Chapter 46 Luca
The first time I realized she was lying to me was when she missed a dinner reservation.
It was about six months ago, and Crash had managed to date someone longer than it takes milk to expire; he wanted us to meet for a double date.
I made sure Emery would be free and gave her plenty of notice, putting the dinner in our shared calendar.
I left Post-it notes on every surface and called her at work that day to remind her of the place and time.
She didn’t show.
When she got home that night, she was apologetic. She explained that her team was presenting a new Lasik technique that week and there’d been a supply chain issue with a part used to create the corneal flap.
It wasn’t that I suspected she was lying about where she was, it was that I somehow knew her absence had nothing to do with supply chains and everything to do with priorities.
Whatever had kept Emery at the office hours longer than she had planned was more important to her than keeping her word to me.
After that, it wasn’t that I was keeping score, it was that I couldn’t not see the excuses and late nights and every distracted conversation when she would rather be working. That’s just who Emery was. She was everything to me, but Emery’s everything was her job.
The thing is, it took a long time for me to realize that it wasn’t okay, and it wasn’t normal.
My parents’ commitment to us—their kids—was sporadic at best, but I saw enough of Crash’s family life to know that mine was strange, and that not all teenagers were balancing going to school, working at a local pizza joint, and raising their younger siblings.
Even so, after three years of marriage to Emery, I couldn’t deny that the way I was raised undoubtedly contributed to my willingness to put up with my wife’s nonexistent work-life balance.
I knew it wasn’t fair and that there were things she wasn’t telling me, but rather than confront it like an adult, I swallowed it down and let resentment build until I decided to walk away.
When someone ends a relationship, it’s natural to assume they’ve already grieved and moved on.
But from the day I realized I would never come first, to the appointment with the attorney, it hurt.
I knew I needed to leave, I knew it was the best thing for me, but my heart didn’t care.
It never, not for one second, got easier.
And then I forgot it all.
Until tonight, when I recognized the woman who let me into the warehouse as the same person who’d been driving the car, who is apparently also my wife’s assistant, and it all came back so fast it felt like a physical shove.
The lack of headlights meant that I had seen her face through the windshield, and she hadn’t even flinched before she hit me, not a moment of hesitation.
Then she stepped aside and the guy from the white car—the one I’d talked to on my walk—was there.
He’d introduced himself as Frank that night, and now I understood the strange demeanor, his fascination when I said my name was Luca and that I lived in a house on the street.
Of course he was fascinated: I was living proof that Emery’s compound worked, and he knew that because he was working with the person who’d killed me.
The rush of memories left me so disoriented that I didn’t see the syringe until it was being emptied into my neck. When I came to, I was tied up, and she—Claire—was on the phone, promising someone she’d have everything soon enough, and no, there wouldn’t be any more complications.
I try to shout to Emery to run, that no one confesses everything if they plan on letting their hostages go, but all that comes out is a muffled garble of words. I pull against the zip ties holding my hands behind my back, but there’s no give.
“You’ve got what you asked for,” Emery says to Claire. “The compound, my notes, all of it. Now let him go. He has no short-term memory. In five minutes, he won’t even remember we had this conversation. He won’t be able to tell anyone anything.”
Her face is bright with panic, and with their eyes on my wife, I nod, encouraging her. Yes. Lie. Tell any lie that gets you out of here safely.
“That’s convenient,” Claire tells her. “Though according to Vince, you were very clear to the board that his memory was correcting itself. Isn’t that what you said?”
“I was lying.” Emery’s voice breaks on the last word and her eyes flash quickly to mine. I pull against the ties again, and still, there’s zero give. “Please let him go.”
Claire shakes her head, glancing at me. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Why go to all this trouble? You could have just broken into the secure cryo somehow and taken the compound. Why not just sell it and disappear to spend your bags of money?”
“Because it’s worth a lot on its own, but even more if it works.
” Claire glances to me and back to Emery.
“I’ll be honest, I thought it would take a lot longer to figure out a plan, but then you were running late for your anniversary dinner and wanted to take the compound out of the lab.
I’d heard you mention your husband’s tendency to run when he’s upset, that he usually sticks to the same route, and I figured why not?
If you want a job done right, do it yourself.
Besides, when would I have this chance again?
I mean, you had the compound with you!” Claire leans in with a smile, gun still pointed at Emery.
“You and Dr. Rodriguez really should close your office door when you talk. Vince was more than happy to tell me all about it.”
Emery’s eyes widen.
“Don’t look at me like that. Is it my fault you were late? Or is it your fault for disappointing your husband?”
“Fuck you!” I shout through the tape, though it comes out a jumbled mess.
