Let Me Go (46 page)

It was all so ridiculous, such a waste of time. Didn't they realize that? She had gotten what she came for. Archie looked from Sanchez to Henry. Why didn't they see it? “She's gone,” Archie told them.

“Sure, she's gone,” Sanchez said, extracting a small, neatly folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket with two fingers. “For now.”

Sanchez held the paper out to Archie. “In the meantime, I know it's not much, but you'd appreciate it even more if you knew how much paperwork it took.”

Archie took the piece of paper and unfolded it. It was a check made out to Archie from the FBI in the amount of $329.38.

“For the tuxedo,” Sanchez explained. “It was the least we could do.”

Archie laughed. It hurt, but it was the good kind of pain.

“Be seeing you,” Sanchez said with a nod to both Henry and Archie, and he went out the door to Archie's room into the bright hospital hallway. As the door closed behind him, Archie noticed two uniformed patrol cops standing in the hall.

“It's a precaution,” Henry said. “And not to change the subject, but I have a call.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and showed it to Archie.

“Go ahead,” Archie said.

Henry stood up and stepped away to the window to take the call. Archie watched him. He was wearing the black jeans and black cowboy boots he'd had on the day before. The pits of his black T-shirt were scalloped with sweat. The seams of his boots were edged with dirt, and the same pale yellow leaf still clung stubbornly to his heel. Henry's T-shirt was puckered with dried bloodstains. The black cotton camouflaged them, but Archie could see the hardened blood on the fabric, just as it struck him that the blood must be from him.

The anemic sky darkened behind Henry. Archie watched as his friend pulled his notebook from his pants again and held it against the wall to scribble a few notes. Then Henry thanked the person who had called, hung up, and put the phone back in his pocket.

Archie tried to sit up a little, immediately regretting it. “Who was that?” he asked, wincing.

“Lab,” Henry said, walking back to Archie's bedside. “The DNA on Karim's teaspoon matched the DNA that Robbins found on Lisa Watson's body.”

“And?” Archie asked.

“And what?”

Archie examined his friend's face, looking for some hints as to what was coming. But Henry wasn't giving him anything. “You're just learning this now?” Archie asked.

“Yep,” Henry said. He sat on the edge of Archie's bed, folded his hands, and waited.

Archie struggled to understand. If Henry had only just now matched Karim's DNA, then what had led Henry and Sanchez to the island the night before? Henry would have had no way of tracing Archie to the island. Even once Henry had heard everything from Rachel—nothing would have led him to figure out where Gretchen had taken him.

“I thought…” Archie said.

“I called the number,” Henry said.

Archie was still. He could feel the saline and the morphine dripping into his vein, the cold bright burn in his blood. He could feel Henry's girth on his bed, a heavy presence that seemed to anchor the bed to the floor. Archie watched as Henry wedged his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small folded piece of yellow paper: the Post-it note that Archie had given Henry before Jack Reynolds's party.

Henry unfolded the Post-it note and held it out to Archie. Archie didn't have to look. He knew what he'd written.

“It's a telephone number,” Henry said.

Archie turned his eyes to the paper, a knot hardening in his throat. “I told you to look at that if I was gone for twenty-four hours,” Archie said. “I came back.”

“And then you disappeared again,” Henry said evenly. “And there I am—you and Susan both missing, and I've got Rachel, or whatever the fuck her name is, with some hysterical, convoluted story, and I've got your computer infected with malware that Ngyun tells me has been on it since August, and I don't mind telling you, I'm getting mighty concerned at this point—and then”—he looked at Archie, incredulously—“I remember the number. Your Visa number, right? That was your joke. Only when I unfold it and look at it, I find this.” Henry held the paper close to Archie's face. “Ten digits. A drop phone. Untraceable. A hotline I could call if you ever got in the kind of trouble I couldn't get you out of myself.”

Archie didn't move.

“So I called it,” Henry said.

He was looking at Archie intently—his skeptical blue eyes watching him, cataloging his reactions.

