Chapter 34 Bastian
BASTIAN
EARLIER THAT MORNING
à la minute /? l? mi?nyo?ot/: adverb
I sit in the car outside the safe house. In the rearview mirror, I keep an eye on the front door. I’m hoping she’ll follow me out. Crack the door and call my name and tell me she didn’t mean it.
But the door stays closed.
She called me a helicopter, but what she really meant was that I’ve been haunting her, like some obsessive guardian angel with a death wish. How many times now has she begged me to let her stand on her own two feet? Why can’t I agree to such a simple, black-and-white request?
I know why. Because the thought of her alone, vulnerable, blind, pregnant, carrying my child, in a world where Aleksei is actively hunting us, makes me want to fucking murder something.
So no. Sorry, Eliana, but I can’t just give you what you want. Not if you want you want is to get far the fuck away from me. Maybe I once thought that distance would protect you, but I know better now.
I’m never letting you out of my fucking sight again.
I sit for a long time until finally, there’s motion. I watch from down the block as the Uber pulls up. Eliana emerges from the safe house with her walking stick in hand. She goes down the drive, climbs into the backseat, and disappears.
The Uber pulls away. I count to five, then follow.
I keep three cars between us, switching lanes when necessary, never getting close enough for the driver to clock me in his mirrors.
The clinic is in a strip mall off Gross Point Road, sandwiched between a Culver’s and a DoubleTree.
I park across the street, engine idling, and watch Eliana step out of the car and make her way toward the building’s front door.
I’ll just do a perimeter check, I tell myself. Make sure nothing looks suspicious. I won’t go inside. She’ll never even know I was here.
I do my lap, but to no one’s surprise, the place is banal and boring.
Nothing is amiss. Pregnant women filter to and from their vehicles, anxious fathers pace around, nurses step outside to chain-smoke.
I chain-smoke, too, as the minutes crawl past. I burn through half a pack in half an hour, lighting each new cigarette off the dying ember of the last, filling the car with a haze that burns my eyes.
I swore last night on the porch was a one-time thing. But here I am, ash accumulating in the cupholder, doing a lot of shit I said I’d never do again.
Spiraling uselessly is another one of those things.
I can’t help the questions from rising up in my head, though.
One after the next. Relentless, pointless.
What if something’s wrong with the baby?
What if she needs me and I’m out here in this parking lot like a fucking stalker while she’s alone in there getting news that changes everything?
What if she collapses in that sterile hallway and no one thinks to call me because, legally speaking, I’m a corpse?
I’m so caught up in meaningless hypotheticals that I almost miss something I cannot afford to miss: a man crossing the parking lot toward the clinic entrance.
Something about his gait sets off every alarm in my nervous system.
He’s tall, wearing a dark jacket with the collar flipped up even though it’s almost ninety degrees outside. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and his shoulders are shrugged up and forward, like he doesn’t want anyone to see his face. His eyes rove from side to side.
My hand drifts to the gun tucked in my waistband.
As I watch, the man swerves in the parking lot.
He doesn’t head for the main entrance, where cameras and receptionists might catch sight of him.
Instead, he circles around to the side of the building, toward what looks like an employee entrance, with a cool confidence to his stride.
I know that walk. I’ve walked that way myself, back when Aleksei’s errands took me places I had no business being.
Move like a shadow.
Act like you belong.
Kill what needs killing, then get out.
A lit cigarette falls from my fingers. I’m out of the car before I’ve consciously decided to move, crossing the lot at a pace just shy of a run. My pulse thuds in my temples as I track the man’s trajectory. He disappears around the corner of the building.
It could be nothing, I tell myself. A maintenance worker, a delivery guy, some nurse’s deadbeat boyfriend.
But my gut knows better. It has been trained by years of violence to recognize the energy of a predator closing in on prey.
I reach the side entrance just as the door clicks shut behind him. Through the narrow window, I catch a glimpse of his back disappearing down a corridor. But when I reach for the handle, I find it’s locked.
“Fuck.”
I go around to the front, forcing myself to walk at a normal pace even though every fiber of my being is screaming to sprint. The automatic doors slide open and a wall of air conditioning hits me.
The receptionist looks up from her computer. “Can I help you?”
“I’m supposed to meet my wife,” I lie seamlessly. “Eliana Hunter. She’s here for an appointment.”
Her eyes flick to her screen, fingers tapping at the keyboard. But then a frown takes over her face. “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have anyone by that name checked in today.”
“She’s here. I watched her walk in.”
Wrong choice of words. The woman’s suspicion spikes. “We have no patient matching that name in our system. And even if we did, I couldn’t give you access without prior authorization from the patient herself.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I snarl. “I’m her fucking husband. I’m supposed to meet her here.”
“Sir, I understand you’re concerned, but I need you to calm down. Without authorization—”
“Listen to me.” I lean across the counter and thrust my face in hers. “A man just entered through your side door. Tall, dark hair, dark jacket. Did you see him?”
“Our side entrance is for staff only,” she insists. “It requires a keycard.”
“Well, someone got through it.”
“That’s not possible—”
“I’m telling you what I saw, goddammit!” My hands are gripping the edge of the counter so hard that the laminate creaks and starts to bend.
“There’s a pregnant woman in there who might be in danger.
You can either help me find her, or you can explain to the police why you stood here arguing about fucking authorization while something bad happened to her. ”
The receptionist’s face goes pale. Her hand drifts toward the phone on her desk. Whether it’s to call security or the cops, I don’t know and I don’t care.
“Which room?” I demand.
“Sir, I can’t—”
“Which. Fucking. Room?”
