#writerwednesday

The signs had been there all morning. He was quiet and staring off into space, forgoing his coffee and settling himself in his study instead. You gave him his space to work things out on his own, which usually worked. But by the time the afternoon rolls around and he still hasn’t emerged, you decide to go find him. Bring him back to you.

Knocking lightly as you push the wooden door open, you see that same far-off stare etched on his face as he drags one thumb slowly across his bottom lip. It looks even more plump than usual and you wonder if he’s been biting it like he does when he’s stressed.

“Javi?” you say softly, walking towards him. He doesn’t seem to hear you.

“Jav.”

His eyes flick up to yours and a warmth washes over his features. He reaches his hand up to rest on your hip as you stand next to him. It’s a comforting, familiar motion for him. Automatic. If you’re nearby, he’s reaching out to touch you.

“Rain’s really slowed down. Come outside with me?” you ask as you push the hair off his forehead. Not waiting for an answer, you tug on his hand and help him up from where he sits in his chair, a stack of books he’s already read piled high next to him. He couldn’t part with them, even the ones he didn’t like.

He doesn’t hesitate or question you, standing up and following dutifully behind you. Stopping briefly at the door to both tug on your shoes, you lead him outside. The pine trees are so fragrant when it rains, earthy and sharp and comforting. Rain drizzles down onto your shoulders but neither one of you cares. Hand in hand, you meander the path up the road that you always take when you go for your walks. The street is even more quiet than usual, and neither one of you fill the silence with any words.

You walk for ten minutes, perhaps more, before Javi’s gait slows to a stroll, and then a stop.

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling you around to face him. His face is serious and you can tell that it has taken this long for him to crawl out of his head to find those two little words.

“Bad day?” you ask as you squeeze his hand once. He squeezes it back twice - your own little signal of reassurance for each other.

“News this morning. Hit me hard. Just feels bad sometimes, you know?” His free hand fidgets next to him and you know how anxious he is feeling. Once you learned Javi’s little tells, the man was really like an open book. Not that he tried to hide himself from you much anymore.

You nod and pull him in for a hug, nuzzling your face into his neck where the rain is dampening his curls. Moments go by, then several more, before he finally pulls away.

He looks at you with his earnest, pained eyes. “Did I…did I do enough?”

Immediately your hand is on his cheek, thumb rubbing against the stubble on his jaw. He didn’t bother to shave today. You wish you could take away every single negative thought in his head because you think your heart might break at the look on his face.

“Of course you did, baby. You did everything you could. More than enough.”

He leans into your touch and sighs. The rain picks up, the soft drizzle turning into something much more and you are both soaked within seconds. You can’t help it: you look up to the sky and grin.

Now it’s Javi’s turn to worry about you. “Hey, let’s get inside.” He pulls your hand but you don’t move.

“Just a minute. Just feel it. Doesn’t it feel nice? The rain is such a gift,” you say as you close your eyes and let the droplets fall on your smiling face.

Javi lets out a huffed laugh, which makes your heart soar because you know it means he’s feeling more like himself. “We get about 40 inches of rain a year up here,” he says.

You look back at him, eyes shining. “I was born in the Southwest, we are always grateful for the rain.” Javi smiles at you, the kind of smile that he saves just for you. He wonders how someone like him, who has seen more bad things than most, could end up with the person who finds joy in the rain.

Javi leans in to give you a soft kiss. “I’m grateful for you,” he admits before turning his face back up to the weeping clouds. You both let the rain wash over you, and you hope that it’ll wash away a little bit of his pain too.

---

You've circled the perimeter of the store a few times now, picking up eggs, meat, bread, the fixings for potato salad. It's not efficient- it isn't meant to be- because the goal isn't to shop but to be. To show Will that he can exist within the run down walls of this ancient grocery store.

It looks and smells like old small town charm with the faded linoleum, the chipped paint of the retro font and mascot beaming above the generously stocked shelves and the loud, obnoxious hum of the outdated fridges. The sense that you're walking through a weird time capsule- a mix of old and modern- accompanies the handful of worried looks that Will receives as fellow customers recount the last time he's been a patron here.

