Chapter 14 Lilian
LILIAN
PLAYLIST: HUMAN – CHRISTINA PERRI
When I wake up, my head is pounding. I look around, and Doug is right there beside me.
“Hey there,” he says before sitting on my bed. “Welcome back.”
“How long was I out?” I ask, my throat sore and mouth dry.
“A day,” he says, handing me a cup with a straw. “Surgery went well, and the bullet caused the least possible damage. Didn’t hit your lung and only scratched a major blood vessel.”
“Where is Ella?” I ask. “Is she alright?”
Doug tenses.
“What?” I ask as my body goes into full alert. The monitor next to me starts beeping, as my pulse races.
“She’s alright,” he says, then hesitates. "But—“ his voice trails off.
“But what?” I ask urgently. I am wide awake, and if he’s not giving me an answer right now, I need to get up and find out myself.
Doug holds his phone in front of my face. I watch Ella being stopped by a motorcycle and another person, handling them like a professional, and then Doug stepping in. My body feels icy.
“Where did you get that?” I ask and rewatch it.
“CCTV,” he says. “She blew her cover to save you.”
Her cover.
“Did she now?” I ask.
“She knew I’d figure out she’s not innocent Ella the moment she saved you from being shot. She used code language.”
A part of me separates the longer I watch the replay.
“So, she’s a professional,” I croak out finally. “Why wasn’t she flagged on our background?”
“I don’t know,” Doug says. “She’s probably that good.”
“Fooling Zeus?”
“What other explanation is there?” he asks.
I can’t fully process everything that happened because it pulls the rug from under my feet. I stare at Doug with wide eyes.
“Could she be the one who killed Jared?” I ask. “That she did everything else to come close to me?”
She was in my home.
I invited her to my home. I thought—goddamnit, what did I even think?
I know why I made it my number one rule to never bring anyone home or engage beyond the contract.
“I don’t know, but my gut tells me no,” Doug says. “She could’ve killed you on so many occasions, it seems unlikely.”
“Many things seemed unlikely,” I say coldly. “Yet, here we are.”
He huffs in agreement.
“Do you know where she is?” I ask as I watch the video again.
“Not anymore. Not even Zeus does. I am sure she burned the cover.”
“Why didn’t you stop her?”
“I tried, but shooting her on an open street seemed not the right measure at the time.”
I frown. I don’t even ask myself what I would’ve done, because I know exactly what. I would’ve put a bullet in her head without blinking.
“Find her,” I say coldly.
“And then what?”
“Then I am going to kill her for lying and betraying me.”
I am not one to be hurt or feel any psychological pain, but right now, I do. And she’ll pay for it, whoever and wherever she is. The thought of it is the only thing keeping me in check right now.
Doug cocks an eyebrow, but I ignore him.
The conversation is hereby ended.
I spent the entire day rethinking every conversation I had with Ella. Each memory intensifies my anger, making my skin feel like it's on fire. How could I have been so careless and foolish?
Doctors and nurses fuss over me, and at some point, I order them out harshly.
Doug has no new information, except for feral media speculations and that he’s following a lead on a group called the Lords, something Ella had told him, apparently.
She’s everywhere, and I can’t escape my thoughts.
Restlessness makes it impossible to stay in my bed any longer.
On day six, I am leaving the hospital against medical advice, but I can’t deal with being stuck here any longer. My wound isn’t leaking anymore, and I feel less jittery now. As far as wounds resulting from a gunshot go, I was very lucky.
I also have responsibilities, a company to manage, and the task of finding the people who are after me. I'm advised to slow down, but Doug and I both know that advice will be ignored altogether.
Being back home does not feel as satisfying as I hoped. Doug set up my living room with an adjustable armchair. It’s not exactly my taste, but I can live with it for the time being, except when I look up and see the wall Ella forced me into.
Every time I see it, my body immediately reacts with a flashback, something that is driving me nuts. I need to find her, and when I do, I’ll make sure she’s out of my head forever.
“Tell me exactly what steps you took to locate her,” I order Doug.
He tells me of the Zeus searches, CCTV footage, and log tracking, but all inquiries hit dead ends.
Knowing how skilled Doug is only grows my frustration.
With all the resources I have, the full force of a government surveillance system, an AI that analyzes every movement behind me, and I can’t find her.
I am spending two more days reviewing all the footage and traces related to her. I also revisit all our materials concerning Jared’s death. Additionally, I rewatch security footage from around the time of his death, both from his home and the company.
I watch that hooker write her number on the wall when my chest rumbles, and I freeze.
I zoom in.
Those hands. The way she holds the pen.
It takes me ten seconds to ask Zeus to estimate the person's height in the footage.
5’9.
The same height as Ella.
Icy anger cuts through my chest.
“Doug!” I call, and exactly that moment, the doorbell rings.
He heads to the door first, and I watch him open the door from my armchair.
He glances down, his body tenses, and he draws his gun. I can’t see around him, but no one seems to be there.
“What is it?” I ask, rolling back my shoulders in apprehension—not without pain. My chest still hurts like shit.
“Package, I don’t recall you ordering something.”
“I didn’t,” I say.
Doug closes the door, leaving the package where it was. It’s awfully big, and my mind is already on edge. What if it’s a bomb?
Doug gets a metal detector and swipes it over the parcel.
“Negative,” he calls, and I can feel my body relax.
He slips on a mask and gloves before he opens the package outside.
“There’s a card,” he says, and brings it inside to hold it up for me to read.
Get well soon.
My mouth drops open.
“What’s in the package?” I hear myself ask.
“You gotta see that for yourself,” says Doug cryptically and carries the package inside.
He opens the box, and a disgusting smell trails up my nose.
“Ewwwww!” I say and turn away.
“Look at it,” says Doug, and I do what he tells me to.
My heart plummets.
In the box is a severed hand, holding a gun. Stiff and dull-matte in its color, with dried blood on the outside. Cut off by the wrist, I can see the bones and cord-like structures. The scent is the worst of it. I want to vomit.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask as my eyes wander from Doug to the box.
“It’s the Lords,” says Doug. “The gun has the same engraving as the one I killed.”
It takes me a moment to find my words, because I don’t know what to think and feel right now.
“She fucking killed someone,” I whisper. “And cut off his hand to send it to me in a fucking box! What kind of fucking mad person does that?”
This is a situation that allows any form of cursing.
“I’d say a person who's madly in love,” says Doug. “And well, a killer,” he adds sardonically, and all I want to do is murder him for even saying it.
“A person who’s madly in love and lives a lie? Sounds psycho to me.” I say coldly and add, “Get that away from me. Do whatever with it.”
“Also,” I say, “I’m fairly sure she’s the one who killed Jared.”
“What makes you believe that?”
“Here,” I say, and turn my laptop to him. “It’s her. Same height. Look at the hands. I know it’s her.”