Chapter 20
Cesar
It’s the best Christmas Day of my entire life.
I shouldn’t be feeling so distraught, yet here I am, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I wait for our food.
The restaurant is busy with people who, like me, don’t crave a traditional gathering with glazed ham as the main dish, but I try to focus on something unrelated to the fact that the skin in the middle of my chest is borderline itchy for no good reason.
I know for a fact I did not get any rash either, because Eli and I have recently showered at a truck stop, which means it’s all in my head, just because of the tattoo I ought to have before I board the ship.
I know why I’m increasingly obsessive about it, of course, but I’m not crazy and know nothing’s gonna happen if I retire without that final tattoo picked by Sullivan.
The fountain cascading through an artificial landscape somewhere in a fantasy version of ancient China keeps whispering to me, and I try to focus on its melody rather than on the clatter of dishes, the loud conversations—
“Sir, your food,” the waiter says, presenting me with the paper bag smelling of General Tso’s chicken, pepper steak, and fried wontons.
I thank him, leave a tip, and exit the restaurant, stepping out into the cold.
It’s just past midday, and as I cross the street, heading for the spot where we parked, I take note of the distant drum of festive music.
I’ve gotten us a place on a ship heading for Anchorage first thing in the morning, but we still have to wait almost twenty hours until boarding, and the quiet area around the city park seemed like the safest bet to stay away from cameras that might capture Eli’s face during the brief times he removes the fabric mask.
I told him to stay in the car and keep the doors locked, but I’m still relieved to see our vehicle where I left it, Eli intact, bobbing his head to the radio.
As soon as I open the door though and pass him the bag of food, I’m hit by the joyful Christmas tunes, because of course that’s what he’s listening to, and my stomach shrinks. I’m instantly reminded of what I shouldn’t be thinking of and it’s like a frustrating loop in my head.
I never finished my last job. I never got my last tattoo, the proof that I am free to walk away. But Sullivan’s dead, so it shouldn’t matter.
“Are you okay?” Eli cocks his head at me, pulling me out of the stupor.
Fuck. The last thing I need him worrying about is my fucked-up head.
“Yes, just a bit tired,” I say, sliding into my seat and locking the doors. “Got you one of those bubble teas too. Hope you will enjoy my Christmas tradition.”
“Chinese food? Sounds great. I’m just happy to be here with you.” Eli’s smile is so joyful when he looks my way. “I told you I could do some of the driving. We’re in this together.”
“I’d rather you can duck and hide at any moment. We’re still not out of the woods,” I tell him, stalling when my brain reminds me that without Sullivan’s final gesture I might never feel truly out.
I know those are not logical thoughts, that a dead man can’t have any power over me anymore.
Nothing is stopping me from dropping everything and living however the hell I want, but I can’t help feeling that the anchor that bastard had in me is still there, rusting inside my body, and poisoning every thought.
Even thinking about stepping on that ship makes me recoil. As if it’s illegal. Not allowed. As though my brain refuses to accept that I can in fact go. The invisible cattle prod is there to shock me, and I’m losing appetite by the second.
“I don’t know. I have a good feeling about it.” Eli shrugs and starts shoveling food into his mouth, oblivious to my torment. I want it to stay that way. He has enough to deal with.
“A good feeling about—” I let it hang in the air, wondering if I’ve turned to my thoughts for long enough to miss a chunk of our conversation.
Again, I slide my hand under my top and scratch the itchy emptiness in the middle of my torso.
It’s fine.
Sullivan is gone.
I don’t need his permission to retire.
And yet, being this close to the port and planning an escape is making my skull feel too tight, and my chest—constrained.
Eli grins wider when he opens another paper bag.
“Oooh! Fried wontons. Have I mentioned I love you?” He winks at me, but I don’t have time to answer.
“Look, they’re preparing for a parade in the park.
Any one of those Santas could be the Festive Fugitive.
” Eli wiggles his eyebrows and points farther in front of us, where a platform decorated to resemble a snow-covered mountaintop is surrounded by people in costumes.
I grab onto the empty skin under my clothes and twist the flesh, trying to distract myself with the discomfort of it.
Sullivan no longer matters. Eli eliminated him from the game, and if I’m to be loyal to anyone, it’s he who deserves it.
How else am I supposed to ensure his safety than to escort him someplace where he’s less likely to be found?
