Obscured

  The security guy I lifted the key from, Mike, or Harris?

  In the end, it doesn’t matter. Gone is gone, no matter whose hands it went through to get that way. My fingers scratch uselessly at the dusty floor, and hot tears stream down my face. Indiana will never happen. There will be no bookstore, no rental car. There is here and me and the men. I’ll never leave.

  “I don’t want to be here,” I half whisper, half choke. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know it’d be forever.”

  I’m not sure how long I sit there. By the time I finally emerge from the dark storeroom, there is a hint of the coming dawn teasing the horizon. There are people around, but no one seems to notice me, though I know I’m a sight with the puffy, red eyes.

  I don’t know where to go. I can’t go back to the hotel. I can’t even go back to my apartment. So I walk. And walk. With my head down, I can be anyone, going anywhere.

  I wish I could walk forever. If I had my ten thousand dollars I would. But thoughts of my lost money bring the tears, and I sniffle, trying in vain to hold them back.

  I look up to make sure I’m alone and unnoticed and find I’ve walked further than I thought. The hotel stands miles behind me, and tourist traffic has dwindled down to almost nothing. I take stock of my surroundings and head to a nearby public park.

  I tell myself I’ll just sit and think for a bit. Try to decide what to do while not thinking about how I lost ten thousand dollars overnight. But, of course, that isn’t going to happen.

  “It’s Vegas, right?” I ask out loud.“Happens all the time. Probably a lot more than ten thousand.”

  I laugh, but it’s not a happy sound that comes out of my mouth Matter-of-fact, it scares away the flock of pigeons who boldly approached to see if I had food.

  “Sorry,” I say, as they flitter away. “I didn’t have anything anyway. Can’t afford it.”

  How is it possible one person can make so many mistakes? I catalogue them: leaving for Vegas in the first place, trusting Mike, thinking my money was safer in the storage building and not my apartment. I sigh. No one’s doing but my own. Make your bed and you have to sleep in it and all that jazz.

  “Not that I do much sleeping,” I mumble to myself.

  “Talking to yourself?” a soft southern accented voice asks from behind me. “I’ve heard it’s only dangerous if you answer.”

  I jump off the bench and spin around.

  Isaiah stands behind the bench, hands in his pockets and his signature smile on his face.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  Instead of answering, he comes around the bench, lifts an eyebrow and, at my nod, sits down. “I found this park a few weeks ago. It’s not far from my condo. I like to come here early in the morning when it’s just me.”

  “Sorry I interrupted your private time.”

  “There’s no reason to apologize. What brings you out this early?”

  He saw me at dinner with Theo, and Isaiah is smart man. He already knows what I am and what I do.

  “I’ve had a bad day.”

  He gives a low whistle. “And it’s only five in the morning. That’s really bad.”

  He means it as a joke, but his words bring back just how alone and destitute I am. I’m not able to stop the sob that rips through my throat.

  I drop my head into my hands and give into the tears once more. I curse myself for being such a crybaby, but that doesn’t stop the tears. I cry, not caring that Isaiah is there, not caring if he gets up and leaves. Somehow, the cry is restorative. As the sobs lessen, I’m aware of a presence beside me. I sniffle and glance out of the corner of my eye. Isaiah. He hasn’t left.

  “Better?” he asks.

  I shrug.

  “Here.” He hands me a cloth handkerchief. I take the soft piece of material and run my thumb along the monogrammed ISM. Isaiah Samuel Martin. I’m not sure what surprises me more: that Isaiah carries handkerchiefs or that he’s letting me use it.

  I hold it back out to him. “I’ll mess it up.”

  “It’s just cloth, Athena. Wipe your eyes, blow your nose if you want. You’ll feel better.”

  I dab my eyes, just using a corner of the cloth.

  “For goodness’ sake.” He snatches the handkerchief from me with one hand, holds my face with the other, and proceeds to wipe my face himself. All the time under his breath, he’s mumbling. I hear something along the lines of ‘stubborn woman’ and ‘piece of cloth’.

  His hands are soft and gentle against my skin. When he brushes the handkerchief under my eyes, I close them, relishing his warmth. His touch is so different from what I’m used to. His fingers make me think of comfort and affection and something else that causes my stomach to flip flop.

  “There,” he whispers, and I open my eyes to find his face mere inches from mine. His hand still cups my chin, and his thumb traces my cheekbone.

  “Thank you,” I answer in my own whisper.

  He swallows, glances at my lips, and drops his hands. “It was nothing.” He scoots away as far as possible.

