Chapter 8 Amelia #2
“There,” Brian said, still squatted behind her. “The smaller pieces will work their way out. I’ll leave you to it.”
He ducked from the room, though there wasn’t much to leave her to. Amelia ran a wet washcloth over her limbs. She was still a mess, but it’d have to do.
Out of the bathroom, the room was dark, all but the muted TV that spilled blue light across the floor. Amelia slipped out of her shoes and onto the bed next to Brian.
Against the headboard, they sat shoulder-to-shoulder. A lone cricket chirped in the corner and the room hummed with the sleepy buzz of late-night TV.
“That Moriarty guy,” Brian said haltingly. He cleared his throat as if there were more, but the statement floated in the static.
“Emory.”
“You’ve never met him before tonight?”
Amelia didn’t answer at first. She stared at Brian and tried to discern why it mattered. He probably only meant to fill the silence, but the question probed uncomfortably.
“It’s just…it seemed like you two knew each other.”
He didn’t mean the eye-fucking, she knew, but the moment that preceded it—her and Emory’s hands on each other like a muscle memory and locked at the eyes with the indelible sense of having already encountered one another.
Amelia could step outside herself and bear witness to the magnetism that suggested she and Emory were far more than strangers.
Amelia toyed with the snap of her purse still draped across her body.
“No. I don’t know him.”
But she knew that Emory was born in Puerto Rico on New Year’s Eve.
She knew he had a faint scar that started at his top lip and ended at his nostril and was more visible when he smiled.
She knew how her heart pitter-patted and body hummed with him near.
She knew how his weight felt on top of her, how their bodies fit together, how he pinned her arms over her head.
She also knew he was possibly involved in no less than seven murders but, ever a mafia boss, had no direct ties to any.
She knew that he invested in commercial real estate through suspected offshore shell companies.
She knew he traveled frequently to San Juan where he funded gambling rooms and nightclubs as a possible front for arms deals.
Did Brian believe her? Amelia couldn’t say. Regardless, he withheld judgment with a sleepy smile.
“I wanted to tell you at the party, but I guess now’s as good a time as any. I met someone and it’s gotten serious. I’m looking at rings. She’s nice. You would’ve liked her. You will like her.”
Brian rocked into Amelia, a gesture meant to soothe, but there wasn’t any heart left to break, and his confession came with less calamity than he probably expected.
“I’m sure I will,” Amelia said, and it wasn’t meant to placate. Someday the horror would fade, and they’d stitch together some semblance of normal. She’d meet the girl who won his heart and be happy for them both.
Brian interlaced his fingers with hers and squeezed to draw her gaze. “Amelia, you’re my best friend. I’ll always love you.”
Before she could respond, a knock pounded on the door. Amelia yelped, and Brian bolted up. They waited in petrified silence until a voice filtered through.
“It’s Eric from the front desk. I need you to move your car.”
Brian crawled from the bed and, with the chain fastened, cracked the door.
“Yeah, sorry. Rain’s coming and our lot floods,” Eric explained. “Just park down here and you’ll be fine.”
“Sure thing.”
Brian grabbed the keys from the nightstand but was gone before Amelia could protest, out the door before she could follow. After he left, she pulled on his sweater again and watched the curtained window.
Minutes passed, and nothing came. No tires crunching. No headlights beaming. Amelia climbed from bed and slipped into her shoes but stopped as she reached the door.
Take the pliers, some instinct warned.
She obeyed and crept into the chilly night with the pliers in hand. Brian’s car hadn’t moved, but the engine hummed, and headlights pierced the dark. The open door whined with an incessant chime.
Amelia hurried to the car, but a groan stopped her. She spun around to the sound.
On the ground near the pool enclosure, a body stirred. Brian, it was Brian. Brian contorting in pain. Brian seeping dark liquid across the gravel.
Amelia ran over and collided to her knees by his side. His cheeks glistened with tears, and blood oozed from his belly.
“Brian! Brian, please! Look at me!”
With shaky hands, she cradled his cheeks, but his head lolled to the side and blood spilled from his mouth.
“No! Brian, please don’t!”
Amelia laid her head on his chest. Her heart raced, and she confused the pulse in her ears for his. When she lifted her head, his vacant eyes were fixed on the sky. The light was gone.
It came then, just like before. A crunch of gravel. A shuffling step.
Amelia’s head snapped up. No longer bug-eyed, the man from the gas station had removed his glasses and ditched the flannel for a white t-shirt. He flashed a sadistic smile and pointed a gun at her.
“Come on. Hands up. Do what I say.”
Amelia scrambled on all fours. Jagged rocks sunk into her hands and knees until she regained her feet. The man charged at her and hollered something she couldn’t understand.
She sprinted across the lot and then the street, her feet slipping on rain-slicked grass as she bounded toward the factory. The man laughed as Amelia darted between rusted cars and ducked for cover, though he didn’t shoot.
“Give it up, Amelia!” he shouted. “You know how this ends.”
She broke from the maze of decrepit vehicles and bolted onto the road. A pair of headlights hovered in the distance but grew larger as the car sped toward her.
“Stop! Please!” she screamed and waved her arms with the pliers clutched in her fist.
The car screeched to a stop, and the front doors swung open in unison, but the men who climbed out weren’t strangers. They’d been at Richard’s party as part of Emory’s cohort.
“Fuck,” Amelia whimpered and turned to run but collided with the man from the gas station.
The hard hit knocked the air from her lungs and the pliers from her hand. His fingers clamped down on Brian’s sweater, loose against her body, and he hurled Amelia to the ground.
She thrashed against his weight on top of her and clawed at the mud, reaching for the pliers until her shoulder screamed in pain. Her fingertips brushed the rubber handle.
Amelia grabbed hold and swung hard. The pointed end burrowed in the soft flesh of the man’s cheek and ripped it open. He howled in pain and toppled off her.
“Stupid fucking bitch!”
His fist cracked against her cheek in a powerful blow. Pain seared, bright and blinding, and Amelia’s vision blurred as she collapsed again. Her body lifted from the ground.
I’m floating, she thought as her limbs hung loose and weightless.
Something wet her cheek. Blood or rain or tears, Amelia didn’t know as she closed her eyes and surrendered to the inky dark.