by JA Huss
“Oh,” I say, coming to the same conclusion.
“He’s here,” she says. “This is his house and he’s here.”
I think I smile. It just feels so weird after all that’s happened, it takes me a minute to realize it.
The car stops and the driver gets out. He opens the driver’s side passenger door for Yvette and she gets out, facing into the wind as it blows her long, blonde hair away from her face.
I get out my side and join them to take in the house.
It’s big, but not massive. Contemporary Spanish style with a stucco exterior and red-tiled roof. It, and the dense shrubs on either side of two groupings of massive palm trees, block the ocean view from here. But there’s no mistaking that’s what’s on the other side.
The blue ocean, the white sands, the perfect paradise.
The driver says a long string of words in Spanish, which nether of us understand. But he points to the house and we get it.
Then he leaves.
Yvette takes my hand and smiles. She’s filthy dirty. We both smell like fish. But this smile turns her instantly beautiful.
“We should go in,” she says. And she can’t contain the excitement in her voice.
We know what happened. Sort of.
Logan smuggled us out of the country and brought us here.
Just like we planned.
We walk forward, find the front door open, and walk inside.
There’s a breeze blowing through the open patio doors on the back side of the house and there it is.
Paradise.
“Logan?” I call.
No answer.
“Logan?” I yell louder. “Where are you?”
Silence.
“There’s an envelope,” Yvette says, walking into the large open kitchen where the patio doors are.
And yup. Sitting on the long dining room table there is, in fact, a very thick yellow envelope.
“What’s in it?” I ask.
She picks it up, opens the flap, and peeks inside. She frowns. Then dumps the contents out on the table.
Two passports slide out.
That’s my first clue that we don’t, in fact, have any idea of what’s happening here.
Because there should be three passports. Not two.
The second thing that comes out is a stack of photographs held together by a thick rubber band.
“What the fuck?” Yvette says. Then she holds them up for me to see and says it again. “What the fuck is this?”
I know what it is. I can see what it is.
It just doesn’t make sense.
Suddenly… none of this makes sense.
Because that top photograph is a picture of Yvette.
Tied up in a tarp, only her head visible.
Her neck slit and bloody. Her eyes black and closed.
And she is dead.
Except she’s not dead. She’s standing here right in front of me.
I take the stack of photos from her hand and look at the next one.
Me.
Bloody, bruised, and dead as well.
“What the fuck?” Yvette says, for the third time.
“Oh, shit,” I say. Because there’s a letter too.
A letter from Logan.
And suddenly everything makes sense.
She hands it to me, shaking her head. “I don't want to read it.”
So I read it instead.
Dear cookies…
I’m sorry for the long trip. I’m sorry for the drugs. It was a shitty move, I know that. But it was the only move I had left. If I had my way I’d have put you on a yacht. I’d have given you a stateroom with an ocean view. I’d have a private chef, and there would’ve been snorkeling, and sightseeing, and dolphin-watching as we made our way to paradise.
But then I wouldn’t be sure that you’d be safe. And there’s no point in going to all this trouble and having you end up dead. So I’m sorry for that. I hope the house makes up for it. I hope you can put all the ugliness it took to get here out of your mind and just concentrate on your future.
“No,” I say, shaking my head and putting the letter down. I don’t want to read the rest. I can’t read the rest. Because I know what he did and I won’t accept it.
But Yvette doesn’t feel the same. Because she picks the letter up and begins to read out loud.
“‘Someone has to go back and face Damon. Someone has to show up with proof that you two are dead. Someone has to obey his order.’”
“No,” I say.
“‘Someone has to be the monster.’”
“Fuck you, Logan. Just fuck you.”
“‘And that someone is me.’”
“He’s not coming,” I say. “He’s not fucking coming. He did all this and he’s not even coming!”
Yvette just looks at me. Unable to find the right words to help me process what just happened.
But it doesn’t matter. Because there is only one way to process it.
He went back to die so we could live.
I don’t know the last time I cried. I really, honestly do not remember that’s how long it’s been. But right now, that’s the only thing I want to do.
Chapter Thirty-Eight - LOGAN
Life is shitty, and dark, and filled with assholes like Damon who have more power than they deserve and more money than they’ll ever need.
Basically, life is just unfair.
Just how it is.
But every once in a while a chance comes along to even the odds. Or make up for past transgressions. Or just… be the good guy for once.
I guess that’s why I did it.
I am, after all, nothing but a self-absorbed narcissist.
So there. I did it for me, not them.
Someone had to go back. There was no way Damon would ever believe we were all dead without proof. There was no way all three of us could ever get out.
And like I said, I am the monster. It’s practically my job title.
So I went back with the proof.
Big thanks to Manny for not only helping me clean up afterward, but also arranging the bodies to make them both look really dead. I guess he’s seen enough of them to know what they look like. He stopped at a drug store down in Durango before he came up the mountain to get some supplies.
