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"Oh, I saw it alright." Elijah shakes his head. "That's Scarlet's doing too, I assume?"
"I believe so."
"Believing and knowing are two very different things, Luca."
I throw my cards on the table, unable to concentrate, and rub my hands over my face. "It's her."
Elijah laughs, not just a chuckle or general laugh; he fucking barrel laughs, loud and condescending. “You let a woman, who is a rookie reporter at that, get past you, not once but twice?” He laughs hard again.
Shaking my head, I let out a frustrated breath and slam my glass on the table. Amber liquid splashes out and across some of the cards. Elijah stops laughing but still has a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Sorry, low blow.” He clears his throat, trying to contain himself from laughing again. “I'll put a word out to some people, see what I can find out for you." He gestures to my cards. "It's your deal, man."
Exhaling long and low, I place two cards down and pick two up. "Appreciated. Nicolai is busting my balls over it."
Elijah puts down one card, picking up another, and chuckles. "Never thought I'd see the day a woman got under your skin, Valsetti."
"She is a temporary problem, one I intend on fixing pronto." Placing my hand down, I show him my four of a kind.
Elijah spreads his cards on the table to display his royal flush. "Seems like she is not your only problem this evening."
Six
Scarlet
I walk up the last flight of stairs to my new apartment while Pumpkin circles my feet, nearly tripping me. Pumpkin is my brother's cat. When Logan died, the poor thing got stuck with me. I’m a shitty pet owner because I know nothing about cats. To be honest, I’ve never been fond of them. Logan found him as a stray and called him Pumpkin because he is ginger in color, and when he is curled up in a little ball sleeping, he kind of looks like a hairy pumpkin.
He rescued him off the streets as an abandoned kitten because he felt sorry for him. It was just after we lost my parents, so I imagine he bonded with Pumpkin as they were both parentless and alone. Me, I never minded being by myself, I was so busy with college, then my work. But Logan was always the kind that loved company. I guess I felt I owed it to my brother to look after Pumpkin when he died. So, as much as I don’t like the cat, I have developed a bit of a soft spot for him because I feel like I have a small piece of Logan with me.
Once I am in my apartment, I place the shopping bags on the bench and pull out the cat kibble packet that I brought. As I tear open the bag, Pumpkin jumps on the kitchen bench and has his nose inside the bag before I can even pour it into a bowl.
I laugh at him. "You hungry, little fella?"
He purrs while he eats. It's cute as hell. As much as I hate to admit it, it is kind of nice having a companion. I have no friends, no family, or co-workers. At least with Pumpkin around, I am the crazy lady that talks to her cat rather than the crazy lady that talks to herself.
Home. Whenever I think of home, I think of Logan. Leaving Pumpkin to pig out on the kibble, I flop myself down onto the sofa as a giant wave of grief hits me. The sadness is almost unbearable. Grief is an impossible thing to explain to someone that has never felt it. It's contradictory to make you feel numb, all the while feeling too much as it overwhelms you. But that is what happens. No matter how hard you try, you simply cannot control it.
There are moments of guilt when you're busy getting on with life, and then all of a sudden, you're railroaded with the reminder that the person you loved is gone. You feel a crushing shame with the thought that, for a small moment, you did not mourn them.
Tears wet my cheeks, my reminder of the fact that no matter how much time has passed, the loss of everyone in my family is still raw and painful. Death brings with it so many questions. Where are they now? Did they go to Heaven or Hell, or were they reincarnated and have a new family? It's a flurry of constant questions, of bitter unknowns.
Did they suffer? Did they know moments before their death that there was no hope? Did they know that I loved them? Was I everything I needed to be for them? It's endless and utterly exhausting with all the doubt, all the unknown, all the uncertainty. It was purely a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and an unfortunate event with my parents. Sure, you torture yourself with the what ifs. However, at the end of the day, it was merely a tragic accident. It is easier to have that peace and closure when I know that they did not suffer. They died together, they died quickly, and they were happy and in love. Isn't that how we all wish to go when our time is up?
How am I supposed to have closure with Logan's death when I don't understand it? The how is simple. Three bullet wounds to his chest and two to his abdomen. But the question still remains, did he suffer for long? Why was he even on that side of town? Why wouldn't the police disclose any information to me? None of it makes any sense.
I wipe the tears from my face as Pumpkin climbs all over my chest. Clearly, he has had his fill of food and now wants a back scratch. Sitting back patting him, I see the piece of paper on the floor that I'd jammed in between the door jamb earlier when I left. I sit up straight on the sofa, sucking in a sharp breath.
I was so distracted with Pumpkin that I forgot to check if it was in the door when I got back. Now there is no way of telling whether it was still in the door when I got home or not. Abruptly, I jump to my feet and run to the kitchen. Shuffling through the drawer, I find my biggest, sharpest knife and take it out. Sure, it's more like a paring knife, but it will have to do. I don't cook much, so it's all I have.
Slowly, I walk towards my linen closet. My heart beats a million miles a minute. As I reach out to turn the knob on the door, it rattles with the shaking of my hand. Goddammit, Scarlet, so much for trying to sneak up on whoever is behind the door. I count down from five, coaxing myself to open it. Four, three, two. Just as I turn the handle and open the door, a loud thud comes from the kitchen. I jump in the air and scream. Pumpkin shoots across the room and hides behind the couch, and I can't help but wish to God it was big enough for me to hide behind too.
Tightening my grip on the knife, with my back to the wall, I slide along it, peering around the corner. The fucking kibble! It's all over the floor. Pumpkin must have knocked it off the bench, and that's the thud I heard. I let out a long exhale in relief, placing the knife on the benchtop. I laugh, covering my face with both my hands. I laugh at how silly I was for being so scared and then laugh at myself for sleuthing around my apartment like I was James friggin Bond, when in fact, I couldn’t even cut up a bloody carrot properly, let alone use the knife for self-defense. I laugh at myself because I'm so ridiculous. I laugh because I am scared. I laugh and laugh until I cry. Big ugly sobs burst out of me without any restraint, without any limitation. Every piece of guilt, grief, fear, and anguish pours out of me with every tear. One hand comes across my chest, holding it. The pain is physical. It's too much. I grab a bottle of Vodka from my freezer and sit down on the cold tile floor. Taking a large swig of liquor straight from the bottle, I wince as it burns down my throat, so I chase it with another mouthful and another.
I received a call four weeks ago from Jena, one of the receptionists at the Atlanta Times office. She said a man had come into the office asking about Laura Jones. Jena told him, as instructed, that no one under that name was employed with the company. The man left but returned the next day and again the next. He sat outside the office building, watching, waiting. Thinking it was strange, she called me and told me about it.
As Meghan Price, I was able to walk straight past him several times without him even giving me a sideways glance. He was looking for the brown-eyed, blonde-haired, corporate-looking Laura Jones. Thankfully, I now have a jet-black wig, a compelling fake nose ring, and a wardrobe that looks like a goth rock band vomited all over me. I use this look whenever I leave the apartment. I know that I am probably just being overly paranoid and most likely bordering on insane. But after the wedding pictures I leaked all over New York, I know Luca will most likely put two and two together eventually and come looking for me again.
Do I regret what I did? I don't know the answer to that yet. At first, I was so high on the fact I had, for a short moment, been victorious over such a powerful family. Then when it took my life from me, I was full of anger and contempt. Now I am in a constant state of unease. I can't go home. I can't contact my friends. I have no one and nothing but my apprehension. I walk around constantly aware of everything around me. It's so exhausting. Even in my sleep, he haunts me.
