I can’t answer, elation taking over my body.
Rejuvenating by the adrenaline of the news, I want to jump in Jenkins’ arms, hug him tight and let my heart explode.
King called.
My body is exhausted by the mental battle it fought to keep me alive earlier, and I can’t move.
All I can do is sweat, cry, and laugh.
But who cares? King is alive.
“What do you mean, King is alive?” Jenkins says but I don’t answer. All I can do is enjoy the moment.
I stay that way a little while, happy on the ground, knowing all I have to do is to find him, to see him, to be back with him for everything to be alright.
“Tessa,” Quinn’s voice is soft. He sits on the road next to me, tears in his eyes and a smile on his face.
That’s a sign I’m right.
It happened before.
We thought one of them was dead but he was alive.
He came back.
He was captured for some time but came back.
It’s happening again.
King is alive and he tried to call me.
I can see it on Quinn’s face.
“Tessa,” he repeats, slowly taking my hand. I’m waiting for him to confirm what I already know, to tell me I’m right, to announce it with joy and fanfare.
King is alive.
I’m at peace.
My nightmare is over.
But Quinn doesn’t say a word. He shakes his head and squeezes my hand.
He doesn’t make sense. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what I heard.
He doesn’t know King called me. I try to tell him but my words stay in the back of my throat. They are captured by the void taking over once more.
King is alive, and Quinn doesn’t know.
Or he doesn’t want to know.
Or maybe he can’t tell me now?
My eyes blink to ward off the tears forming. My beating heart slows down. My breath becomes shallow. Quinn shakes his head some more.
“It wasn’t him,” he says with hurt in his voice.
But I know what I heard.
I know King called.
I know…
I try to get up and crawl into my car to find my phone. I need to show it to Quinn. Only then will he believe me. But I’m anchored to the floor.
“But… But I heard him.” I manage to stutter in between the uncontrollable sobs that took over.
“No, it wasn’t.” Quinn tries to soothe me by caressing my back.
“Who… Who called then?” I ask between two sobs.
“No one,” Quinn whispers. “Jenkins looked into your phone. No one called you.”
The hollowness takes over, I become a pile of aches and pain, and when desolation opens its arms, I slide slowly into its lap.
Someone slowly pulls a curtain on my life.
The show is over.
Everything goes dark.
And I’m left exhausted, broken, alone, and with no force left to get back on my feet.
This time what didn’t kill me took away all my strength.
What didn’t kill me made me weaker.
And Kelly Clarkson can go fuck herself.
Chapter Fourteen
OLIVER
“Open the door, Le Pew!”
I wake up to Mark’s screams. After my shower and Tessa’s act of disappearance, I crashed. Not before checking a couple of times if the windows were still sealed and the door was locked and calling Naomi to make sure Aito was alright.
I was out of control again.
The kisses, the desire, the erection I had for her render me weak and stupid.
How could I think fucking her was a good idea?
Of course, she ran after we had sex.
It wasn’t the reaction I expected but I understand her not wanting to face me and feeling like she made a mistake. However, finding my bed vacant had hurt more than it should have.
“Le Pew!” I can barely hear Mark’s voice over the banging on the door. I’m not sure what he’s trying to accomplish, but I should open it before he destroys it. I wait a little more, letting him get even angrier than he is. Not because I like to make my friends lose their minds but because I can’t move from the bed until I’ve counted to one hundred. I started this the first morning I stayed here when I needed to find a reason to get up and go to work, and as usual with me, I became a little obsessive with the counting.
“Open the fucking door, Spencer.” He continues hammering at it, his voice louder than before. Shit. He’s going to destroy it.
I count faster, hurrying the last fifty so I can answer the door. But it’s not that simple. I unlock and lock and unlock again, repeating my actions a couple of times before I finally open to Mark, who barges in angrier than I have ever seen before.
“Why the fuck did you play with the lock so much?” He’s looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“The door can be difficult. I couldn’t open it,” I lie as usual and get a grunt as an answer.
“Still leaving?” he asks, looking at my bag mostly packed. Not that I took care of it since I came back to the motel. I didn’t unpack since I arrived.
“Yes, I am.” Mark nods and crosses his arms on his chest. “What do you want, Twilight?”
“I need you to look more into the case. There is something fishy around VanHorn. I know I’m asking a lot, and you think that the case is shit, but I have one last argument to make you stay. One more.” He points his index in the air and sends me a begging look.
“What is it, Mark? Because from what I saw, everything is good. The guy served and has a lovely family. End of story.” I shrug. It wouldn’t be the first time that one of the white collars of the White House lies. The truth always ends up surfacing in the sea of lies people drown themselves in.
I repeat it slowly to myself.
The truth always ends up surfacing.
I should tell Mark my truth.
I should tell him for Elaine, for me, for who I am and how I can’t function without my repetitive behavior.
“Mark,”
