The Alignment (27 page)

“You’re responsible for what we must do to stop you.”

“No.”

“Yes.” His father steps toward us and places a hand on the back of an armchair. “
Ní ba chóir dhuit í a thabhairt anseo.
”

“
Má leagann duine ar bith láimh uirthi, maróidh mé sibh uilig,
” Trey says, as naturally as English.

The other man laughs that joyless laugh again. “We miss you, too.”

“
Focáil leat
.” Trey spits the words. He turns back to Kate. “I’m not through with you. Try to leave, I’ll find you.”

He takes my hand and pulls me to the other end of the room, away from the men. My legs struggle to keep up with his pace. We go through a dining room then into a bright kitchen where many people are at work. As we enter, all eyes shift to us, gawking as we stride through. He takes me up a back staircase. At the top of the second flight, we go down a narrow hallway, turn the corner, and the walls open into a much larger hall with high ceilings and grand chandeliers. As he pulls me through a set of open double doors, the maid, folding clothes, looks up. “Trey!”

“Eleanor, is my mother here?”

“Yes, sir. One moment.” She drops the shirt she was folding into the basket and looks at Trey like she wants to hug him, like our visit has made her day. Her comfort around him doesn’t fit with the behavior of the rest of the people we’ve encountered so far. She walks to a second open doorway. “Madam? You have some visitors.”

Trey’s mother comes through the doorway with her arms open wide. “
Fearghus, a chroí!
” She hugs him tightly then pulls back to look at him. “
Amhail is nach ndeachaigh am ar bith isteach
.”

“What did you expect?” He flashes a boyish smile I’ve never seen before. He steps out of her grasp and turns to me. “
A Mháthair
, this is Liv. Liv, this is my mother.”

She takes both my hands in hers and beams at me. We are exactly the same height. Her eyes are the color of Trey’s but hold a warmth his do not.

“Hello.” I’m taken aback by her grace. I couldn’t even begin to guess her age.

“
Bhur fíorghrá
?” she asks Trey while still looking at me.

“She doesn’t know the language,
a Mháthair
.” I can tell he feels like they’re talking behind my back.

“You didn’t teach her? Shame on you.” She walks me over to a sitting area near several sets of French doors. She gestures to the couch, and I sit, and she sits next to me. “You make him very happy. This is the happiest I have ever seen him.”

I know Trey can hear but he makes no indication. He moves to the window and looks out, his back to us.

“Considering the circumstances,” she adds, eyeing him.

He watches Christian and Aaron on the lawn.

“Fearghus,” she says, and he turns to her. “Sit with us.”

He sits across from us, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, intent. “
A Mháthair
, Liv had a daughter who died in infancy. Her name was Sloane.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Her words are sincere, and she squeezes my hand.

“Isn’t that a coincidence?” Trey asks.

“Yes.” She looks away. She is holding something back.

“When did my father lose so much weight?”

She sighs. “You haven’t seen him for a very long time. He’s been ill.”

“With what?”

“You should call him once in a while.”

Trey looks at his hands. “He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“He would be overjoyed to talk to you.”

A woman in a white apron brings a tray with a teapot, three cups, and a bowl of fruit. “Anything else, madam?”

“Could you please tell Martin to have lunch without me? Open up that bottle of wine for him.”

“Yes, madam.”

I can’t imagine Trey growing up here in such a refined environment. I wonder if I’d even recognize the Trey who lived in this house fifteen years ago.

After the woman hurries off, Trey leans back against the couch. “The Alignment
.
”

“Yes.” His mother’s face lights up.

“I didn’t know how to explain it to Liv in English. It was missing something. Can you try to explain it to her?”

“Hmm…” she begins, handing me a cup of tea and taking one for herself. “Alignment. There really is no good English word to explain it all. Liv, are you familiar with the law of conservation in physics?”

I rack my brain. “Energy cannot be created nor destroyed?”

“Yes, that’s the one. Energy can only change in form if acted upon by another force. In our universe, we see whole solar systems altered by one meteor strike. You and Fearghus didn’t get along well at first, I assume?”

“No. He made me physically sick,” I answer honestly.

“Your energy was not aligned. An outside force acted upon you, and your energy was transformed into something totally new. Much like a meteorite hitting a planet, shifting moons, shifting planets, creating a whole new solar system. Or a sun exploding into a red giant and consuming its own planetary system.”

