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

for most people.’

‘You have a nice place.’

‘That’s the last reason why we do what we do.’

Elsa nodded.

Seemed to understand.

Her eyelids drooped, heavy, weighed down by time.

She probably hadn’t engaged in animated conversation in months.

Violetta said, ‘That’s enough for tonight. You sure you don’t need anything?’

‘Just a pillow,’ Elsa said, then twisted to see the collection of decorative pillows propped against the headboard. ‘Yeah, I’m good.’

Violetta smiled.

She patted Elsa on the shoulder, got up and walked out.

She thought about going downstairs to check on King, but he could handle himself. Her bones ached from fighting for her life against Armando Gates. And she’d done that sort of thing before. She couldn’t imagine how Alexis was feeling.

They needed several uninterrupted days of rest.

But there was so much still to do. Kerr and Icke out there — tabs had to be kept. Elsa and Melanie in here. Josefine behind bars.

She couldn’t think about it now. She’d feel queasy from the sheer magnitude of it all.

She went to her and King’s room, fell onto the mattress, and passed out.

She heard a muffled conversation downstairs before she drifted off.

94

Alexis missed King sitting on the kitchen floor.

She almost tripped over him, circling round the island to get to the sink.

She stumbled, righted herself, and said, ‘Shit. Sorry.’

He looked up. ‘All good.’

She didn’t know what to say.

He said, ‘I heard what happened.’

She nodded.

‘You did good,’ he said. ‘You acted fast.’

‘I had to,’ she said. ‘Any longer and he would have shot me.’

‘Now you know,’ King said.

‘Huh?’

‘We’re insulated in modern times. Everyone likes to think they still have that primal side to them. The part of them that says, “Someone’s going to die right now. It’s either going to be me or the enemy.” Everyone likes to think they have that courage to defend their lives by taking another. You just got the chance to put it to the test. Now you know.’

She said, ‘Maybe I didn’t want to know.’

‘Maybe not. The truth isn’t usually pretty.’

‘Did you feel different?’ she said. ‘After your first.’

‘Everyone does.’

‘Maybe not you,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard about Slater’s response to it. He used to stop thinking about the killing by drinking until he didn’t have the capacity to think. You never did that.’

‘No.’

‘You just bore it on your own.’

‘Yes.’

‘But I’ve never once heard you say that was the right way to do it.’

‘We all have different methods of coping.’

‘So drinking’s the answer?’

King tilted his chin upward, nodding in the direction of the bottles of spirits in the glass-doored kitchen cabinet. ‘Have a drink if you want. I’m the last person to judge.’

‘You still drink?’

‘Occasionally. It’s never been a problem for me.’

He stood up, put his empty espresso cup on the countertop, and pulled down a bottle of Hennessy Paradis Cognac. A bottle went for just over a thousand dollars. He took a tumbler out of a lower cabinet and splashed a thin measure into the glass.

She said, ‘I shouldn’t. For Will’s sake.’

‘Then don’t,’ King said. ‘I’m not a babysitter. I let people make their own decisions.’

He knocked it back.

Sighed and closed his eyes.

He murmured, ‘To a job well done.’

She said, ‘It’s tempting.’

‘Don’t abstain just because of Slater,’ King said. ‘There’s bottles in this house. There’s bottles in every bar out there. He can be around alcohol and still refrain.’

She said, ‘He’s strong.’

‘He is.’

She said, ‘Pour me a small one.’

He obliged.

Handed it over.

She sipped it and bathed in its warmth. She realised she needed it.

He said, ‘Are you okay? Honestly?’

She returned the empty tumbler to the bench.

She said, ‘I think I’m fine.’

‘It’s okay to feel terrible,’ he said. ‘I sure did after my first.’

‘I think it all balanced itself out somehow. After I got out of Ray’s warehouse I was a mess. I was trying not to show it. I wanted to lash out at everyone. I wanted to show that you can’t just take me prisoner, you can’t take advantage of me, you can’t do that. Then those men came here, and they didn’t want to take me sexually, they just wanted to kill me. Which was somehow worse. So I lashed out. And I lived.’

He didn’t respond.

She said, ‘So, yeah, I’m good.’

He nodded.

He liked what he heard.

She said, ‘I guess I don’t need to ask if you’re okay.’

He said, ‘This is my life.’

She nodded. ‘I finally get it.’

‘You did before.’

‘From an outsider’s perspective. Now I’m in it.’

‘Welcome.’

She smiled. ‘Thanks.’

‘Go be with Will. He needs you.’

‘I need him.’

‘You’re the best thing that’s happened to him.’

‘You mean that?’

She saw him recall a memory — maybe a talk with their new guest, Elsa.

He said, ‘I mean everything I say.’

She fetched ice packs from the freezer, ibuprofen from a drawer, and floated for the stairs. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Try to sleep.’

‘I’ll sleep like a baby,’ she said. ‘Trust me.’

She treaded up the staircase.

She was an only child, and she realised Jason King was the closest thing she’d ever have to a big brother.

95

Two weeks later…

The gates opened.

Josefine Bell stepped out into freedom.

She tasted the air. The sky never looked so good. The blue never looked so blue.

She had to constantly check if she was dreaming. She pinched her arm, blinked twice, but her surroundings were the same. Eleven years, wiped away without fanfare. It wouldn’t make the news. It would go quietly into the public record, never to be accessed or scrutinised. One American life changed completely. In the big picture, nothing.

To her, everything.

There was a small party waiting for her. Five people. She recognised two of them.

Jason, from the park. He was still enormous, still stoic, still focused. She found no difference in his demeanour from when she’d first encountered him. But a whole lot must have happened, because his face had faint scabs and scratches that hadn’t fully healed yet. The damage didn’t seem to faze him. He looked imperturbable.

She recognised the second familiar face, and her heart stopped in her chest.

Yes, a whole lot has happened.

Elsa stood there, her eyes wet, her hair damp and slicked back, dressed in clean clothing, freshly pressed.