ForLaurie.Sasha would do whatever was needful to ensure that.“Yes,love,” he said, handing Clara back to her dragon, who met his eyesfor one unfathomable moment.“I promise.”
***
Justbefore noon, Sasha took a last look at the house, the pool and thehopeless security team.The driver of the blue Ford, clearly havinggiven up on subtlety, was sitting on the bonnet having a cigarette.Poor Laurie had erected such a frail fence.Sasha could have taughthim how to choose men who wouldn't be seen.Still, it was thetragedy of Sasha's life to know, and the privilege of Laurie's tobe clueless in such matters.Sasha would defend to the death hisright to stay that way.
Eventhis lot would notice the arrival of a yellow cab outside the frontdoor.Sasha surveyed Laurie's realm, the sanctuary puncturedthrough with holes.From here on the wall he could see all ofthem—intrusions or escape routes, all depending on your point ofview.The jacaranda tree was giving off its most intoxicatingnoonday fragrance.From complex motives, Sasha picked a blossom andtucked it into the back pocket of his jeans.These were just hiseveryday Levis, not the patched street pair from the cache at theback of the linen cupboard.He was wearing an ordinary jacket.Theparka had become a symbol, more than the sum of its parts, but nowthat the moment had come, any such disguise would make him moreconspicuous, not less.It had served in a poor man's cold winter.Now he had to move through wealth and summer heat.
It waseasy enough once he began.The drop into the neighbour's garden wasa long one but he landed lightly.Mateo had taught him well, and hesoon saw the gap in the next fence, the place where he couldscramble up onto the garage roof.It helped that he had both handsfree and nothing to carry.Leaving his nice satchel behind had tornat him, but all he'd ever carried in there were his laptop and hispapers.The laptop was bagged up in pieces in the bin, thedocuments relating to Colin Pearson and Yosiri Cuza sealed into anenvelope on the kitchen table, with a note asking Laurie please tohave them delivered by secure courier mail into the hands of theGuidance Council’s CEO in London—not his assistant, and certainlynot Sasha's ex-boss Alan Briggs.The note also explained whySasha's mobile phone was sitting on top of it, serving one lastpurpose as a paperweight.It said some other things too.
Otherthan his passport and his wallet, what did Sasha need?There was aking's ransom behind his credit card, although he planned to usecash and cut off his paper trail as quickly as he could.He vaultedfrom the garage to the top of the next wall, balanced and jumpeddown again.It was easy.In a world where his heart and his gutsdidn't feel like burning lead, it would be fun.Three more leapsand scrambles and he emerged into the lane that ran behind thevilla gardens, a long narrow alley that would take him to the gapin the San Marco perimeter where the builders had failed or chosennot to finish off a gate.
Mateowas there.He was poised at the end of the alley as if waiting.Sasha had forgotten their appointment—had forgotten almosteverything in the light of Clara's revelations—but the timing wasabout right.
If Sashastopped, he was lost.He waited, hoping Mateo would understand thisand give him a sign.They were within shouting distance, but thiswasn't the kind of thing you could shout about.Mateo stood andwatched him for a moment, then reached into the inside pocket ofhis smart interview jacket.Sasha recognised the papers he pulledout—the logo on them at least, and the colours of the forms.Mateogrinned and gave him a thumbs-up.
That wasit—he had done what he needed to, started a process at leastwhereby Mateo could now help himself.He began to turn, but apoignant shift of the boy's expression stopped him.
Mateo held out both arms.The movement was absurd but clear: alittle kid's signal for an aeroplane.His eyes backed up themessage with all an adult's gift for pain.Are you flying away from me now?
Sasha nodded.He mirrored the gesture, holding his arms outbriefly in return, and then waved.Yes, anaeroplane.Goodbye.
Chapter Twenty Two
Ves'tacha—I haven't left you, not for the reasons you think.One day when all this is over, you can maybe explain that to me,but it's not why I've gone.There are some things I need to takecare of.I've left my phone behind because if I hear your voice, Iwon't be strong enough to do them—Sasha.
Laurie stared at the note for a long time.There was more toit than that, a list of instructions about what he was to do withthe thick manila envelope on the table, but he couldn't take themin.There was a faint scent in the empty house around him, asensory trace he couldn't make fit with his present reality.Heleaned his palms on the table top.If he closed his eyes, he wasback in the Fitzroy mansion, but not in his own attic room.He wasputting Clara to bed, making sure she was supplied with water,bedside light and her favourite rose-mallow cream in case she wokeup in the night with dry skin on her feet.He blinked and thevisions disappeared.He was alone, caught between far poles ofterror and joy.I haven't left you.I'vegone.Christ, only Sasha could contradicthimself like that across two sentences.
Laurie crumpled the note.Then he put it on the table top andsmoothed it urgently flat.“Why haven't you left me?”he demandedof the empty air, with its weird trace of his sister andindefinable feel of recent disturbance, like waters violentlystirred up and left to go calm again.“Why not for those reasons?”On his way back here, Laurie had pulled over at a dirty roadsidetruck stop in the desert.The photo on the front page of theNational Enquirer had been his first intimation of how far hisactions had spread.He had paid for his bottled water with shakinghands.His hair had been a mess, his bloodshot eyes concealedbehind his shades, but still the clerk had given him a once-over,followed by a wide, sleazy grin.Panic rose up in Laurie's throat.Yes, only Sasha—I haven't left you butI've gone.
It was a subtle nuance that could give Laurie no comfort now.He tucked the note into the pocket of his sweat-damped jeans andran upstairs.Nothing was missing from the wardrobe that he couldsee.Sasha's laptop wasn't around, but weirdly his set of threeflash drives, keys to the kingdom of his working life, were on thewindow seat, scattered as if forgotten.His satchel was still theretoo.Maybegonemeant something other than Laurie's deepest fear.Maybe Sashahad found duties, obligations to discharge in Los Angeles,not...
