No Shelter (26 page)

He steps close. He moves to the side, to my right, and stands beside me.
 

“We will be watching everything. We will know what he’s thinking. We are more powerful than he cares to admit. Just remind him of that, okay?”
 

The aftershave he now wears is the same he wore two years ago. I can close my eyes and picture the two of us naked in bed. I can close my eyes and almost taste the sweat from his body.
 

“This right here, Holly, this is only a sedative. It will knock you out for a couple hours. By that time Walter should have been notified about what happened here and will arrive.”
 

With his free hand he twists my arm, looking for a vein.
 

“He will want to know what happened. And you will tell him, won’t you? You will tell him everything.”
 

He finds a vein and keeps it in place with his thumb, then places the tip of the syringe on the vein.
 

“You’re the only one we can trust now, Holly. We know how you feel about those kids. We know you’ll do your best to get them back safely. Won’t you?”
 

He pushes the plunger down with his thumb.
 

“By the way, I heard about what happened to Stuttering Scooter. That’s a real shame. He was a really good guy, you know?”
 

The syringe empty, he takes away the needle and stands back.
 

“It should only take about a minute or two. Are you feeling anything yet?”
 

I only stare back at him.
 

“Don’t judge me, Holly. I’m not going to give you some bullshit excuse for standing here right now. I picked this path and I’m happy with the decision. It’s that simple.”
 

Suddenly his face blurs. The room starts to go in and out of focus.
 

“It’s starting to take effect, isn’t it?”
 

My eyelids grow heavy. My head grows heavy too, so heavy that I drop it and then quickly try to bring it back up.
 

“Remember, Holly—if Walter wants his children back, he’ll get that flash drive.”
 

Zane steps close, leans forward, and as I look up at him his face begins swirling toward the vortex of his nose.
 

“Also tell him no bullshit. We’ll be watching. We’ll know everything.”
 

The world tilts, starts to go gray.
 

“For the children’s sake, Holly,” Zane says, “don’t fuck this up.”
 

The last thing I know before the gray turns to black is Zane leaning forward and kissing me on the forehead.
 

48

At some point I open my eyes. A whiteness stares back at me. I think that this is it—this is death. There is no heaven. There is no hell. All that waits for us at the end is nothing. We’re taken back to the place we began, to a womb of whiteness, and here we stay for eternity, staring at that numbing white and thinking about everything we could have done better in our lives, every misstep and every mistake, and never any of the good stuff, no matter how much there was.
 

Someone clears his throat.
 

When I look away from the whiteness—what I have quickly realized is a ceiling, the ceiling of the Haddens’ guest bedroom—I have to do it slowly because the world’s largest department store has set up shop in my head, a hundred thousand cash registers going
ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching
all at once.
 

A man in an Army uniform stands in the doorway. “How are you feeling?”
 

I open my mouth but close it. My throat is dry.
 

“Do you need something to drink?”
 

I nod.
 

He walks out of the room, leaving the door open. I take a moment to look around the guest bedroom. I’ve stayed here before, the few times I needed to spend the night. It is one of Marilyn’s pet projects. An actual spindle sits in the corner. A handcrafted quilt hangs from the wall. This room is meant to give the impression of a simpler time. A time where evil was mostly superstition.
 

When the soldier returns with a glass of water he isn’t alone. Walter is with him, still wearing his uniform, only the top couple buttons have been undone. His face is strained, making him look twenty years older.
 

The soldier sets the glass of water on the bedside table. He helps me sit up. It takes awhile because my head is still pounding and because my body is still sore. When I’m at the right position, the soldier hands me the glass. He doesn’t let go, though, and helps me guide the glass to my lips, keeps his hands there as I take a sip of water, then another sip, then another. I look up into his face and find sweet caring eyes and then look at his hands as he takes away the water and feel a strange sense of disappointment when I see he wears a wedding band.
 

Walter thanks him, tells him he can leave. Then he pulls up an antique rocking chair beside the bed and sits down.
 

“Are you okay?”
 

I nod slowly.
 

“Can you talk?”
 

I swallow, clear my throat. In a weak and tired voice I say, “Yes.”
 

“Good. Now tell me who did this.”
 

“It was”—I have to clear my throat again—“Zane.”
 

Nothing changes in Walter’s face. No surprise. No confusion.
 

“Walter, didn’t you hear me? I said it was Zane.”
 

“What does he want?”
 

“Walter”—I sit up even straighter—“how can that be possible? Zane ... is dead.”
 

He leans forward, reaches out and places his hand on my shoulder. “What does he want?”
 

“The flash drive.”
 

Walter closes his eyes. He takes his hand away from my shoulder, places his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
 

“They have Casey and David. They’re going to kill them if you don’t give them the flash drive.”
 

Again he doesn’t react when I use the plural form. Nothing surprises this man. He no doubt heard Sylvia’s story already, about the men in suits ... that is if Sylvia is still alive.
 

“How’s Sylvia?”
 

“What?” Walter looks up, blinks at me. “She’s fine. Shook up, but she’s fine.”
 

I think briefly of the bloody carpet, the lump of fur. “And Baron?”
 

Staring at me, Walter slowly shakes his head.
 

“How is this possible, Walter? Zane ... he’s supposed to be dead.”
 

“Take me through everything that happened this morning. Every single step.”
 

