Night Fury: Second Act

My feet move of their own accord, knowing I need distance. I walk out of Marco’s room, upstairs and into the barn. I key in my code and enter. The keys dangling from the wall call my name. I start up the Kompressor and press the button to open the double doors. As I move to press my foot down on the accelerator, Bob seems to come out of nowhere. He steps up to the passenger’s side, brows drawn. I hear his muffled, “Where are you going, Cat?”

  I feel an onslaught of oppressed teenage rebellion rear its head as I stare straight ahead and respond, “Out.”

  My foot descends and like a flash, I speed down the gravel drive and out of the grounds. As I look in the rear-view mirror, the church in encased in a cloud of dust. The second I hit the main road, I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

  Immediately, I breathe easier.

  Chapter Three

  The library seems like a fitting place to go to think. It’s always been an escape for me in the past; only today, every book I open, try to look at, I don’t really see at all. The words mash and blur together as my pulse throbs a staccato drumbeat through my temples.

  I’m angry at Bob. No. I’m furious. So when I see Tomas stride into the library, head down, hand up by his face, fingers extended awkwardly, it forces me to calm myself and focus on him.

  It only takes me a second for the hairs on the back of my neck to stand.

  Something’s wrong.

  I’ve known Tomas for a long while now and I have never seen him act in the way he is acting today. If I didn’t know any better, I would say he was hiding from someone.

  I watch him from afar, gauging what could be happening here, when a man comes in looking dishevelled and anxious. Worry radiates off him as he frantically searches the library. I look from the man to Tomas. When Tomas sinks down between two shelves, my protective instinct takes over.

  Standing slowly, trying not bring attention to myself, I calmly walk over to the shelf in front of the one Tomas is in. Having left the church in a hurry, I am still wearing my sweats from the night before. Luckily, I blend in like a piece of furniture.

  The man mutters, “Fuck,” and continues to search.

  I kneel and peer into the row Tomas is in. His frantic rocking hurts my heart. “Tomas? What’s wrong?”

  He rocks harder. He grits his teeth; his face turns red and I quickly realise he’s now holding his breath.

  I whisper frantically, “Please don’t do that. I can’t help you if you don’t respond. Who is that man?”

  An animalistic warbling cry comes out of Tomas, so loudly, I know he’s given himself up. I hear pounding footsteps and stand in time to see the man reach his row.

  Pretending to read, I listen in and watch through my peripheral vision.

  The man has to be in his early thirties. He has a three-day beard growth, too-long-to-call-short brown hair and he could use some food in him. He’s not thin exactly; he just looks a little weak somehow.

  When he sees Tomas, he sighs in relief, “Thank God.” He approaches him, scratching at his chin and utters angrily, “You can’t run off like that. I had no idea where you went. I had to ask everyone I saw.” He repeats himself firmly to stress the point, “You can’t do that.”

  Tomas continues to rock.

  I can’t see enough from my position. I decide to chance it and look up.

  The man watches Tomas through sad eyes and steels his jaw. If anything, he looks helpless. “C’mon, we have to go.”

  Tomas rocks faster.

  The man steps forward. “I’m not kidding.”

  Tomas begins to rock the opposite way, into the shelves. The shelf I stand at wobbles and sways.

  My heart races. This man will take Tomas over my dead body. He’s clearly distressed and doesn’t want to go.

  Fuck Bob and his rules. If I need to, I’ll bring him home with me. Anything to keep him safe.

  When the man clenches his hands into fists and breathes heavily through his nose, I realise he’s close to losing it. Leaning forward, he watches Tomas and sneers, “Get the fuck up, Tomas. I’m not putting up with your bullshit. I’m in charge here. Let’s go.”

  My stance defensive, I watch them like a hawk in the trees.

  The man grips Tomas by the upper arm and pulls him to stand. Not giving Tomas a second to balance, he starts dragging him unceremoniously across the library.

  Enough is enough. I run across to them, take the man’s hand and throw it off Tomas. My lip curls as I face the asshole. “Don’t you ever touch him like that. Not ever.”

