Dark Sins

by Charlotte Byrd

  "Did this really have to be done?" I ask. "I mean, this man, yes, he defrauded people but did he have to die?"

  "For you to get paid? Yes," Lincoln says, furrowing his brows.

  He takes a sip of something in a big mug. It's that cup of coffee that he nurses all day.

  "I wasn't going to tell you this, but since you're having all of these second thoughts and issues with what you have to do, let me share a little bit more about Mr. Delinsky. He was in the witness protection program. That place he was living, the name he was using, everything was fake. In addition to defrauding people, he also killed a lot of bad people. That's what he used to do before he graduated to white-collar crimes. He was very, very good."

  "That explains the weapon," I say out loud, even though I meant to say to it to myself.

  "What weapon?"

  "There was a little bit of a hiccup when I got there. I didn't shoot right away."

  "You didn't? I told you that you had to. You had to get him before he turned around, before he knew you were even coming."

  "Yes, but you didn't explain to me that he was an expert marksman. The bullet almost grazed me but luckily, it didn't collide."

  "No blood was shed?" Lincoln asks, not so much worried about me, but more about possible DNA evidence that I might have left behind.

  "No, I shot him after that. Left his gun on the floor, made it look like somebody got in the house that he knew, someone invited, and then things didn't go well."

  "Good, good. You almost gave me a heart attack there," Lincoln says.

  There's a long pause, a lull in the conversation.

  I tell him that I have to go.

  "Aren't you going to ask me about it?" he asks.

  "What?"

  "About our father."

  "I'm not interested in having anything to do with him," I say categorically and without any explanation.

  "He wants to see us."

  Lincoln leans over, bringing his face closer to the phone. It's frustrating how good looking he is. He probably missed out on an opportunity to be a movie star. He is very good at playing pretend, after all.

  "He needs our help."

  "I'm not interested," I say.

  "It's not an option."

  Lincoln pauses. I stare at him.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I won't wire you the money unless you help Dad. He's in a lot of trouble and he needs us. I'll be in touch."

  Lincoln hangs up the phone and I stare at the blank screen, taking a deep breath. I have no interest in helping our dad.

  He's a liar and a jerk and a killer and an asshole. I hate him with every fiber of my being.

  But I'm scared that Lincoln won't pay me the money that he owes me unless I do this. He has never made a threat like that before, and whatever kind of trouble our dad is in must be serious.

  I head to a Walmart about twenty minutes from my hotel, driving on the back roads to throw away the burner phone after first taking out the SIM card. I toss each in different dumpsters after erasing all the data and wiping off my fingerprints.

  I feel like a fool, an idiot.

  But what if this were an opportunity for something? Like getting back at my father and Lincoln at the same time?

  It's a dangerous game to play but then again, it's a dangerous world.

  23

  Jacqueline

  It would be a lie to say that Noah and I are not having a good time tonight. He tells me all about traveling around Europe and Central America.

  He tells me about working on a yacht and transporting it with a crew from the Caribbean to the Mediterranean, as well as sailing around Thailand.

  I ask him if he's ever been anywhere cold and he mentions the winter that he had spent living in the Yukon, just like Jack London trying to write short stories and the novel and giving up but drinking a lot at the local bars and dance halls instead.

  "I've never stopped thinking about you," Noah says after ordering dessert. He leans over and moves the candle in between us, reaches over and takes my hand in his. "I've never stopped thinking about you and I was sorry that we couldn't go to all those places together."

  I narrow my eyes.

  I remember how much we’d talked about all of this travel that he did on his own and how we would do all of that together.

  Even the fucking Yukon, going up there and living the life of Jack London was my idea, not his. It's like he stole everything from me and then lived my life instead.

  I hate him, or rather I want to hate him. But when he leans closer to me and intertwines his fingers with mine, I remember what it was like to kiss him. Suddenly, I miss being seventeen and in love with a crazy, dangerous maniac who made it seem like anything in the world was possible.

  The cake arrives and I pull away from him, clenching my jaw.

  "Before you take a bite of that," Noah says, leaning closer again, "I want to apologize."

  I sit back in my chair and put my fork back down on the table.

  "I shouldn't have done that."

  I wait longer. I need him to actually apologize and say the words.

  "I don't know what happened, and I could blame it on the booze and the beer,” Noah adds.

  "You could, but it wouldn't be wise," I say, being as serious as possible. When it comes to this, I demand an actual apology.

  "I had such a good time with you at prom. Do you remember how much we danced and laughed?"

  "Yes, I do. And then when we went to Macayla's house to keep the party going, I thought that maybe we would..."

  My words trail off.

  We had only made love once before that. It was rushed and not at all good. So after prom, in Macayla's large house with more than five bedrooms, I thought that we could have some privacy and some fun.

  But then I saw Noah kissing Delia Evernacky in the hallway by the downstairs bathroom.

  Their mouths were all over each other and even their legs were intertwined. They were both drunk, of course, but not so much that they didn't know what was going on.