A muffled sound echoes from somewhere down the hallway. It could be anything. A door slamming. Equipment falling.
Or a scream, cut short.
Fuck this bullshit. I turn and run.
The receptionist yells after me, but I don’t listen. The hallways blur past me in streaks of beige and white. Exam rooms branch off in every direction, identical doors with meaningless numbers, and I have no clue which one she’s behind.
“Eliana!” I shout, not caring who hears. “Eliana!”
A nurse flattens herself against the wall as I barrel past. Someone screams. I still don’t stop.
Then I hear a crash, followed by a sob. Her sob. Coming from behind a door at the end of the corridor.
Without breaking stride, I hit the door at full speed, shoulder first. The cheap lock gives way like it was made of papier-maché.
The whole frame explodes inward and, through the wreckage, I take in the scene in a single snapshot: Eliana on the floor in a shredded paper gown, half-naked, her spine pressed against the exam table, one arm wrapped protectively around her belly.
Ultrasound photos are scattered around her like fallen leaves.
And there’s a man standing over her, belt in hand, zipper down, turning toward me with murder in his eyes.
My anger goes fucking supernova.
“That’s the last mistake you’ll ever make, motherfucker.”
I charge across the room and snatch up the man by the throat before he can even raise his hands to defend himself. His belt falls to the floor as I slam him against the wall hard enough to crack the paint.
“Bastian—!” Eliana chokes out behind me.
I don’t answer. I can’t. Words have ceased to exist. There’s only the red haze and the feel of this man’s windpipe under my fingers and the primal need to destroy.
My punch connects with his face once, twice, three times. Cartilage crunches. Blood sprays across my knuckles. He tries to swing back, but I’m faster, meaner, and I’ve been doing this since I was old enough to form a fist.
I hit him until his legs buckle. Then I follow him down to the floor, straddle his chest, and keep punching. His head bounces off the tile, the sound of impact wetter and wetter with every repetition.
He gurgles something unintelligible through the blood pooling in his mouth. “Pl-pl-plea—”
I hit him again.
And again.
And again. Until his face caves in and my hands are soaked in red up to the wrist and his body goes limp beneath me and the only sound is my own ragged breathing.
Then, at last, it’s over.
I stare down at what’s left of his face—pulped meat where features used to be—and feel nothing but a vast, yawning emptiness where my wrath used to live.
Behind me, Eliana is crying. Small, hiccupping sobs that cave in my heart like I just caved in that motherfucker’s face.
I look at my hands. They’re shaking. Covered in blood that’s already going tacky in the air-conditioned chill.
I did this. Again.
The exam room looks like a crime scene—which, I suppose, it is now. Blood on the walls. Blood on the floor. Ultrasound photos soaking in spreading crimson pools. The lights shine overhead with cheerful indifference.
I should move. I have to get us out of here before someone calls the cops or Aleksei’s backup arrives. Before this becomes an even bigger clusterfuck than it already is.
But I can’t seem to make my body cooperate. I’m frozen over this dead man’s corpse, hands dripping, chest heaving.
“Bastian.”
Eliana’s voice reaches me like it’s traveling through water. Distant. Muffled.
“Bastian, please.”
I turn my head. She’s still huddled against the exam table, paper gown still sagging off one shoulder, arms still wrapped around her belly.
““I fucking told you not to come alone,” I hear myself say in a dead voice.
She flinches like I’ve slapped her.
“What did I say, Eliana?” I rise from the corpse, blood dripping from my knuckles onto the tile. “What did I specifically fucking say about going places without protection?”
“I—”
I laugh in ironic disgust. “You never fucking listen. You’re so goddamn determined to prove you don’t need anyone, and look where that got you.
” I gesture at the destroyed exam room. “If I hadn’t followed you…
If I’d actually respected your precious boundaries like you asked…
You’d be dead. And our baby would be dead right along with you. ”
I watch her face crumple. More tears spill faster down her cheeks.
I know I should stop; I’m only making this worse.
But the terror that’s been choking me since I saw that man’s silhouette disappear into this building has curdled into something uglier, and now that it’s here, I can’t seem to bottle it back up.
“You think I wanted to be right?” I spit. “Do you think I enjoy being the paranoid asshole who can’t let you out of his sight for five fucking minutes?”
Eliana shakes her head, but whether she’s disagreeing with me or just trying to process, I can’t tell.
“I followed you because I knew, I fucking knew, that something like this would happen eventually. Aleksei doesn’t forget.
Aleksei doesn’t forgive. And you—” I drag a bloody hand through my hair, leaving rusty streaks across my forehead.
“You walked right into his crosshairs because you were too stubborn to let me drive you to a goddamn doctor’s appointment. ”
“I didn’t know,” she whispers.
“That’s the fucking point!” I’m shouting now. I can’t help it. “You didn’t know because you refused to let me close enough to protect you!”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles into her lap.
“I can’t lose you,” I grit out. “Do you understand that? I can’t fucking lose you, Eliana. You’re the only good thing I’ve ever had, and you keep trying to walk away from me. Why can’t you see that I just want to keep you safe?”
I reach down and grab her arm, hauling her up from the floor. She stumbles against me, and I catch her, steadying her with hands that are still slick with blood.
“We’re leaving. Now.”
I don’t wait for her to argue. I strip off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders, covering the ruined gown, then grab her stick from where it fell and press it into her hand.
My arm locks around her waist as I steer us toward the door, past the nurses frozen in the hallway and the receptionist who’s already on the phone with what I assume are the cops.
Let them come. Let them all fucking come. Aleksei, the cops, whoever.
None of them will come between us ever again.