  Mrs Fontaine watches me closely. “Cat?”

  Without taking my eyes off the man, I answer, “Get ready to call the police.” I’m bluffing. I wouldn’t do that. Bob would kick my ass.

  The man blanches a second, and then spits, “Who the fuck are you? What business is this of yours?”

  I look at him a moment, taking him in. Bloodshot, hooded hazel eyes. Pale faced. Sunken cheeks. Dry, cracked lips. Irrational annoyance.

  This guy is high. In fact, he’s likely a junkie.

  He moves to reach for Tomas, but I block him, pulling Tomas behind me.

  The man glares at me and tries again. This time I block him with a sharp elbow to the chest. He wheezes and slumps trying to catch his breath.

  When he does, he stands and pants, “Lady, seriously. Get your fucking hands off my brother.”

  My heart stops altogether. Oh, fuck no.

  ***

  “It’s not my place to interfere,” Bob gently explains.

  I’m momentarily dumbstruck. I repeat slowly, “Not your place to interfere?” My wide eyes bore into him from across his office. I bellow, outraged, “Bullshit! That’s a goddamn lie and you know it!”

  He doesn’t answer, but I see his jaw tighten as he grits his teeth.

  That doesn’t stop me though. “All we do is interfere! We kill people. We take lives. We have a God complex for Christ’s sake. People do bad things and we make sure the people suffering don’t suffer any longer than they can handle. Don’t fucking tell me you can’t do anything. It’s not that you can’t; it’s that you won’t.”

  Bob turns his face up to look into my eyes. “It’s not my place.”

  The fight in me takes flight. Now I’m the helpless one. My throat thickens with emotion. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see him. He was scared, Bob.” My eyes fill with traitorous tears. “He was panicked and scared. He didn’t want to go with him.”

  He utters gently, “That’s his brother, Cat. His guardian.”

  I’m angry again.

  Well, that didn’t take long.

  “The guy is a junkie and he put his hands on Tomas!”

  His eyes narrow. “You saw this. You actually saw it.”

  I say the words I know he needs to hear to believe me. “I swear on Jesus Christ.”

  Bob thinks for a minute, and then runs his hands down his face warily. “Damn. The things I do.” He straightens and feigns boredom. “All right. I can’t promise anything but I’ll look into it.”

  My legs carry me across the room quicker than I thought possible. Bob stands and I throw myself into his arms, squeezing him tightly. “That’s all I ask.” I hold him for a solid minute. As I let go and make my leave, I mutter, “God bless you, Father Robert. You’re a good man.”

  I force myself to say those words. I have to believe it.

  I have to.

  Chapter Four

  I find myself sitting on Marco’s bed for the second time in as many days. I’ve been avoiding the team, for good reason. I hate lying to them. I was never a great liar, at least not when it came to anything that mattered.

  I can’t help but wonder what Marco has told the police about us. More often, I wonder when they’ll come for us, and why they haven’t already.

  I’m on edge all the time. My heart endlessly constricted, I feel tension in places I’ve never been tense before. My shoulders are stiff; a ceaseless headache pains me till I feel stomach sick.

  In short
, life sucks right now.

  Dressed in my modest long skirt and white shirt, I stand from the bed and move over to the dresser mirror to adjust my veil. Just as I make my exit, I careen into Clark. His hands come around me, holding me up. My hands grip the front of his shirt.

  “Sorry,” I say through a cringe.

  Busted.

  Face void, he pulls away from me swiftly, as though my touch burns him. He avoids my gaze, tension apparent. I immediately become worried about my friend.

  Something is wrong.

  Reaching up, I place my hand on forearm. “Clark? Are you okay?”

  Jaw firm, he answers tightly, “Fine.”

  I fight not to roll my eyes. “You don’t seem fine.” I ask quietly, “Is it Michelle?”

  Tension comes off him in waves. “Leave it.”

  Undeterred, I step closer. “You know, we can talk about this. That’s what friends do.”

  He barks a sharp, humourless laugh, and then looks down at me through cold blue eyes. “Really? We’re friends? We can talk?”

  My brows bunch in confusion. “Of course we’re friends.”