“They’re not the real thing.”
Eli smirks. “What if I’m the imposter and the real Festive Fugitive is now far away?”
It’s becoming hard for me to focus even on Eli’s jokes, which I love so much.
The reality of leaving for Alaska in under twenty-four hours is hitting me in ways I never anticipated.
Maybe it is weird that I’m not eating, nor responding to him like I normally would, but I’m in dire need of grounding myself, so I press my back to the seat and stare past the windshield, at the crowd preparing to set off with the parade.
A pair of arms rises above all the moving heads, holding up a toddler, and all my muscles go rigid, as if the car accelerated to the speed of sound, forcing me to resist the unexpected pressure.
A man in a Santa costume takes the child, and suddenly all I can think of is my fucking origin story.
Given away to Sullivan, I was a commodity gathering images in ink as if my own skin were a loyalty card, and the goal of filling it up—the freedom Sullivan tried to deny me. And now that card has expired before I could ever collect my prize.
I’m left denying myself the freedom in Sullivan’s stead, as if that mechanism really is inside my heart and might explode the moment I set off for my journey north.
Somewhere beyond the choking in my throat and the darkness under my closed eyelid, I hear the rustling of paper and Eli’s voice which can no longer reach me, because I’m drowning deeper and deeper inside my inner void.
Maybe this is the actual self-destruction mechanism Sullivan installed in me?
I was worried about the wrong thing.
My own body and mind are the biggest threats.
A hand on my back makes gentle circles, and it takes a while, but I finally hear Eli.
“Cesar? What is it? How can I help? Just breathe, okay?” he says softly as I realize I’m bent forward against the wheel and wheezing.
I shake my head, squeezing the steering wheel more tightly as the darkness retreats, leaving me back in a reality where I need to struggle with my greatest enemy, myself.
“I—sorry,” I mumble, focused only on getting enough oxygen to avoid blacking out. Everything smells of pine, just like it had when my parents brought me to Sullivan, but those aren’t the same pine branches. Those are mine and Eli’s, and they have nothing to do with that monster of a man.
“Don’t be. It’s okay. I just need to know what’s going on. How can I help? Do you need some water?” Eli passes me his bottle, still stroking my back as if I’m a child in need of comfort, not a grown-ass man twice his size, who could overpower him with ease.
How dare I be so weak when I promised him safety? It’s embarrassing. He deserves someone better. Someone who won’t fall apart because of a problem even I realize is all in my head. “No, it’s not okay,” I whisper, forcing words out of my aching throat. “I’m a burden.”
“What? Of course you’re not. Where is this coming from? You saved me, protected me, drive me around, buy me food. You’re so thoughtful and a damn good fuck, so I really need you to spit it out. I sensed something was wrong hours ago. Whatever it is, we will deal with it together.”
The stern note in his voice grounds me, and I feel seen when he admits that he sensed that something about my behavior was off. I can’t hide from him, and I love it.
We might have only met three weeks back, but he sees me like no one before him.
His touch is warm, soft, reassuring, and I find myself melting into it as the pine branches drying inside the car surround us with their fresh scent. “It’s… it makes no sense. There’s something wrong with my head—”
He pulls me in until my head rests on his shoulder, and kisses my hair so gently I can no longer resist.
Not that I ever want to deny him anything.
“I’m fucked-up. Sullivan’s dead, so is Lyle, I am free to go wherever I wish, but now that we’re about to do that, it feels like I… can’t,” I finish, meeting Eli’s eyes as shame sinks its claws into me.
He draws breath, about to speak, and I shake my head, because I am aware how crazy that sounds. “I know. It makes no sense whatsoever. You proved there’s nothing inside my chest. I’m free, but I don’t feel like I am. He might be dead and rotting six feet under, but he still has his leash on me.”
Eli’s kisses are so soothing I’m able to breathe again. “So what’s stopping you? You did say you were supposed to retire, right? You were allowed to.”
“Not without the final tattoo,” I snap, shaking my head and scratching my torso through my clothes as a ringing echoes in both of my ears.
“I would be free once that space over my heart was filled, but it’s not.
It’s empty, and he kept denying me for the past two years.
He just wouldn’t pick a tattoo for me. I—just want it to be over,” I whisper and rest my forehead against the steering wheel.