Midnight, Anna Dove [ebook smartphone .TXT] 📗

“Which movie?” he questioned, nodding approvingly.

“‘A Night in Rome’.”

“Oh, that’s a terrible movie,” he laughed. His face was pleasant when he laughed.

“I know,” agreed Haley, smiling, “but it always ends up so nicely and it’s a classical romance. We used to all watch ‘The Bachelor’ and ‘The Bachelorette’ before it was cut from TV. Our guilty pleasures.”

“Yes, I suppose everyone has those.”

“Well, what’s yours?” she rejoined, looking up at him.

“Hm.” he paused, and then grinned. “Tiramisu.”

“Ha!”

“Yes, tiramisu. I can’t say no to it. There was a place on H Street that had the absolute best version. Must have imported the recipe straight from their Italian grandmother or something.” He looked out over the meadow.

“I’ll have to go back,” he continued, “when the power is on. I’ll have to eat that tiramisu again.”

A nagging feeling crept horribly in the pit of Haley’s stomach, and all of a sudden tears welled into her eyes. She had been working so hard, living out of such necessity, and had been operating under so much constant adrenaline, that until now she had not had the time or space to consider the true gravity of her situation. Tonight it loomed like a giant, and although the conversation was pleasant, she could not shake the dread feeling. Landon glanced at her as she remained silent, and saw the grave expression on her face.

“Tonight is slow, isn’t it?” he said. “There has been time to think about all the things that could potentially go wrong.”

Haley nodded, and wrapped her arms about herself. She shivered.

“Are you cold?”

“A little.”

Raising his shoulder, he slipped his suit coat off and stepped directly in front of her, face to face. He was very near, and all of a sudden she was acutely aware of his closeness and the small space between them. Reaching around her, he draped the cloak kindly about her shoulders, taking painstaking care to make sure it stayed. It lay heavy on her shoulders. His motions slowed, and the two found themselves quite still, barely inches apart. She raised her eyes and found that his were gazing upon her face, and there was the most genuine, caring expression in their depths. There was something steadfast and trustworthy that drew her to him.

“Haley!”

Elizabeth was running towards her, barefoot in the grass. Haley, caught off guard, turned and stepped towards her friend. Elizabeth reached them and stumbled, almost falling. Haley caught her, and Elizabeth clutched Haley’s arm. Haley’s heart sank as she instantly read the fear on her friend’s face, which was pale and beaded with sweat.

“He’s gone, Carlos is gone, and I think they’ve taken him,” Elizabeth burst out, and her throat choked in a sob and her eyes filled with tears. “He said he was going to take a quick walk too and clear his head, and he went in the direction of the Capitol, and he hasn’t come back. He left an hour ago, and I’ve been waiting, and he hasn’t returned, and I tried to find you but I couldn’t, and I tried to tell myself that it was fine, but then I thought, they know he was sleeping with her, they suspect he may have knowledge of it all…” she broke off, as her throat tightened. “Haley, no one is safe,” she managed. “She’s a monster.”

Haley looked around them, at the dark bushes and shrubbery, and took Elizabeth by the arm.

“Come inside,” she said, and James followed them.

They sought out the Senator, and relayed what had happened to him, and his face fell as he frowned gravely and promised to look into the disappearance.

Eight days later, Haley and Elizabeth were at home in Arlington when they received a letter, with no return address. Haley knew it was from the Senator when she saw the handwriting. It simply read:

         Carlos is dead.

I recommend that you stay in my house.

Her hands trembled, and she tore up the paper. That night, Haley and Elizabeth packed two backpacks with clothes, strapped handguns to their belts, and bicycled to the Senator’s house, where they did not leave unless accompanied by Landon or the Senator.

24.  A Guest

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”

―

C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

In the Senator’s house there was a peculiar window in the living room, with nine panes made from thick, opaque glass. The sunlight fell through this window strangely, not with the usual clarity but with a soft mellow quality.

Haley sat by this window, her eyes on the ground where the light fell in nine little squares. Her eyes glazed; she had cried and cried until the tears ran dry, and now nothing was left except to watch the nine little squares as they slowly inches across the floor with the rising and setting of the sun.

Carlos had been dead for thirteen days.

She could not mentally grasp the reality of this fact. A cognitive dissonance separated the images of Carlos in her mind from the truths of the current moment. He was not dead, he was just not present with her. His warmth as they lay next to each other in the boat. His smile as they sat around the fire. He could not be gone.

She pictured him standing on the little squares of sunlight.

“What’s wrong, Haley?” He asked, his face inquisitive.

“Nothing—I just have been having such awful dreams.”

“You and I both.”

“You too?” she asked

“Horrible. I dream that we are all separated, and then one by one, they find us. But even after we’re dead, it gets worse. You see, no one is there to stop this nightmare. The country will fall.”

“Haley, it’s just a dream.”

Haley started as another voice entered the conversation, and looking up she saw James Landon kneeling by her side. He