You're familiar with the events, even though it's before you knew him and became his girlfriend. It's the main focus of the speeches he gives to special force recruit hopefuls. They know the story of his acute struggle but not many know the one that followed him, chasing his heels like a shadow. The fact that he's never stepped foot in this grocery store since that day because he's terrified he's destined to repeat his past.

You wish the old ladies that whisper in the freezer section could know Will the way you do- not in all the ways of course- but the one that asked you to be here with him. To attend his therapy sessions too. The Will that wants to be better, to let go of his past and move on even though they seem keen to remind him of it as they look fearfully between you and him- like he might lash out and strike them or you at any moment.

You want to admonish them for being so cruel but it's not why you're here.

Instead you remain silent, offering quiet support as Will progressively checks off items on his internal grocery list in a methodical way before he begins clearing the aisles one by one.

You don't know how many items are on Will's list because he doesn't tell you- moving perfectly silent through the bustling store like he's a man on a stealth mission except for the horrendous squeaking wheel of his wobbly cart. Everyone that recognizes him, knows what transpired in this store all those years ago, clears a path as they hear him approach.

He seems to move slower, not for their sake, but for his own like he's stalling and you know you've reached the last item on his list as you stand at the yawning maw of the cereal aisle. The center of it is occupied- as though this has all been designed- by a single customer with his cart who doesn't budge as he considers the boxes in front of him.

Will's face is stoic, set in the way it does when he's got a rifle in his hands and a target in it's aim as he hovers at the entrance to the corridor.

To anyone else he might just be an overly serious Saturday morning shopper but you see the panic crawling behind his eyes.

It's in the way his hands clench around the handle of the cart like it's the only thing anchoring him to reality.

"Breathe, Will." You murmur, watching as his jaw ticks and he draws air past his teeth in short, small sips.

"Remember the box breathing?" You prompt as he closes his eyes, the rise and fall of his chest smoothing into drawn out inhales, exhales and holds until his shoulders drop a fraction. The cold depths of his blue eyes are clearer when he sets them on you, his voice warm as he utters a small Thanks.

Will manages a few determined steps into the depths of his personal hell wondering why the fuck the store manager has allowed him back in here when he stiffens beside you. The cart is wrenched to a halt as the customer ahead let's his own cart drift across the uneven, worn down tiles and into the path-the progress- he's been making.

"We aren't trying to get past him. Not yet at least." You remind Will of the directive he'd given you as you'd crossed the threshold of the sliding doors at the store's entrance. There's a reward at the end of this.

In 20 minutes you and I will be scarfing down peanut butter puffs in my truck.

It was sworn like an oath as he procured the noisy cart and began working his way through the store.

And now he's standing on the verge of a panic attack, counting the boxes of sweet, salty peanut buttery glory as the man adds them to his cart.

One.

Two.

Three.

Christ, FOUR.

Five?!

Is that ALL of them?!

Will doesn't have time to consider a substitute cereal because his vision goes white and his chest constricts.

One terrifying thought throws itself around his mind like it owns the place as he breaks out in a cold sweat.

What if this ends like last time?

Except this time it will be you- not Leslie- clamoring on his back, begging him to release the choke hold on this innocent, cereal loving man that for all he knows is doing his own form of exposure therapy- or possibly retail therapy from the amount of cereal he keeps adding to his cart.

The cart lurches forward in Will's grip as he decides it's better to cut his losses and leave before he loses it.

Will snaps his head down to where you lay your hand on his arm and it takes him a moment to register that you're speaking to him because the ringing in his ears is so fucking loud.

Your voice bleeds into his consciousness, soothing and sure- like he's never given you a reason not to trust him and the desperate hold he has on the reigns of his control.

"Sit with the uncertainty, Will. The therapist said it's not about avoiding the triggers. It's about being able to be uncomfortable with the unknown." You say, urging Will to be still with the anxiety coursing through him like an out of control M1 assault breacher that Fish drove that one time.