“Walter—”
 

“Goddamn it, Holly, tell me what happened.”
 

I tell him what happened. From the moment we left the house today, to the pool, to the kids picking on Casey, to David coming to her rescue. To my lesson to David in the parking lot, to my first call, to my second call, to watching Colin and Mitchell die, then to getting in the car and taking off and meeting up with Javier Diaz and then to where they tied me up in Walter’s study.
 

“How many would you say there are, in total?” Walter asks.
 

“At least six. Zane, Javier and the two in the car, the guy who took the kids, the Porches’ driver, and the shooter back at the pool.”
 

Walter nods slowly, as if this is what he’s thinking too.
 

“There’s probably more, though,” I say.
 

“Probably.”
 

“How is Marilyn taking it?”
 

His eyes stare at me for an instant, quickly shift away.
 

“Jesus Christ, Walter. You haven’t told her yet?”
 

“She’s at work.”
 

“Then call her.”
 

“Not yet. Not until I decide what needs done.”
 

The hundred thousand cash registers have gone silent. The only sound now is the blood beating away in my ears.
 

“What needs done,” I say, swinging my feet off the bed and onto the floor, “is getting your kids back.”
 

“You don’t think I know that?”
 

“You don’t seem like you care.”
 

“You have no idea how I’m feeling right now.”
 

“They’re your kids, Walter.”
 

“I understand that. I fucking understand that. But what they’re asking for in return is something ...
fuck
.”
 

He throws his arm aside, knocking the glass against the wall. The shattered pieces scatter on the carpet.
 

For a moment there is a silence. Walter glares back at me, his jaw set, his face red. There are no tears in his eyes. I can’t say I’m not surprised to see that. After all, the man has been trained to be like steel. Even when his children’s lives are on the line, he shows no emotion.
 

For the very first time I pity him.
 

“You need to tell her, Walter.”
 

“My wife is a great woman.” Even though he’s looking at me, I can tell he’s speaking to himself. “She has sacrificed so much for our family. Now ... now this.”
 

“You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you? That’s why you assigned the agents to watch us.”
 

“I’d had an idea they would retaliate. Especially when I found out your father was involved.”
 

A trapdoor opens up beneath my feet. For an instant I’m weightless, falling, falling, falling. Then I steady myself. I close my eyes. Take a breath. Open my eyes again.
 

“What did you just say?”
 

Walter blinks. “You mean Zane didn’t say anything to you about him?”
 

“My father”—I take a step forward, take a step back—“is alive?”
 

“Don’t be naïve, Holly. You saw Zane with your own eyes. If he’s alive, your father’s alive too.”
 

“But I ... I shot him.”
 

“That’s what they wanted you to think.”
 

“There was ... blood ... blood all over him.” I pause, glance back up at Walter. “You knew?”
 

He just stares back at me.
 

“You fucking bastard. You knew this entire time. Why didn’t you ... why didn’t you ever tell me?”
 

“You should go home, Holly. Get some sleep. I’ll have someone drive you.”
 

“How long have you known?”
 

Walter shouts out a name, and a moment later the same soldier from before enters the room.
 

“Rick, drive Miss Lin here home, would you?”
 

Rick steps forward, extends his hand.
 

I ignore him. I keep glaring back at Walter.
 

“How long have you known?”
 

“Go home, Holly. There’s nothing else for you to do here.”
 

I close my eyes. Shake my head. Try to hold back the tears. I want to beat this man sitting in front of me right now. I want to kill him. But instead I take a deep breathe, another deep breathe, and then open my eyes and turn and walk past Soldier Rick out of the room.
 

Down the hallway to the stairs, down the stairs to the landing, from the landing through the hallway to the living room, then the kitchen, I pass at least a dozen soldiers, many MPs, looking for evidence, whispering to each other, trying to do everything they can so they don’t have to bring the actual police into the situation. After all, this isn’t a civilian issue. This is an Army issue, a United States government issue, and they will try to keep it as hush-hush as possible.
 

Outside there are a half dozen cars and SUVs parked in the driveway and along the street. I don’t know which one to go to. I wait until he comes out and then I follow him to one of the cars and get in and then just sit there, my arms crossed, staring out the window.
 

“Where to?” he asks, starting the ignition.
 

I don’t answer.
 

He puts the car in reverse, backs us out of the driveway. We start down the street, the sun shining through the trees that reach up and cover us, making shadows everywhere. At the end of the block we reach the stop sign. A car coming up Vine Street stops at the same time, its turn signal flashing.
 

Marilyn. It’s five-thirty—I now see the time on the dashboard—and she’s coming home from work. Soon she will arrive home and she will see all the cars and the SUVs. She will enter her house to find that it’s become a stranger’s. Then Walter will approach her and she will see it in his eyes, in his face, and she will begin to cry, begin to wail, falling to her knees, pounding Walter with her fists.
 

I don’t know for certain this will happen, but as we pull through the intersection, as we leave Marilyn behind, I hope it’s close enough to the truth.
 

I hope she punches him as many times as she can.
 

I hope she makes him pay.
 

49

It’s one of those silly ironies that on the worst day of my life the elevator in my apartment building is working.
 

I take the stairs anyway. I let myself into my apartment and shut the door. I think about eating something—my stomach is growling—but I don’t really have an appetite. I take off my sandals, drop them to the floor, and enter the living room to find Nova sitting on the couch.