Innocence (2 page)

“Thanks, Sharo. Is that dick gone?”

“We shipped him off to Westside. Even if he makes it through the night alive, he won’t find his way back here. If he comes again, we’ll be ready.” At this point, Sharo’s eyes flickered to Cora, but his face didn’t betray any surprise that his boss had a girl with him.

They left by another door from the one Cora had entered, and, although she knew her hunter was gone, she couldn’t help but scan the street before stepping out of the door and into the waiting car.

“Don’t worry,” Marcus said, sliding in next to her. “That guy’s long gone.”  

The car pulled away from the curb, starting down the rainy street. Cora sat with her ankles crossed and looked out of the dark window. She gulped hard, without realizing it.

Marcus sat beside her, watching her pale face and throat work against fear. In a sudden move, he put his hand against her cheek, drawing her gaze away from the empty city blocks. Cora stilled, but his hand was warm and confident, cupping her chin gently.

“Hey, kid,” he said tenderly, “don’t be afraid. I’m going to take care of you.”

And it was just that kindness that broke her. Cora shut her eyes and let the tears squeeze out, and then let them pour out, streaking her face as the sobs shuddered through her. Marcus moved towards her and she clung to him, sobbing on his shirt as the car rolled smoothly on through dark, dangerous streets.

When she was finished crying, a patch of Marcus’ shirt was damp and his arms were around her, cradling her body.

“You done, kid?” he asked, and she nodded, and he withdrew his arms carefully.

“I’m sorry,” she said stuffily, because her face was puffy from crying. “Your shirt.”

Marcus gave a little laugh, and moved back onto his side of the car seat. “Kid, my shirt is the least of your problems. But don’t worry,” he looked back at her and said firmly. “I’m going to take care of you.” The planes of his face, so sharp and shadowed, softened into a slight smile. Cora weakly answered it with one of her own, leaning back on the seat with a tired slump.

The car had pulled up to a high rise, and Marcus himself helped her out of the car. For a second he left her to give instructions to the driver, and she waited on the sidewalk, washed in the light of a marquee.

“Sure thing, Mr. Ubeli,” the driver said. The car door slammed, and her host was back at her side.

“This way, kid,” With one hand at her back, he led her past the doormen, through the fine lobby to an elevator in the back. The only one who approached them was a man in a suit, certainly one of the hotel staff.

“Welcome, Mr. Ubeli,” he murmured, and bowed a little. For moment his gaze flickered to her face, but he immediately averted his eyes. Cora was too tired to pay attention. As they rode in the elevator, she leaned a little against her guide. Marcus Ubeli slipped an arm around her.

“Almost there,” he said, and then they were. Taking the key out of his pocket, he said, “I keep this room for emergencies,” and opened the door. Inside was dark and warm, a massive room stretching out against the windows, which covered one whole wall and let in the light of the city.

A penthouse,
Cora thought with exhausted awe.
I’m spending the night in a penthouse.

Without turning on any lights Marcus went from her towards an enclosed space. She peered after him, thinking she saw a kitchen, and he was browsing in a cabinet.

There was a clink of glass and then he was back, guiding her to the bedroom where he let her get in bed before holding a glass to her lips.

“Drink,” he said. “It will help you sleep.”

Eyes fighting to keep open, she tried to take the glass. In the end, Marcus tipped the red liquid past her lips. When she finally lay back he covered her with blankets.

“You okay, kid?” he said from the door, just before she fell asleep. Cora mumbled something, tasting the sweet heaviness on her lips, and, feeling the warmth spread, fell asleep.

*

When Cora woke up, she remembered the drink—the red, liquid jewel-like in the glass. She startled awake, ready to run again, before she noticed that she was not in the backseat of a car, but in the very dark room of a hotel penthouse. There was no one with her, and even though her head felt heavy from its long rest in the clinging pillow, she was safe.

Slowly, she started remember the night before. The club, her friends, the man she danced with, the backseat of the car. The undone belt and zipper. And then wet pavement as she ran away, down the streets until she found the basement stairs, and the door, and everything that lay behind it. That part seemed like a dream, and she would deny it happened, except she was lying between the smooth sheets, the velvety soft pillow of a five-star hotel bed.

As she got up, she noticed the bedside table. There was a glass still there, with a few ruby drops clinging to it. And she realized that last night, in the club, she had accepted one drink—red and rich. The guy who gave to her had said it was cranberry juice.

“Oh, no,” she groaned, and sat up groggily. She put a hand to her head: it felt thick and swollen, with her hair mussed over it. Looking for a clock, she wondered how long she had slept. When she ventured out of bed, moving carefully as if she was made of glass, she found a bathroom adjacent to the room. There the cool marble stung her tender feet. Squinting over the two sinks— both made out of a striking black marble— she saw the color had returned to her cheeks. She must have slept long, and well.

There was a new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste at the sink, and towels—black and cream colored to match the marble— all there as if they were waiting for her.

After she had showered, she found that someone had left a shopping bag on a chair near the door. The skirt and top she found inside were her size. She dressed, wondering if she was alone or if the person who had brought these things was still there, waiting for her to wake.

Leaving the bedroom, she squinted, expecting a blast of morning light. But the long wall of windows was covered with sleek Venetian blinds, and the only light that got through was grey. There were no lights on in the living room, either. She ventured forward, wondering if she was alone.

“How did you sleep?” The voice came from the darkness. There, in an armchair in the sitting area down by the bar, was Marcus Ubeli.

“Fine,” she said, clutching her body with her arms. She moved down towards him, looking around. The room stretched out in shadow, massive against the long wall of windows. The penthouse must take up one whole side of the building, she realized. There was a kitchen and bar, sunken areas for lounging, TVs and, in one corner, a baby grand piano. Everything was in grey or black, with touches of cream.

