He gestures that I’m allowed to go on.
“What happened to Emily after the fire?”
“Jay and his bodyguard Sergei found her before the police did. The family agreed she’d suffered enough and gave her the option to go to her relatives in Argentina on the condition she’ll never come back into our lives. Jay handled it. Fake passport. South America, through Russia.”
I need a moment to turn the story over in my head. It doesn’t add up.
Jay making that decision on the spot. Emily vanishing without a trace.
A fake passport. Russia. South America. It all sounds too organized to be improvised.
I want to ask a dangerous question; do you actually believe that? But it feels like throwing a stone through glass. I don’t want him spiraling in case that’s a new insight.
So instead, I ask, “Did you ever seen her again?”
“She never came back. Not once.”
I watch his face. He says it so simply it makes me wonder; is he in on it? Is he lying? Is she dead? Or is she really in Argentina?
I switch gears quickly. “And how did that make you feel? Her being gone?”
“No feelings,” he says. “I told you.”
There.
“Right. I’m sorry.”
“It felt like relief. I was fucking happy she was gone. There. I said it.”
He scoffs softly. “God, I hate that you always know how to pull everything out of me.”
He looks away. I give him a moment.
“I get it, Tom.”
His eyes flick back to mine, full of panic, and in that blue I see the question he’ll never dare ask.
So I let my eyes answer.
I know what she did to you.
Chapter thirty-three
Tom
I’ve learned there are two ways to exist in a crowd: be the spectacle, or be the atmosphere. I’ve done the first all my life. Today, I’m trying the second.
I keep the melody slow and the tone soft, letting the bow glide over the strings of my Stradivarius.
I’m learning how to fit in without making it a performance.
Don’t get me wrong, the stage is addictive. It’s a drug. But the background feels… calm.
There are no expectations. No thousands of eyes following the drop of sweat falling from my face. No blinding lights. No screaming.
My lips form a smile.
Nah. Forget that shit. I live for the screaming.
