by Sarah Noffke
The note has a few doodles on one side. Adelaide’s hand. And when I open it I know immediately by the slant of the writing that she was upset when she wrote it. My eyes scan the note. The three sentences that are insufficient for explaining what she’s done. They lack reason and emotion. They are too plain. Just words that tell what she’s done and what I can expect.
The paper pinches my palm when I crumple it.
“What is it?” Dahlia says at my side.
“She’s abandoned Lucien,” I say as the lines in the note stream across my retinas.
I’ve left. I’m not coming back. Goodbye.
Adelaide
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Three times Trey drums the tips of his fingers on his desk. I’ve let this quiet game go on too long.
“Can we fucking get this over with?” I say, tired of looking at his quiet disapproval and growing internal conflict. “I’ve got something I need you to address for me.”
“Ren, why did you do it?” he says, laying his hand flat and still on the surface of the desk.
“It was my life or Vivian’s. A battle to the death. She just barely lost,” I lie.
He draws in a long “I’m trying not to explode” breath. “I told you to bring her in unharmed,” Trey says.
“And I rarely handle these situations the way you ask me to. Aren’t you figuring that out by now?” I say.
“But with Antonio you had his guards shoot him. This time your hands killed Vivian,” Trey says.
My nostrils flare at the memory, which I know will forever live in my mind. A memory made of indestructible diamonds. The moment I stole Vivian’s life is a marble statue never to be changed, always the same three movements that preceded her death. The beautiful psychopath was in my arms. Trusting of me. I felt that in the way she breathed against me. And then I gave her what she wanted so she wouldn’t be tortured even though I knew that act would forever torture me. I, Ren Lewis, was unselfish, maybe for the first time. It’s hard to know since selfless acts are about as easy to qualify as cloud shapes.
“I want you to talk about this in therapy,” Trey says.
“With who? Your bloody therapist ran away with the fucking circus,” I say.
“I have other therapists on staff,” Trey says.
“That’s all right. I don’t want to talk to someone else.”
Trey begins drumming his fingers again because apparently he wants to see if I’ll kill him too. “I can cover this up but it won’t be easy,” he says.
“Then don’t. Let me learn my lesson. Let the authorities take me away for killing my wife after liquidating her company. It’s a bunch of easy dots for even a dumb detective to piece together,” I say.
“You know I’d never allow that,” Trey says. “They think she sold the company and ran away. Anyone who could be a potential threat has had their memory wiped, including your personal assistant.”
“You’re such a fucking god, aren’t you?” I say, a playful sneer in my voice.
“Ren, crime rates are already on the rise. Actually they’ve spiked heavily after this. Apparently people went to the other extreme.”
“Good,” I say firmly.
“Good? You think it’s good that families are fighting and abusing each other, and then acting out in society as a result? You can’t mean that,” Trey says.
“What I mean is that it’s good that people get to be human. They get to fuck up and hurt each other. And have broken hearts and then seek to find ways to mend things. People get to evolve. They get to figure out how to change so they don’t lose people in their life. Who are we, Trey, when we aren’t allowed to screw up? We are fucking lemurs who live no real lives.”
I stand suddenly, feeling my chest drum with a surge of adrenaline. “Those people Vivian was making play nice weren’t living their lives. They were dolls in a bloody doll house and she was the big kid making them play house by her rules. But now, just like before, they get to make mistakes. They get to run out on each other. Cheat. Abuse. Lie. Neglect each other. Fight one another. And you know what else? They get to feel the brunt of their mistakes and those kinds of people are the ones who make a better future. No, violence won’t go away and no, we can’t erase family pains, but why the fuck would we ever want to? It is that struggle that makes any of the love on this planet worth it. Where would you and your daughter be if she didn’t first hate you? Would you be as close if you didn’t have to fight to make things work between you? It’s not our bloody call to make people love each other. We are the fucking Lucidites and we save people, but them finding peace and love is their own bloody mission, not ours.”
The shifting in a person’s understanding is an incredibly interesting thing to watch. Like a fetus growing, a complexity made simple by human biology. And now that shift plays across Trey’s face. And then he simply nods. “You’re right. I didn’t see it so plainly before, but you’re right.”
“Of course I’m bloody right,” I say.
“Well, a flood of new cases came in while you were gone. I had them—”
“They can wait,” I say, cutting him off. “I need Roya on a job first. Actually put the whole news reporting department on this one.”
“What?” Trey says, that look of worry he wears so often deepening. “What do you need them to do?”
“I need them to hone in on someone’s energy. Find them in the very near future,” I say. This is how Trey found me almost two decades ago when I was in hiding. He looked for a future event where I showed up.
“Okay, I can have them assigned,” Trey says.
I’ve never asked for anything like this and Trey isn’t questioning me on it. He never would. “Who do you want them to find?” he asks.
