The Heaven Trilogy (72 page)

“That bad, huh?”

Ivena nodded. “I'm afraid so. What is the problem, child? You're hurting, I see.”

Helen blinked.

“No offense, dear. But you look as though you just crawled from a sewer,” Ivena said.

The skin around Jan's hazel eyes wrinkled with an apologetic smile. “You'll have to forgive Ivena, she doesn't really like to mince words.”

“And would you
rather
I minced words, Janjic?”

“Of course not. But Helen might prefer some discretion.”

Ivena tilted her head. “I may have passed my fiftieth year, but honestly, it hasn't yet affected my sight.” She faced Helen. “And my sight tells me that the last thing your dear Helen needs is the mincing of words. She might very well need a bath and some hot food, but she's seen enough of wordsmithing, I'm sure.”

Helen watched them with wide eyes, turning from one to the other.

“What do you say, dear?” Ivena asked.

“Wha . . . About what?”

“Would you like me to speak directly or mince my words?”

Helen glanced at Jan, then gathered herself. “Speak directly.”

“Yes. I thought as much. So where did my famous author find you?”

“Actually, Jan may have saved my life,” Helen said.

Ivena raised her eyebrows. “Saved your life? You did this, Janjic?”

“She was being chased in the park and I had the Cadillac. It was the least I could do.”

“So now you have brought her here for safekeeping, is that it?”

“It wasn't my idea, I swear,” Helen said quickly. “He could've dropped me off on a corner. Really.”

Ivena looked at the girl carefully. For all the dirt and grime hovering about her, she possessed a refreshing look in her face. A certain lack of presumption. “Well, I would certainly agree with him, my dear. I can see that the corner is no place for you. He was right in bringing you here, I think. Did Janjic tell you how I came to be his friend?”

“No. He said that you were as kind as he.”

“Indeed? And do you find him a kind man?”

“Sure. Yes, I do,” Helen said, looking at Jan, who smiled awkwardly.

“Then I suppose that there's hope for everyone,” Ivena said. “That includes you, my dear.”

“You're saying I need help? Like I said, the corner would've been fine. I'm not askin' for your help here.”

“Maybe not. But you would like it, wouldn't you?”

Helen held Ivena's gaze for a moment and then shifted her eyes and shrugged. “I can manage.”

“Manage what?”

“Manage like I always managed.”

Ivena lifted an eyebrow, but she held her tongue. Perhaps this little ragged junkie had been led to them. Perhaps Helen played a part.

“What do you think, Janjic?”

“I don't know,” he answered.

Helen gazed from one to the other.

Ivena nodded. “And you want me to keep her?”

“Maybe.”

“Wait a minute,” Helen said, glancing between them. “I don't think—”

“Well, she certainly can't stay at the office,” Ivena interrupted. “Karen would have none of it, I can promise you that.”

“Karen?” Helen asked.

“Janjic's agent,” Ivena said with a small grin. “His fiancée.”

Helen looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Have you considered the possibility that I might not want to stay here?”

“And you would go where?” Ivena asked. “Back to whoever put that bruise on your neck?”

Helen blinked. “No.” She obviously hadn't expected that.

“Then where else?”

“I don't know. But I can't stay here! You people have no idea what my life's like.”

“You don't think so? Actually, it seems pretty plain. You've never understood love and so in your search for it you've managed to mix with the wrong people. You have abused your body with drugs and unbecoming behavior and now you are fleeing that life. And perhaps most importantly you are now sitting between two souls who understand suffering.”

Helen stared at Ivena as if she had just reached a hand across the table and slapped her. Ivena spoke softly. “You are fleeing, aren't you?”

“I don't know,” Helen said.

“You despise your past, don't you? In moments of clarity, Helen, you hate what has happened to you and now you would do anything to get away, wouldn't you? You would risk your own life to escape this monster breathing down your back.”

