But then someone stayed there, and now Victorine was in this cave with no food, no money and nowhere to go. That shouldn’t have been a problem, but Julian had gone missing, too. How many days, now? Three days? Four? When he’d told her to run away, she’d believed that he would help her. He’d told her so, sworn it, even. They had a plan, a good one, so good she’d done something she’d never done before. She gave a man her trust; and now she had to wonder.
Where the hell was he?
She fell asleep pondering that, woke late in the dark. All of the candles but one had burned out, and the one was barely a stub, its light low and fluttery. Victorine started to rise, but stopped sudden.
Something was wrong.
Low, rustling sounds came from out past the cave’s mouth. Something pushing through the scrub. Whispers. Talking.
Victorine picked up a flat rock as big as a carton of cigarettes. If somebody planned to come in this cave, he’d have to do it headfirst.
She blew out the candle, and darkness plunged down. She waited, still and stiller, yet. The sounds were louder, closer, a body dropping down and the sound of something heavy sliding in. She lifted the stone over her head, and then heard Julian’s voice. “Please God…”
“Julian?”
She lowered the stone.
“Victorine?”
“It’s me.” She caught his hands and dragged him the rest of the way inside. He was breathing hard and hot, his neck slick with sweat as he wrapped her up with both of his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“I don’t know what’s happening. Sorry you’re alone. Sorry for being so… thick.” He let her go and pounded one fist against the side of his head. “Everything’s wrong and nothing’s right. I can’t…” He struck himself again. “I just can’t…”
“Hang on, now. Let me get us some light.”
Victorine disentangled herself and groped around for the matches. Finding them, she lit the last candle, Julian’s face damp and washed out in the bright, sudden flare. “Damn, Julian.” She smoothed sweat and dirt off his face. Small streaks of blood from where brambles had caught his skin. “You look like hell.”
He pulled his knees up, and put his head against her chest. “I just don’t…”
“Don’t what?”
“I can’t stop seeing…”
He clawed at her shirt, drove his face hard against her breasts.
“Seeing what?”
“A dead man on the floor. Red spray and the sound of something heavy dropping. I see my brother and my mother, bits of Iron Mountain, bits of stuff long gone. Old faces. Voices. Nothing makes sense.” He pulled harder. “I forgot about you, V. I’m sorry for that, but my head’s not on right. Everything’s messed up.”
“Slow down, Julian. Just tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I can see it, and then it just goes. It goes and I’m deep in the black. Water all around. People laughing. Memories. Faces. It’s never been this bad.”
He pulled at his hair, pushed one heel on the cave floor.
“Just breathe, now.” She hugged him tighter, knowing he was a struggling kind of man, but never having seen him like this. The man she knew was more boy than not, a quiet soul with a store of patience for a lonesome girl brought up rough. He knew what it meant to be stepped on, knew how long, black hours piled up in the night, and how even the sun could rise too pale. But now she was starting to think maybe she should have listened to her momma after all, her momma who said there was no God in heaven and no man worthy of faith, no truth beyond flesh, family and folding money, no decent place in the world for women named Gautreaux. “It’s all good, Julian.” She said it like she meant it. “Victorine’s here, now.”
“I need you to do something for me.”
“What?”
He told her.
“Your mother?” He nodded, and Victorine pictured lily hands and white skin, servants and bankers and beds that were feather soft. She thought of her own hard years, of beatings and loneliness and a crazy mother who whored herself out to any man with fifty dollars and a truck strong enough to force its way up the road that led to her bed. “I know how to handle your mother.”
Light flickered, and a moment passed.
“Do you know why I love you?” he asked.
She rocked him, silent, and he asked again.
“You know why?”
“I know,” she said.
And, she did. It wasn’t her looks or her brains or her fine, hard body. Julian loved her for one reason.
“You’re so strong,” he said.
And that was it.
The helicopter circled the far side of the estate and came in where the reporters couldn’t see it. Treetops thrashed as it slowed, then an opening appeared below the skids and Abigail saw the hard, sharp edge of the helipad. It was lit. Cars in the darkness beyond. When the pilot made his final adjustment and the skids scraped concrete, Abigail unfastened her harness.
Her anger had grown as dark, broken countryside flicked past outside her window. She knew it was unfair and fed largely by fear, but the smell of her husband made her furious. His self-interest. His calculation. Outside, blades ripped the air into vicious downdrafts; engine noise like a rockslide. Abigail was at the first car when a hand landed on her shoulder. She spun and found her husband.
“Think about what I said.”
He had to yell, white hair aflutter on his large head.
Abigail raised her voice to match. “No. You think about what
He looked at the long, black car. Two members of his private security stood waiting. Beside the car, the Land Rover looked worn and old in a way that seemed to insult him. “I assume you’d prefer to ride with Jessup.” He said it with wounded pride and a need to hurt.
“We have things to discuss,” Abigail said.
“Will I see you in the morning, then?”
The leer spread on his face, and Abigail’s anger kicked up a notch. She strove to be civil with her husband, but was only so strong. “I’ve never cheated on you. Whatever you choose to believe, I would never do that.”
“Please…”
“We’re different that way.”
“I’ve told you before that we can all use distractions, but, don’t insult my intelligence. Screw him all you want, but be honest about it.”
She shook her head. “I chose a long time ago the kind of person I wished to be.”
“You’re absurd, sometimes. Do you know that?”
She wanted a clever retort but had nothing, so what came out was simple and plain. “Were you ever a moral man?”
“Morality is a relative concept. You, of all people, should know that.” He settled into the car, and when his window came down, he said, “Tomorrow morning, first thing. I need an answer to my question.”
Jessup materialized beside her as the senator’s window slid up and the car eased into