“My daughter. She’s run away,” I say, and the statement makes my strategic mind feel like a bowl of noodles, slippery and tangled like the way emotions probably feel.
He nods at once. “Yes, of course. We will find Adelaide. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” I say, turning for the door. “Just do it pronto.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The door to the diner, which reeks of ancient grease, dings when I open it.
“Take a seat wherever you like,” a waitress says, smacking her gum and managing a pile of plates across her arms as she trots to the kitchen.
My dumbass daughter has her back to the door, like a bloody idiot. Have I taught her nothing, or is she just too engrained in her inferior ways to change? I kind of want to buy her a bloody pony just so I can take it away from her.
The sticky floor makes note of each of my steps as I hurry over to her table. Adelaide has earbuds in and is rocking her head slightly to whatever foul music she’s listening to. And as I spy over her shoulder I notice she’s sketching on a pad, each of the pencil marks light, but carrying a graceful anger in them. She’s sketching a portrait of me and it’s accurate. Spot on actually.
I slide into the booth across from Adelaide and promptly a gasp falls out of her mouth.
“How’d you find me?” she says, flipping the sketchpad over at once.
“I’m a fucking genius who works for the most powerful organization on the Earth. How did you not expect me to find you?” I say.
She thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “I suspected you wouldn’t. That you didn’t care.” And the statement carries no pity in it and I know from reading her expression that she means it.
“That drawing isn’t rubbish,” I say, indicating the picture she has overturned.
“I was just about to put horns on you and a funny mustache,” she says.
“No you weren’t,” I say, now spying the lie in her voice.
“If you’ve come to demand I take care of my baby then you’ve wasted your time. I don’t want him because he doesn’t want me,” she says.
“I haven’t,” I say simply. “And I never waste my own time.”
“You haven’t? Then why are you here?”
“To ask you why y
ou left. Why you ran away,” I say.
“You know why. You’re a fucking genius. A master at reading people. Don’t pretend you don’t know what’s going on inside my head,” Adelaide says with her usual sneer.
“I know you’re scared of taking care of a child, who even I admit is going through a bit of rough patch on reentry into this world.”
She laughs coldly. “Reentry, like it isn’t his first time?”
“Well, I don’t think there’s any first-timers anymore, but that’s only a guess judging by the length of time humans have been on this planet,” I say.
“That’s funny. I never took you as a reincarnation kind of person. Thought you believed in hell and all that stuff Granddad always talks about,” she says.
“I was raised religiously, but I tend to think a bit more revolutionary than what the Bible teaches. And I’ve seen things that most haven’t. I know things that most don’t. I’ve seen the framework that’s hidden to most,” I say, realizing I’ve never shared with another human the things my dream travels have shown me. I’ve never shared the extent of my knowledge on the makeup of this world and God, and I happen to know more than ninety-nine percent of the population. However, that’s not saying much since most of the population is ignorant gits.
“What’s bizarre is that I believe you. Believe you might be the only person on this Earth that knows where we go when we die. I bet you really know what’s really behind the curtain.”
“Why is that bizarre?” I say, almost offended.
“Because you’re my father. I always thought he’d be some bloke who works as a clerk in a shop or an accountant who overcharges people for his services. I thought maybe you watched football on the weekends at a pub with your friends. Maybe even played cards or something. I pictured you went to church. You know, that sort of thing,” she says,
“I must be a bloody disappointment since I don’t do any of those things,” I say.
“You’re not in the least. My brain just never had the framework to believe my father could be a man like you. Someone who saves lives working for a secret society. A person who knows the future and who knows every bloody thing. And is also soulless and the meanest person I’ve ever met,” Adelaide says.
“Well, this just proves that having expectations is never a good idea,” I say. There’s a long pause where we hold each other’s gaze until I’m uncomfortable and look away. “I do know most of what’s going on inside your head. I didn’t come to ask you a question or convince you to return and care for your child. I came to tell you something. Then I’ll leave you alone. Let you live your miserable life or make something of it. Whatever you do is your choice.”
“Go on then,” she says.
“You’re angry because you think I don’t care about you—”
“I know you don’t,” she says, cutting me off.
I hold up a hand, pausing her. “You think I don’t like you. That as your father I should be instantly bonded to you. That I should be proud. That I should have affection for you and Lucien. You want me to love you. You want me to care about you.”
“Well yeah, isn’t that what every kid wants from their parent?” Adelaide says.
“No one has a parent like you,” I say, and the words are rough in my throat. “What I’m telling you is that you shouldn’t want those things from me.”
“I thought you were going to tell me a story,” she says.
“When I was a kid, after I came into my abilities, I spent every single day scamming people out of their money,” I begin, realizing again I’m about to divulge something for the first time to someone. “I’m responsible for loads of damages due to my pranks. I was never happy unless I was doing something bad. It was like I got a high. It was like that’s who I was. A person put on this Earth to create havoc. At night before dream travel I was always restless like I was going to tear off my skin. The monster wanted me to be bad. That’s the only thing that ever made him quiet. And later I went on to London and did even worse things. I stole women’s virginity, like your mum. I’m sure you realize that she wasn’t the first. And I broke hearts. Stole money from old women. I’ve killed people, Adelaide. I’ve killed them with my mind and with my bare hands.”
