entirely.
They drove to an upscale motel, and she stayed in the car while he checked in.
“Fancy mob security, huh?” she said when he got back in the car.
His jaw tightened, but she couldn’t tell if he was angry at the Irish mafia, or at her.
He drove around the far side of the motel, where they got out and quickly ran inside. After a silent ride up the elevator, he practically manhandled her on her way into their double room.
“Hey, I can do it myself, thanks,” she said, rubbing her arm where he’d grabbed her.
His face was a complete blank as he came toward her, backing her up till she hit the wall. Viola stared up at him, already guessing what he was going to say.
“Did you give someone a tip?” he said. “You said something to somebody, huh?”
“You’re insane.”
“Who’d you tell?” he asked, leaning down into her face.
“No one. I didn’t tell anybody.”
He stared at her, close enough to kiss her, or to throttle her with one simple movement. She looked back at him, daring him to do either. For several long seconds, they stayed like that; breathless, unsure of what was between them.
Then he seemed to remember himself, giving himself a shake and stepping back.
“You women, never can keep your mouths shut.”
“It wasn’t me!”
“I have to go,” he said, without feeling. “I have to— I have to go.”
“Callum, don’t go…”
But he was out the door, slamming it on his way out.
Then Vi was alone again, staring at the door again.
She sunk onto the bed, curling on her side. A thwarted assassination attempt, a murder, a burglary…
What she was supposed to feel now, she had no idea.
She didn’t cry or scream, she just felt… empty. Without bearings, lost.
She closed her eyes, and didn’t even realize when she drifted off to sleep.
Viola was fifteen, new at her Catholic all-girls boarding school. All plaid knee skirts and cigarettes under the bleachers, not that she would’ve been involved with that.
She was the definition of a good girl, a year away from graduating early. Always hiding away in the library with all her books, studying, dreaming of college.
She was walking down the hallway, intent on getting to study hall; she was going to study the Shakespearean tropes prevalent in Romeo and Juliet. She was thinking about them when she almost ran smack dab into Judy Freebish and her ‘clique’.
“Oops, sorry,” she said. “I’m just—‘”
She pointed uselessly down the hall.
“Sorry?” Judy said, with a big saccharine smile. “You have a lot to be sorry for, Snowflake.”
Snowflake was her special nickname for Viola, although Viola thought that Judy recycled the often mocking epithets. Judy was a mean girl, and Viola had been able to tell upon first sight. When Viola had refused Judy’s invitation to enter the school’s ultra-elite, Judy’s reaction had been… unfriendly.
“I’ve got to get to study hall,” Viola said. “Later.”
“You know what I find most interesting about your father?” Judy asked.
Viola
stopped cold. No one ever talked about her father. She was tucked away out here in Vermont, and her mother had passed six years ago.
She was desperately curious about her father.
“What?” she asked, turning back toward Judy.
“The fact that he kills people, like—” Judy drew her finger across her neck and made a kkkkrrrrr sound. “And yet he’s still invited to social events. My father told me he saw your father at the mayor’s soiree last night.”
“I don’t… I think you’re confused. My father doesn’t kill people, he’s in waste management.”
Judy laughed, the sound cruel.
“I think I know what your father does, Snowflake. Like I said, he’s invited to every major social event. Too bad he greases everyone’s palm with blood money to get there.”
Judy and her posse giggled together, heading down the hallway. No doubt off to cause some trouble.
Leaving Viola there, hands shaking, wondering if Judy was telling the truth or if it was another of her lies…
Viola opened her eyes. She had sweated through her clothes, but she had nothing to change into.
She rolled over, shading her eyes against the light.
Judy had been truthful, of course. Not that Viola had known that for years, but it was plain enough. Viola’s entire education, all the things that had been bought on her father’s behalf for her…
Paid for with blood money. And she’d only found out because of Jason…
Closing her eyes, Viola knew she was going to have to change things with Callum. At some point, she would have to do something differently.
She couldn’t go on like this, not for long.
16
Callum couldn’t get his mind straight, not when he was thinking about Viola.
One part of him wanted to believe everything she said, word for word. She’d been at the house, the house had been hit by robbers, end of story.
A glance at her tearstained face had been all he’d needed to want to kill the robbers, burn their houses down to boot.
But there was this part of him, this part he hated, a part that said he needed to wait. He had this dark part of his soul that thought, but what if… and that part wasn’t always terribly wrong.