  I glance down at my hands, unable to meet his expression. I hate that he’s sorry he touched me. Even though we are alone in the park, it suddenly feels too stifling. I need to leave. To get away. Figure out what I’m going to do. I stand up.

  He holds out hand. “Don’t leave. I moved away because I didn’t want you to think I was coming onto you.”

  “I’d never think that.”

  “Sit down and tell me why today’s so bad.”

  I don’t want to tell him too much about Mike. I don’t know how close they are ,and I’m not stupid. I keep it simple. “I want out.”

  He nods. “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere, it seems. I’ve managed to save some money over the years. Not a lot, but enough to get me out of here. I went to get it,” my voice drops, “it’s gone.”

  “All of it?”

  “All of it.” I reach into my pocket. “There was a note.”

  He takes it from me and reads with a solemn expression. “Who would do this? How could anyone do this?”

  “Real easy like.”

  His eyebrows wrinkle up. “It has to be someone who’s watching you.”

  “I have a few ideas, but it’s nothing I’m in a position to pursue.”

  He sighs. “You should call the police.”

  It sounds just like something a naïve know-it-all would say. “Did you miss the part about me not being in a position to pursue anything?”

  “I guess I need you to explain it to me, because the way I see it, you’re the victim of a crime and it’s the police department’s job to help you.”

  I glare at him, but can’t find it in my heart to be angry. I guess for some people, life really is that black and white. Too bad the rest of us have to live with all the different hues in between.

  “Look,” I finally say when he continues to look at me with his hopeful expression. “I know you weren’t born yesterday, and that in your world life is full of this is right and this is wrong, but you have understand that most of us live somewhere in between the two. The police won’t listen to me. Even if they did, I have no way to prove that money was mine or even existed in the first place.”

  He drums his fingers on his thigh, and I see his mind spinning with ideas, possibilities he could offer. “I could talk to Mike –”

  “No!” I jump up. I tremble just thinking about him talking to Mike. Of what Mike would do after.

  “Mike and I are close, and he’s powerful. He’ll help, I’m sure.” His expression looks decided. “I’ll just explain –”

  “What part of no don’t you get?” So much for keeping Mike out of the conversation.“You don’t know how Mike is. What he’s capable of.”

  “He’s a good man. He’s helping me.”

  “He’s evil.”

  “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

  I stomp over so I’m in front of him and place my hands on my hips. “You don’t believe me about
Mike, and yet you think the police will believe someone stole ten grand from me?” I snort. “Yeah, I’m going to the police department. Right now. Know what? Forget I brought it up. I got myself into this, and I’ll deal with it.”

  “I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.”

  My breathing is deep and heavy. “I just thought if anyone would believe me, it’d be you.”

  His eyes lock onto mine. “I believe you.”

  I sit down beside him again, making sure not to touch him in the process. “I’m still out ten grand.”

  Somehow, it feels better knowing he believes me. Granted, it doesn’t feel good enough to make up for losing all my money, but I don’t feel quite so alone. “I’m right back where I started.”

  “No. You’re not.”

  “You’re right. I’m worse off. Before, I had money.”

  “Don’t you see?” he asks. “You’ve made an important decision. You decided to get out. To leave.”

  “Lot of good that’s done, right? I can’t leave if I don’t have the means.”

  “I don’t see why you can’t just walk out.”

  “And go where?” I sigh. “It’ll take me another ten years to save that much money again. I don’t think I’ll last that long. And I tried to leave once before.”

  He looks at me warily. “What happened?”

  At the moment, I want nothing more than to soak in a hot, steamy bath. I feel so dirty. Truthfully, though, anything would better than sitting here talking about things I’d rather forget.

  “I’d been in Vegas about a year and a half.” I close my eyes, picturing the one other time I’d gathered up the nerve to leave. “I had a pocket full of cash and thought I’d head back home, try to finish school. But as I waited for the bus, I knew I didn’t have enough money and that’d I’d be right back to selling myself.”

  “What did you do?”

  I shrugged. “When the bus left, I was still here. Choking on exhaust fumes and trying not to look at Mike’s self-satisfied expression when he walked outside to take me back.”

  “You never tried to leave again?” Isaiah asks.

  “I thought about it a time or two, but never acted on it.” I never told anyone so much about me, not even Vicki. Of course, I don’t share with him how Mike forced me to show my ‘gratitude’ when he took me back.

  “After a while, it gets easier to stick with what you know. The way I saw it, I had a nice room, food, clothes.” A tear forces its way through my eyelids, even though I close them tight. “I just had. . . I just had to give pieces of myself away, night after night after night.”

  “Athena.” He scoots closer to me, reaches out his hand.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “I’ll get you out,” he says in a low voice. “I will.”

