The Victim (18 page)

“Downtown Toronto and wait for Sarah for tomorrow. I’ll get our supplies and my hand cream and then I’ll meet you outside.”

Philip ran out of the apartment. Simon went into the bedroom, grabbed everything they needed and threw the salve for his hands into his pocket.

Tomorrow, as Matthew’s note said, they would wait for Sarah, follow her, chase her, and lock her in the room she was supposed to run to where they would Rapture her.

Simon looked forward to finally killing his enemy. Then he would take care of Philip.

In the meantime, he would enjoy his day waiting for the Rapture, preparing for chapter two in his life as an Automatic Writer, as a savior.

Nothing and no one could stop the power that he and Matthew are and would become.

No one.

Chapter 22

Sarah’s muscles were exhausted, her body heavy and hard to hold up. She felt like one large bruise. So far, Aaron had taught her over a dozen moves. Ones that flipped her opponent on their backs and other moves that knocked her opponent out cold. The problem with these kinds of martial arts, he couldn’t just
show
her, he had to
use
her to demonstrate. Then she practiced on him.

“Aaron, we’re going to have to take a break. We’ve been at this for almost eight hours and in that time you’ve flipped me, punched me, and almost knocked me out five times.” She stopped to breathe deeply as he had instructed when upside down. He held her at an odd angle, her head twisted away.

“We could stop now. Rest. Start again tomorrow.”

“Yeah, okay. But, you’re going to have to let go.”

He released his grip, slipped his legs away and let her down gently. At the mat, she pulled on his arms quick and he lost his balance. Then she twisted away, and he fell. Of course, he wouldn’t just fall gracefully. He grabbed for her. She almost got away, but got pulled back.

By the time they stopped, she was on her back, lying flat on the mat with Aaron on top of her. His nose rested against hers. Their eyes locked. She saw admiration, caring and a fire in his eyes. He wanted her bad, and she could tell. She wanted him to want her. She wanted to be taken.

Slowly, he tilted his head to the side, then his lips were on hers.

She didn’t stop him.

A tingle swept through her. His lips were soft, but firm, warm and moist. She allowed them passage on her lips, a place a man rarely got to go.

It felt right, comforting, but most of all, delicious. Sarah reveled in the moment as if she had finally grown up. She had matured through what she had gone through in life. She was a woman now. As a woman, she desired, yearned, wanted, and … needed.

It was easy to ignore the feelings of lust when running for her life. But under Aaron’s gaze, alone on the mat, his lips on hers, she was his willful prisoner.

He slowed, parted his lips and moved away.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off. She licked her lips, taking in his essence. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Just do it again before I kick your ass.”

He lowered to her lips, like he was waiting for Christmas, and kissed her again. Sarah almost cried out.

After a full minute, she pushed off the floor and spun him around until she was on top. He didn’t resist. She thrust his arms wide, held his wrists down and kissed him passionately, intimately, savoring the moment.

Then she kissed his neck. She opened his white karate uniform and kissed his chest around the bullet wounds.

“Wait,” he said in a soft, bedroom voice.

Sarah paused and looked up at him. He indicated for her to get off so she rolled off. He got to his feet and held a hand out to her.

In one fluid motion, he lifted Sarah into his strong arms. She dipped her head onto his chest as he carried her into the back.

They may have walked to the back of the dojo but they went somewhere else, a place where fantasies are fulfilled and screams aren’t pain related.

Something altogether unfamiliar for Sarah, but welcomed all the same.

He held her for an hour as they rested in the afterglow, neither one ruining the experience with small talk. There was no talk of the future, a relationship, or if what they had done was stupid.

They just held each other.

She dozed. When she woke, Aaron had gotten up and put more coffee on in the little kitchen.

“Want a cup?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

When she came out of the bathroom, she saw he had set her clothes by the door.

How thoughtful
.

She dressed and then walked over to the counter to get her coffee.

They sipped in silence for a few moments, their eyes averted.

“I haven’t told you what happens to me when my sister works through my body.”

“I have something to tell you, too,” he said, shaking his head. “I have never seen that many scars on one person in my life. How are you even alive?”

“Flattering.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

She laughed. “I’m teasing.”

“What the hell have you been through, Sarah?”

“Hell.”

“I believe you.”

“How is it I’m still alive and happy?”

“Someone always has it worse.”

“True.”

They drank their coffees. Sarah wondered what to say about Vivian. It would take too long to tell all, but did he really need to know everything?

So she started with how Vivian had died, how it was hidden from her and how she used to pull her hair out as a teenager to cope with the automatic writing. After their second coffee, her story brought her to the Sophia Project men and how she had just escaped their clutches yesterday morning because of the white-faced assholes who had tried to kill her—the reason she had come to Aaron’s dojo.

“It never ends for you, does it?” Aaron said.

Sarah shook her head. She sat up on the counter by the sink, her second coffee half gone and now forgotten.

“But, you know, I’d do it all again.”

“What?”

“Everything. I’d get kidnapped by Gert, chase Armond to Europe, stand in the street while cars raced at me, because it works. It saves lives.” She kicked her feet back and forth as she looked down at them. “Vivian keeps me safe. I know there’s risk and I’ve been hurt many times, but I always heal. She has never walked me into certain death. I trust her.”

