57. Claire
Chapter fifty-seven
Claire
Running into the ER with two men injured with gunshot wounds and me in my bra and jeans draws a crowd… though maybe not as big a crowd as Simon’s emergency landing in the baseball field across the street. He helped me get them in, Kent insisting that he’s fine and to let him go the whole way. Simon brought Remy in with ease and passed him off on the bewildered ER doctor, who came out of a set of steel doors when I ran in screaming for help.
It all happened so fast. They threw him on a gurney and wheeled him away from me, calling out codes and commands and leaving me with my heart aching and raw. A big woman physically restrained me as I pushed out from under Kent, proving him wrong about being ‘fine’ when it sent him careening into the wall without my support, and the doors shut me out.
In all the commotion, Simon ran out to find a place better suited for the plane, which left me alone with Kent.
“It’s just a kiss,” he insisted, over and over again, batting away the hands of the nurse who tried to appraise the wound. “It grazed me.”
It was more than a kiss , the nurse explained. A through and through shot, which was lucky since it avoided causing any real damage. He cauterized his own wound on the bus when he did Remy’s—with the blade of a knife, he explained to the nurse, who clucks her annoyance with him as he continued trying to brush her away.
“Lucky you’re Rambo. If you’d lost any more blood, you’d be in real trouble. We’ve got a shortage of the good stuff tonight. ”
Kent grunts by way of response, and I almost laugh at the irony, earning a curious glance from her. “We’re not exactly equipped for the level of trauma you brought in. We’re taking donors, though, if you want to contribute to the cause. Free cookie with every poke.”
I stand up automatically. If Remy needs blood to save his life, I’ll be the first to take the needle. I’ll give him as much as he needs, because I think my heart won’t work without him anyway. “Okay.”
“Sit down,” she chuckles, shaking her head. “I’ll send a phlebotomist in as soon as we finish with G.I. Joe here.”
Kent rolls his eyes, immune to the nurse’s attempts to lighten the mood.
I stay in the room as she cleans his burns, muttering about him being a big baby when he grits his teeth and growls at her to leave him alone. When she starts at him with a needle for the IV, he nearly kicks her in the face, and she turns to me for backup, as if I could tame the giant.
The nurse disappears, leaving me alone with an irritable Kent.
I never saw him get shot, never noticed he was bleeding. But I did see his wife lying in his arms, and the fact that he left her despite the fact that everything we did tonight was to save her, tells me that she’s indisputably dead. I assume it’s grief that’s got him acting out, so I don’t give him any more of it, sitting quietly in the chair across from the bed he’s perched on, refusing to lie back.
“Where did we go wrong?”
I don’t realize I said it out loud this time. The same thought has played a loop in my mind for over an hour, trying to figure out how our rescue mission went so wrong for the person we were there for.
“They got their hooks in her.” Kent says, his voice thick and throaty. When I glance up at him, surprised that he heard me, I can see tears in his eyes and grief written on his face. He’s trying to hide it, but I can see it in the set of his jaw and the way it trembles despite how hard he’s trying to keep it still. “She wasn’t happy to see me. It was like I was the bad guy… she didn’t even seem to recognize me. ”
He drops his head in his hands and rakes his fingers against his scalp, trying to contend with what he’s saying. “She set us up.” His words are muffled until he picks his head up to look at me again, though his eyes are distant, like he’s back there trying to map out how it all went down. “There were two men out there, waiting. Remy got on the bus and the first guy fired two shots. I tried to protect Libby when the other one came at us, but he wasn’t going for her. He was trying to help her. I put him down, made to check on Boudreaux. She shot me just as Rich joined us. He… he killed her.”
I’m incredibly still, void of the capacity to feel his grief, to sympathize with his loss. It’s wrong. If what he’s saying is true and she’s a victim of Stockholm syndrome, it’s not her fault that she betrayed us. But that doesn’t let me forgive her. And it doesn’t make whatever her job was with those children any better.
I don’t dare say as much to Kent. The fact that he moved to Remy’s aid rather than staying behind to wallow in his grief is the only proof of his character I need. I simply hang my own head, massaging the furious ache in my temples.
When the nurse returns, I look up to find Kent pacing back and forth, a cell phone pressed against his ear. She scowls at him before turning to hand me a bundle of something. She holds it out for a minute before I take it, and when I do, I recognize them as a clean set of scrubs.