A heavy blanket seemed to fall over them. Their breathing thickened. It was her simple way with the truth. Yes, of course she'd managed to offend some in her time. But truth-seekers always welcomed her direct approach as they might welcome a spring of water in the hot desert. And
she
certainly didn't have the stomach to handle the truth with kid gloves; it seemed rather profane when held next to her own schooling in Bosnia. When stood up next to Nadia's death.

“You have been badly wounded, dear child. I see it in your eyes. I feel it in my spirit. It's something we share, you and I. We've both had our hearts torn out.”

A mist covered Helen's eyes. She blinked, obviously uncomfortable, perhaps panicked at the emotion sweeping through her.

A knot rose to Ivena's throat and she swallowed. In that moment she knew that a child screamed to be free before her. Deep behind those blue eyes wailed a soul, confused and terrified.

She looked over to Janjic. He was staring at Helen, his mouth slightly agape. He too had seen something within her. His Adam's apple bobbed. Ivena turned back to the girl. A tear snaked down her right cheek.

“You'll be safe with me, Helen.”

Helen looked quickly about the room, scrambling for control now. She wasn't used to showing her emotions, that much was obvious. She cleared her throat.

“It's okay. You may cry here,” Ivena said.

It proved to be the last straw. Helen lowered her head into her hands, stifling a soft sob. Ivena rested a hand on her shoulder and rubbed it gently. “Shhhh . . . It's okay, dear.”

Helen cried and shook her head. Veins stood out on her neck and she struggled to breathe.

“Jesus, lover of our souls, love this child,” Ivena whispered. She let her own emotions roll with the moment. This sweet, sweet sorrow that grew out of the pit of her stomach and flowered in her throat.

She looked at Janjic.

His eyes stared wide in shock.

It occurred to Ivena that he was not necessarily seeing or feeling what she was seeing and feeling. Ivena inquired with raised brows.
What is it, Janjic? What is the matter?

Janjic swallowed and cleared his throat. He pushed his chair back and rose unsteadily, gathering himself. “Maybe I should leave you two,” he said. “I have a meeting with Karen that I should get to.” He nodded at Ivena. “I will call you later.”

Helen did not lift her head. Ivena continued to rub her shoulders, wondering at Janjic's odd behavior. Or perhaps she was reading more into it than was warranted. Men often felt uncomfortable around weeping women. But Janjic was not usually such a man.

“Thank you, Janjic. We will be fine.”

He took one more look at Helen and then walked out.

Ivena heard the front door open, then close. She let Janjic's oddity leave her for the moment and addressed the young woman bent over her table. “There's nothing to fear, dear child. Hmmm?” She ran a finger along Helen's cheek. “We will talk. I will tell you some things that will make you feel better, I promise you. Then you may tell me whatever you like.”

Helen sniffed.

A fleeting image of her dead rosebush with its strange new graft flew through Ivena's mind but she dismissed it quickly. Perhaps she would show Helen her garden later.

GLENN LUTZ paced the black tile floor, running his fingers along his stubble, feeling as though his stomach had been cinched to a knot. Waiting for any news at all. He should call up Charlie and have him put his police cruisers on the street looking for her, that's what he should do. But he'd never asked the detective and his cronies to go that far before, not for a girl. Charlie would never understand. Nobody would understand—not this.

But men had died for love before. Glenn thought he understood why Shakespeare had written
Romeo and Juliet
now. He felt the same kind of love. This feeling that nothing in the world mattered if he couldn't take possession of the love he wanted.

And when he did haul Helen in he would have to teach her some gratitude. Yes, she needed to understand how destructive this crazy game of hers really was. If what Beatrice said about his business interests suffering was true—and of course it was—then it was really Helen's doing, not his. It was her doing because she had possessed him. And if she had not possessed him, then Satan himself had possessed him.

A rap sounded. Glenn jerked his head toward the double doors. “Come.” He took a deep breath, gripped his hands behind his back, and spread his legs.

Buck and Sparks walked in. They were already back—alone. Which could only mean one thing. Glenn swallowed an urge to scream at them, now, before they spoke—he knew what they would say already. Fresh beads of sweat budded on his forehead.