“When Trey fell off the roof?”

“He fell off a roof? For goodness’ sake.”

“I was dragged off a roof,” Trey clarifies. “By one of their men.”

His mother closes her eyes and takes a breath. It’s apparent she doesn’t like to be reminded of the danger her son lives with every day.

“Why did we have to hate each other?” It can’t be as simple as our combined bad luck. Or even our individual torment bringing out ill will. Something else must have been at play.

“Fearghus would never have allowed you into his life without a barrier of dislike to keep you at a distance from him.”

I nod slowly. She makes it sound so simple.

“Have you met her lover?” Trey asks abruptly, the violence returning to his face.

“Yes.” Her calm voice doesn’t waver, even though she’s watching him like he’s a bomb falling through the sky toward us.

“Is he here?”

“Yes.”

He stands and paces, finally moving back to the window and staring out at them.

His mother sighs. “Now is a time for patience.” She looks pointedly at Trey. “
Is neamhbhuan cogadh na gcarad; má bhíonn sé crua, ní bhíonn sé fada
.”

He spins around. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Please come and sit. I have some things to tell you, and I need you to promise me that you’ll listen to everything I have to say before you leave this room.”

“I can’t make any promises until I know what’s going on.” He struggles to control his tone for her sake. I’m impressed. He doesn’t sit, but he walks to the couch and places his hands on the back of it as if to appease her.

She sets her cup on the tray and looks up at her son. “Christian is Aaron’s father.”

I stifle a gasp. I look at Trey’s mother, waiting for her to explain. She needs to say something, but she’s become still, taking in the room like she’s just been deposited here and she’s seeing everything around her for the first time. Trey’s grip on the couch has become deadly—his fingers are about to pop through the fabric. With every muscle in his body taut, he looks like he’s going to pounce.

“Say that again.” He can barely form the words.

“Christian is Aaron’s father. But you can’t blame him. He’s not responsible for this.”

A table crashes to the floor. The door is ripped open, and he’s gone.

“Liv.” She takes both of my hands as the words pour out of her. “You have to stop him. He’ll go too far, and when he finds out the truth the guilt and regret will kill him. It’s not Christian’s fault. He’s a victim in this even more so than my son. They’ve been using Christian, manipulating him, and he has no control, no responsibility for what has happened. I’m putting an address in your mind right now. When the time is right, you’ll think of it. Take my son there as soon as you can.”

Two men burst into the room, and I instinctively crouch, drawing a Glock and aiming for the first one’s chest.

“There will be no violence in here.” She stands, turning toward the men and staring them down.

Not finding the person they are looking for, they leave through the same door. I begin to follow them but her voice stops me.

“This way.” She opens a door leading to a balcony.

I step outside to see Trey already crossing the lawn toward Christian. I sense movement to my left above me and put a bullet in the shoulder of a man with a rifle on a balcony one floor up. He falls back, dropping the rifle.

I climb over the railing and push off with my feet, flipping in the air, landing in a crouch behind a hedge. Thunder rolls in the distance and echoes across the vast side lawn. From here, I can see Kate and Aaron standing on a patio near the house. Now seeing Aaron clearly, I’m surprised I didn’t notice the resemblance to Christian earlier, especially when they were side by side. It should’ve been obvious. The blond hair is exact, and it glows, saturated in the luminescence created by the storm clouds. Aaron studies the balcony I was on, alarmed by the gunshot. Watching him, I get the mental image of a young Robin Hood, standing there with his bow and arrows.

Two men come outside and join Kate and Aaron on the patio. I hear Trey’s raised voice across the yard. The men on the patio begin to argue quietly, obviously unsure what to do. I can’t tell if they’re armed. The small army from inside is nowhere to be seen.

Christian makes an effort to walk toward the house but Trey catches him, throwing him back to face him. Christian shoves Trey backward. Trey doesn’t return the shove, he simply recovers and steps forward, inches from Christian’s face. He must be speaking, but this time, his voice is too quiet to hear. Christian raises his hand, and Trey grabs his fingers. Several sharp snaps resound across the yard as four fingers break. Christian cries out, falling to his knees.