She looked at Aaron, who was listening intently.

“There was a time,” she continued, “before I drove a stolen police car through the gates of a FLDS fundamentalist compound, that I wasn’t sure if I could trust Vivian. She knew it, too. She sent me the proper message at the time to deal with where I was mentally. That’s how well she knows me and how I’ll interpret what she says. I actually feel blessed because of her.”

“Wow, that’s something. You go through a lot—you have it bad—but not many people would see that greener grass on the other side like you do.” He lifted his fingers and dropped them one by one as he stated his points. “You get messages that send you into a den of lions. Violent criminals want to kill you. You are shot, beat up, have bones broken and you’re feeling blessed because of that?” He dropped his hands. “Maybe that’s why you were chosen, because you’re the only one sick enough to make that connection.”

She smiled. “I like you. I like how you say what you gotta say without worry of judgment. You’re the kind of person I don’t mind calling me sick.”

“What are you gonna do, beat me up?” He smiled.

She jumped off the counter as fast as she could and body checked Aaron. He lost his balance, the wall catching him, but she was already pressed up against him.

“Maybe I will,” she drawled like an Italian mobster. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

Aaron let out a little laugh. “You are so cute. Such a tiny little girl with so much violence all wrapped up in a pretty package.”

She stepped back. “Cute? I don’t want to be cute.”

“Too bad. You are. But that’s a good thing.”

“How so?” she asked.

Her hand numbed, surprising her.

“Get me paper, a pen,” she snapped. “Now, damn it!”

The numbness traveled up her arm, then she was out.

She woke on the floor by the sink, a pen jammed between her thumb and forefinger.

“How long have I been out?” she asked.

“Almost two minutes,” Aaron said. “You wrote furiously. I asked what you were doing but you didn’t respond.”

“When I’m out, I’m out. Where’s the paper?”

“Here.” He reached behind her arm.

“Why is it back there?” she asked. “Did I do that?”

“Just before you woke, you convulsed or something and jammed the paper behind you.”

“Have you read any of it?”

“No. It’s not for my eyes.”

She saw truth in his face. Then she looked at what Vivian had her write and started to cry. She curled up in a ball, hugged her legs and wept.

Aaron tried to comfort her. He got down and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He waited patiently. For that, she was thankful.

She shuddered under the weight of Vivian’s words and wondered what it was all for.

“Why bother?” she asked. “Sometimes this shit is really hard.”

“Why bother with what?” Aaron whispered.

“Life.”

Aaron stayed silent. She needed to work through it on her own. They had just met. He wouldn’t and couldn’t know what the right thing to say was for Sarah.

“Here. Read it.”

Sarah handed him the paper.

“Who was Esmerelda?” Aaron asked.

“An old friend. Saved my life once.”

“The note says she has been killed … I’m sorry.” He waited a moment, then said, “It says here it all finishes tomorrow. What does it mean by ‘run into the yoga studio’?”

“I have no idea.”

“You have no idea?” He sounded surprised. “I thought these notes were more specific.”

Sarah wiped her eyes and looked at him. “She never details everything. Even if she did, life doesn’t happen that way.”

“But how can you be sure you’re safe if you’re supposed to just run into a yoga studio? I would think running into a martial arts studio would have better odds at saving you than yoga.”

“Maybe there’s a certain pose I need to learn, like downward dog, that’ll get these guys off my back.”

“Are you being sarcastic?” Aaron asked.

“Not really. Maybe.”

“Look, Sarah, this is none of my business—”

“You’re right, it’s not.”

He looked chastised. She hadn’t meant for them to argue. She shared her sister’s message as a way for Aaron to see a live example of who she was. He was taking it too far. He didn’t need to protect her. Actually, he couldn’t.

“Sarah, you need more than a yoga studio. You need weapons, you need a Kevlar vest. How about giving this message to the cops.”

Sarah shook her head. “Aaron, please stop. If I gave messages from my sister to the cops, they would’ve locked me up years ago. Some of the notes I get are about them, too. This is how I work. Sometime tomorrow afternoon, I’m going to expect the white-faced assholes to show up. When they do, I’ll run. When I find the yoga studio, whatever happens after that, happens. That’s it. Keep it simple. There’s nothing else to it.”

He watched her face for a while. Then he got up and put his shirt on.

“What happened today,” he started, “was beautiful.” He looked down at her. “From where I’m standing, you’re a gorgeous human being with a huge heart, and I think I could grow to love that about you.”

Sarah’s eyes watered over.

“I’m a man of discipline. My day has a routine, whether I’m in the gym or shopping for groceries. That has brought me success in my life. What I can’t live with are uncertainties, things that are improbable. Not knowing what’s coming and just hoping for the best is too unsure for me.”

“But, Aaron, it’s not you. I gotta do this.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Sarah. What we did here, how we held each other, that’s
us.
Each time we do that, there’s more
us.
Your life is so opposite and foreign to me, I’m not sure I even understand it. Murderers who want you dead are coming tomorrow and you’re supposed to run into a yoga studio.” He shook his head, looking on the verge of tears himself. “That’s not cool, Sarah.”

“What are you saying? I shouldn’t listen to my sister? The sister who has had my back for five years?”

“No, I’m saying I can’t listen to her.”