  “I’m not your problem.”

  “I never called you a problem.”

  I turn to face him fully. “But that’s what I am, aren’t I?” He’ll never admit it, but he doesn’t have to. I’m so tired of being seen a problem. I want to stand on my own, make my own choices, live my own life.

  “You obviously need a place to stay. You can stay with me.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure the preacher bringing the hooker home will really make the neighbors pleased.”

  “Fortunately, I don’t live my life trying to make my neighbors happy.”

  I don’t even try to stop my sarcastic laugh. “And don’t forget what your congregation will say because I’m not sure what Jesus would do, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t involve Mary Magdalene, the Vegas Strip, and a condo.”

  “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

  He doesn't see it. I have to be ridiculous. It’s the only thing keeping me from succumbing to another crying fit. Or maybe he does see it, because he doesn’t wait for me to reply but takes me by the elbow.

  “Come on,” he says.

  “Where are we going?” I try to yank my elbow away, but he’s stronger than he looks. His fingers have a grip on me, and he’s not letting go. You don’t get that strong from sitting around meditating your way through life and writing sermons.

  “Home,” he says, and he loosens his grip a bit.

  “I told you that’s a horrible, rotten idea.”

  “And my other choice is what? To leave you here?”

  Anyone else would. Anyone else would jump at the chance to leave me in the park. I don’t like the hope that sparks inside my chest. I tell myself he’s doing it because he’s a preacher and he has to. That he wouldn’t leave a dog alone in the park. But it does no good. The hope is there, and like I’d recently discovered, hope is a dangerous thing.

  Chapter Ten

  He doesn’t talk while we walk to his condo, which is fine with me. The silence allows me time to think. I wonder if Theo is awake and what he did when he saw I’d left. Does Mike know yet? Chills run up and down my arms at that thought, and I actually look over my shoulder, half expecting him to be there.

  If I manage to stay out of his grasp, how long will I live looking over my shoulder? It’s a sobering thought, and, truthfully, one I didn’t think of when I decided to run.

  But...

  Am I’m really worth Mike’s time and effort to track down? He has money coming in from everywhere; I’m just a speck of dirt in his sandbox. I probably bring in pennies compared to his other sources of income. No, I don’t think financially I’m that much of a loss for Mike.

  The cost to his pride is another issue altogether.

  He may be willing to overlook my disappearance if he looks only at the money, but I’m willing to bet he won’t. He’s been in control of my life for ten years. He isn’t about to give that up. He’ll track me down to save face, and he won’t stop until he finds me.

  Isaiah walks with confident steps away from the park, his hand still cupping my elbow. I’ve brought him into this mess with Mike, and now he isn't safe either.

  He turns down a street I don’t recognize. How sad is it I know so very little about the city I’ve lived in for ten years? So many places I’ve never been: places I’m not welcome at or that I never have time to visit. There really is life beyond the Strip. Mike keeps us on such a short leash, probably because he knows if we saw everything, we’d never be content with him again.

  Though I’m not sure content is the correct word.

  It’s not too much longer before we reach a set of nondescript condos. They’re older and look a bit sad and rundown. The roofs need repair and paint is peeling in several places along the wooden trim. It’s definitely a lower-middle-class neighborhood. Most of the cars parked in the spaces are older models, and many have dings and scratches. But for me, the entire scene represents freedom and a new start.

  “It’s not much, I know.” He fumbles in his pocket for keys.

  “It’s perfect.”

  An old lady walking a tiny dog turns the corner, and her eyes latch onto me at once. I groan. I’m wearing jeans and a tee, but I’m sure she knows exactly how I earn my living. After a few years, we all seem to take on a certain look or have a certain vibe. At least, that’s the way I feel. The dog barks and pulls at his leash as they get closer.

  “Your neighbors are going to think you’re paying me by the hour.” I fidget in an effort not to pull at my shirt. I’m just an average woman, standing here doing average things.

  “Sorry to burst your bubble, but you look like you’ve been to hell and back. Highly doubtful anyone is going to think you’re leading me down the road to ruin.” He waves to the lady. “Hello. Beautiful weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

  “It’s Nevada.” She pulls the dog to a stop, which only makes him bark more. “It’s hot.” Her hawk-like gaze travels up and down my outfit. Her nose wrinkles, and she turns to Isaiah. I guess the average vibe didn’t work. “I don't normally see you out when I walk.”

  “I’m usually out by six-thirty,” he says with a smile, but it’s not the smile I’m used to seeing. It’s fake and doesn’t light up his face. br />
  The three of us stand there. She’s not moving, and Isaiah isn’t