In the end, I buried his body out by the generators. I kept his dog tags. His name was Michael Blair. I’d seen him around. I remembered him as one of the few men who had tried talking to Karen when she first arrived. He had a baby face. He had large hands.
Nobody saw me. I returned to my bunk with a great sense of disappointment. I’d wanted more. I’d wanted to keep him alive longer. At least until I’d tortured him. Until I’d gotten some names, other men who played the same game. Maybe he wouldn’t have known anybody else, but that wouldn’t have mattered. I would have tortured him until he made up a few.
The next day he was reported missing. Two days later his body was found. The entire base was searched. I hadn’t had time to move his dog tags. I’d placed them in the corner of my locker.
I don’t know why I kept them, or why I didn’t hide them better. I think by that point I just didn’t care anymore. Before, I hadn’t minded fighting in this war; now I didn’t see the point. We were fighting against one type of evil while another type hid behind their uniforms. It reminded me exactly of what Karen had said about the front line being everywhere. It was true: there was no shelter.
As soon as they found the dog tags, I was taken into custody. I was placed in a room with a table and a chair. Two MPs came in and shouted at me. They said things about prison. They called me a bitch and a cunt and a traitor. They said the death penalty would be too good for me. Then they left. I was alone for hours. When the door opened again, it wasn’t the MPs who entered the room. It was Walter.
At this point Nova allows a small smile. He says, “He offered you a job, didn’t he?”
I nod. I wonder what situation Nova had found himself in that caused Walter to walk in and bail him out.
“He said he knew my father. He said he knew exactly what happened. He said he understood. Then he asked me if I regretted what I had done. I considered lying, telling him I regretted it deeply. But I didn’t. I told him what I regretted most was that I had killed him too fast. I told him I’d wanted to make him to suffer first.”
I don’t bother telling Nova the rest. Not about how Walter told me he could use my services. Not about how he would make it appear I would be taken into custody. Not about my year of intense training. Nova already knew about that; he had been through it himself.
“You can go now,” I say.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Are you hungry? We can order pizza.”
“I appreciate everything, Nova, but right now I just want to be alone. Really alone, okay?”
He watches me closely, considering it. I just told him a story about a woman who killed herself. There is no way for Nova to know I am suicidal too. Or maybe there is. Maybe I am more transparent than I care to admit.
“Okay.” He stands up. Looks down at the Beretta in his hand. Looks back up at me. “Want me to leave this with you?”
“I have plenty.”
He grins. “I’m sure you do. You could probably fill an Easter egg basket with all the weapons you have hidden in this place.”
“Goodbye, Nova.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Goodbye.”
And like that he’s gone.
I wait until I hear the apartment door close before I stand up. I need some water. I need some food. I need to pee.
I start toward the bathroom when the phone rings. It’s the main line, as my cell has disappeared. I hurry into the kitchen, thinking it’s Walter with some good news, then thinking it’s Walter with some bad news.
I pause with my hand extended. My eyes once again focus on the Bazooka Joe comic pinned to the corkboard.
I answer the phone.
Zane says, “What—you’re not fucking Nova now, are you?”
Fifty-Two
A long moment of silence passes before Zane says, “Are you there, Holly?”
“What do you want?”
“Just to talk.” His voice grows soft, almost thoughtful. “Remember the nights when we spent hours on the phone just talking about nothing?”
I glance quickly around the kitchen, at all the different places I have weapons stashed. I think about the rest of the weapons—the guns, the knives, even a machete—hidden around the apartment.
“To be honest,” I say, “it barely crosses my mind.”
“Oh now, come on. That’s not fair. I hurt you a long time ago and now you’re trying to hurt me.”
If I wanted to hurt him I would tell him about our aborted child. But I don’t. It’s none of his fucking business, and even if it was, I still wouldn’t tell him.
“As far as I’m concerned, Zane, you’re still dead.”
He drops the soft, thoughtful tone. “It doesn’t look like Walter is going to come through in time.”
Unfortunately this is a corded phone. I don’t even know why I still own it. It was here when I moved in and I always figured it would be here when I moved out. Now I wish I’d broken down and bought a stupid cordless so I could move freely around the apartment.
“It’s not that he doesn’t want his kids back,” Zane says. “I know he does. I know he’s fighting to get them back.”
He’s outside. I know he’s outside. How else could he have known I was with Nova unless he watched him leave?
“Anyway,” he says, “it doesn’t look like Walter is going to make the deadline.”
“You said there wasn’t any deadline.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Holly. There is always a deadline.”
“So why are you calling me?”
“Because you’ve now become the wild card. Why else do you think your old man saved your life in Paris?”
I close my eyes and remember the alleyway. I remember the rain and the patterns the red and white lights played