Kate and I rush forward simultaneously. I sense her attention shift to me. I should have listened to the haste in Trey’s mother’s voice. I waited too long. I sprint across the yard, feeling exposed. Trey already has Christian’s throat. I’m not going to make it there in time.

“Trey!” I shout. He is incapable of hearing. I stop, aim, and fire.

A sharp heat peels through my back, my chest. My legs give. Lightning flashes in a white hot web across the sky, and I wonder if my aim was accurate as the dark clouds consume me.

Chapter 33

Trey

I
see her fall
and forget everything. I’m on my knees at her side. I pick her limp body off the ground, out of an already puddling pool of blood. The boy has good aim.

I turn her over to yank the arrow out. Her breath catches then goes faint. Her heartbeat loses momentum. I lay her back down and whip out my guns, unloading them down the side of the house, scattering people and shattering windows. I don’t care who gets hit. I hope I hit them all.

I pick her up in my arms running red with her blood. I sprint to the car, vaguely aware of the bullets hitting the ground around my feet. Her body is dead weight as I lay her in the passenger seat. We blast down the driveway and through the open gate. I have to avoid obvious roads. No interstate. No logical path. I take several pointless turns then head north. I’m running out of time. She’s fading fast.

I watch the forest blurring beside us, the trees too thick to allow me through but it’s becoming sparser by the minute. Then I’m jerking the wheel and we’re off the road, thrust into a din of snapping and cracking and rumbling. Underbrush and young trees scrape around and below us until a thick barrier of trees makes it impossible to go farther. Some cover is better than no cover at all.

I pop a new mag in each gun, jam the guns in their holsters and shove out of the car. I fall to my hands and knees. The damp earth gives beneath my palms, and I bow my head, throwing everything I have into it. I never do this. It may not work. Stinging heat fills my head and just when it becomes too much to bear, it’s gone. Out of me. I pant, gathering the breath back into my lungs, waiting for my eyes to focus on the blades of green between my fingers.

When I look up, the forest floor is undisturbed, the Camaro’s destructive path erased forever. I hate cheating like this, but I have to fight fire with fire. I know it will come back to haunt me. But there’s no more time to think.

I carry her as far into the woods as my legs will allow. My skin is sticky with my blood and hers. As I lay her on the ground on a carpet of thick grass, the sky erupts in a violent downpour.

I kneel next to her and brush her hair off her face. Rain pounds my back and puddles against her closed eyelids. The sound swells around us, stealing my vigilance. I rip off our shoes and clothes. It only exposes more blood, when we are already drowning in it. I put my ear by her lips but can’t hear her breath through the sound of the hammering rain. I throw my head back and close my eyes, letting the deluge crash against my face.

“Please.” It is all I can say.

Her face is in my hands. Large drops run down her temples like tears. All her color has drained, filling the red puddle around us instead of her face. Her lips blend with her skin. She’s barely holding on.

“
Tá mo chroí istigh ionat
,” I whisper, but I doubt she can hear me.

I cover her body with mine and part her legs with my knee. It has to be done. She’d tell me to if she could speak. So I shut off my mind. Let my body take control.

Afterward, I relax on my back for a while. The rain has turned into a languid drizzle mostly absorbed by the canopy of trees above us. The large drops that fall from the branches calm my skin. Liv feels cold against me. I sit up and pull my arm from under her head. All the blood has washed away except for a small smear on my side where her chest was in contact with me. I watch the rain dilute it, running in reddish streaks down my body and into the grass.

Using my fingers, I dig a bullet out of my arm and toss it to the side. Probably a bad idea because now it’s bleeding again. I tug on my wet pants and boots. Inspecting the wound on Liv’s back, I wonder if it’s just my imagination to see the skin already sealing back up. At least the bleeding has stopped for the most part.

I tug her pants and shoes back on. I study her face, the slight hint of pinkness returning to her skin, but I can’t be optimistic until I get her cleaned and warmed up. The wound on her chest still bleeds. I have nothing to use for pressure. I need to get her indoors. Her wet shirt won’t go back on, so I put my shirt on her. I pick up all our gear and carry her back toward the car.

We’re lucky for the heavy rain because my careless footprints from our parking spot to our bed of grass have been covered. As I near the car, I draw my gun. I know the ruts left by the car have been erased, but anyone could have been tracking me. It’s impossible to know what they used, how far they could’ve gotten.

