Lies(8)

“I should check in with Badger.” Thom rises to follow Crow, grabbing a shirt off the floor. “I’ll bring back some food and coffee.”

“Okay.”

He just stops for a moment, studies me.

“What?”

“You’re handling this well.”

I laugh. “Oh, really? Because inside my head, I’m basically alternating between this freaked-out, endless, high-pitched screaming noise and an all-consuming need to kill you for all the fucking lies.”

“Huh. Well, it doesn’t show too much so…good work.” He just watches my face, his own impassive. But then, Thom’s always been what you’d call detached. Another strike against our faux romance. “I know this is difficult, Betty, trusting me after everything. But I’m your best chance of getting out of this alive.”

“And yet you’re the reason I’m in this situation.”

He says nothing.

“You’re right; it’s very hard to trust you.”

A nod. “I’ll be back soon.”




As I told Spider, I met Thom in a bar downtown one particularly crappy Saturday night. The thing is, it was all my fault. Exactly how bad my day had been. A bride had smilingly asked what floral arrangements I’d have if it was my wedding. Just being friendly-like. With my usual unthinking need to please, my mouth opened and it all came out. Peony roses. Lily of the valley. Everything I’d ever wanted for myself. She leapt at my ideas and accordingly, I’d just spent the whole day making all of my dreams come true for someone else’s wedding. And it looked more amazing than I’d ever imagined. Damn me for being good at my job.

A more reasonable person wouldn’t have minded sharing. It was only some stupid bouquets and boutonnieres after all. Table arrangements and so on. But for some reason I minded. A lot.

I was twenty-five then, had never had what I would term a serious boyfriend, and felt like utter and complete shit. No amount of vodka and sodas was going to make it better, but I was willing to try. That’s when Thom found me. And how he’d insinuated himself into my life with such minimal effort. Because on that particular day, I’d given up. I didn’t truly believe I deserved any better than a half-hearted love with a nice-enough guy.

Melodramatic and drunk are never a good combination. Eventually I came to my senses, of course, and realized someone’s clothes hanging alongside yours in the closet didn’t a relationship make. That was about four or five weeks ago. A quick learner, I am not.

I dress in a pair of skinny blue jeans, knee-high boots, and a black tee. I tie back my hair in a low-slung ponytail. Loose enough so it doesn’t irritate my headache and assorted wounds. Even if I’m not tough like Fox, at least I can appear mildly capable. Maybe.

Nothing I can do about the butterfly bandages, but concealer hides the worst of my bruising. The black winged eyeliner and mascara I apply make me feel a bit more normal even if my life is spinning out of control. When it comes to makeup, I don’t tend to bother with the natural look. I prefer a 1960s vintage vibe. Give me Sophia Loren with her hips and tits espousing the glory of pasta and wine. She knew what was what. There are way more important things than having a tiny waist. Take loving yourself and enjoying life, for instance.

As for the rest of the shopping, I condense it into the duffel bag also provided and also designer. The tag says it was purchased for the bargain price of only three thousand dollars. Crow definitely enjoyed burning through some of Thom’s money. At any rate, it feels good to get dressed and organized. Like I might actually have a little control in this insane situation.

Coffee doesn’t arrive within a reasonable amount of time. Therefore, it’s time to go in search of some. Thom would probably prefer I stay hidden away. But I hate having no idea what’s going on out there. And with half a day’s distance between me and the whole interrogation thing, I’ve built up enough courage to go exploring.

No sign of anyone in the hallway. Scuffed terracotta tiles lead off in both directions. The quiet rumblings of conversation are coming from the left, however, so that’s where I go. Curiosity compels me to stick my head in any open doorways along the way. Only a bare mattress and some bedside tables in the next room. And the one after that. Still no pictures, personal items, or anything resembling actual signs of habitation.

Voices float down the hallway uninterrupted. I am totally creeping up on a bunch of spies. Go me in stealth mode.

Hang on. A suspicious-looking stain marks the beige carpeting outside a closet door in the second room. Someone’s left their mark. With the curtains pulled, leaving the room in shadows, the stain appears black maybe. Or dark brown. But the closer I get, the less sure I am about that. A metallic tang fills the room, the rich scent of copper, and my stomach turns over queasily. I have a bad feeling about this.

Seems the closet hasn’t been fully shut, the topmost edge of a boot is sticking out. I should call for Thom. Reverse thrust and get the hell away from this. Only, what if whoever it is bleeding out on the floor isn’t dead yet and my delay is what kills them?

Oh, God.

With a shaking hand, I grab the handle, pulling the door open.

The body inside is dark and bloody and awful. Same goes for the knife sticking out of his chest. It stinks of all sorts of bodily fluids left to rot, and I swallow down bile. Puking again is not the answer. I’ve never seen a dead body before. My eyes can’t look away while my brain doesn’t know what the fuck to do with the awful information. Probably I should tell someone. Yes. Right. That makes sense.