The shadows in the room seemed longer, the air thicker. Archie swallowed. “Did she pick up?” Archie asked hesitantly.

Henry shook his head, his face shining with amazement. “She did,” he said. “She told me you were on the island, that Karim murdered Lisa Watson, among others, and that both you and Susan were in mortal danger. She even sounded a little concerned.”

A sharp knock on the hospital room door made both men turn.

“You guys decent?” Claire's voice called.

Henry looked back at Archie and the gravity of his gaze made Archie's spine hurt. Then Henry crumpled the Post-it note in his hand and rolled the balled-up paper between his palms until it was the size of a marble. “Come in,” he called at the door.

Claire walked in, gnawing at the side of a caramel apple.

“We're done,” Henry said to her, standing up. “You ready to go home?”

“I have never been more ready to go home,” Claire said, coming around Archie's bed and kissing Henry on the mouth. She gave Archie a supportive smile. “You look better. You should have seen yourself when we first found you two. You looked like you'd been dead for hours.”

Archie didn't like to think of Susan having to see him like that. “She must have been terrified,” he said.

“No,” Claire said. “She was focused. She was holding you, to keep your body temp from tanking. She probably saved your life.”

Archie tried to remember, but the last image he saw in his mind was Karim threatening Susan, Archie firing the gun. “I don't remember that,” he said.

Claire frowned. “You always miss the good stuff, don't you?”

“Do I?” Archie asked.

Claire sighed and bent down and kissed Archie on the forehead. “Get some sleep,” she said. “We'll come back in the morning once my ankles have returned to a semblance of their normal shape.”

“I look forward to it,” Archie said. “And remember, Ginger needs to sleep in the bed. It's what she's used to.”

Henry hesitated. “You want me to stay?” he asked Archie. “I can sleep on the couch. So you have someone around. Between the cats and the corgi, it doesn't sound like there will be room for me in bed anyway.”

Archie considered the offer—the truth was he wouldn't have minded the company and he still had a lot of questions. But Claire was giving him the evil eye. She needed Henry more than he did anyway. “You two go home together,” Archie said. “I'll be okay.”

Claire grinned widely, and tightened her arm around Henry's waist.

“Catch,” Henry said, tossing Archie the balled-up Post-it note from his hand.

Archie caught it. “I never called the number,” he said to Henry, his fist tightening around the small paper ball. “I didn't even know it worked. It was something she gave me a long time ago.”

Henry put his arm around Claire, who Archie could tell was pretending not to understand their conversation. “Good thing, I guess,” Henry said.

“Oh,” Claire said to Archie, as if she'd just remembered something. “Star says you two are even, by the way.”

“Star?” Archie said.

“Your stripper friend?” Claire said brightly. “She says hi, and that you're even.”

Archie tried to think what that could mean and how it had come to pass that he even had a stripper friend. “Okay?” he said.

“I'll explain later,” Henry told him.

Archie watched as they left the room, arm in arm. Archie was pretty sure he saw Claire give Henry's ass a squeeze as they went out.

*   *   *

A nurse in
pink scrubs and a pair of white fuzzy rabbit ears on her head was checking Archie's vitals.

“Sorry I woke you,” she whispered apologetically, her rabbit ears bobbing.

Archie blinked blearily. It was dark outside and the lights in his room had been adjusted to their dimmest setting, giving the space a faint golden glow, just enough light to find the bathroom, and not enough to read by. “What time is it?” he muttered.

“Eleven-thirty,” she said. “Halloween's almost over.”

She returned her gaze to the blood pressure cuff on his arm and Archie saw a figure curled on the love seat under the window over her shoulder. He thought it was Henry until he saw the black and white hair.

“She's been here for hours,” the nurse whispered.

She removed the cuff, jotted down the blood pressure reading in his chart, and then stood. “I'll let you get back to sleep,” she said with a mild smile. She walked to the door and paused. Her long ears threw a shadow on the blue wall. “Want the lights off?” she called softly.

“No,” Archie said, his eyes still on Susan. “You can leave them how they are.”