After laying her in the seat, I circle the car, checking all around. Nothing seems out of place but I’m not about to get sloppy now. I grab a shirt out of my bag from the trunk and yank it on. Hopefully the tires aren’t stuck. I ease the gas and we’re moving. I back up all the way to the road and head toward Charlottesville. There are too many of them in Richmond.

Even though I’m burning up, I crank the heat for Liv’s sake. I need to get her out of those wet clothes, and I need to find a place for us to stay before dark. From Charlottesville, I drive toward the mountains at top speed. Before reaching Waynesboro I turn off the interstate in favor of back roads, passing other cars illegally and pushing the Camaro around the mountain curves on slick pavement. We’ve gained enough distance that now we need cover, and the deeper we go the better I feel.

I spot a sign for a bed and breakfast and know it’s right. I slam on the brakes. No one’s behind me so I reverse back to the driveway and turn in. It takes us far from the road and around a bend which descends low into a valley. Only one way out, but no one will find us here. Thickly wooded mountains surround us on all sides. I could affect the trees to mask our presence but I doubt it’s necessary and there’s no time. I park out front, lock Liv inside the car, and go into the office.

The old woman smiles at my appearance when I come in the door. “Did you get stuck in the rain, hon?”

“Yes. Had a rough day.”

I buy out all three of her guest rooms and take only one key. It doesn’t seem to throw her. Privacy must be a common request among her customers. I doubt many of them show up unannounced, soaking wet and bloody and expecting to reserve all three rooms for a romantic getaway. The woman sends her husband to help me with the luggage. I can’t find it in me to decline.

“Looks like you wore her out,” he says when I lift Liv out of the car. His eyes graze the wound on my arm, but he decides not to say anything.

“She’s a deep sleeper.” Enough color has returned to her face so I don’t look like a liar.

When we get to the room upstairs, I ask him for as many extra bath towels as he can get me. He returns with a whole stack. After his footsteps reach the other end of the hall, I spread them over the bed and lay Liv on top then go back down to the car for the rest of our gear.

I turn our room’s heater on high and peel off her wet clothes. I dab her body dry and strip away all the towels except for the one under her head. I pull the covers up to her chin. After several minutes of picking at the tangled rubber band in her hair, my patience runs out in favor of my knife. I blot her hair with a towel and remove as much water as I can.

While searching her overnight bag for a shirt to cover her wounds, I find an entire bag of first aid supplies she fortunately thought to bring. I doubt she thought she’d need them for herself. I apply a bandage to the wound on her back and the one on her chest.

As I’m drying off from a hot shower, my stomach growls. I head down to the office to ask where I can get food. The owner looks thoughtful for a moment, then he excuses himself and disappears through some swinging doors. He returns with a wide grin. “My wife just made a big pot of vegetable soup. You look like you’ve had a full day. How about we bring up two bowls and a couple sandwiches?”

“I don’t want to put you out.”

“This kind of thing makes my wife’s day. Go back to your room. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

It’s hard for me to argue with that. I go back to the room and hide all the guns and bloody clothes, turn off the heat, and open the window for a couple minutes to return the temperature to a normal level. After I lower the lights, she looks like she really is just sleeping. The sight of her relieves me even though I know she’s unconscious due to traumatic blood loss. Caused by my fucked-up family. By my idea to bring her with me.

I sit in an armchair and wait, enforcing a censor on my thoughts. I look at the blood under my fingernails the shower did not wash away. Her blood. I can’t reflect on the events of the day until Liv is with me again. Without her balance, I can’t trust myself. I will lose control.

A light knock sounds on the door. The old man comes in carrying a full tray. As he sets it down, his eyes stray to Liv on the bed. I catch concern flecked with wariness and a long look passes between us. He tells me to come back downstairs if we need more and closes the door behind him.

I eat so fast I barely taste the food. Knowing Liv probably won’t wake up in time to eat her sandwich before it gets soggy, I eat that too, and then her soup because I can always get more. I sit on the edge of the bed and test her pulse. It’s definitely stronger, but I squash my enthusiasm. It can get better before it gets worse. I won’t know for sure until she wakes up. If she wakes up.