Your words weave through his fear as he morphs them into something his consternated mind can use.

Maybe I'll go apeshit on this guy, maybe I won't. I don't need the answer to this thought right now.

I just need to acquire the peanut butter puffs.

Acquire the puffs.

Acquire the damn puffs.

He repeats it like a hopeful mantra even as he watches the last box of them drop into the man's cart with a resounding thud.

A heavy sigh escapes him, feeling defeated and at a loss as you make a sympathetic sound at his side.

The man turns away, enthralled by yet another variety of processed whole grain, unaware of the decimation Will is experiencing and you take the opportunity to snatch one of the boxes out of his cart before casting it into Will's and covering it with other items.

Will gapes at you in shock before his mouth snaps shut and his lips quirk along with his eyebrows.

The smile he flashes you is brief and conspiratorially offered but it makes you return it in spades as you fly high with the giddiness of what you've just done. The man remains completely unaware of your thievery as another box descends into his brimming cart of cardboard and cartoon characters.

Will wants peanut butter puffs, Will gets peanut butter puffs, you vow.

Reaching out, you stroke his wrist with reassuring swipes of your thumb as you tell him you'll meet him at the check out before you squeeze past the man and his cart in calculated retreat.

It pains you to leave Will because you know this is the worst part for him but the therapist insisted on it.

Lingering beside the cash registers, your ears straining for any indication of commotion, painfully aware that Will is capable of exacting violence with hardly a sound- your own anxiety climbs until Will appears.

He finds you immediately through the crowd, gives a tight nod as he approaches, catches the way you search beyond him until the man appears unharmed and unfazed with his cart. The relief that crosses your face matches his own as it crashes through him like a wave breaking on the shore.

He fucking did it.

All by himself and without his fists.

You're nearly bouncing beside him at the check out, biting your lip as you try to withhold your excitement and he can't help the smile that fills his face while he loads up his truck. Your excited voice titters back to him as you announce to Benny that the trip was a success. Benny's cheer is louder than the crowds during one of his fights as he celebrates through the speaker phone and Will let's the pride bloom in his chest.

Sliding into the driver's seat, he thrusts the cereal box into your waiting hands.

---

His lips taste like peanut butter as he presses his tongue to yours in small licks alongside his murmuring of thanks.

Thank you, sweetheart. For helping me in there. I don't think I could have done it without you.

You laugh into his mouth because he had done it by himself and it's warm and bright and makes him hungry for more than the sweet of your lips.

He drops his mouth to your throat, hands ghosting up your sides until he pulls you down on his lap as you squeal in his grasp.

He expects you to grind against him but your arms wrap around his neck instead, pulling him into a strong embrace as you murmur against his ear.

"I'm so proud of you, Will. I know that was really hard for you." The softness of your praise slides down him, settles in his chest where his affection for you threatens to burst.

The contrast between this moment and the one where he'd been handcuffed in the back of a police cruiser- Leslie hurling insults at him through the tinted glass for embarrassing her strikes him like a shot to the gut.

What did he do to deserve you?

His sweet girl.

Tugging you into him further, Will returns the hug as the man from the store pushes his cart to his car with a miffed look on his face. The movement of you in his lap, pressing kisses into his temple makes the man look up from where he's transferring bags into his trunk and he meets Will's gaze for a moment before they lock onto the box that you discarded on the dashboard for the sake of Will's rough hands on your skin. It burns beneath the sun like a secret laid bare and the man's confused look becomes a harsh, knowing glare.

The judgement pouring from the man's slivered eyes makes Will laugh, it bubbles out of him even as he tries to contain it out of politeness and you swivel to see what's amused him.

The man shakes his head between you, Will and the cereal as your face flames before he climbs into his car. The door slams hard before the vehicle lurches away.

Embarrassed, you tuck your face into Will's neck as his laughter turns into rumbling chuckles that vibrate from his chest into yours.