“Do you like the place?” Marcus Ubeli asked. He was sitting like a king among the expensive furnishings, drink in hand. The shadows were grey on his face and under his eyes as he watched her move through the room.

She shrugged. “It’s nice.” To get into the lowered seating area, she passed a statue, a contorted figure in white marble.

“That’s mine,” he commented, and she paused politely to stare at it. “The hotel lets me furnish this place to my tastes.”

The statue was of a woman, a body and thin cloth all finely sculpted. It looked Greek, and well done, but the figure’s face unsettled her—a sweet youth’s features twisted as if in some horror or fear. She moved on, descending into the sunken area where her host was sitting.

“Is this where you live?” Cora asked.

Marcus Ubeli chuckled. “No, I just keep it in case I want to get away.”

Drawing in her breath, she nodded as if this was normal. But she couldn’t imagine what a place like this would cost. Whatever it was, Mr. Ubeli was a man of means.

“Would you like a drink?” He stood abruptly, and she shrank away from his dark and tall figure, suddenly imposing. But he only turned and went up the steps to the bar.

“No, thank you.” she shook her head, feeling the wooziness still clinging there. At the bar, glass clinked and then he was back. “How long did I sleep?”

Again, a small chuckle. It wasn’t unkind, but it made her feel like she missed the joke. “I just watched the sunset.”

Suddenly horrified, she went to the window. Pulling at the slats of the blinds, she peered out into a city, bright with rows of light, artificial and multicolored against a very dark night sky.

“Oh, no,” she said again, for the second time since waking. She turned back to her host, who now was standing, his figure cut half through with black, half in grey.

“Forgive me,” he said, and she was startled again. He didn’t look like a man who would apologize. “I let you sleep as long as you could.” His face was in darkness; she couldn’t make out any expression beyond that which was in his voice. “I made sure you were okay; someone stayed here, just in case you woke. But when I returned you hadn’t woken.” His voice dropped, became softer. “I figured you needed it.”

“It’s okay,” Cora said, although she felt weak. She’d slept a whole day! And someone had stayed with her—she wondered who, and hoped it wasn’t the muscular bouncer she had seen in the club. She had so many questions, but she bit them back, feeling the dark eyes on her.

“You hungry?”

She shook her head sharply, remembering the pitch of her stomach during the chase. The memory didn’t seem a day old.

Too late, she thought of her manners. She had been raised to always accept food or offers of hospitality. Probably a habit she needed to break in the city. “I’m sorry. My aunt,” she said awkwardly. “She’ll be wondering where I am.”

Marcus Ubeli nodded, and set down his drink. “And we should get you to her.” He gestured smoothly to the door, and held out his hand. “Are you ready to go?”

When they left the elevator to go through the lobby, she was now aware of covert glances the hotel staff was giving her. Biting her lip, she lowered her eyes so she wouldn’t have to meet them. The new clothes she wore, though less skimpy than the dress, were still quite form fitting; the skirt a tad too short. The only shoes she had were the tall heels, so she wasn’t surprised when she tripped a little. Mr. Ubeli had her arm, so she made it out of the hotel and into the waiting car without a fall.

“Take us east,” he ordered the driver. “Out of the city,” At the wheel, Sharo nodded without turning around. Cora saw his face in the rearview mirror, expressionless. He wore a suit, cut smartly over his large frame. A headset wrapped around his shaved head. Every so often, he cocked his head and touched a hand to it, as if receiving its messages. Then a glass divider rose between the two seats, and Cora could no longer see the bald head through the tinted glass. Mr. Ubeli took his hand from the button, and leaned back with a smile.

“Just relax, kid. It’ll take a while.”

The trek out of the city was long, but Cora let it pass in silence. The lights of the city slid over the gleaming black car, and the high rises fell away, replaced by long lines of drab houses.

At one point, she covertly studied her host. Marcus Ubeli was sleek in a grey suit and silk tie, his black hair shining even in the dark. His temples held a little grey, but he was a young man still, she could tell. His dark eyes didn’t miss much, and when he caught her looking at him, he gave her a study of his own, so intense that she blushed and looked away. His features, sharpened by the shadows on his face, held no smile, but she felt he was enjoying himself, somehow. Curling away from him, she wrapped her arms around herself and looked out the window for the rest of the way.

When they reached the neighborhood of her aunt the divider between the seats went down again, so she could give the driver directions. After an awkward time of twisting down streets, following fragments of Cora’s memory, they finally turned onto a road that she recognized. The houses were particularly run down, but it was still with relief that Cora pointed to a middle one and said, “There. That’s the one.”

The car stayed as she ran up the path to the house. After ringing the bell twice, a sinking feeling replaced elation. The houses on either side were alive with light and noise, but her aunt’s was silent, its windows curtained and grey. Without signs of life, the place seemed eerie and deserted.

She knocked again, loudly, and called a few times. In the end, she had to turn around, face the car and the two watching faces, and shrug helplessly. After a moment, Sharo got out and opened the back door again. Inside, she knew, Marcus Ubeli was waiting for her.

Before her lay an invitation, a glorious city swelling with people and night lights. Behind her was nothing: no aunt, no way to get in, and no prospect of a homey, warm welcome. But it was still with dragging steps that she walked back to the car and got in.

*

Weeks later, Cora walked down the street in the big city. Her skirt and shoes were her own—the ones her friends had lent her were returned, with little thanks. When she had finally found them again, they had professed worry about the night they left her at the club. But any guilt was short-lived compared to their curiosity towards Cora’s new life. She had found an apartment, thanks to Mr. Ubeli. It was not close to her friends, but soon after Cora started dating Marcus and faced their sharpened curiosity of her dark and mysterious knight, she grew tired of them. Declining all invitations to go clubbing again, she lost touch with her old friends.