Thedressing table drawer where he had kept his passport was unlockedand empty.Laurie swallowed down a cry, but the next one escapedlike the howl of a terrified fox, and he doubled up, pressing ahand to his mouth.Oh, no.No.Not this.Despite everything,despite whatever hellish way Sash had found out his betrayal,Laurie had thought he would wait.
Hecontrolled himself.When he could breathe again, he tore back downthe stairs.For five heady minutes on his arrival here he hadthought he was in time.The guards at the gate had waved himthrough without a murmur and the security guy in his blue Ford hadonly nodded at him, lifting a lazy, bored hand.Laurie shot outonto the driveway, dearly wishing for a lungful of cool London air.He crossed the road in ten long strides and got to within two yardsof the Ford before the idiot inside it noticed him.“When did heleave?”Laurie demanded, while the operative was still scramblingout onto the pavement.“Why didn't you tell me?”
“When did who leave?”
“The man I employed you to watch.The only man.”
“Mr Petrica?He hasn't left, sir.He had some visitors, thenight-shift guy said, but they came and went without...”
Laurieturned away, no longer hearing him.The inner beast he'd met sooften lately was dormant and no longer wanted to roar.Lauriedidn't have time to hear about door-to-door salesman or Jehovah'switnesses, people Sasha would invite in and kindly talk round tohis own loving, secular beliefs if they weren't careful.Now helooked with freshly tearstung eyes at the gardens all around him,Laurie couldn't understand why he'd thought one sleepy guy in a carwould be able to keep track of Sasha for one minute.“Okay,” hesaid quietly.“The house is empty, though.I won't be needing youany more.”
He went back inside.For himself, all he wanted to take wasSasha’s satchel.He could use it to carry the envelope—Sasha’sleast instructions were law to him now, his only guidance—and somepapers of his own, the ones he’d found waiting in his trailer inthe Mojave when he’d crawled back there at dawn.He hadn’t lookedat them, already fairly sure of what they contained.He wasrelieved by the prospect of failure and firing right now, if thegame was done...It would free him.Now he could be nothing morethan an arrow in flight.And Sasha would want his bag back whenLaurie found him.When, he repeated silently to himself, climbing back into histruck, not letting theifreach surface, not even for a second.When I find him.When.
***
Fivehours later, in the reverberant silence of a 747 midway across theAtlantic, he remembered to open Doug’s envelope.Its contents madehim want to cry and laugh at the same time.Yes, in the light ofrecent events, Ivory Gate could no longer allow its name to beassociated with that of Mr Fitzroy.He should understand that therewas no homophobic prejudice implied in the decision: Ivory Gateencouraged diversity, and if Mr Fitzroy felt otherwise, he shouldaddress his complaint to the lawyers whose names were appended, etcetera.Laurie, his fingertips numb and clumsy, flipped to the endand had a look, and felt like a pigeon with a rocket-launchertrained on him: he’d be nothing but a handful of feathers after onemissile from that lot.It didn’t matter.He had no intention ofdisputing, suing, seeking any kind of redress—justescape.
The only trouble was the final paragraph.Mr Fitzroy shouldstill bear in mind that his services were retained throughout theproduction of any futureBlood Moonrelease.Mr Brett had no doubt that, once thepresent media storm had died down, a forgiving public would oncemore welcome Devlin Steele into the franchise fold.
He’d been fired and hammered down at the same time.Blood Moon 4might neverbe made.It could stay on Brett’s back boiler indefinitely, andLaurie wouldn’t dare take a long-term contract with any otherproduction just in case.The theatres would be closed to him, evenif he hadn’t already shattered his chances by throwing over Romeofor Hollywood.
All this should have meant something to him.What was he, ifnot an actor?Folding the papers away, Laurie stared at theseat-back, the safety instructions that always felt like too littletoo late once you were in flight.He took the shell of DevlinSteele, that flawed, cracked thing no efforts of his could makewhole, and he set it aside.Beneath it was the half-formed shape ofRomeo, and under that Bertram.Laurie shuddered, moving deeper.Before that he'd beenFlarePath's Teddy Graham, whose dashing skin inits RAF uniform he'd loved.Melchior inSpring Awakening, and just for twoemergency nights in a mercifully dark theatre, HeddaGabler...
Sasha, there in the audience for all of these skins,applauding them or waiting in the wings for them, waiting at hometo help him take them off.To unshell him.Laurie closed his eyes.He put the papers in the seat pocket in front of him.A shorterreach than he was used to—he hadn't flown business class in a longtime, but he'd grabbed the first Heathrow-bound seat available,after establishing that the earlier flights were quite booked up,and no, there could be no exceptions.That had been a tough pill toswallow.How many hours was Sasha ahead of him already?Laurie hadeven trieddon't you know who Iam, but the blue-blood beast in him wasdead, it seemed, not merely dormant, and the demand had come out sosorry and wry that the girl on the desk had broken intolaughter—yes, she did, and in fact she was a big fan, but still theflight was full.
The seatwas hard, the airline cushion a token gesture only.Laurie caressedSasha's satchel.Empty, it was soft enough to fold in half and tuckbehind his neck.He could turn a little way sideways, far enough torest his face on the soft leather.He closed his eyes.Sasha tookthe satchel with him everywhere: over time, it had acquired a fainttrace of his scent—rainy earth, and his citrus cologne.Lauriecould only trace back the shells and his skins as far as two yearsago—as far as Sasha.Beneath that was a layer of him that didn'twant to move.When he tried, mentally tugging at a corner, heflinched in pain.
