“It’s one or the other, Alice.”
I look to the other end of the room. “They were just words, Malachi.”
“They’re far fromjustwords if they’re coming from your mouth, but that isn’t the issue I’m contemplating.”
“No?”
“No.”
Silence again. Frustrating. I drink more and wait, until the waiting eventually turns to aggravation and heads towards volatility. “What then?”
“What?”
“What are you contemplating?”
He looks at his fingers moving. “The fact that you could speak to Whit but not me.” He plays a few melancholy notes, idles his hands slowly. “I’m wounded by that. I don’t like the feeling very much. I didn’t expect it either.” I open my mouth. He shakes his head. “No. You should hear this first whilst I’m open to discussing it.” He runs his fingers over the keys, creating a full sweep of sound before stopping completely. “The bruises on your skin are there because I care, Alice. They were put there to remind you of your worth to me, to yourself, and to ensure you knew you had a safety in me that you’ll find in no one else. But now I’ve heard your thoughts, I’m considering if they were a good idea other than a simple rebuilding.”
I frown and watch him get up and wander around the room. He eventually ends up at a drinks tray, where he pours himself another glass of wine. “I don’t need looking after, Alice. Your love, if you choose to give it and want to discuss it, can’t come from a place that elects to protect me from death. That death – the want for it - is part of who I am. It will always be here, will always edge me towards it.”
“Still?” He looks at me, questioning the question. “The death, you still want it?”
He wanders back towards the piano. “Not at the moment.”
“Why would you going forward?”
“Because it will come. It always does. You need to accept that.”
My eyes roll. I’m too tired for this. I should have said no to the wine and gone to bed. Instead, I followed him because of my feelings. “I’m not accepting a damn thing when stupid statements are involved, Malachi. How the hell are you showing me my worth if you’re dead?” He frowns and looks at the keys, presumably trying to ignore rational thought. “If you’d have listened to those words properly, taken them for what they were, you might have realised you don’t need to think like that anymore. I give a shit. I care. I’ll listen. I’ll even let you lean on me and I’ll take whatever you need to deliver. I’m in. Here. With you if you’ll help me.” I pick up the boots from the floor, about done with today, tonight, everything. “Guess that didn’t sink in, though. Or I’m not enough.”
I just need an answer.
Feelings can go take a fucking jump.
I get to the doorway, stop under it and look back at him frowning by his piano. “Will you help me kill him or not?” There’s the longest pause. A pause that makes me nod in response to it and turn for the door again. He won’t. Why would he, I suppose? There’s only so low men like him can go. And that’s fine. I’ll find another way. I'll leave and we’ll run and … I don’t know. I just need sleep now. Maybe deal with the fact that whatever this isisover. “You don’t shake anymore,” I mutter. “Have you noticed that? This is reality you’re in, Malachi. Real fucking life and all that comes with it. Me. Us? We could try that.” My feet start moving. “But if I’m not enough, I’ll go and you can get on with life alone.”
Chapter 13
Malachi
Watching her walk away wounds me as much as her talking to Whit did. They were honest words spoken from an honest woman. No hidden agenda in them, other than her need for Greene to be killed. That didn’t matter, though. It was the meaning behind them. The intent. The ability in her to love, cherish and protect something regardless of how deserving it might be.
“My hands don’t shake because I beat the man that caused your kidnap.” She looks back at me from the top of the stairs. “He’s here. Underground. Being punished. Daily. If I didn’t want you, you wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t give a fuck about serving judgement on him.” Something about her mood changes, but it’s not enough to brighten that face of hers. She seems dour now, lost in her own thoughts of misery and despair. “So yes, Alice. I’ll help you.”
“And you’ll look after Brett and Brandon if something goes wrong? Really make sure? Keep them safe and get them out of here?”
“Yes.”
If I expected a show of thanks or some notion of her throwing herself at me in appreciation, I don’t get it. She just stares and then walks off to the bedroom. That’s not good enough for me. Or if it is, I’m not comfortable being without her near me. I look at the clock, note the time, and let myself think weary thoughts about sleep and mornings and breakfast and being looked after. It all seems so normal – so average and plain. Not me. Not any part of me.
There’s nothing I want less than normality.
Ten minutes of listening to an empty house at midnight and I decide to leave it, and her, to sleep. I’m not built for sleep like other people are. Not interested in it at preferred times of night either. I grab the helmet from the side table and walk out into the night air instead. The bike isn’t there anymore, so I drop the helmet and walk through the wind until I’m through to the other side of the park. Nights in the park are always amusing. Women jumping at every shadow that moves. Men hunting. Perverts stalking.
I sit on the side of the fountain and listen again, trying to find the silence that I get in Canada. It’s nowhere to be found. Too many cars, too much noise. Too many fucking people milling around and hampering my frame of mind. It reminds me of Gray and his anxiety, and then that reminds me of my wife and her amusement with that and me.
I look up at his apartment in the distance, searching for his lights to be on. They are.
He gets phoned.
