4. The Whispers of Doubt
The airin my tiny apartment is thick with the scent of dust and regret. I tug at a strand of hair behind my ear, a habit that’s only intensified since my life became entangled with Alexander’s. The empty boxes stacked against the wall, delivered by Alexander’s men a few hours earlier, feel more like a prison sentence than a fresh start. The cardboard is rough against my fingertips, smelling faintly of old paper and something vaguely metallic, like the scent of a ship’s hold. They’re not labeled, just generic brown boxes, and I pull one out, trying to load some books inside. They feel like a promise, a threat, an intrusion into my carefully curated space.
It’s just boxes, Ava. Now get packing. You’re moving in with Alexander.
I stare at the framed photograph on the wall – a faded image of my parents, their smiles as vibrant as the wildflowers blooming in the background. A lump forms in my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs. I gingerly lift the picture, the paper cracking beneath my touch, and place it in a box. It feels like a betrayal, a final goodbye to the life I knew before. The apartment feels empty, a hollow shell of what it once was. The air smells faintly of my mom’s perfume, a blend of jasmine and lavender I can’t quite place. A ghost of their presence still lingers. It takes me back to a memory, a moment etched in my mind.
The carnival lightswere a kaleidoscope of colors, blurring into streaks of neon against the night sky. The air thrummed with the sounds of laughter, music, and the clanging of the rides. I was ten, my parents beside me, their hands warm and comforting in mine. We had just stepped off the Ferris wheel. My eyes, bright with excitement, were fixed on the towering roller coaster, its tracks twisting and turning like a serpent, reaching for the heavens. It was called “The Demon’s Ride,” a name that sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine.
“Can we go on it, Dad? Please?” I begged, tugging at his hand, my eyes pleading.
My father chuckled with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Are you sure you’re brave enough, Ava?” he asked.
I puffed out my chest, my chin held high. “Of course I am,” I declared. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
My mother gave my father a knowing look. “Don’t encourage her, John,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “It’s a wild ride.”
But my father, ever the adventurous one, had already pulled me towards the queue. “Don’t worry, my love,” he said, squeezing my mother’s hand. “I’ll keep her safe.”
The wait seemed interminable, each minute stretching into an eternity. My heart thumped against my ribs. Finally, it was our turn. The attendant strapped me into the seat, the metal bar pressing against my chest. I held onto the metal handrails, my knuckles white, my palms slick with sweat.
As the coaster lurched forward, my stomach lurched with it. We ascended the first hill, the world tilting beneath us—a dizzying, thrilling sensation. Then, we plunged, freefalling into the abyss, the wind whipping through my hair, screams and laughter swirling around me.
Up and down, twist and turn, we hurtled through the darkness, the world a blur of lights and shadows. I screamed, I laughed, I felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. This was the most exhilarating ride I’d ever been on, the ultimate rush of fear and exhilaration. I wanted to do it again, and again, and again.
My father, beside me, was laughing, his eyes gleaming. He had a way of making even the scariest moments fun.
My mother, always a bit more cautious, would never go on a ride like this. But she would buy us popsicles to cool us down after the ride.
I knew then, in that moment, that I was fearless, that I was meant for more than the ordinary. I was meant for adventure, for the thrills that sent my heart racing, for the dangers that pushed me to my limits. And in that moment, as we rode “The Demon’s Ride,” I knew I would always seek out the thrills, risks, and moments that made me feel truly alive.
I shake my head,pulling myself back to the present. My thoughts drift to Michelle. Did she escape? Or was she taken? I”ve called Alexander several times, but he hasn”t answered. As if reading my mind, my phone buzzes. It”s Alexander. ‘Get over here.’
The words are a challenge, a promise, a threat. His voice echoes in my mind, sharp and urgent. I belong to him with every fiber of my being. He”s the only person I can rely on, and he trusts me in return. But a flicker of doubt lingers. Maybe he”ll finally explain what happened to Michelle; trust me enough to tell me the truth.
But after his message yesterday, there was only silence. A deafening silence.
Then, another message appears: ‘Can”t wait for you to get here; I”m coming over.’ I haven”t invited him, and I haven”t even told him I”m packing up my apartment. But I know he will come. He”s always one step ahead.
