by Tara Brown
Page 4
I decided to try something and looked at the phone. I picked it up and dialed 9-1-1 with it. Instantly, the young man's face was there, smiling at me on the FaceTime again, "Hi," he said.
I frowned, trying to see behind him in the picture, "What do you want?"
He shook his head, "Just for you to survive all this and not make the same mistake your husband made. You're of use to him alive for now, but you need to remember, that he doesn’t care if your sweet old mom takes care of the kids for the rest of their lives. "
I gulped, "Why are you doing this to me?" My throat was almost frozen. I felt sickened.
He shook his head again, "I don’t know. It isn’t me. I'm just the receptionist of sorts. "
His blue eyes would be burned into my mind forever.
"Are you hackers?" I asked.
He laughed, "I guess, sort of. Look, just do as he asks. He doesn’t do well with insubordination. "
Rage filled me, "You aren’t even old enough to spell that word, you little shit. " My spit hit the screen. He gave me a perplexed look and then he was gone, again. Annoying little dick.
I screamed and threw the phone.
I could drive back and get my kids, but where would I go with no money and no house. My mom's old-age pension and Dad's retirement was great, but it wasn’t going to get us all by. Especially, not if we were trying to live off grid and be on the run from the government, trying to control every facet of my life.
I didn’t want that. The life we led was something I didn’t want to give up. My kids went to the best schools in Weston. The community was amazing. How could I remove them from everything they knew, after everything they'd been through? I could run, but what kind of life was that??
My brain whispered that it was better than death.
I looked at myself in the mirror and shook my head. How had I bought it all? How had I believed all the lies? I was starting to feel like a broken record.
I gripped the steering wheel, as angry tears streamed down my cheeks. I wiped them away and parked a couple blocks from the hotel. I needed the air before I had to face Mr. Cooper.
I strolled up in the damp air of the post-rain evening. The bellhop greeted me with a quizzical brow.
"Good evening, ma'am. " He opened the door for me. I smirked at his Boston accent. It always reminded me of Matt Damon.
I entered the lobby and was instantly greeted by the young man I had just raged at on the phone. He walked to me and grinned, "Floor 23, suite 2304. " He walked past me like he hadn’t meant to speak to me at all, like the kids downtown who offered drugs in muttered words.
I paused and watched, surely covered in confusion, as he left the building. Swallowing my nerves, I turned back to the lobby. It was busy, bustling and moving with people who had no clue about the things happening in front of them. I was being victimized within reach of each of them.
Surely, I could just reach out and touch one of them to explain. Maybe I could cry, I was on the verge of tears again anyway. One of them would help me, would they not?
In the moment I felt like doing it, a woman walked up to me with a patronizing look on her face, "Are you lost?" she asked.
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. The fears of what would happen to my aging mother and two children flashed through my mind. There wouldn’t even be enough money to bury me, if everything was really in his name.
I shook my head and walked past her, "Just thought I forgot something. "
She nodded and smiled and I wanted to slap the look off her face. It wasn’t a rational response, but I didn’t think I had any of those left. There was a me that no one had seen in a long time, and I was terrified she would find her way out of me, like a demon.
The elevator doors opened to the bellhop inside smiling at me, "What floor?"
I closed my eyes and stepped inside of the large space, "Twenty-three. "
He nodded, "You having a lovely evening?"
The doors closed, sealing my fate. I looked at my reflection in the shiny doors and nodded my head, like a good soldier, "Very lovely. "
He smiled back at me, "Excellent. "
I had a hard time recognizing the face in the shiny metal. I didn’t know her anymore. The dead lifeless look in her eyes was one I had tried to forget about.
The elevator landed smoothly. When I stepped off, I felt a rush of fear and regret. I glanced back at the man inside.
He looked up from the buttons and frowned, "You alright?"
I swallowed the bile in the back of my throat down and nodded, "Have a nice night," I muttered.
The stricken look on my face must have shocked him. He didn’t reply. He looked like he wanted to stop the doors from closing but he didn’t. I could have reached out for him, and he might have offered me help, but what could he do? What could I do?
I was frozen, staring at the doors and the distorted face of the girl in the brushed-metal door. My breath had frozen somewhere in my chest, trapped by the pounding heartbeat and terror of the unknown.
My legs and arms started to feel numb.
The phone vibrated in my pocket, startling me. I jumped and turned. Pulling the phone out, I looked at the number calling but didn’t know it.
