Chapter 28 Rosabelle #2
It’s like looking up at the sun.
How had I never felt the depth of his presence? How had I not seen the way he moves; the way his clothes fit his body; or
the way he smiles, like he knows his face is a weapon?
I thought I had.
I thought I’d been thorough in cataloging his strengths and weaknesses. I thought I’d completed his character assessment for
my files; duly noted the broad expanse of his chest; the breathtaking build of him; the way he commands a room. But I’d been
observing him through glass, trying to describe rain through a window.
I realize only now that I’d never truly felt it, not for more than flashes at a time.
I’d never known him like this, my skin burning with an awareness that refuses to abate, my heart thudding wildly in my chest without end. This—
This is terrifying.
I’m nearly lightheaded as I look away.
“Wait, hold on,” says the other guy, the one Winston called Adam. “How do we know she’s not lying? Why are we just assuming
she’s telling the truth?”
Winston zips up his jacket to his throat. “I don’t know, man,” he says, jamming his hands in his pockets. “but I don’t think
she’s lying.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Look at her,” says Nazeera, nodding at me as she buttons her coat. “She’s uncuffed and unrestrained. There’s a screwdriver
sitting on the windowsill less than four yards away, and there’s a pair of scissors on the counter in the kitchen, left in
plain sight. I put a bunch of things within easy reach around the house to see if she’d take the opportunity to try to kill
us—”
“You did what?” Adam gapes at her.
“—and instead, she’s standing there quietly, wearing my coat, asking to be sent home.”
Winston laughs out loud.
My eyes widen.
Adam looks horrified. “Why would you invite me over when you knew there was a chance she might murder me?”
“I’d never let her murder you,” Nazeera says, looking offended. “I just wanted to see if she’d try.”
“Yeah, don’t flatter yourself,” Winston says to Adam. “If she was going to murder anyone she’d definitely murder James first.”
“What?” says James. “Why me? She likes me.” He turns to look at me, and I rock back, struck. “You like me, right?”
But I’m distracted. I’m disarranged.
I take another panicked step away from James and direct my gaze at Nazeera. “You left weapons around the house on purpose?”
“We’re going to be roommates,” she says with a shrug. “I wanted to gauge the level of violence I’d be managing for the duration.”
She flashes me a fresh smile. “If you’d tried to kill me on day one I would’ve made some adjustments to our living situation.”
I’m stunned. I feel like I’m meeting her for the first time.
With a new respect.
“Damn,” says Winston. “She just flat out ignored you.”
“Shut up,” says James.
“Who?” asks Nazeera, tying the belt at her waist. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Rosabelle,” says Adam.
“Yes?” I answer.
“No,” says James. “That’s not—”
“Bro, you need to stop,” Adam says to him. “This is embarrassing.”
James turns his gaze up to the ceiling, then groans out loud, like he’s being tortured. “Can we please get the hell out of
here?”
“Okay, wait, one more thing.” Adam turns to me. “I just need to know. Seriously. How much should I be freaking out right now?”
I’m backing away from James again, moving closer to Nazeera, and I’m about to answer with the truth when I realize Adam is trying to mask real terror. Something quiets inside of me, seeing his fear. It resets my head.
My heart rate begins to steady.
It occurs to me, once again, that I don’t want these soft, loud, messy people to die. I don’t know who this person is, but
I’m starting to think he doesn’t share the cavalier attitude of the others.
In fact, he might be a civilian.
“Who are you?” I finally ask him.
He stiffens, his eyes darting to Winston, then Nazeera, then back to me. “Who?” He points to himself. “Me?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Why?” he says, tensing a bit more.
“You look a little like James.”
James snaps his head toward me, and the impact is physical. I try to hold steady.
“Oh.” Adam exhales so hard he laughs. “Yeah. Well. I’m James’s older brother. My name’s Adam. I’m guessing you’ve realized
that by now.”
This admission surprises me.
I look between the two of them, trying to remember whether I knew there was a third Anderson brother. I was never given a
dossier on him, which seems like an oversight. From the moment I saw Adam I’d thought his eyes looked familiar, but now that
I’m really looking at him, I’m noticing all the other subtle similarities. The texture of his hair; the shape of his mouth.
But Adam is softer than his brothers.
He’s less defined, less muscular, less imposing. He has an anxious energy; his shoulders are rounded, his posture defensive.
Standing next to James, he presents more like distant relatives. James emanates a magnetic energy that almost demands a response;
he’s electric and breathtaking even at rest, the breadth of him both comforting and terrifying. Adam, by contrast, seems to
exist on a quieter frequency. If he ever had the harder edges of his brothers, they’ve been sanded down by time.
He’s handsome in an unthreatening way.
He has a cartoon Band-Aid on one finger; his jacket is missing a button. His wedding ring is scuffed, dull, thoroughly worn.
The glimmer of a snack wrapper peeks up out of the pocket of his jeans. He shakes the keys in his hand, from which hangs a
bright, tiny toy action figure. He looks every inch an ordinary citizen. He seems far less likely—or capable—of killing someone.
“You’re unarmed,” I say to him.
He stops shaking the keys. “What?”
“No—you’re never armed,” I say, frowning as I assess him. “You’re not like your other brothers. You’re afraid of change. You don’t value ambition.”
I pause. “You don’t seek glory, do you? Your aims are smaller. You prefer routine. You fear death.”
Now he looks taken aback. “What? I’m not— Wait, how do you know I’m never armed—”
“Whoa,” says Winston, gaping at me. “That was scary.”
“Stings, doesn’t it?” James says to his brother. “You should’ve heard what she had to say about me. Felt like I’d been disemboweled.”
Adam stares between the two of us, dumbfounded.
“All right.” Winston claps his hands, then straightens to his full height. “Do me next. I’m ready. I can take it.”
Nazeera cuts him a look.
“What?” he argues. “I’m serious. I need a ten-second psychological evaluation that could ruin my life. It might be the motivation
I need to finally get my shit together.”
James rubs at his eyes. “I hate all of you.”
“Wait,” says Adam. “Wait. She never answered my question—”
“You don’t have to worry,” I say to him. “I’m going to fix things.”
“But—”
“Bro, enough, stop asking her questions,” James says angrily. “For the last fucking time, she’s literally starving, and we will discuss this over dinner.” He throws opens the front door and a cold breeze immediately penetrates
the little house.
“James—wait—” I try to say.
“No, this is not up for debate,” he says. He storms back inside the house, grabs me by the puffed sleeve where my hand should
be, and tugs me across the threshold.
“James—”
“No.”
I give an unintelligible cry as we’re hit by the cold blast of early evening.