"He had so many boxes. You deserved those puffs." You offer pathetically into his neck and Will hums as his hands slide up and down the warm expanse of your back. Long, strong swipes of reassurance into your skin that he tries to keep contained to appropriate areas in this semi public setting. The parking lot is quiet now that the man has left and Will's hands travel around your waist, pulling you to him again.

"And you deserve more than me getting handsy with you in a grocery parking lot for all your help today. Even the kind that involved you being a naughty thief." He says as he imagines all the ways he wants to repay you.

"I like your hands." You say, the pitch of your voice dropped low as you smile into his skin as said hands grip your hips with enough of Will's stubborn restraint that they shake.

"You like being bad for me too." He lets out a strangled laugh as your hips begin to move in response, pressing yourself against the hard length of him, nearly breaking his resolve to wait until he gets you in his bed because you're so fucking good to him.

"Just wanna make you feel good." You murmur as the wet heat of your mouth trails across his throat and he groans as he tries to hold onto the thinning frayed edge of his control.

"I know, sweetheart." He grits into your crown. It takes all his effort to not buck his hips into yours and instead urge you back into the passenger seat where you collect the puffs from the dash.

As he pulls out of the parking lot, he takes small glances at you as you chew on handfuls of cereal. Catching his gaze, you beam at him and he feels his heart slam against his ribs for entirely different reasons that it had in the store.

Stomach churning as your fingers danced over the holes in your neck, you caught sight of a sign that read “Rest Stop Ahead 1 Mile.” Perfect, you thought, figuring you’d driven far enough that day and deserved a little shut eye. As you pulled in to the parking lot of the small, rust-covered motel, the air shifted and cooled, prickling your flesh. For a moment, time itself stood eerily still, like when you caught sight of blurred movement in your mirror before turning around and realizing there was nothing there. 

Slowly stepping out of the car, heart filled with forced courage, you made your way to a telephone booth on the other side of the parking lot. Beneath the flickering lights, everything seemed surreal, as though you’d slipped from reality and entered a dream. The phone booth itself was tiny, closing you in on all sides by dirty glass that provided a hazy picture of the road and empty desert before you. 

Dialing the number of your best friend, you waited for them to pick up, wanting to simply let them know you were okay before quickly finding yourself a room for the night. Your quarters clinked back into the tray as you were met with the robotic message, “The person you are trying to reach is not available.” Sighing, you pocketed the change and went to leave the booth, coming face to face with the man you’d been trying to escape. 

“Hey, sweetheart. What’re you doing out here all by yourself?”

Heart thumping wildly, you could do nothing but stare at him, the marks on your neck burning at how close he was. Max tutted at your silence, bringing his hand to your cheek gently before forcefully griping your jaw. 

“You are mine, (y/n),” he growled, his stare hard and unforgiving, “Don’t ever run away from me again.” You could only gaze in horror as his face morphed into the monstrosity that plagued your nightmares before he bit into you, your blood gushing hotly into his mouth. As your vision began to blur, your body instinctually put up a fight, but it was useless to struggle in his arms. 

When you finally fell limp against him, Max retracted his fangs and carefully picked you up. The stillness of the desert remained unchanged as you both disappeared into the night. 

The next morning, police surrounded an abandoned car, devoid of license plates, after getting a phone call from the motel manager. He told them no one had come in to get a room, but he had seen someone go make a call in the phone booth outside. It was concluded that someone had simply left their car in the lot, intending to let it rot because they couldn’t sell it, and had phoned a friend to come pick them up. It wasn’t until weeks later when posters of your face began appearing on the news that the police of that desert town began having second thoughts. 

“On the Run”

“This will be a nice break,” She says reassuringly. A nice break. You think how deserving this is after being cramped inside the house for the last few days. You’re slowly driving up to the carnival. You can see the lights from the rides and hear the music blaring through the speakers. Patrice pulls into a parking space, and stops the car. “You doing alright?” She asks. “I’m managing.” You reply. “We’ll be fine,” she reassures you again. “Let’s go.”