We used baby powder over a foundation of makeup for the blue-gray skin.
I cut my hand open and trickled blood all over Yvette’s neck and even traced it across her throat with the edge of a knife.
We wrapped AJ and Yvette up in tarps, heads sticking out, and took photos. Then we took them out, put them in the van, and I packed the dummy tarps with clothes and blankets and tossed them over the ravine, just like AJ and I planned.
Took a picture of that too.
Damon actually smiled like the evil motherfucker he is when he looked at that photo.
I’m sure some hapless hiker is gonna find those bundles in the summer and think… what the fuck?
But who cares. Damon won’t find them and that’s all that matters.
So here I am. Back in the org, my loyalty proven, and hell, I even got a promotion.
A fat bonus in the form of cash I don’t need, girls I won’t fuck, and drugs I don’t use.
Lucky me.
In my letter I spelled all this out. I told them the house was owned by my shell corporation, which they now officially owned. I told them to never come back, never call me—the number’s been changed anyway because I know you, AJ. I knew you’d try, you loyal motherfucker, you—and I’d never see them again.
Would I have liked it to turn out different?
Sure.
Sure, I would’ve like to end up on that beach with them. Live in that house with them. Fuck them silly every night and then again every morning.
But someone has to be their monster.
And that someone is me.
It’s enough, I decide. To do this good deed. It’s enough for me. It gets me through all the ugly things I have to do to live unti
l the day Damon falls. And he will fall.
When? Who knows.
I’m going to die in this life. I’m one hundred percent certain that Damon will take me with him when someone finally comes for him.
And that’s OK too.
Because they are safe.
If Yvette could walk away from her son to keep him safe—and stay away, even when she had nothing left but the child she gave up—then I could walk away from her. And AJ too.
If she is that strong, I can be stronger.
If she is that selfless, then I can be too.
“I still miss you,” I say, looking out over the city from my new penthouse apartment. “I still miss you. But I can live with it.”
Because sometimes love means walking away.
So that’s what I did.
This is how I love you both now.
From far, far away.
Chapter Thirty-Nine - YVETTE
Dear Logan,
It has been one week since we arrived at your beautiful house and every day when I get up I look around, hoping that you came in the night and didn’t want to wake us.
I hope you’re sleeping on the couch, or sitting out on the beach watching the sun rise, counting the minutes until we wake up and realize you’re home. That our little team is now complete.
But every day, for the last seven days, I’ve been disappointed.
I have begged AJ to let me call you or send you a letter but he says we can’t. That you sacrificed too much to get us here safely and we owe it to you not to ruin that.
So I’m writing this letter so that when you finally do come, you’ll know how grateful we are. And how much we miss you. And what you mean to us.
In the meantime I beg AJ for stories instead. I want to know everything about you. And AJ is happy to tell me. He smiles every time he says your name. Every time he revisits some adventure the two of you had. Even the times you fought.
And I want to tell you that you are brave, and strong, and so much more than anyone ever thought you were. I hope you know that. I hope you believe it. Because you gave up your own happiness for us.
We love you for that.
I want to know what you’re doing. I want to know how you spend your days. I want to know where you live, and what you eat, and who your friends are. And AJ won’t tell me those things. He says you wouldn’t want me to know you that way. He says I should think of you as the man you were when you saved us, and not the man you were before.
So I have made up my own world for you. I gave you a new job—saving homeless puppies, obviously. ;) And you’re really good at that, just FYI. You’ve already been nominated for the Puppy-Saver of the Year Award and I know you’ll win.
I gave you a new house. Even though I didn’t know where you lived before all this happened, I figured new everything was in order. So you’ve moved to the country and have a million puppies because you can’t bear to part with them. Kittens too. It’s peaceful out there. Like it is here. You deserve that. You deserve a quiet life like we now have because of your selflessness.
For the past few nights AJ and I have been playing a game called “What did Logan do today?”
And he answers, or I answer.
You have pretty exciting days saving puppies.
But it makes me sad to play the game and imagine this new life for you, Logan. Because I know your reality is hell. I know you’re still stuck and we’re free. I know you want more and you can’t have it.
Sometimes I think… I should’ve never told you about how I wanted a better life for my baby boy. Because I fear that was the moment you decided to be my monster for real. To fight all my battles for me, even though we were almost strangers.
If I could, I’d take that back. I’d be selfish and tell you I was going to go get him. Take him with me. Think only of myself.
Because maybe, if I had said that, you would have come with us? You would be in paradise with us right now and not a slave to the devil called Damon.
I’ve been thinking about how I could repay you and so far the only thing I’ve come up with is to keep you alive in my heart. In both our hearts. That’s why we talk about you. We need to keep you alive so when you do come, you’ll fill that empty space up like you were always there to begin with.
I know you will come. One day you’ll be here with us.
We will wait for you.