“What about Remy?” I demand. “The other one I came in with? They took him back—”
“To surgery.” She nods. “It will probably be a minute before we know anything. Are you family?”
I open my mouth to say that I’m his girlfriend, but I’m not sure that’s ever been true. It seems like such a strange title, not enough to convey everything that we’ve been through together. Kent answers before I ever come to any sort of conclusion.
“She’s his wife. ”
I jump at the hand on my shoulder, so deep in my thoughts that I forgot I’m not alone here, despite how much it feels like it. My head is swimming with the amount of people who have popped out of the woodwork and shown up here in the middle of nowhere to just… wait in this room.
I don’t know how long it’s been since we got here, but I know that it’s all blurred together, and my head hurts and my eyes burn. I turn to find Kent nodding his head down the hall, where Rhea has just run through the doors with Dimitri at her heels.
Everything in me wilts at the sight of her tears, and when she wraps me in her arms, I crumble. If there’s anyone besides Remy that I can fall apart on, it’s Rhea. My freaking father, my twin sister, Wes. I don’t have a relationship with any of them, and despite everything Kent and I have been through together in the last twenty-four hours, I can’t bring myself to break down in front of him… not when he lost his wife again, after all these years.
But Rhea is a safe space. My sister, more than the one who shares my blood. We escape to the room that Kent has routinely been dragging me out of—the one where Wes is situated with Violet at his side. It takes me a moment to remember that I didn’t relay this information to Rhea yet, so when she stops dead inside the doorway, I think it’s Wes that she’s confused by.
“Hello, sister.” Wes smirks, stepping away from Remy’s bedside. “You look good.”
Rhea doesn’t even snap back at him, her attitude quelled by the mindfuck I didn’t think to warn her about. I haven’t said more than two words to Violet—I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. And I think she feels the same way. She doesn’t look at me with contempt or sadness or anything, but she doesn’t look at me like there are so many things she wants to say.
“This is my wife, Violet.” Wes explains, gesturing to the woman at his side, who manages a small smile for Rhea. “Violet, this is my sister, Rhea. ”
“Don’t fucking call me that.” Rhea breathes, turning from the twisted duo to me as I wipe the tears I let fall. “Claire?”
“Meet my sister.” I tell her quietly. I think her head may explode, so I decide to get it all out of the way at the start. “My father is out there, too.”
“Your— what ?”
“Mmhmm.” I nod, not knowing how to make it any less weird for her. It’s bizarre to me, and I’m living with the knowledge.
“I’m… so confused.” Rhea splutters, turning back to the two of them.
Wes pats her on the shoulder as he passes. “Don’t worry, sis. There’ll be plenty of time to catch up later. And I’m looking forward to it.”
He grins at me, though it looks less menacing than ever, and I catch Violet’s eye just before she follows him out the door. This time, she does look like she has something she wants to say, but her scarred cheeks tip up a little, gracing me with a soft smile instead.
As soon as they’re gone, Rhea shuts the door and lets out a long breath, rubbing her temples. “I have so many questions,” she breathes. “What are they doing here?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat, which feels extraordinarily dry. “I don’t know who called them. They just showed up, but Wes…” I sigh. “Wes saved his life.”
There’s a long pause where she stares at me, waiting for the punchline. But it isn’t coming, because I’m telling the truth. I scrub my hands over my face, like maybe that will wake me up a little. I’ve never been so tired, but sleep is the last thing I want to do.
“When he got here, Remy was still in surgery. Nobody would tell me anything, but he started asking questions, dropping names. Next thing I know, they gave him privileges to scrub in and he just… disappeared. When he came out, he was in full surgical gear, and he said it went well.” I choke on a laugh, not because it’s funny, but because I feel like I slipped into some sort of alternate reality .
Rhea’s gaze turns to her brother, the other forgotten as she approaches his bed and sinks down to her knees. “They let him operate?”
“This isn’t a trauma center. They weren’t prepared for the level of care he needed.”
She swallows, nodding. “But he hasn’t woken up yet?”
I shake my head, and then, realizing she can’t see me, manage to croak out a ‘no’. She grabs his hand, squeezing it between her own, before turning to look at me. Her eyes are wide, terrified. It matches how I feel inside. “You don’t think… Wes did something?”