As you step out of the car, the sense of security you felt begins to wane. You feel exposed, out in the open. Was this a bad idea? Your face into an expression of discomfort. Noticing this, Patrice loops her arm around yours, “Hey, you’re okay. The place is looking crowded, surely a sign of a good time?” she jokes to take the edge off. “I hope so,” you sigh.

You walk towards the crowded entrance, you see the big flashing sign, “Giant Dipper.” The screams of laughter and music filling your ears as you walk through the entrance. The smell of fresh popcorn, heavily coated in butter and salt filling the air. The tension slowly melts as a warm breeze caresses your skin. You let out a deep breath. Looking around, you notice how packed the carnival is tonight. You never cared for crowded places, but tonight it offers a sense of security for you. In a sea of faces, how could anyone point you out? This may be the last place anyone would look for you. You let out another breath, and say quietly, “Dave is dead.”

______________________

Dave’s been taking Susan’s death hard. He hasn’t really talked about her or his feelings around it. It’s been difficult to be around him, even after years of knowing him. He’s been a great colleague and even friend, but not when he’s like this. It’s hard to know how to help him. You notice he’s been leaving the office more often, taking phone calls outside. You wonder what’s going on that he feels he can’t share with you. “Dave, are you listening? Earth to Dave!” you quip.

“What” he says absentmindedly. “Yeah?”

“Were you listening? What’s going on?” You inquire.

“Nothing I’m fine” shrugging off the question.

“Are you sure? You don’t seem fine, in fact you’ve been pretty on edge --”

“I said I’m fine!” he snaps and storms out of the office.

You follow him outside. He’s on the phone again, speaking in a hushed voice.

“Ari, I’ll take care of it, but Mac needs to be on your radar. He knows.” Just as he says that, he notices you. Becoming flustered he says, “I'll have to call you back.” He turns to you, “What are you doing out here? Are you following me now?”

“No, I just wanted to check in with you. Is everything okay?” You ask.

“It’s fine, as I said before.”

Look, I can’t imagine what you’re going through, losing Susan, and all, but I’m here for you.” you offer sincerely.

“Well I appreciate it, but really I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.” He feigns a smile, trying to put you at ease.

“If you say so.” You retort. Yet, there is this lingering feeling that you don’t quite believe him. You couldn’t help but ask, “Who’s Mac? Someone the agency should be concerned with?”

His eyes dart towards you. “No one of significance.” he says cooly.

______________________________________________________

A few days later, as you’re arriving at your apartment, you notice a package with your name on it, yet no return address. Weird. You pick the package up and carry it with you upstairs. As you walk through the threshold of your apartment, you throw the package on the table and start peeling off your coat and work clothes. You return to the package on the table and open it carefully. You pull out an envelope, begin to open it, and tip its contents on to the table. It’s Susan. “Susan? What the hell is this?” Your eyes pour over the pictures of the crime scene and forensic reports. You peer back into the package and see pictures of Dave and a cellphone. You pick up the phone and turn it on. “What the hell is all of this?” The phone screen lights up and begins to ring. An unknown number. Do I dare pick this up? You go against your better judgment and decide to take the call.

“Hello?”

“I see you’ve received my package.”

“Who is this? What the hell is going on?”

“I’m Robert McCall.”

“I don’t understand, who are you?

“A friend of friends.”

“Yeah, that’s not vague at all. What the fuck is going on? Why did you send me those photos? How do you even know --

“I’ve worked with Susan and Dave for a long time.”

“Okay, that still doesn’t explain anything about --

“Dave has been taking out agency assets. He killed Susan and I have reason to suspect, he’s going to come after you.”

Your heart drops. Dave killed Susan? Why would he? “I don’t believe you and why would he come after me!”

“Regardless if you believe it not, it’s the truth. I know you’ve worked with Dave for years, but there are some things you don’t know about him. Susan suspected something as well and she told me to contact you if anything should happen to her.”