Love, Yvette and AJ
Chapter Forty - AJ
Dear Logan,
Dude. What the fuck are you doing? Jesus fucking Christ man, it’s been more than a month! If I have to listen to one more story about you saving puppies I’m going to puke! You need to be here. You need to drop everything and get your ass down to Holbox, OK?
We miss you. And nothing is the same without you. I know it’s dumb because the three of us were only together for twenty-four hours, but something happened in that one day. Something big. Something important. Something we all needed.
And yeah, don’t get me wrong. I’m so fucking grateful for what you did. I love this life but it’s not complete, OK? We need you in our bed. We need you.
But don’t worry, I’ve been saving your spot. Yvette and I went shopping online for some sex toys and we got a fat dildo. We named it Logan. You bring us both lots of pleasure, just FYI.
But for real, dude. It’s not the same. And I have news. Big news that I really want to tell you in person. I almost called you on the phone. Actually, I did call you. But you changed your fucking number. Not even an old voicemail to leave a message.
Which is so you, ya dick. You knew I’d try, didn’t you?
But see, that’s why you should be here. You know me better than anyone. And like I said, I have news.
Yvette is pregnant. She threw up this morning so we walked into town and bought a pregnancy test. She peed on that stick in the drugstore bathroom. I’m pretty sure the whole fucking town knows by now because Rosie, the cashier, lives to gossip. You gotta meet Rosie. And her husband, Loco. I don’t know his real name, but everyone calls him Loco. They’ve tried to explain the story to me like seven times but the only words I understand are ‘robar’ and ‘zapatos.’ So I think someone tried to steal his shoes and he went loco? Maybe?
See, if you were here you could translate. Your Spanish was always better than mine.
Plus, you deserve all the props for that plan. Such a crazy plan. Hey, maybe you’re Loco? lol You’re gonna have to fight Loco One for the name, but don’t worry, you’ll win. He’s like four feet tall and fifty years old. Plus, I got your back.
I hope you know that. I will always have your back.
So just come, OK? Or call. Or hell, send me a postcard. Just say the word and I’ll come back and help you leave. I’ll kill Damon myself if I have to. Just… come back to us.
I don’t know why I’m writing this since we can’t send it. Yvette writes you every night. Every single night. She tells you what we did and she makes up a story about your day. But tonight I wanted to write because dude… we’re having a baby!
We’re having a fucking baby! And you need to be here for that. You need to be here to watch Yvette get chubby and round. And hold her hair when she pukes. And go to the doctor appointments with us to hear the heartbeat.
And be there for the birth.
You have to be here for the birth, OK?
Promise me you’ll be here.
OK. I guess that’s it for now. We’re writing all these letters in a journal so you can catch up once you do come. We haven’t forgotten you. We will never forget you so please, don’t forget about us.
I will always be here for you. All you gotta do is let me know you need me and I’m there. I will drop everything to come help you.
Please… let me have your back the way you had mine.
Love you, man.
For real. We love you.
AJ and Yvette
Chapter Forty-One - YVETTE
Dear Logan,
I told you the baby was gonna be huge! I t
old you! Almost ten pounds! He’s perfect, by the way. And he has your eyes. I just knew immediately those were your eyes because when I looked into them I saw you. I saw so much of you.
I really thought you’d be here for the birth but I understand why you couldn’t come. It makes me sad. But don’t worry, every time I feel sad because you’re not here I just remind myself of what you gave up so AJ and I could start over.
It’s just not the same without you.
OK, enough sadness. I bet you want to hear all about the baby, right?
Well, we named him Lucas because it goes good with Logan. And we already showed him a picture of you that AJ had on his phone from ages ago.
I know new babies can’t smile, but I think he smiled when we showed him your picture. I think he knows you’re one of his daddies. But if not, we will make sure he understands. So that when you come home he’ll already know you.
His hair is dark and thick and his eyes are gray. Not blue, Logan. Gray.
He’s yours, we know he’s yours. We had the DNA test done by mail and just got the results today, that’s why I didn’t write you as soon as he was born. Sorry about that. I was tired, too. I’m sure you understand.
But don’t worry. I have lots of help. AJ is fantastic. He’s been getting up with me to feed. Every three hours. Crazy, right?
Oh, I’ve missed this so much. It made me sad for a few days after Lucas was born because I thought of Bonnie and how much I missed her and Chris. I had a little postpartum depression but I’m getting better now.
Writing you about this now feels good. I should’ve done it sooner. I’m sorry you had to wait to hear all the big news. It was just… hard not having you here.
I try not to think about my old life but that makes me sad too. Because you’re a part of that old life. And Chris and Bonnie and my baby boy.
And I feel so guilty for living on sometimes. So fucking guilty.
Writing you used to make me so happy every time, and so hopeful, but I’m not so sure it does that anymore. AJ thinks I should stop pretending. You’re not coming. He thinks I should face that fact.
