Drinking was all she could do since Henry abandoned her.
Since Amanda had run her off. Since Mya had nothing left, nobody to lean on except the awkward embraces from sweaty drunks who weren't quite repulsive enough to turn down. The physical pleasure dulled the pain. Not for long, but long enough to gain a modicum of relief from the anguish inside her.
Mya took a small sip and saw Gregory watching her from the other end of the bar. As soon as he noticed her looking, he turned away, hiding a look of embarrassment, and pretended to clean a glass. She wondered what time he got off.
If he had an apartment nearby.
Mya felt her cell phone vibrate through her purse. She took it out, saw it was her mother, and pressed Ignore. Mya had only spoken to her mother once since her father's murder. She made no effort to hide the fact that she believed her mother's ignorance led to his death. That if her mother wasn't such a goddamn passive bitch, wasn't such a pushover, had every now and then stood up for herself, her father would still be alive and not in a pine box in some cemetery surrounded by dimming memories of loved ones.
Mya could feel her blood warming as the alcohol swam through her veins. The door opened, and she felt a gust of cool air. Mya closed her eyes, knocked back the rest of the drink.
Then she heard a creaking sound, opened her eyes and saw a man pull out the stool next to her and sit down. He was young, early twenties, very tan with sandy blond hair and a sweet smile. His eyes flashed a striking blue, and Mya felt her cheeks grow warm. The guy raised his hand to order a drink. Mya noticed how cracked and calloused his palms were. He took off his coat, was wearing a blue T-shirt underneath. His forearms were tanned and toned. He looked like no other guy she'd seen at this bar. He was naturally lean, not possessing the kind of strength born in a gym, but born out of honest blue-collar work.
Gregory acknowledged him and came over. He placed a coaster in front of the stranger and said, 'What'll it be?'
'Gin and tonic,' the guy said. His voice sounded slightly older than Mya would have expected. 'Light on the tonic.'
Gregory held out his hand, palm up. 'Lemme see some ID.'
He looked moderately embarrassed, and offered Mya a sheepish smile before opening his wallet and handing the plastic over. Gregory looked the man over, looked at the picture, made sure the faces matched.
'William…Roberts?' Gregory said.
'That'd be me.' Gregory, seemingly satisfied, handed the card back and poured the drink. He went heavy on the gin, surely in apology for the embarrassing age verification.
When Gregory left, the boy took a sip of his drink and said,
'You think that'd never get old, but sometimes all you want is a drink.' He said it softly without turning his head.
'I know what you mean. I still get carded half the places
I go to.'
The boy swiveled his stool toward her. He had a nice smile, dimples. 'You're what, twenty-two, twenty- three?'
'Twenty-six,' Mya said, failing to hide her pleasure in his guess.
'BS.'
'You're right, I lie to pretend I'm older. '
They shared a laugh. Mya took another sip of her drink, found she was sucking on ice. Her body felt warm. She was unsure if it was the alcohol or this stranger. Either way, she didn't want it to stop. 'So let me guess. You walk into bars and try to flatter all the girls.' Immediately she regretted uttering such a line, but what was the worst that could happen?
The boy laughed. 'You're right,' he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. 'I have nothing better to do than wander around until I finally meet someone who needs flattery. Please. I talk to who I want, when I want. And right now I want to talk to you.'
'I bet you say that to all the girls, too,' Mya said.
'Actually, I do. You got me there.'
'So here you are. I guess I should be flattered you're talking to me.'
'Actually, I'm the one who should be flattered.'
The boy smiled, his face a strange but alluring combination of youthfulness and maturity, like he'd seen more and done more than anyone his age had experienced. He wasn't in a hurry like most guys she met, hadn't overplayed his hand within the first ten seconds of their meeting. He looked confident enough that if she rebuffed any possible advances, he could pick up, move on, quickly find someone who wouldn't.
Not that she wanted him to move on. But there was the deliciously dangerous possibility of it all.
'William Roberts,' he said. 'It's nice to meet you.' He offered his hand.
'Mya Loverne.' She took it, shook it. 'So, William
Roberts. Do you have a middle name?'
'You want to know my middle name? I don't know, that's a pretty big step. Once I've given that out, we're linked until one of us leaves this bar. Are you prepared for that kind of commitment?'
'Is it really that big a commitment?' Mya asked.
'Of course it is,' he said. 'See, a boy and a girl can sit in a bar talking for hours. They can share the most intimate secrets of their life, loves and hates, lovers and ex-lovers, pet peeves and fetishes, but there's always a layer of protection between them, this subtle, unspoken boundary where they both know the biggest intimacy has yet to be allowed.' She felt the boy move closer, inching his stool toward hers. She pretended she hadn't noticed.
'See, once you cross that line, once you allow that intimacy, you can never go back. See, knowing my middle name isn't such a big deal on the surface, it's what it represents. So if I tell it to you, be sure there's no going back. Are you ready for that?'
'Mine's Helen,' she blurted out. Everything seemed to stop for a moment, the boy seeming to soak it in. Now the night was open to all sorts of possibilities.
'Henry,' he said. 'William Henry Roberts. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mya.'
Henry.
'It's a pleasure to meet you, William Henry.'
William smiled. 'Hey, barkeep,' he shouted. Gregory turned around. 'Another round down here, if you please.'
40
William put down the copy of the Gazette. His fingertips had become black with ink. He licked his thumb, rubbed his fingers until the smudge had congealed, then wiped his hand on a napkin which he then tossed in the garbage by the bed.
The article was smartly written, insightful, and one hundred percent true. Parker had done a surprisingly good job.
In a short amount of time, too. He wasn't quite sure how
Henry had pulled all the facts together, and part of him was rather impressed. Still, William knew there were many unanswered questions to which Parker-and the rest of the city- would beg the answers. This was the beauty of the whole thing. William felt a great surge inside. Pride and ambition.
Those four deaths were just the beginning. Athena Paradis, the other three martyrs, they were stepping- stones to a greater good.
Two pages after Parker's story was an article about the turmoil at Franklin-Rees publications following Jeffrey
Lourdes's murder, as the empire ran around like a headless chicken hoping to find some stability. William knew, as soon everyone else would, that regardless of how many Frankenstein-esque heads they tried to bolt on, the animal itself was dying. Everything would crumble from the top down. And out of that rubble would come
