Ghosts, Matt Rogers [reading the story of the .txt] 📗

someone might as well burn it all to the ground. Or he was selfish, and figured his own interests outweighed anyone else’s, and then his conscience slowly wilted under the steady stream of increasingly bad decisions. Either way, he didn’t break into this house thinking he was the monster. You three stood between him and the things he wanted. Then you beat him half to death and finished him off. To him, you were the monster.’

She said, ‘Why are you talking like this?’

‘Because it’s the truth, and we all need to be aware of it. That’s what separates us from them. The fact that we feel guilty about what we do means we have a conscience. Because it’d be inhuman not to question it at all, to think we’re fully right and the other side is fully wrong.’

She fell quiet.

He said, ‘Don’t suppress it by justifying it to yourself. Just recognise the guilt, notice it, and then move forward.’

Silence.

He said, ‘The fact that it’s there is what matters. Give it up completely and we’re no better than they are.’

She said, ‘Easier said than done.’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Everything’s easier said than done.’

‘Has it ever broken you? The guilt?’

‘No,’ he says. ‘I don’t let it.’

She rolled over so she could lie on her stomach, splay her elbows on his chest, hover her face inches from his.

She smirked. ‘What have you done to me?’

He said, ‘You don’t know the half of it.’

‘Will I ever?’

‘With time.’

She kissed him. It lifted more weight off his shoulders. Life was good again.

She said, ‘Is it odd I’m not an emotional wreck? I should be.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘You’ve been around me too long.’

‘Thank God for that.’ A pause. ‘What do you need?’

‘Ice,’ he said. ‘Lots of ice. And ibuprofen.’

‘You’re going to need something stronger than ibuprofen if you’re planning to sleep.’

‘Who said anything about sleeping?’

‘That’s ambitious for a man with one leg.’

He smiled. ‘Maybe it is. I’m just happy to have you here.’

She smiled too. Rolled off the bed, waltzed to the door. A new spring in her step.

Her back was still turned when he said, ‘I love you.’

She paused with her hand on the doorknob. Looked over her shoulder.

‘I love you, too.’

She slipped out of the room.

He closed his eyes, and it turned out the tiredness overwhelmed the pain.

He was out in seconds.

92

As soon as Slater melted into the darkness of the second floor, King turned to Elsa.

‘You can stay with us tonight,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to wake your family in the middle of the night. It’s going to be hard enough to explain it all tomorrow.’

Elsa shrugged. She’d spent months as a hostage. One night in a nice house was nothing.

Then her face flooded with hope, breaking through the numbness.

She said, ‘My family?’

King didn’t want to drag it out.

He said, ‘Your mother’s in prison.’

The numbness started creeping back in.

Elsa didn’t break down.

Didn’t cry.

Just sported a thousand-yard stare.

He said, ‘But she won’t be for long.’

She didn’t believe it.

He could see it clear as day.

He said, ‘Trust me.’

Which was short but sweet, and seemed to break through again. After all, these people had single-handedly rescued her from an airtight trafficking network. Who was she to think they couldn’t live up to their promises?

‘Are you going to break her out?’ she said.

The echo of a smile touched King’s lips. ‘No. That’s a short-term solution that wouldn’t lead to anything good long-term. She doesn’t deserve a life on the run. She didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘I know,’ Elsa said. ‘We talked about what happened a lot. Before, you know…’

Before she was taken.

He said, ‘The people who took you are powerful people. For the first time in their lives, they’re going to use that power for good.’

Elsa looked confused.

He said, ‘Do you know who Alastair Icke is?’

She nodded. ‘A judge, right? He told me one time.’

One time.

King said, ‘Did he ever do anything to you?’

‘No,’ Elsa said. ‘I wasn’t his type.’

King shivered at the nonchalance of her tone.

She said, ‘No one touched me. They wanted to. It made some of the guys mad. But Icke told me whoever was buying me wanted me, you know, untouched or whatever. He said he was the only one who could break that rule, but he didn’t want me.’

King breathed out.

It was insanely lucky.

Ninety-nine times out of a hundred it wouldn’t have gone that way.

King said, ‘He’s going to do the right thing. He’s going to get your mother released.’

‘He won’t,’ Elsa said. ‘He’s evil.’

‘He doesn’t have a choice,’ King said.

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’m the one that made the request.’

‘He’ll do what you say?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘And if he doesn’t?’

‘Let’s not talk about that right now.’

She said, ‘I haven’t slept in nearly a day.’

Violetta took the cue. Said, ‘We have a room for you. And a bed.’

Elsa looked at her. ‘Can I leave the door open when I sleep? Please.’

A pang of emotion hit King out of nowhere.

He saw it hit Violetta too.

It took all their collective willpower not to react.

Violetta said, ‘Of course, honey. You’re not a prisoner here.’

She led the girl upstairs.

King took the cue.

He was off the clock, too.

He went to the kitchen. He didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to dwell. Didn’t want to consider what they’d done, what they’d stopped. He’d been living it for the past two days, consumed by darkness.

He wanted routine and monotony and a complete absence of thought.

He made himself a coffee. Cleaned the metal portafilter under the sink tap, then ground beans out of the conical burr grinder. He used the tamper to press the beans down into a hard layer, then set the coffee machine to heat water to two hundred Fahrenheit. As it heated, he breathed in and out. Nothing more. Thoughts floated in, and he let them float on past. Then he attached the portafilter to the machine and let scalding hot water drip through for twenty seconds. The espresso formed, dark and rich, with a perfect raft of crema on top.

He sipped it.

Each sip settled the storm inside him, returning him