I have thought about it. It’s run through my mind a thousand times in the hours since he came out of that O.R. with a smug smirk. Even if he didn’t do anything on purpose, I know his hand isn’t the same as it was before I stabbed him. Just a slip of the scalpel could ruin everything, and he’s still alive—the colored lines on the monitor confirm as much—but I don’t know why he isn’t awake yet. Neither does his doctor, a middle-aged woman with a mostly-gray bun on her head. “We just have to wait for him” , she said.
I’d wait an eternity for him, but I need more than that. Wes wasn’t concerned, but concerned is all I am. Everything has been shaken up, and I don’t know how it will ever settle again.
“Are you okay?” Rhea asks, running me up and down. And then she laughs, realizing the irony. It takes a moment, but when it hits me, it’s too absurd not to laugh, too.
“That’s a stupid fucking question,” I manage, giggling so much that I can hardly breathe, and making her laugh harder, too.
Tears are streaming down my face by the time I get in enough air to stop the fit of laughter, and I may have peed myself a little. Rhea’s laughter peters out last, and when she wipes her cheeks with the palms of her hands, she grins at me.
“God, I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you too.” I tell her, tears pricking at my eyes that have just as much to do with the fit as they do with how hopeless I feel .
I launch myself at her, telling her everything that’s happened since the last time we really talked. When I get to the part about the senator’s wife and how I slit her throat to stop Violet’s maniacal sculpting, I think her eyes may bug out of her head.
“I’ve always told you I would help you hide a body, but… you just confessed… to murder?”
I squint at her, wondering why she sounds so shocked. This isn’t the first time. Remy told her everything—or at least, he said he did.
“Yeah,” I say, slowly. “My second one… third if you count Evan Ludlow.” I shake my head. “Hey, when do I become a serial killer? Is that after your third victim?” Rhea stares at me, her mouth opening and closing. It’s absurd, but it makes me laugh. “What’s the difference between a serial killer and just a plain murderer? When does it become mass murder?” I giggle at the shock in her eyes, which launches me into a fit of hysterics.
When I get control of myself, I clear my throat. “You told me in Costa Rica that Remy told you ‘everything’.”
“He did…” She stutters. “Or, I thought he did. He didn’t tell me that you—”
“I took vengeance on my enemy?” I say cryptically, my lips twisting with more of the laughter I’m trying to contain.
“You…” She shakes her head, swallowing. “You are a badass.”
I snort out a laugh but choose not to fight the point. I don’t feel like a badass… not anymore. I did feel that way, once, when I’d had everything.
“I’ve never been more scared.” I tell her honestly, my voice as small as I feel.
Fear for my life, for pain that could be brought down upon me in a million different ways, is visceral. In the moment, it’s a horror like no other. But it’s nothing compared to how I feel in this moment, with everyone needing something from me.
I tell Rhea everything about the mission, about Kent’s wife, about Remy getting shot and the kids I abandoned because I couldn’t leave him. And when I’m done, I tell her, “And now they’re waiting on me to decide what to do with all of them. I have no clue.”
“They’re… waiting for you to decide?”
“Kent told me it’s my call because normally Remy would decide, and since he can’t, apparently, that’s on me?” I laugh despite not being amused. “I can’t have them take a busload of kids across the border, even though my first choice would be to send them to the hotel in Costa Rica with the others. Kent said they can’t get in touch with any of the families of the ones who know where they came from, and the ones who don’t…” I rake my hands through my hair, which feels gross. I stood under the stream of water long enough to rinse Remy and Kent’s blood off of me, but it still smells like pennies brining in dirty water.
“Calm down,” Rhea says, bracing her hands on both of my shoulders. “It’s okay.”
“Nothing is okay.” I laugh, because I’m tired of crying. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Yes, you do,” she insists, smiling a little. “You almost have a degree in Child Welfare. You’re perfectly qualified for this.”
“ Almost .” I repeat the qualifier. “I don’t know what to do here. And I also don’t want those kids to grow up in the same system I did.”
“They won’t,” she assures me with a gentle smile. “Remember what I gave you? For your birthday?”