Not long after, I hear the soft thud of shoes against the linoleum floor. The door creaks open, revealing Alexander”s silhouette. He”s standing there, his jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on me. A hint of a smile plays at the corner of his lips, but I can see the tension in his shoulders.
He smells of rain and leather, a scent that sends a surge of longing through me. His presence fills the room, a powerful magnetic force that draws me in.
“Ava,” he murmurs, “I’ve missed you.”
I lean in, his lips catching mine in a tender and demanding kiss. He tastes of dark chocolate and something wilder, something untamed. His hands move over me with a familiar confidence, exploring the contours of my body, igniting a familiar fire within me.
“Michelle,” I whisper, pulling away. My voice is raspy. “What happened?”
Alexander’s brow furrows. He’s a man of few words, a man who keeps his secrets close.
“Someone called from Rockford Rehab,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “They told me she was gone. Escaped.”
“Escaped?” I echo, taking a step back. “Michelle wouldn’t do that, would she? Isn’t she fragile?”
I have never met her, but I feel I already know her from Alexander’s stories.
“She’s stronger than you think, Ava,” he says in a steely voice. “She’s been through a lot.”
He pauses, his gaze hardening. He looks at me, a flicker of something dark and raw in his eyes.
“She almost killed herself; it was years ago. It was terrifying. I was younger then, but the fear felt like it would swallow me whole.” He says it almost as a statement, a confession, an admission of a past that still haunts them both.
“You never told me that—” I say, my voice catching.
“It was a reckless act, a cry for help, a need to be seen.” He says it almost to himself, his gaze distant, lost in the memories of a past he can’t escape. “That’s Michelle, always testing boundaries, always pushing limits. She nearly succeeded.”
His voice tightens. “I had to watch over her, keep her safe. That’s all I ever wanted. Even back then, I knew she was vulnerable, and the world was a dangerous place.” His words, usually confident and strong, are shaky and on edge. The faint scent of rain and the sound of distant thunder amplify his tension.
He pauses. “I need to find her. Now.”
His eyes are dark and intense, fixed on me, but I sense a storm brewing within him. “I just needed to see you before.”
“I understand,” I say, reaching for his hand. He cups my face in his hand, his thumb tracing the curve of my jaw. He leans down, his lips brushing against mine in a fierce kiss, a silent promise.
“I’ll be back,” he murmurs.
He turns, his presence filling the room. And just like that, he’s gone again.
I stand there, my heart heavy, crushing me. I turn to look at the boxes, the evidence of his presence, his need to pull me into his world. But as I see the faded picture of my parents, the memory of their love, my eyes well up with tears.
I need you, mom and dad.
I can almost hear their voices. They were taken too soon, ripped from my life by another car crashing into them, sending them flying off a bridge. The pain of their loss still stings. It’s like a sharp, persistent ache that I haven’t quite learned to live with.
I sink to the floor, tears streaming down my face. The past, the present, the uncertainty of the future - it all swirls around me. Wiping away my tears, my gaze hardens. I won’t let this overwhelm me.
I will find a way.
I stand, brushing the dust from my jeans. This place needs a good cleaning. But first, I need answers. Harvey is the one who can help me understand this world Alexander has thrust me into. To understand him, I need to learn his ways. And who knows his ways better than Harvey?
Besides, I wanted to ask Harvey about The Raven anyway. This is two birds with one stone.
I remember my first meeting with Harvey after Tyler, and I had broken up. Harvey”s features were weathered, and his eyes looked like they’d seen too much. He was kind to me, offering a haven after the supposed Veles crackdown.
I reach for my phone and type out a message. ‘Harvey? Can we meet?’
My jaw clenches as I wait for Harvey to answer. I know he is still grappling with the aftermath of the Veles Network investigation, still wrestling with the crimes that have touched his life. But I need his help. I need to unravel the threads of this mystery.
The city lights outside my window glitter like a million stars, promising both beauty and danger. My journey is far from over. I know that as I take a deep breath, my resolve hardens. The whispers of doubt have only fueled my determination. I will find the truth, protect myself, and find a way to love Alexander, even if it means facing the darkness.