The rabbit nurse left noiselessly, leaving the lights on their muted setting. Archie used the remote on the side of his bed to adjust the mattress angle slightly so he could see Susan a little better. She was wearing clothes he'd never seen her in before—strange pants and a shirt that looked like something someone would bring back from an island vacation. The low light was just enough to illuminate the features of her face, serene with sleep, blemished only by the stark white bandage that covered her ear. Her knees were curled to her chest. Her head was resting on one hand like a child, and her other arm, the one in the sling, was draped across her belly. He could see her breathing, the slight rise and fall of her body against the baby-blue fabric of the couch. He watched her for a long time. Sometimes her bare feet would twitch or she would go to move her bad arm in her sleep and then her face would tense and her arm would settle back against her side.

Archie liked having her here.

He could have watched her all night.

He didn't even see her open her eyes. He was just watching her and after a while he became aware that she was watching him, too. Her breathing hadn't changed, her body was still, but her green eyes were wide and alert. Then she sat up and yawned.

“I guess I fell asleep,” she said.

“I guess so,” Archie said.

“What time is it?” Susan asked, looking around.

“Late,” Archie said. “How are you?”

Susan put a hand on her shoulder. “My shoulder's okay. They said I might have had permanent damage if she hadn't fixed it when she did.”

“She?” Archie asked. Then the implication hit him. “You mean Gretchen?”

“Yeah,” Susan said, flustered. “Sorry. I forgot you were unconscious. She fixed it before she left.”

Archie felt a prickling sensation creep up his arms. “Did she say anything?” he asked.

Susan rubbed her eyes with her good hand. “I've been through all this with Sanchez and the others,” she said. She laid her head on the back of the couch, and her face fell into shadow. “She said it had been fun. And that help would be there soon. And that I should keep you warm. Then she left.”

“Claire said by keeping me warm you saved my life.”

Susan shrugged. “I just did what Gretchen told me.” She paused. “Do you remember much?” she asked tentatively.

“Not really,” Archie said. He tried to review the fragments of memory he had gathered, to put them in order. “I remember firing the gun, and then it all goes black.”

Susan exhaled and he thought he saw relief in her body language.

“I can't see your face,” Archie said.

Susan lifted her head. “What?”

“I want to see you,” Archie said. “Come closer.”

Susan looked confused, but she stood up and padded over to his bed in her bare feet. As she got closer, she moved from shades of gray and gold to full color, her face pink and freckled, her emerald eyes watching him intently. “Where's Rachel?” she asked.

Archie didn't even begin to know where to start. “She's…”—he searched for the right words—“gone,” he said. “It didn't work out.”

“I never liked her,” Susan said. She shook her head and groaned,
“Blondes.”

She wavered slightly on her feet without seemingly noticing. “Leo and I broke up,” she said.

Archie patted the edge of his bed with his hand and she sat down, facing him. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Not really,” she said. “Not yet. My mom brought caramel apples,” she added. “If you want one.”

“I'm not that hungry,” Archie said.

“They don't have razor blades or anything,” Susan said.

“I didn't think they did,” Archie said.

Susan struggled to hold back a yawn and lost, her mouth widening as she closed her eyes and emitted a silent yowl. Then she gazed at him blearily. “I'm sorry I didn't get you a birthday present,” she said.

“I think I've had enough presents this year,” Archie said.

Susan scratched her arm. “I'm so tired,” she said. “They gave me a pill. How do you take those things?”

“Come on,” Archie said, moving over to make room for her in the narrow bed. Susan hesitated only for a moment before she folded herself on her side next to him. The bed was small, but there was room for both of them if Archie kept his legs straight and his arms at his sides, Susan on top of the covers, Archie underneath. Susan's face was at his shoulder, her nose and lips almost grazing his skin. Her knees pressed gently against his stitches, but he didn't move. She closed her eyes and he watched her as her breathing slowed and equalized. Her foot twitched and Archie saw that a small yellow leaf was stuck there, on the bottom of her foot, clearly the same leaf that Henry had finally lost off his boot.