  He scratches at his chin in a cocky move that is so out of character for Clark, my haunches rise.

  Something is very wrong here.

  He steps closer to me, jaw set. “We were friends for a long time, weren’t we? We cared about each other. You were everything to me, you know that?” His chest heaves and his hands form into tight fists. “But then something happened, see?” He leans down, eyes searching my face. He runs a finger gently down the side of my cheek. “Friends don’t fuck a guy they barely know minutes after a good friend confesses their love for them.”

  My gut coils. A burning flush rises up from my neck, heating my cheeks. I whisper, “What?”

  Clark smiles a cruel smile I have never seen him wear. Ever. And it terrifies me. “Oh, yeah. I know, Cat.”

  Shame turns my body cold. I mouth, “How?”

  Finger on my cheek, he leans closer into me and runs his nose up the side of my face.

  I feel like caged animal. Trapped. Backed into a corner. Uncomfortable.

  His breath warms my face. His lips touch the shell of my ear and what he says next makes me die a little inside.

  His breathing heavies as he softly mews, “Marco. Yes. Fuck, yes. Oh, Marco. Fuck me harder.”

  He imitates me so perfectly, including the soft hitches in breath, that I know he’s telling the truth.

  He heard me.

  My stomach recoils violently.

  Oh, God. What have I done?

  My eyes fill with tears. I choke out, “You weren’t meant to hear that.”

  Pulling away an inch, he looks into my eyes. “I know.” He pauses. “But I did.”

  A tear trails my cheek. My lips quiver. I’m so ashamed of myself. I feel dirty. Without knowing it, I’ve hurt one of my best friends. I feel like an asshole. Like scum. I shrug softly. I open my mouth to explain, but nothing comes out. Instead, I whisper, “I’m so sorry, Clark. You weren’t ever meant to know.”

  He nods, his face sympathetic. He then leans closer and sighs, “I know. I know I wasn’t.” He leans a little closer and says, “You know what would’ve helped?” I look up at him as my tears fall freely. His face contorts, his lips curl, and my body jolts as he punches the wall by the side of my head. Leaning closer, a hair’s breadth away from me, he roars in my face, “Not fucking the guy I work with in the room next door to mine!”

  I’m so stunned by this uncharacteristic outburst, I forget that I can take him down in a second flat. That I could kill him in two. I watch him unblinkingly through wide eyes and wonder if this is entirely my fault.

  He leans back a little, face red, trying to steady his breathing. His hand comes up to my face and he brushes back a stray lock of my hair. “I suppose it doesn’t matter.” His cold eyes meet mine. “The entire time you were with him, I was with her. And every time you called his name, I fucked her harder.”

  Ouch.

  “You should’ve heard her moaning my name.” He smirks viciously. “Oh, but you wouldn’t have, would you? God knows you were singing loud enough for the man upstairs to hear you himself.” His face turns serious. “Tell me, Cat? Do you think God knows just how much of a fucking whore you are?

  My hand darts out before I can stop myself. I slap him so hard his face jerks to the side.

  Face twisted, his hand surges to my neck, gripping tightly.

  This is a blatant insult. In my teenage years, I told Clark about my being uncomfortable with people touching my neck. He’s doing this on purpose. He’s trying to force a reaction.

  He pushes me back into the wall hard enough to show me how angry he is, but not enough to actually hurt me. The threat has me reeling though. Through gritted teeth, he hisses, “I fucked her but I was thinking of you.” My eyes close. My body shakes in silent sobs. He adds, “If I’d known how much you’d wanted it, how freely you were giving it away, I’d have never asked. I’d have just taken it from you.”

  A stabbing pain violently rips into my chest, right through my heart, over and over again. I’m too hurt to react. I can only feel.

  He pushes lightly at my neck for a moment before letting go, turning and walking away. He stops at the end of the hall, turns and calls out, “You know, it’s such a nice day today. It seems like the perfect day to soak up some sun or even,” he shrugs carelessly, “do some gardening.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand.

  Clark walks away whistling as if what just occurred, had never actually happened at all.