“If you’ve been so involved in their lives, why am I just now hearing about you?” you question.

“Because I’m not supposed to be alive. Please, I only want to protect you, out of respect for Susan. You need to leave Boston. I can look into my contacts for a safehouse and get back to you as soon as I can.” The phone hangs up.

__________________________________________________________

The heart in your chest, pounding like a drum, fast and loud. What the fuck do I do? Where could I possibly go? You grab your laptop and begin to look at the nearest flights to anywhere. You couldn’t just wait for Robert to call or worse, for Dave to get to you. Fuck, I can’t leave the country, not now. With the recent deaths overseas, the agency wanted employees to stay in the country. How far away could you travel? How far would be far enough? I’ll decide when I get to the airport. I can’t wait for him.

You grab your suitcase from the closet and slam it on the bed. You lunge back towards the closet and grab your clothes from the hanger and toss them haphazardly in the suitcase. I’ll sort it out later. Just as you move towards your dressers, your phone rings. You gaps, startled by the sound.

“Hello?” “Hey, it’s me, it’s uh Dave”. Your eyes widened.

“Hey” you say shakily, and start to pace your room. “Uh what’s up?”

“Not much, haven’t checked-in in awhile and I wanted to see how you were doing. You’ve been a bit distant and I realize that might be my fault. I apologize for snapping at you. You’re right, I’ve been on edge since Susan’s death.” He says earnestly, and yet almost honeyed. You’re unsure if you can believe him.

“I get it, I would, uh feel the same over someone I cared about.”

“I appreciate your understanding with all of this. It’s been, uh really taking a toll on me.”

“Well I’m here if you need someone to talk about it with Dave.”

“Thanks. So listen, are you going somewhere?”

Your heart plummets into your stomach, pacing stops. “Excuse me?” you ask, as if you didn’t hear the first time.

“Are you going somewhere? Are you planning on leaving for a bit?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Seemed like you were in a rush to pack your suitcase” he says in a low, serious tone.

You gasp, how the fuck does he know!? You begin to look around your room and out of windows. You start to search through the house.

“Don’t bother looking, you won’t find me.”

“I don’t understand, did you bug my fucking house! Why?” You scream.

He chuckles, “Heh, I think you know why. I think you met my good friend Mac the other day, yes? What did he say to you?”

“NOTHING!” you quaver. “He told me nothing!”

“I think we both know that’s a lie. And I think we both know what really happened to Susan, don’t we?”

Your eyes begin to well up as you realize Robert was right, it was Dave all along. “Dave”, you plead. “Please, don’t do this, you don’t have to do this”

“It’s done. Just another loose end to tie up”.

“Oh God!” you cry as you hang up the phone.

You have to think fast, as every second passes, he’s watching your every move. You grab the essentials, wallet, keys and ID and head for the door. What if he’s waiting on the other side of the door? You text a colleague from work, Derek and ask him to take you to the airport.

“Right now” he responds.

“Please?”

“I’ll be there in a few.”

You start to slow your breathing, He wouldn’t do anything in front of a colleague, would he? Then again, I shouldn’t underestimate him, it seems as if he would do some things.

“I'm outside” Derek messages you.

Just as you're heading out the door, your phone trills. It’s him.

“What?” you snap. Your question met with silence. “What do you want?!”

“You’re a smart girl, calling our dear coworker, Derek. Look, let’s make this easy. I’d hate to have to kill two coworkers. Not good for team morale.” he chuckles.

“Fuck you, Dave.” You hang up and storm out your apartment.

As you approach Derek’s car, you look around, searching for any sign of Dave, where he might be. You see nothing suspicious, no cars, people, nothing. You get in the car.

“Please drive to Logan airport as quickly as you can” you demand.

“Um, okay, hi to you too. Yes I will get you there. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“I just need to get out of here. Family emergency.”

“Where are you headed to?”

“Just down the coast. New Jersey” you lied. Dave made sure you wouldn’t put your trust in another colleague by giving them information that he may uncover.