“It is my fault,” Emery says. “But you could have left him out of this, both of you. He could have died.”
“But he didn’t! Or he did, but you brought him back!
Just like I thought you would. Isn’t that amazing?
Resurrection through science. You were so insistent you could do it, and I knew that if I gave you the opportunity to prove it, you would.
Really, you should be thanking me.” She gives Emery a condescending smile.
“You’re more like me than you know, Emery. ”
“I’m nothing like you.”
“Really? Totally disregarding the rules for your own personal gain? Saved my buyer quite a bit of work. I was already going to be paid a lot of money for the compound, but having documentation that it already worked?” She holds up Emery’s notes. “That certainly upped the price. Thanks for that.”
“And Honey?” Emery asks. “Why did you take her?”
“Vince insisted there might be residual traces of the compound in her blood, or biomarker changes he could track to give him an idea of what the formulation of Compound Y might be, but he wasn’t able to detect any.
For the record, he was a bit squeamish about certain parts of the plan and even returned the dog home behind my back.
” She walks over to where Vince is staring pointedly down at the ground and taps the barrel of the gun against his cheek.
He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “But I eventually got him back on board. Didn’t I, Dr. Barker? ”
He lifts his head in a terse nod but doesn’t answer.
Pleased, Claire turns back to Emery. “I just wonder what to do with you now.”
“Vince,” Emery pleads, “there’s still time to fix this. Help me. I promise I won’t tell anyone what you did.”
“Well, that’s a lie,” Claire says, laughing. “Let’s say you somehow managed to convince him and he somehow managed to get you out of this—you’re telling me you’d protect the man who plotted to kill your husband?”
“Yes,” she says, voice tight. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Vince looks up at her and their eyes lock. I swear for a second—
My attention is pulled away by a flash of movement near the door leading to the outer office. Careful to avoid being seen, I watch the gap between the door and the frame and… I see it again.
Someone’s there.
Annie and Crash and… Betty?
“I don’t think so,” I hear Claire say, and look back to see her motioning with the gun for Emery to join me. “Over there.”
“Vince, this isn’t you,” Emery pleads. “I saw how hard you worked on the first-gen BioSCAN. You care about saving people. I know you do.”
“He cares about the people who are paying him. And to prove it—” Claire turns, handing him her gun. “Take care of them, Vince.”
Vince stares down at the weapon, turning it over in his hand before finally lifting a shaking arm and pointing it at Emery.
“Told you,” Claire says with a victorious smile.
Em trembles next to me, her fingers clutching my shoulder. “Please,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry,” Vince says finally, and then turns the gun on Claire. “Untie him, Emery.”
What?
Emery reaches behind me, frantically working to get my hands free. “I’ve got you,” she whispers urgently.
“Vince, don’t be an idiot,” Claire is saying. “Think about how much money you’re getting. If you fuck this up, you know what will happen. There’s no way out of this that doesn’t end w—”
There’s a crash from the outer room and Vince lowers the gun just long enough for Claire to lunge for it.
Everything else seems to happen in slow motion.
Someone rushes out of the office and jumps on Vince’s back.
He shouts and starts to fall back. Claire aims the gun in my direction, but Emery sees it, too, throwing herself in front of me.
I’ve only heard guns on TV, a series of ricocheting blasts that echo long after the shot is discharged. But this is a heavy pop, a noise that cuts through the air with such force it leaves a haunting, reverberating silence in its wake.
Screams pierce that silence. Vince is on the ground.
Claire is next to him, clutching her leg where red blooms across the fabric of her pants.
Betty shot her. Betty. A handful of police officers rush into the room, and Crash, who must’ve been the one to jump on Vince’s back, materializes at my side with something to free my hands and feet.
I tear the tape off my mouth, wanting to reach for Emery but she’s turned away, hunched over.
That’s when it hits me. I heard two shots, not one.
“Em?” I say, and she turns slowly, hands over her stomach and eyes downward like she’s not sure what she’s seeing.
I follow her gaze, and my breath is snatched from my lungs. Blood, so much blood. I rush to her just as her knees give way, catching her before she hits the ground.
“Emery. No, no, honey.”
“I don’t blame you for wanting to leave me,” she says, and I’m already shaking my head.
“Never, not for one second did I want to leave.”
Emery smiles but her eyes are heavy and unfocused.
“Don’t leave me, Emery Martín,” I say, pressing my hands to her gushing wound. “Don’t you fucking dare. We just found each other again. You can’t leave me here alone.”
Annie runs to my side, and I look up to see her standing over us with a syringe in her hand. “Not on my fucking watch,” she says, lifting her arms before plunging the syringe down into Emery’s chest.