“Why are you telling me this?” she says, not at all disturbed by my admission.
“Because loving someone who doesn’t care about themselves is emotional suicide,” I say.
She seems to consider this and then shrugs like she’s dispelling me entirely.
“And you’re wasting your time pining for the affection of someone who is an extremely bad man. You shouldn’t want my praise. You should want to be as far away from me as possible. And I feel like if you knew who I really was, not a bad-tempered man, but a truly despicable one, then you wouldn’t care so much. You wouldn’t be so disappointed that I’m not the father you wanted,” I say.
“I don’t think it works that way,” she says simply. “I don’t think you just turn love off, like a switch. If I had a choice not to care about you then I would. But I can’t. I’ve tried. That’s why I drank. Well, and also because that’s what kids drive people to do.”
I nod, not able to argue with that last statement.
“Why does he like you?” she asks and I don’t have to ask who she means.
“I don’t know,” I say at once, having tried to figure out why Lucien does seem to have a connection with me.
“Well, that’s a first. You know everything,” she says.
“There are things about people that remain a mystery to even me. We are a constantly evolving organism. It’s hard to say for certain,” I say.
“Maybe in a past life you saved his life or something,” Adelaide says, trying to joke.
“Maybe, or maybe he feels the monster inside of him and he feels it inside of me. And unlike you, I’ve embraced the monster that we all have living within us,” I say, all of that reasoning popping into my head at once. And once I’ve said those sentences, they actually feel right to me.
She looks up at me, and her eyes are a bit startled. “That actually makes sense,” she says, sounding suddenly breathless. “I’ve been really struggling with who I am since I met you.”
“I know,” I say, remembering going through what she’s going through. Coming to terms with the power we wield, with the inability to score true satisfaction when life presents itself so easily to my mind. The world could be mine and ironically I don’t want it. Most of the time I just want to be left the fuck alone.
“I realize now, I’ve always been my own worst enemy,” she begins. “I wished for you, someone who would never really love me. And I wished for a life I could love, not realizing I’m incapable of such things. So now I’m cursed with you and this life. Two things that won’t love me, that I can’t love. I’m cursed. But at the end of the day, when sobriety starts to peek at the edges of my vision, I still don’t wish I was different. I am yours and therefore I’m complicated and difficult and completely doomed. But still I’m yours, and being connected to you is the only thing I’ve ever been proud of. You may not want me, but for all my life all I’ve wanted is to be a part of you, without even knowing who you are. How fucked up is that?”
I nod. “It’s truly fucked up.”
“So your whole ‘I’m a bad man’ argument hasn’t dissuaded me. I’m still going to pine for your affection,” she says.
“I don’t deserve that kind of attention,” I say.
“But you do. And you don’t see it. You don’t see yourself the way that I do.”
“Ditto, Addy. Ditto.”
She laughs coldly again. “So we’re just two monsters, cursed to never love or be loved. Is that the way this life is going to go?”
“No,” I say simply. “Because we always have tomorrow to change. To evolve.”
“You think one day you might like me, maybe even care about me?” she says, and for once there’s not that hope accompanying the question.
“I think one day we might a
ctually be able to express ourselves and our feelings better than we do now. But you have to come back to find out. You have to give your son a chance to bond with you. We all have to give each other a second chance,” I say, thinking of my mum and her words and how right she always was.
“What if it doesn’t work? What if he doesn’t love me? Resents me?” she says.
I shrug. “That’s life. We screw up. We break each other’s hearts. We break our own hearts. And then we change.”
A small, tender smile forms on her mouth. “I’m glad you’re my dad.”
Chapter Thirty
“Because God hates me I’ve had the displeasure of hiring my replacement as Head Strategist,” I say to the room of agents, all gathered around the large conference room table. “Forty mostly worthless candidates have been wasting my time with insufficient answers during the interview process. They’ve also offered wrong solutions to the hypothetical problems I’ve posed.”
Before, Trey hired the other Head Strategists who tried to replaced me. And that’s exactly why they were all worthless and horrid matches for the position. He had no idea what he was doing, as is usually the case. “Although the person I’ve chosen to replace me has only half of my skills and isn’t nearly as adept at strategy, I still picked them to be my successor,” I say to the blank faces in front of me. “They will probably make a lot of errors and not just in their first year but for the next dozen or so to come. It is not advisable to expect them to lead you in the brilliant way that I have. Nor should you hold them to the standards I’ve set with my success records. I think you’re best to set expectations low as far as department performance goes. However, I admit that out of the pool this person is the best fit and will have mild success.”