I tapped the green button and held it to my ear, “Hello?”
"I put some money in the meter for you, before I realized it's nighttime and the parking was free," the voice of the young man rang into the phone.
I clicked the phone off and walked down the corridor.
He was at my vehicle. He could tamper with the brakes or steering. He could plant a bomb. Is that what happened to James? Did they damage his rental car, killing him? Or did they just kill him, and send those poor men dressed in uniform to my door, to lie to me about how it happened?
When had I become so trusting, that I never even suspected it was a job and not a regular death.
Feelings mixed with fears inside of me, leaving me with sensations even James' death hadn't made me feel. The sickening feeling of being trapped and lost overwhelmed me. It was almost kindred to the feeling of finding out he was fucking everything that moved, on the PTA. Well—at least the two I knew about.
The suite number was directly ahead of me. I took deep breaths to stop the feeling that I would be sick any second. Maybe it would be nothing, just some intel on something I could get quickly. I nodded to myself, but laughed inside. Nothing was ever easy with them and besides, what Intel experience did I have left? It had been ten years since I had worked at all, and James had been very good at keeping the top-secret security clearance information to himself.
I licked my lips, nodding to myself. The least I could do, was hear them out.
But no matter what they had to say, I had to protect my children. They could still be little hacker shits who wanted to steal my identity. I would finish the funeral arrangements and let them have it. Evie Evans was never a great identity anyway.
I knocked once, softly. I didn't have the strength for anything else.
The door opened, swinging slowly. My breath was lodged in my throat. I held it as I stepped into the dimly-lit suite. The back of a man in a dress shirt and slacks walked away from me. He opened the door and turned his back on me? Bizarre? Maybe I knew him.
He had short, dark hair that was styled in a military cut, only slightly longer. That didn’t sit well with me. His broad shoulders and thick arms looked the part.
Seeing him made me wish it were just hackers.
"Close the door,” his deep voice commanded, not in a bark but more of an arrogant tone. It struck a nerve with me.
He was military.
He could whisper it and my old, long-buried, soldier self would obey.
I closed the door and pressed my back against it. From the darkness of the long corridor I could see a fair amount of the suite. It had a view of the dark night and the city lights. He disappeared around a
corner.
"Come in here, Evie," he spoke my first name like I was a child, confirming my fears that he was military. I would bet a limb on it. I gripped the handle of the door and wondered how long it would take him to catch me. His long, strong body would be able to beat me in a foot race, but if I had the advantage of a head start… maybe… no. I was a distance runner not a sprinter. His thick legs said sprinter.
I swallowed and let go of the cold, metal handle, letting the door close and seal my fate. My steps felt thick and hindered by the nerves and fear dumping hormones into my body. Adrenaline, then cortisol, and finally noradrenalin. I was walking with concrete boots, by the time I got moving.
I crept along, unprepared for what I would find, when his deep voice spoke again from around the corner, "I guess we should get right to it then. Your grades in high school were quite good. Your first four years of service were exemplary, getting you into Fort Huachuca easily, after BT and the mandatory four years. You went through the paces and ended up in CI. Your higher-ups had no issues with you in Counter Intelligence, and even recommended you for promotions, which you declined and retired, exactly at the eight-year mark. Sound right?"
A memory attached itself to every single word he said: happy times, hard struggles, James courting me and getting me pregnant, me quitting for the sake of the baby. I entered the room, catching a look on his face in the far corner, where he sat drinking an amber liquid from a rock glass.
His face was incredible looking—young, but incredible. I took a breath when I saw the cold look in his eyes and tensed face.
He was military. Cold steel-blue eyes, square jaw, strong nose, long thick neck, arrogant look on his tanned face. He was military and there was no doubt. That meant I was screwed.
He raised an eyebrow, "Well?"
I nodded.
He pointed at a chair, "Have a seat. " It wasn't a question. I walked to the chair and sat on pins and needles.
He sat back, taking me in. A grin crept across his lips. That arrogant smile was part of the kit when you started in CI. He was Intelligence. He was like me.
"Do you have any idea what your husband has been doing the last ten years, while you were having kids and driving them to play dates?" His tone mocked me. I shook my head and looked down. He drank the last of the liquid and stood. He walked to the bar set up in the corner by the window and nodded his head, "James was good at keeping secrets. That was about his only redeeming quality. "
