“Yes, Lord Fyre.”
He leans down to whisper in my ear, “I’m going to put the headphones over your ears and then wrap most of your head and face in the bandages. You will be able to breathe, and you will be able to say your safe word if you need to.”
“I understand.”
Mozart floods my head but only for a few seconds. He pulls one of the earpieces away to ask, “Too loud? Too soft?”
“Perfect. Is that what the babies are hearing?”
“Yes.”
Smiling, I relax as he covers my ear and I am soothed with music. The sound seems to reverberate through my body, melding with my pulse.
The bandages make me feel cocooned. Safe. But as I relax, floating, it seems as if I am becoming both less than my body and more. I feel like I am one with my bed…the room…outside the room…maybe a fragmented part of the world. The universe.
I imagine my babies feeling so connected as well. One.
I imagine being cradled as one of the stars held in place within our galaxy.
I imagine being held in the arms of God, and it is so utterly peaceful. I do not fear fire and brimstone in this loving being’s embrace. Nor do I fear for my babies’ lives.
We’re going to be okay. All of us.
“The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes.”
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,
The Hound of the Baskervilles
Nikos
The bright sun of early morning beacons through the window. It’s been months since I’ve felt its touch and I need to touch it, to feel it, no matter how unsafe it is for me to do so. My brother’s voice is my conscience.
Stay inside.
Disregarding his order completely, I race out into the salt scented breeze.
I justify my hazardous behavior with the fact that in this part of town the sidewalks are almost empty this time of day. The sunshine as seen from my window is deceptive, the air cooler than I would have believed. I’m wearing only a black tank, and I think maybe I should have grabbed a jacket and just as quickly discard the idea. I want the sun beating down on my skin. Tipping back my face, I close my eyes and soak in so much light. My breath puffs out white.
A young child’s scream makes me jump and look, but he is fine, he is playing. He and three others, chasing each other for no other reason than the joy of the chase as their mothers swap gossip on the corner. Their grounds for being out so early is evident as a yellow school bus pulls up to the curb.
Watching them makes me wish for the carefree days of my youth, and I remember there was a time before I’d ever held a gun in my hand, or a knife in my grip. There was a time before…before I’d ever killed anyone…that I’d known joy. It’s a distant memory. It feels like someone else’s memory.
I take off running, trying to jump back into the mind of the person I was then. I want to remember who I was and think like that person again. I want to be free, and joyful.
The pavement pounds beneath my feet. I haven’t run in such a very long time. I used to like running, especially with Ari. God, there was a time when we could run for hours. We could run for days.
Here I am only three blocks away from where I started and already I am breathing hard. How did I ever run mile after mile for the hell of it? How did I get in such horrible shape?
My chest screams, making me remember the bullets, making me remember I had help in getting in this bad of shape.
I stop running, doubled over and clutching my chest, trying to remember how to breathe because it hurts too badly to do so without thinking. I back up against the brick wall of a building, not wanting anyone to sneak up behind me.
Inhale, exhale.
Mother-fucking God, that hurts.
Inhale, exhale.
Okay, so running wasn’t my brightest decision to date. Keep moving.
I start walking back to the loft. The three boys are no longer playing. They are watching the crazy man with tattoos almost die because he is an idiot.
I wave as I pass them and even though they are safe with their mothers on the opposite side of the street, they don’t wave back.
My breathing finally calms and that’s when I hear it, someone matching my footsteps, step for step. I don’t turn around and look. I duck into an alley and take off running. I run three blocks before I even think about looking. I zig into every alley, changing directions again and again. I don’t hear anyone behind me, but I’m too paranoid to look.
God, I’m an idiot. A lunatic. Whoever it was probably didn’t even know me, probably didn’t want anything to do with me. I collapse against a parked car’s hood, trying once again to remember how to breathe.
I look up and realize I have no fucking idea where I am or how to get back to the loft. Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant.
I close my eyes and try to get a bearing for where I am based on where I ran from and start walking in the general direction I think is the right way to go. I open my eyes after a few steps, and the direction I chose still feels right.
