Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
M arcus’s words nip at my heels as I walk down the hall away from him and the two officers who want to uncover the truth. But I know the truth: Marcus is done. He wants something he once had but gave up for me, and where he wants to go, I can’t. When he said he was done with “all of it,” did he mean me, too? No matter how I want to look at it, our problems trace back to me. I’m included somewhere in “all of it.” Maybe he’s been pretending all along. About us.
But no. There’s no way. I know he loves me. He’s just tired. And sad and in pain and…done. I don’t blame him. I’d like to be done with fear and hiding and pretending and remembering and running, too. I’ve said “I’m so done with this” in my head a few times during the past couple of months and never once meant done with him. It was all frustration and loss speaking, same as Marcus, I’m sure.
I stop at the vending machine at the end of the hall; maybe I’m shaking because I haven’t eaten in who knows how many hours. I pull a dollar bill from my back pocket and push it into the slot with shaky fingers, but it pushes back out. It’s too crumpled. I pull the dollar tight and rub it against the corner of the machine, glancing over my shoulder when someone comes up too close behind me. My heart drops, and the dollar flutters to the ground.
“We need to talk.” Chaz’s eyes corner me, pressing me against the vending machine glass. “But not here.”
He takes my elbow and steers me toward the elevators, and my throat tightens as if I’m already suffocating. Like Chaz’s hands are already around my neck like he’d threatened all those months ago in L.A. He pushes me through the elevator doors into a space too small for both of us and his threats. He’s stiff beside me as he slaps the “1” button, watching the doors close, our reflections a smudge in the metal like the panic smearing my insides.
“What are you doing here?” I choke as the elevator bumps to a stop and the doors open. “And how did you find me? Did Nick send you?”
He stays quiet, his grip on my elbow all he needs to say about his mood, and walks me down the hallway, through the lobby, and out the sliding doors into early morning haze.
Cold bites at my bare arms as we turn the corner, and Chaz veers toward an alcove facing a parking lot, then turns me to face him. “I’m only going to say this once, so pay attention.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.”
“You have no choice.”
His comment ices my veins.
“Nick wants the diamonds, and next time he gets the chance, he’ll take them and leave both of you dead,” Chaz says.
“He has thousands of diamonds. Why does he care about them so much?”
Chaz glances around like someone might overhear, and my eyes sweep the concrete pillars, the shrubbery. Did Chaz lure me out so Nick can finish what he started?
“He got himself in too deep, like I always knew he would. But this time, I won’t be there to pull him out. Xander’s locked up because of him, and it’s way past Nick’s turn. You want him in prison, I want him in prison, so do what I tell you, and he’ll rot there.”
“I want him dead,” I say, trembling. “I want him dead so he can never find me or Marcus again. I’ll kill him myself if you’ll tell me where he is.”
“That’ll just leave bigger problems for all of us. He wants the diamonds.”
“Okay, but why does he?—”
“They’re evidence against him. Evidence that will take him and a few other influential people down. He wants them back before you turn them in, and they trace back to him.”
I sift through Chaz’s words, try to connect the dots and predict the meaning for me, but he goes on.
“I want to disappear; you need to disappear. Do exactly what I say, and you’ll be rid of Nick forever and back to your pretty little life in no time.”
When I finally get to our apartment, yellow tape is across the door. I duck under it and walk inside. I can’t stop or I’ll think. I’ll second guess my decision. I’ll doubt Chaz and put Marcus in danger. But I have to stop because there’s blood all over the floor. It’s streaked across the linoleum, smeared by the door. Dried next to the kitchen. I stare at it, my hand over my mouth. This could have been it for Marcus. Our life could have ended here with Nick’s gun. I’m not giving him another chance.
Charlie eases out from under the couch, meowing, and trots toward me. He stops to smell the blood, and I scoop him up and bury my face in his neck. He saw the whole thing, and even though he could do nothing about what Nick did to Marcus, I feel better knowing he was here. And he’s going to stay with Marcus until I get back.
According to Chaz, Nick won’t be anywhere near here, but neither of us knows where he could pop up next, so I’m going to do what Chaz asked. There’s something inside me that believes he actually wants to help me. The sooner I do what he asks, the sooner I can get back to Marcus and give him the life he wants. The sooner I go, the sooner we can start over, no Nick. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I just can’t tell Marcus, because if he finds out what I’m doing, he’ll call the police. Nick will disappear without getting what he deserves, and I’ll never get back into the country.
Chaz told me this will take a few days, five at the most. Then I can come home and beg Marcus to forgive me for keeping him in the dark. He’ll forgive me eventually, and we can start again, just like we have before, but this time we won’t have to run. For now, though, he can’t know. He’ll try to stop me. I’ll hear his voice and back far away from Chaz’s plan.
I set Charlie down and plunge my hands deep inside the sofa cushions and pull out our passports. Sorting through them, I find one for Peggy and my original one for Mei Li Zhang. Then I shove the others back inside the cushions and head to the bathroom. I open the cupboard and pull out the tampon box, frantically shoving away Marcus’s words “I’m done with all of it” and replacing them with Chaz’s “You’ll never have to deal with Nick again.” I have to remember why I’m doing this. Marcus will understand once I get back and tell him everything.
I stuff the box inside my duffle bag along with all my clothes and the envelope of cash from my dresser—savings from my paychecks. Marcus’s is stashed in a kitchen cupboard, and I won’t touch that. He’ll need it to get back to Stanford where I’ll be with him next week. Five days.
I glance around the apartment one last time while Charlie weaves between my legs. My heart leaves a trail of shattered pieces as I move toward Buddha, snatch him, and drop him in my bag. My hand hovers over Magic 8, and I pick it up, asking a silent question:
Am I doing the right thing?
I hesitate, then flip it over, promising myself if I get a negative response, I’ll change my mind and make another plan. But as the message bubbles to the surface, my heart cracks and there’s no way I’ll ever be able to put the shattered pieces of it back together:
It is decidedly so.
With trembling hands, I place Magic 8 back on the table. Charlie jumps up and purrs, rubbing against me. Tears drop into his fur, and I pick him up again, nuzzling him closer. “Tell Marcus I’ll be back. He’s gonna need you. I love you both.” I set Charlie on the table and turn toward the door, but I close my eyes. I have to tell Marcus something. I need him to know I’ll be back.
Grabbing a pen and the unopened electricity bill envelope on the counter, I force my hand to stay steady and write a few words. They’re not enough, but will have to do. I’ve shut my phone’s location off so it can’t be traced; I can’t have any flags on either of my passports or I’ll never get back into the country. I can’t call him. If I hear his voice, there’s no way I’ll go through with this.
I drop the pen and grab my coat and bag on the way to the door, not looking back. If I do, my love for Marcus and the memories we’ve made will devour what little is left of me. I might not be back in this place, but I’ll be back to Marcus, ready to start our new life without Nick.
Scraping together what little courage I still have, I turn on my phone and google a phone number, then push send.
Even if I have to leave, there’s no way I’m leaving Marcus alone in a hospital, and there’s only one person I trust to take care of him until I get back.
After a few rings, someone answers. “San Francisco Police Department. How may I direct your call?” the voice on the other end of the phone asks.
“Detective Miller, please.”
“One moment.”
There are a few clicks, then a beep. Another. Five more before the same voice tells me he’s out of the office for a few days, and can they take a message? I close my eyes, relay the message I’ve rehearsed for the last twenty minutes. “Can you tell him his son is in Newburg, Indiana at Deaconses Gateway Hospital? He’s been shot but is fine and needs to come home.”