  "I want to tell you that I'm sorry about that night," he says quietly, looking away from me.

  When Noah brings it up, I don't want to talk about it. I can still feel the anger and the pain that I felt that night, the embarrassment.

  I don't know how many people saw the two of them making out like that, but it was a lot more than just a casual kiss. I'm pretty certain that if I hadn't walked in on him, they would have taken to the bedroom and he would have forgotten all about me.

  I want to enjoy this time with him and remember all the good days that we had, but he won't let up. He takes my hand in his and he insists on telling me what happened.

  "We never talked about it," he says. "You left right after and you never returned any of my calls."

  "Yes, I know.” I nod. "What did you want to do, have a fight?"

  "No, but I wanted a chance to explain."

  "You didn't deserve a chance. It was our prom night. It was supposed to be this magical time for us. I wanted to spend it with you, and I don't want to hear about you having too many beers and just getting it on with some other girl. We're not together anymore, and you don't owe me anything."

  "You're right about one thing. We're not together anymore, but I still owe you something; an apology. It was so stupid and dumb and impulsive. We were in the hallway, laughing, and then somehow we kissed. I could blame it on the alcohol, but that would just be an excuse. I'm sorry that I cheated on you, and I've thought about that night with a lot of regret for years. If that hadn't happened, we probably would still be together."

  I shake my head and clench my jaw. I hate to admit it, but I have considered that to be a possibility as well.

  "I made a mistake, and I know that it's been years, but I never stopped thinking about you."

  I pull away from him.

  Being here with him feels less like catching up and more like a date, and it can't be that. The waiter comes with the check, and he grabs it b
efore I can reach for it.

  "Please let me do this," he says, and out of the corner of my eye, I see that he gives the waiter a 50% tip.

  Noah has always been more than just a little bit generous.

  "I shouldn't have taken you for granted," he says, leaning over the table again. "What we had was so special, and I never realized exactly how special it was. I was stupid. Everything was so easy between us. Don't you think?"

  I nod a little, unwilling to show him exactly how much I agree with him.

  "Remember everyone else around us would always get into these fights, and we never did? We got along so well. We had so much fun, and I don't know, I guess I was stupid, but I thought that the fun we had wasn't just about us. I thought that that's just what teenagers are like, and I took it for granted. I shouldn't have."

  "Yeah, I remember the good times, too," I admit. "We laughed a lot."

  Noah smiles. The candlelight plays in his eyes, and I swallow hard trying to push away the tears that are creeping up to my eyes.

  Why did that have to happen?

  Why did he have to kiss her?

  We could have been the couple, the one that met in high school and stayed together ever since.

  "I was angry with you," he says, sitting back in his chair.

  I furrow my brow, uncertain as to what he's referring to. He doesn't explain. He picks up a fork, the clean one, and plays with one of the prongs.

  "Why were you angry with me?" I take the bait.

  "I didn't get into Dartmouth. I couldn't go there with you."

  "Yeah, I know.” I nod.

  "And you got into Cornell and you didn't want to go there with me."

  I nod, biting my lower lip.

  "You remember how you told me right before prom that you’d made your final decision?"

  "I visited Dartmouth, and I liked it more."

  "I know you did, but what about me? Didn't I matter? Didn't you care about our relationship?"

  "I couldn't just go to school where you wanted me to go to school."

  "But we had a pact. We agreed that we would go to the same school because long distance relationships across schools, they don't work. We knew that going into it."

  "But I really thought that you were going to get in.” I nod.

  "I did, too, but things happen. So I was really angry. It's not an excuse for anything, but I thought that you didn't care about our relationship as much as I did. You had a choice to go to my school and you chose not to, and so I thought that we were going to break up anyway. At least, I thought maybe that you wanted that."

  I inhale suddenly and then exhale slowly.

  "I don't know what you want me to say.” I shrug. "It was fucked up. I know that. I just wanted to go to Dartmouth and I didn't really like Cornell, and I wanted to be with you, and I thought that they were close enough together that we could make it work."

  "But you didn't say that to me," he says quietly. "You just kind of announced it. You announced that you were going to go there, and that was it. Your mind was made up. Do you know what it was like for me? How that made me feel? I thought that our relationship was over right there. I thought what's the point? Only one of us is really in this, and that wasn't you."

  I feel the tension between us, and I tap my foot on the floor in a nervous fashion to try to make it go away, but it doesn't. It just escalates.

  The walls start to feel like they're closing in, and I have to get out of here.

  I stand up, grab my jacket and my purse, and walk out. He follows quickly, and catches up to me right outside the door.

  "I'm sorry, okay?" I say. "I'm sorry that I did that, but you have to be sorry, too."

  "I am. You have no idea." Noah takes a step closer to me. "I shouldn't have kissed her. I shouldn't have cheated on you. It was a fucked up thing to do, and it doesn't matter what you did or what you said to me beforehand. I know that was the nail in the coffin.”

  I gasp for air.