I walk, clutching my chest and breathing. It hurts. Everything hurts.
It seems like hours pass before I actually reach a recognizable landmark. I’ve probably been walking in circles the entire time. Finally, I see my loft. Thank fucking God. Climbing the interior stairs is pure agony, and then I get a jolt of adrenaline seeing the front door is partly opened, knowing I not only locked I dead-bolted it with the key.
Reaching under my shirt, I unholster the Glock I wear behind my back. I’m on automatic-pilot now, doing what I’m trained to do. I might have been away from the action for more than a month, but it all comes back in less than a heartbeat. If I was afraid outside, where it was too open and I could identify a target, this, up close and personal, inside a closed quarter’s environment was the cure. I feel the rapid flush of adrenaline, the happy speeding of my heart. I go in armed and ready, finger on the trigger, ready for Armageddon…and find my brother sprawled on my sofa.
“I told you not to go outside.”
I lower my weapon and slide it back into its holster. It is only then I realize George is here as well. I’ve missed our session. He stands over a hot plate, waiting for a kettle to boil. He has brought with him a china set I haven’t seen before, a teapot, cups and saucers decorated with a delicate floral pattern. Tea it seems is the answer to all problems as far as George is concerned.
My brother hasn’t moved from the couch. It almost seems like he was napping before I arrived.
“I needed air.”
He sits up quickly. “I needed time with my woman, but here I am. Waiting. Wondering if you are just stupid, or really incredibly stupid.”
I sit down on the wood floor, excuses useless at this point. So are promises that I will do better, because we both know that I can’t. I am who I am. “I should return to Shanghai.”
Ari says, “You should probably be quiet while I decide what to do with you.” Punctuated by the teakettle’s whistle, I jump at the sound.
I do not fear my brother
.
My wildly beating heart argues differently.
“Be comforted, dear soul! There is always light behind the clouds.”
Louisa May Alcott
Kitten
Dr. Wang is enthusiastically optimistic that the bleeding episode I had was a singular event. After reviewing the ultrasound technician’s report, he feels I will be perfectly safe to resume normal activities in another day or two. Master isn’t easily convinced and I am left alone in the bedroom while they continue the discussion deep enough in the house for me to not overhear.
I am not a child
.
My irritation grows when Dr. Wang doesn’t return to the bedroom and hearing the front door opening and closing, I assume he’s left.
I am surprised when Thomas comes in, making me smile despite my frustration.
“Are they arguing?”
Thomas understands immediately that I’m talking about Garrett and Dr. Wang. “They are having a deep discussion in the kitchen. So, what’s up?”
“Doctor Wang says I’m fine.”
“And?”
“Master wants me confined to bed for the duration of my pregnancy.”
Thomas grimaces with great exaggeration, making me laugh.
I manage to ask, “Could you tell who was winning?”
“No, I didn’t go near them. I wanted to steal a moment alone with you.” Lifting my hand, he kisses the top. “I wouldn’t worry. Doctor Wang’s highly educated and very persuasive. I don’t see you confined to bed more than you actually need to be. If anything he will be arranging for you to have a private Tai Chi session every day.”
I squeeze his hand. “While we’re alone, tell me something.”
He lifts his eyebrow.
“Who are you? I mean, I know what you told Master about being a secret agent, but what does that mean and why doesn’t what you’ve told us make sense in my head?”
He sits down with me and still holding my hand, rubs my arm with his free hand. After a long moment he manages to look me in the eye. “Sophia, you deserve to know the truth but to know everything there is to know could put you in danger.”
I snort, irritably. “I’ve been under the threat of danger since the night your brother showed up here.”
He nods, not looking away.
“You said your name is Ari? Demetres Aristotle Velouchiotis?”
“Yes, very good memory.”
“It seems if you can trust me with the name you were given at birth, you could trust me with the truth?”
“The truth isn’t pretty.”
“I never imagined it would be.”