The men stepped lightly on the tile, though walking lightly was not an ordinary thing for men weighing over two hundred and fifty pounds. They reminded him of two buffaloes dressed in ridiculous black suits, tiptoeing through a bed of tulips, and again he suppressed his rising fury. Of course they were nothing of the kind, and he knew it well. He employed only the best, and these two were that and more. Either one of these two could crush him with a few solid blows, and he was not a small man. Still, he would think of them as he liked. It was how he warded off intimidation, and it worked well.

They came to a stop across the room and faced him, still wearing their sunglasses.

“Get those ridiculous things off your faces. You look like two schoolchildren caught smoking in the can.”

They obliged him, but they still didn't offer a reason for their unsolicited appearance. For a few moments Glenn just stared at them, thinking he really should go over there and bang their heads together. He turned his head slowly to the side, keeping his eyes on them. He cleared his throat and spat on the floor. A glob of spit splattered on the tile. Still they said nothing.

“You're afraid to tell me that she's gone, is that it?” Of course that was it and their silence sent heat up his neck. “You're standing there petrified because you've allowed a single girl, weighing no more than one of your legs, to get away from you, is that it?” He squinted at them.

But they still didn't speak.

“Speak!” Glenn yelled. “Say something!”

“Yes,” Buck said.

“Yes? Yes?”

A thought rudely interrupted his intended barrage—
She's gone, Glenn.

He held his tongue, breathing in shallow pulls. They'd let her go and for that they would have to pay. But what did that mean?
That means that Helen's gone. Gone!
A streak of panic ripped up his spine. A deep terror that brought a quiver to his hands.

It was followed immediately by another fear that these two pigs had seen his dread.

“Where?” he snapped.

“In the park, sir. A man took her in his car.”

Now the heat mushroomed in his skull. He dropped his hands to his sides. A man? He could not steady the tremor in his voice. “What do you mean, a man?
What
man?”

“We don't know, sir.”

“He drove a white Cadillac,” Sparks interjected.

“You're telling me that she left in another man's car?”

“Yes.”

Glenn fought a wave of nausea. The room drifted out of focus for a brief moment. “And you followed them? Tell me you followed them.”

Sparks glanced at Buck. It was all Glenn needed to know. “But you did get a license plate number?” His voice sounded desperate, but for the moment he no longer cared.

“Well, sir, we tried, but it all happened very quickly.”

“You tried?” Glenn whined mockingly, frowning deep. “You tried!” he screamed. He was slipping over a black cliff in his mind—he realized that even as he lashed out. “I didn't pay you to
try
. I paid you to bring her back! Instead she's escaped you three times in two days. And you've got the gall to walk into my office and tell me you didn't even have the sense to take down a license number?”

They stared at him, frozen.

He had killed a few men and it was always in this state of mind that he'd pulled the trigger. This kind of blinding fury that made the world swim in a black fog. Glenn closed his eyes and stood there shaking, speechless, unable to think except to know that this was all a mistake. It was an impossible nightmare. He hadn't just happened upon Helen—he'd been led to her. The hand of fate had rewarded him with this one gift, this one morsel of bliss. He had rescued her from the pit of hell and he wasn't about to lose her. Never!

There are people here, Glenn. These two buffaloes are watching you go berserk. Get a hold of yourself !

He breathed once very deep and opened his eyes. Sweat stung his eyeballs. He stepped toward them. Perhaps a little taste of insanity would be good for them. It would put the fear of God in them, at the very least. He walked briskly for the desk, retrieved a black semiautomatic pistol from the top drawer and strode for the men. Their eyes widened.

He lifted the gun and shot them quickly, each in the arm,
blam, blam,
before even he had a chance to think it through. The detonations thundered in the room. Actually, he shot Sparks in the arm; his shot went high on Buck and clipped his shoulder. Sparks moaned and muttered a long string of curses but Buck merely placed a hand over the torn hole in his shirt. His eyes watered, but he refused to show pain. For a brief moment Glenn thought they might come after him and he reacted quickly.