I spread out a towel on the floor and take our guns apart. Since they all got soaked, they’ll need a thorough cleaning, but I don’t have it in me to do it now. I shove the guns on the towel underneath the bed, out of sight. I don’t need to give the old man any more reasons to not trust me.

Even though it’s still daytime, my exhaustion undermines my will, making the bed look too inviting to ignore. I set the deadbolt on the door and climb into bed next to Liv. Her body is warm next to mine and covered in the soothing fragrance of the earth and the rain.

I’m startled awake by Liv sitting up straight in bed. The white bandage on her back glows in the dim light. I sit up next to her and she turns to me. The intensity of my relief cripples me. She’s going to be okay.

“3015 Scarlet Lane. Chicago, Illinois.”

“What?” I ask.

“3015 Scarlet Lane,” she repeats. “I need to write that down.”

I get out of bed and write the address on a paper napkin. She slowly scans the room then returns to me. Her hand moves to the bandage on her chest, and she looks down at it.

My clumsy hands tear through our bags to find her a shirt. I find one of mine and pull it over her head. She puts her arms through then reaches to feel the bandage on her back. She squints up at me, not understanding.

“It went through you,” I explain.

“Through me? What went through me?”

“An arrow.”

“How did…”

“I pulled it out.”

She lies back against the pillow and stares up at the ceiling. I remain standing, unsure what to do. I look at the clock. It’s 2:24 a.m.

“Please come back,” she whispers.

I get back in bed with her, and she rolls over and pulls herself to me, snuggling against my side as I drift back to sleep.

I wake up and feel her against me. I turn, trying not to disturb her, and move down a few inches to look into her face. Either it’s the morning light playing tricks on me, or she looks vibrant as hell. The pink color of her lips has returned in full force, and I can feel the heat of her skin radiating onto mine. As if sensing me awake, she opens her eyes and smiles.

“Hi.” I’ve never been happier in my life.

She slides her arms around my neck and clings to me. “I missed you. It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

I hold her to me, unwilling to let her go.

She pulls back to look at me.

“How do you feel?” I ask.

“Wonderful. Better than I’ve felt in a long time.” She pauses, trying to guard her smile. “Did you do what I think you did?”

“I had to heal you. It was the only way to save you.”

“But what if—”

“It doesn’t matter. I had to save you. Saving you was all that mattered.” I don’t want to ruin my happiness by talking about this.

She closes her eyes and lets out a long sigh. “But I missed it.”

I don’t know how to respond.

Her eyes open, and her lips part as if she wants to say something.

“What?” I ask.

“You almost made it with a dead girl.”

“The key word there is ‘almost.’”

She gives me a teasing sideways glance. “Isn’t there a term for that?”

“Necrophilia.”

She laughs. “So I guess you’ve already thought of that?”

“Yes. But I’ve done much worse, so it really doesn’t matter,” I say, returning a smile. I run my finger along her cheekbone. I don’t deserve this.

Her expression turns serious. “What did you say to me, right before…?”

“You heard that?” I can’t believe it.

”Yes. It was far away, but I heard it.”

“I said, ‘
Tá mo chroí istigh ionat.
’”

“Which means?”

“My heart is within you.” I didn’t expect to have to translate that.

“Wow. I never would’ve taken you for a romantic.”

“I’m not. I was desperate.” But I wouldn’t have to be desperate to say it to her again.

She sits up, pulling my arm away from my body to examine it. She must have just remembered.

“I did that.” She stares at my wound.

“Yes. It was very effective. But not as effective as this.” I place my palm on her chest where I know her bandage is. I wonder if her bullet would have been enough to stop me if she hadn’t been hurt.

“I can’t believe I did that.” Her eyes fill with tears. With a sharp intake of breath, her eyes dart back to mine. “I have to tell you something.”

I groan. I don’t want the moment spoiled with yesterday’s bullshit.

“You’ll want to hear this. It’s from your mother.” She sits up all the way and crosses her legs underneath her.

I groan again and put a pillow behind my back to lean against.

“After you left the room, she told me that it’s not Christian’s fault.”

“Yeah I heard that part.” I can’t help my belligerent tone. I knew this was going to happen. Everyone’s going to sympathize with that asshole.

“Trey, listen for a second. She said they’ve been manipulating him, that he has no control over what happened. He’s a victim just like you. They’ve been using him.”