We both look toward the sound when we hear the front door open and close. It is only a few minutes later that Garrett joins us, ending any chance for us to finish our conversation. I try to tell myself that it doesn’t matter, but it does. I want to know who the father of my children is and there is so much I don’t know.
“Kiss me though you make-believe. Kiss me, though I almost know you are kissing to deceive.”
Alice Cary,
Make Believe
(1820-1871)
Nikos
Obviously, I didn’t learn my lesson yesterday. Although I was exhausted and slept like the dead, midday finds me outside again, chasing sunbeams, running from my demons. Bare walls and empty spaces are my new enemy. The loft is too open, too big, even the shadows have shadows with a demon hiding in every one.
Today I jog. A nice slow pace to get me back into shape. By the amount of pain jabbing through my guts I am almost one hundred percent certain that the psycho doctor would say I am rushing things. Too bad, I can’t stay inside another moment. Pain is just going to have to be today’s new best friend. Tomorrow’s too and every day until I can run for miles and miles without turning blue.
I realize the minute I am being followed and slow down, forcing whoever it is to pass me and reveal himself or detour to avoid detection. A slim woman sails past me. I listen but no one else is following.
The woman who passed me keeps to the sidewalk, I duck into an alley. Paranoid? Definitely. I double back to my loft, thinking I may never leave its confines again.
I’m safe here. No one is looking for me.
My breathing is slowed by the time I reach the top stair but my nerves are still on edge. I think about packing a bag, going back to Dr. Psycho’s basement, but stepping through the threshold I realize I’m too late.
I’m not alone
.
I go for the weapon strapped to my back and shove it under my assailant’s chin in the same moment they shove their revolver under mine. We are wrapped as tightly as lovers, tightly enough to realize she too doubled back. The jogger.
Her breath is warm and sweet on my face. Without thought, my hand has twisted in her hair and is jerking her head back. The ball cap she is wearing falls off and long blond hair spills out. The gun she has pushed under my chin forces my head back as far as it will go.
Eva.
She demands, “Pull the trigger, damn it. The last time I saw you, you had a fucking circular saw in your hand sawing my sternum in half.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” I think I even manage to look sincere. I look in her eyes, knowing
that
look; I’ve worn it myself for weeks. She would welcome death.
“Shoot!” she screams.
“You first.”
That earns me a look and in an instant we both understand each other. We’re out of options, out of reasons to live, and sick and tired of all the rest.
I suggest, “On the count of three, shall we?”
We count together, our voices echoing loud and desperate through the big empty space. “One…two…three.”
Neither of us fires. She screams. “What in the fuck are you waiting for?”
“I won’t be the tool of your suicide,” I shout back.
“What’s with the bloody change of conscience?” She narrows her eyes, pushing her gun deeper into my flesh. “What happened to you, Daniel?”
“I don’t go by that name anymore.” I push beneath her chin with an equal amount of pressure. At this rate we may snap each other’s necks.
“What would you like me to call you?”
“Joshua.”
“Joshua? Seriously? I ought to blow your bloody head off,” she threatens, but she lowers her weapon and despite my best poker face, I breathe a sigh of relief. I guess I honestly didn’t want to die. Not now. Not yet.
“Do it. Please,” I beg, stretching my arms wide, my gun hanging loose and useless in my right hand.
“And give you the luxury of bailing out of this shit pile? I don’t think so.” She looks hard at me, demanding an answer I don’t understand the question to. “Henri didn’t send you to finish the job did he?”
“No. I’m honestly just a guy at the wrong place, wrong time.”
“When I saw you running yesterday, I thought the worst. I thought you’d been sent here to kill me. I’m really pissed at you, by the way. I thought we were friends,” she says, poking her gun into my chest.
My mind flashes back to the moment I was holding that saw, preparing to cut her beating heart from her chest. Cobra’s orders. I couldn’t look on her as anything more than an assignment. Definitely couldn’t dare recall the times I frequented a fetish nightclub called
Whips
or remember how pretty I always thought she was. If I had, I might have found myself wondering why I never fucked her. “You and I both know an agent never has friends. He only has the allies of the day.”