“New Jersey?” He snorted. “You couldn’t drive?”

“Plane is quicker” you retorted.

Could he be following me right now? You keep watching the rearview and side mirrors for a tail.

You finally arrive at Logan airport.

“Thank you so much Derek, I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, no problem. Uh, where did you say you were going again?”

Your eyes look at him suspiciously. “Jersey”

“Any place in particular or -”

“Goodbye, Derek.” you turn on your heels and bolt inside the airport doors.

You start to search for the nearest airline desk to ask for flights. The phone trills, again. Without thinking you answer, “What the fuck do you want Dave?”

“Hey, take it easy, this is Robert McCall. You remember me right?”

You let out a sharp breath through your nose, “How could I forget! You’re the one who got me involved in this fucking mess!”

“I understand how scary this may be for you, but I’m here to help. I promise, you can trust me”.

“Like I thought I could trust Dave!” you retort through strained vocals, looking around to see if anyone has heard you.

“Listen, I am here to help. You can choose to accept it or not. I have a place for you to stay. It’s in California, I --”

“California!”

“Yes, it’s far enough away and populated enough. It would be difficult to find anyone”

“For how long?”

“Until it is finished.”

“I don’t have time for this vague bullshit, when can I feel safe again? How long will I have to be in California?”

“Not for very long. Just please, do as I say. I will send you the details of a friend of mine in Santa Cruz. She’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t believe this --”

“You don’t have a choice.” Robert says sternly. “Make sure to take cash out, avoid using credit or debit cards if you can. I’ll follow soon”.

You approach the desk and purchase your ticket to California, with cash. ___________________________________________________________

You land in sunny California. It’s as beautiful as everyone says it is. You take in the sights all around you, and for a moment, you forget that you’re here, on the run.

You make your way to Robert’s contact, Patrice, in Santa Cruz.

“Hello” she greets your warmly. “Please come inside, Robert’s briefed me on what’s happening”

“You’re okay with harboring a complete stranger from someone trying to murder them?” you ask quizzically.

“Well, in this line of work, it wouldn't be the first time.” She smiles wryly.

You let a low laugh. “Thank you”.

“Don’t mention it. Let’s get you set up in the meantime.”

___________________________________________________________

It’s been a few days, and still no sign of Dave, nor a call from Robert. You start to pace the house, peering out of the curtains every so often. I should have heard something by now.

“How are you holding up?” asks Patrice.

“So well”, you say sarcastically. “I just don’t understand how we haven’t heard anything yet. I just don’t get --

In that moment, Patrice’s phone goes off. “Hello? Robert, we’ve been waiting on you!”

Your head snaps up towards Patrice and you walk towards her, leaning in to listen.

“How much longer, your friend is getting restless. We’ve been in the house for days, if Dave knew she was here, he would have gotten us both by now.” Patrice nods her head at Robert’s response. Her eyes grow wide and mouth falls open.

“Dead? Are you sure?” Patrice glances over to you. You move closer to Patrice with bewilderment in your eyes. You mouth the words dead? Dave is dead?

“Robert, as relieved as I am, I’m sorry you had to --”

The phone call ends abruptly. Patrice can’t help but feel a sense of relief for you. Patrice glances over to you. “Well, I believe it’s finally over. Robert always comes through.”

“I can’t believe it. I should feel relieved, but I’m just --”

“ I get it. Robert also lost a friend, and an enemy, who would’ve continued to come after you.”

“I know, I know! I just can’t believe someone I thought I knew would do this. See me as an enemy.”

“I tell you what, we have been cooped up in this house for too long! How would you feel about stretching your legs near the shore?”

The thought intrigued you, but should you be leaving the house so suddenly? You knew Dave was gone, but still felt this lingering uneasiness. “I’m unsure.”

“I promise you, Robert took care of everything, you don’t have to worry. Now, I can’t make you go, but I would heavily encourage it,” Patrice says with an endearing smile.