It takes a moment to get my brain off of the panic track it’s on and then to sift through the memories, but I land on the memory of our fight, when she told me she never got to give me her birthday gift and handed me a piece of paper.
“The… house?”
I kind of forgot about that, but now that she’s recalled the memory, it strikes me again how random it is. It’s not that I’m opposed to living with her—we have for years, and I can’t imagine a better roommate. But won’t it be weird when things start to get serious between her and whoever she decides to eventually get serious with?
“Yes. I never got to tell you why I bought it.”
“Okay,” I say, not sure why we’re on this topic now. I feel like when I blinked, I fell asleep and missed something. My brain feels like it’s lagging.
“When we flew to Costa Rica last year, Remy asked me what I wanted to do with my degree, and I told him that I had a multi-part plan.”
“Right,” I agree, even though I’m not sure what I’m agreeing with at this point.
“Long story short, there’s one moment in my life where I decided everything I wanted to be and do. And I was a kid, so obviously, my goals have changed. I used to want to own a gallery.”
It takes me a moment to remember what a gallery even is, and I look around the room for the water I left somewhere in here. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” she continues, unbothered by my straying attention as I grab the water bottle and uncap it, taking a long swig. “But I kind of gave up on that, because once you’ve seen a Matisse go for more than your best friend, it kinda ruins it, you know?”
I stare at her, my mouth falling open slowly as her words register. I’m not sure whether I should be offended or amused at her observation.
“Yeah,” I finally say, now curious to see where this is going.
“So, my other initiatives became priority, and I sort of worked them together into some kind of Frankenstein creation. Remy apparently took a page out of my playbook when he opened his humanitarian hotel,” she laughs, glancing fondly at her brother. “So, the last objective was the one I really hoped you’d join me on. Maybe I should have asked before I bought the house, but—”
She shrugs, and I realize she actually isn’t waiting to finish.
“What’s the objective?” I ask, not sure if she hasn’t said it or if I just missed it .
“Saving you. Or, I suppose, saving people from going through what you went through. I always wanted my parents to have more kids, so I could have little brothers and sisters to take care of. Thank God they didn’t, knowing what I know now.” She laughs. “I’ve always liked kids, and I had everything available to me growing up, but it was shit. My parents were awful, had no clue what they were doing. And you had nothing growing up. So, if we combined those things,” she clasps her hands together dramatically, like I’m supposed to understand the direction her brain is headed.
“Shitty parents with everything at your fingertips plus nothing at your fingertips plus shitty parents, equals?”
“Take the shitty parents out of the equation,” she waves her hand, like she’s literally removing that factor. “Because we won’t be shitty parents.”
Tears prick at the backs of my eyes as she hits on one of the fears that’s been plaguing me. “I really hope not.”
Maybe Rhea doesn’t hear me, or she just doesn’t want to dignify that with a response, but she continues. “The house is for the kids.”
“What kids?”
“Any of them,” she shrugs. “All of them. As many as we can fit, I don’t care. There are thirteen rooms in the main house, and I’ve bought the lot next door so we can build there, too. It’s perfect… I mean, I guess there’s always the danger of living near water, but it’s Florida. We’ll just have to teach the kids to swim. You’re a good swimmer, so that shouldn’t be an issue and—”
“Rhea?” I interrupt her. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about an orphanage, but that word is canceled, I think, so let’s call it a care facility for children? It’s a place for kids to go to keep them out of the broken system that you despise. We can raise them like mothers, like family. When they’re old enough to start jobs or their own families, they won’t just get thrown out the way you were with a handshake and a good luck. They’ll stay our family. I have the money to take care of them. ”
“That’s ridiculous.” I scoff. “We haven’t even finished college, and you think we can just adopt a bunch of children to raise them as ours? Who would let us do that?”
“The State of Florida, for starters.” Rhea laughs. “We just need to get the right accreditation, but there’s actually a few states where we can do it. If we can grow our network of trusted sources, we could open them up in almost every state. I went with the Miami one first because I know you love to be by the water, and when I heard Austin talk about his family selling it, it just felt right.”
There’s a lull in the conversation as I appraise her, trying to figure out if she’s serious about all of this.
Apparently, yes.
“You sound insane.” I tell her.
Rhea opens her mouth to object, but the voice that fills the air isn’t hers.
“That’s because she is.”