  “I'm just trying to explain where I was coming from,” Noah continues. “I was trying to tell you just how angry and upset I was, but I shouldn't have acted out. Instead, I should have just come forward and told you the truth about how I felt."

  The rain is still falling in sheets, and I huddle next to him underneath an awning just out of direct hit. This is the last place I need to be, but being next to Noah brings up all of these memories I used to have of this person that I used to be, and just how much we loved each other and how much we thought that we would conquer the world together.

  "No one I've ever been with has made me feel the way that you made me feel," Noah says, taking another step forward.

  He's so close to me, I can practically feel his breath on my skin.

  "I loved you so much, and I always will,” he whispers.

  Noah leans a little bit closer and looks down at my lips. I need to move, but my feet won’t cooperate.

  Everything in my body screams for me to get away, but I can’t move.

  This is Noah.

  24

  Jacqueline

  I stand under the tarp shivering and he takes another step closer to me. Our eyes meet. It would be a lie to say that I didn't want him to kiss me.

  Noah looks at me in that way that he did all of those years ago and all we knew was each other.

  I miss him and I want him but I take a step away. He takes one closer, lifts up my chin to his but I pull away again.

  "No," I say.

  "Why not?" Noah whispers.

  The disappointment in his eyes is difficult to hide.

  "I'm with someone. I have a boyfriend." I take another step away and now I'm outside the tarp, rain falling straight down, soaking me and chilling my bones.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't know," Noah says, swallowing hard.

  He reaches for my hand and pulls me back underneath the tarp. "Come here. It's better underneath. You won't get so soaked."

  "Too late," I say.

  I pick up my phone and call an Uber. I need to get out of here as soon as possible. I can't deal with being here with him much longer.

  I'm angry and disappointed and at the same time, I also know that he's right.

  I'm angry at myself.

  I should have explained.

  I should have told him why I wanted to go to Dartmouth instead of just announcing it that way.

  I'm not saying that he's not responsible for what he did. He is 100%.

  It's just that life is full of these misunderstandings and miscommunications that lead to so many different eventualities.

  Suddenly, I hate the fact that I didn't spend all of these years with him because of that one day.

  "Let me help you get back to your hotel room. It's the least I can do,” Noah offers.

  "No," I say, wanting to leave him here now.

  When the car arrives, I don't push him out.

  "Look, I'm sorry about everything. I shouldn't have tried to do that," Noah says, turning toward me. "I just wanted to spend some time with you, get to know you again but I understand you're with someone. Nothing can happen."

  "Yeah, that's right," I say straightening out my soaked jacket.

  One part of me wants to get back to the hotel as soon as possible, but another one doesn’t want this moment to go away.

  We ride in the car in silence and he walks me to the inside lobby.

  I keep turning around to bid him farewell but he's trying to buy some time to turn whatever has become of our relationship into something else.

  "Look, I'm going to go up now and you can't come with me."

  "Of course not.” Noah shakes his head. "I'm just sorry that this evening turned out the way that it did."

  “Sure, whatever," I mumble with a shrug.

  "Look, I'm sorry if I pushed you, I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I just wanted you to know that I’ve missed you and I never stopped thinking about you. And that night? I made the biggest mistake of my life."

  Our eyes meet and I can t
ell that he's telling me the truth. I inhale slowly and exhale even slower.

  I don't know what to say.

  "I'm sorry that I didn't want to talk about it afterward,” I say. “We probably should have talked about it, but you have no idea how much it hurt when I saw you kissing her that night. You…crushed me.”

  Sitting down on the plush chair in the corner by the bar, I shiver and rub my arms to try to stay warm.

  There's still so much to say to Noah and there's so much more to talk about, but my teeth are starting to chatter and this conversation has to come to an end.

  When my phone vibrates, I grab it out of my purse to turn it off, but the call isn’t from Dante.

  "Sergeant Mallory?” I ask.

  "Jacqueline, sorry about the late call."

  "What did you find out?"

  "Well, we got the videos from the post office and we talked to the two postal workers, Melanie Forbrowski and Dale Hubert."

  "And?"

  “It wasn’t a good lead,” he says, clearing his throat.

  "What do you mean? Don't you know who dropped off the letter?"

  "We checked all the footage and went through it carefully with a forensics team. It is not clear who sent that letter. A few people are possible suspects, but there's no visual. We can't make out the face. We can't even make out the age range. It's possibly a man or a very frumpy and tall woman. As I just said, there is no evidence that we can go on."

  Sergeant Mallory continues to try to explain, saying nothing of significance and I tune out. It doesn't make any sense.

  Tears start to flow down my cheeks and my whole body begins to tremble. A few minutes later, I hang up, burying my face in my knees. Noah drapes his arm over my shoulders.

  "What's wrong? What happened?” He keeps asking.

  I mumble something to explain, blabbering through the tears, explaining about the letter and my brother's death.

  ”It's going to be okay,” Noah promises and it makes me feel a little better even though it’s total bullshit.

  With his arm over me, I feel a little warmer.