Not totally convinced you ask, “what did you have in mind?”

“First time in Santa Cruz, yes?” Patrice asks. You nod. “How do you feel about carnivals?”

_____________________________________________________________Hours pass by and reality starts to set in. Dave is dead and you are safe. You feel like you haven't been able to take a full breath since this started. You actually start to enjoy yourself and glance over to Patrice. Patrice returns your gaze and smiles. “I told you this would be good!” She laughs, dragging you to the nearest carnival game.

“Name of the game is “Shoot’em Up!” First one to knock down the pins gets the prize!” the worker announces.

“Are you a good shot?” Patrice inquires.

“I’ll give it a try”, you smirk. You pick up the rifle and aim it at the pins.

“Just like your training, right? Patrice jokes.

“A little, although there’s a bit more at stake here. Need to win the prize” you joke. You inhale slowly and as you exhale, you unload the rifle. Pew Pew Pew.

“Wow! Nice shooting!” the worker exclaims. “Well, you do indeed get that prize. What’ll it be?”

“How about the elephant?”You ask.

“You got it.”

“Hey, not too bad, not too bad.” states Patrice.

“Ha, thank you. And thanks again for this Patrice. I must admit I was a little nervous at first, but I’m glad I took your encouragement.” You nudge Patrice playfully.

“No problem. It’s unfortunate we had to meet under these circumstances. Otherwise this would be a nice trip”, she says in a sing-songy voice. “Anything else you want to do? How about the Giant Dipper?

“Oh no, I don’t know. I’m not hugely into rollercoasters. It’s been years!”

“Oh, come on! It’s the whole reason for this place! It’ll be a good time!

You consider it for a moment. Maybe it could be fun. Hell i’ve been put through the wringer, what could a rollercoaster do to me?

“You know what, why not?” you state. “But first, I really need to use the restroom!

“Fine, I’ll get us a place in line. Fortunately there’s rest rooms near there! Make it quick!”

“I will! I’ll meet you over there!”

They make their way to the Giant Dipper, the main attraction of the carnival. Anyone could see the appeal and thrill of the rollercoaster. Sounds of laughter filling the air. Screams grow louder and louder the two walk closer to the rollercoaster. As Patrice waits in line, you run to the restrooms.

“Don’t be too long!” Patrice calls after you.

As you enter the restroom, you can no longer hear the screams and laughter of the crowd. You locate an empty stall. Just as you enter the stall, another occupant comes in and settles in the stall a few doors down. Wanting to get back to Patrice, you finish up quickly. As you open the stall, the other toilet flushes. You walk over to the sink and dispense the soap into your hands. As you lather, you recognize red stains in the sink, as well as the counter. Thinking nothing of it, you rinse her hands off. As you look up from the sink and gazes into the mirror, you notice what appears to be a frowny face. What the hell, that’s mature. You study it for a moment. Blood? “What the hell, is that blood?”

“It is” a gravelly voice states behind you. “In fact, it’s mine.”

You stop. Frozen with fear, like a deer in headlights, you stare in the mirror, gazing upon a beaten and bloodied corpse. He surely looks like a dead man, missing an eye and badly bruised. Is this real or am I imagining it?

“D-Dave?” you choke out, barely audibly.

“Yes, it’s me. In the flesh.”

Your eyes begin to well, unable to move or look away from the ghost in the mirror.

“You seem surprised to see me. Haunted, almost.”

“I thought,” you take a breath. “I thought you were --”

“Dead?” He lets out a menacing chuckle. “I know.”

“How did --”

“Robert taught me to always have a contingency plan.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to,” he said coldly. He starts to creep towards you. You slowly start to walk backwards towards the door. “Dave,” you plead, tears streaming down your cheeks. “You don’t have to do this.”

“But I do. See, you know about Susan, the agency asset, and I can’t let you leave.”

“Dave, I’m not your enemy please don’t do this! I’m not a threat, I’m not an enemy!” You scream through tears.

“No,” he says cooly. “Just an unfortunate.”