  My feet carry me away. I wipe away stray tears. As I reach the door leading outside, I hesitate. Taking a breath, I open the door, walk out and make my way towards the church. I pause mid-step.

  No.

  My garden.

  No.

  It’s ruined. Every last thing has been pulled up. Vegetables and herbs lay strewn around the dirt patch that was once a bountiful wonder.

  Before I have a second to register what has happened, I hear muffled arguing coming from the kitchen. The back door bursts open and Bob strides out looking murderous. Frankie follows closely behind. “Bob, stop! You don’t even know what it was about!”

  He comes toward me at a pace so quick, I back up.

  When he reaches me, his chest heaves. He places his fingertips at my collarbone and asks gently, “Are you okay?”

  My brows narrow in confusion. “Um. Yes. Why?” The answer hits me as quick as the question was asked, and my stomach dips.

  Surveillance.

  Bob and Frankie must’ve seen the whole scene with Clark.

  Bob’s face turns hard, his body turns rigid and his jaw steels. “Good. Excuse me.”

  He walks out to the barn. I turn to Frankie and watch as her face pales.

  Oh, fuck.

  Snapping out of my lapse in consciousness, I quickly start after him. “Bob, wait!”

  Frankie follows me, calling out to Bob, “Don’t do anything you’ll regret!”

  The door by the barn closes, and as I reach it, I struggle to key in my code. “C’mon!” Finally, the door clicks and whirs and we’re in. I growl as I approach the second security door. As soon as it opens, I hear commotion.

  “Bob, what the fuck?” This comes from Clark.

  Squealing and screeching of tables and chairs being knocked around sounds loudly. Frankie and I reach the rails of the top floor and look down in time to catch the first blow, both watching wide-eyed.

  Bob sneers, rears his arm back and throws his fist into Clark’s stomach. “You fucked up, boy.” He travels two steps to where Clark wheezes, his face a mask of shock. Bob lifts his leg and brings down his heel onto Clark’s knee. Clark howls out in agony.

  Bob kicks him in the stomach. “You like putting your hands on women, Clark? How does it feel? Tell me how it feels.”

  Clark wheezes, and then heaves. “I’m sorry.”

  Bob shakes his head. “No, you’re no
t. But you will be.”

  He reaches down and lifts Clark by his shirt. Once he’s standing, Bob head-butts him right in the nose. Clark goes down. Again.

  He stays down.

  Clark’s nose pours with blood and I know it’s broken. Bob looks down at him, face filled with contempt. “You ever put your hands on Cat again and I will kill you. I haven’t made a kill in ten years, Clark, but for you, I’ll make a fucking exception.” Clark attempts to sit up. Bob glares down at him. “You get me?”

  Clark doesn’t respond. He simply nods.

  Bob turns to leave. As he walks up the stairs, he calls out, “You owe Cat an apology.”

  He leaves us to deal with the mess. I’m not sure what’s in a worse state, the office or Clark.

  Chapter Five

  I’m not sure what happened this morning with Clark. I only know that I would like it to never happen again.

  I work tirelessly to replant what I can of the vegetables that Clark ripped up from my garden. I’m in such a state of panic about them dying that I’m not even humiliated by the fact that my eyes water.

  A moment of clarity passes; I have an epiphany.

  Regardless of how hard I work to put this garden together, to make it flourish and bloom, to care for it and nurture it, all it took was a man with a temper to destroy months of hard work.

  I’m sure this is the way my victims see me.

  No matter how hard they have worked to put a life together, to make a family, to provide and support them, all it takes is an email to Mirage and an entire life is destroyed. Normally not just one. A handful of lives.

  In a moment of weakness, guilt swarms me. I’ve always thought of the person I’m hunting, never the families who are left behind.

  I blink, scoff, and then roll my eyes. Such deep thoughts being raised because someone ripped up my tomato plants. I need to get out more. Really.

  “I’m sorry,” comes from behind me.

  My shoulders hunch in a defensive stance. A moment passes before my posture loosens slightly. Standing, I remove my gardening gloves and make my way to the bench where Clark now sits.