"Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering."
Nicole Krauss
...
Sara sat on the dock and nervously ran a hand through her red hair.
"Beautiful day."
The comment made her stiffen and she turned around right away. The voice was recognizable among million others. Who wouldn't recognize the voice of the man that they believed would kill them?
Sara sat still, clenched teeth, like enduring the feel of an insect creeping down your neck. Showing a strong front, trying to look comfortable. Of course, she was not comfortable, sitting by the ocean near Paul Kellerman; it would not be the ideal position to run if she suddenly needed to.
"May I sit down?" He asked.
Ridiculous he should even think of it, sitting next to her as if they were old chums, but what was even more ridiculous was that she answered, "Of course."
Damn those deeply incrusted manners. My, wouldn't her father be proud? She was in the city of Angels, teaming up with a bunch of men, all of them criminals, but at least she was polite, no matter the circumstances.
Immediate discomfort overwhelmed her as Kellerman sat down next to her, staring at the sea as she was a moment ago. Now, her eyes were darting cautious glances his way. I'll just wait in icy silent, the awkwardness will get thick and smothering, and he'll go. He'll go.
Then, suddenly, she could feel his eyes on her. Hot, oppressive, burning holes into her skin. "We should talk, you know."
"I don't see why."
"Well, to clear the air. Make our time here easier. I don't want you to be confused as to what happened in New Mexico. It wasn't personal." It sounded wrong now, because he had said it too many times.
Sara's teeth gritted harder. She could picture the white enamel shattering in a thousand pieces, her mouth crammed with small shards and blood. As if she were a child who needed explanations.
"No confusion." Her answer came out deliberately cold. "I find it obvious that you didn't torture me because you didn't like my cooking."
"I love your cooking."
Kellerman watched her drag in a breath of disbelief and disgust. It would snow in hell, he thought, when he would get her to laugh again.
"I have nothing to say to you, Kellerman." He admired her dignity, the way her head was held high, like an ice queen dismissing the lowest of her subjects. "We've been brought here because of something that goes beyond what we've been through in the past. For as long as you'll stay here, I'll appreciate that you don't talk to me when it isn't absolutely necessary."
"That sounds reasonable." He agreed, and yet Sara didn't feel like she'd won.
"So," she looked at him, a little annoyed now – no longer intent on waiting for her cool, composed message to make its way in. If she was going to have to burst this door wide open, by God, she was going to do it, if it got Paul Kellerman out of her sight in the next few minutes. "Does this here feel like absolutely necessary conversation?"
Now that she was looking his way, she could see he was smiling. The smile used to look okay on her friend Lance, but on Kellerman it was insufferable. What was the point in him wearing a mask when she'd looked underneath already? On the spur of the moment – her anger might have been to blame – she felt she had more respect for his pragmatic torture than she had for that placating smile.
"Point taken." He said compliantly; yet he did not motion to get on his feet. "If you would have me put it more bluntly, I was only thinking you and I might want to work on settling our issues, if we're going to cooperate in the future. Our working together hasn't been such a success in the past, has it?"
"If you're referring to my locking you out of our rolling car and leaving you to deal with your ex-colleagues, I thought it was a brilliant success – and the most merciful you could expect."
"You know what?" He said; no heat in his voice, but there was a little, now, in his eyes. "It actually seems to me you were having a better time with me in Chicago. I'm starting to wonder, are you so angry because of what happened in Gila, or because I saved your life?"
Her brown gaze caught fire. You had to admire, he thought, how passion became her. "Let's get one thing straight." She said. "You don't get to get credit for what you did in court. You didn't do it for me – and you did no more than publicly acknowledge your wrongs. You don't get to call it your saving me when it was nothing but a failed suicide attempt."
The silence between them was inflammable. A look of calm, impassive rage in Kellerman's eyes. It occurred to Sara she might want to be more careful. He might be all harmless looking with his smirk and his irritating attitude, but he could strike as quick as an animal and she ought not to forget it. She could never forget it, anyhow.
"Really." He said, quite as cold as she was. "If we're going to talk about suicide attempts, Sara, shouldn't we include yours?"
Surprise cut into her. In a flash, her overdose came back to her, and it felt ridiculous she hadn't thought he would know this sort of thing about her – when the company sent an agent to infiltrate your life, they probably made sure they knew everything, from what sort of TV programs you watched to who you were fucking.
Sara realized her mouth was open and she hurriedly closed it, teeth grinding against teeth again.
She didn't need to say that was low. She'd hit pretty low, too, but he deserved it. As if he read her mind, Kellerman softened his voice. "Despite what you might think, Sara, I am not here to upset you. All I want is to help you."
Help her? The very words made her want to laugh. The man had been about to execute her.
The reality of what had happened in New Mexico collapsed against the wall of denial. Absurd, she thought, if he denied it, right now, she might even believe him. A few months ago, the idea that such a thing as torture could happen to someone like her was unthinkable.
Becoming a criminal to save a man's life didn't mean she'd deserved anything like that. When this whole thing was over and all the people in this warehouse walked free, Sara thought that despite what she'd had to do to survive, unlike many of them – unlike Paul Kellerman – she would be clean.
"That's very kind of you." The mere words seemed to rip her throat. Sara Tancredi had learned long ago that to keep calm in any situation felt like stabbing yourself in the thigh and trying to smile.
Kellerman appeared to read her mind. "All right," he said. "I'll leave you to your thoughts." He got up and headed back to the warehouse.
Sara kept her eyes on him until he had disappeared, until she was sure he wouldn't turn around and, say, push her head underwater until she drowned. Then she looked back at the ocean, and suddenly thought it had been a while since Kellerman had joined her outside. Absolutely anything could have happened while they were alone, and yet Michael was still with the others, working.
It brought a taste of failure in her mouth. Michael was supposed to be her way out, her shiny light at the end of the tunnel. Sara wouldn't say she'd had a happy life – apart from a few terrible episodes like quitting morphine, it hadn't been bad, but it had never been happy either. Really, there was no reason why not. Enough money to live comfortably and an undying passion for medicine hadn't been enough to steer her back on the right path. If even Michael couldn't tame her sorrow, what in the world would? Wasn't that the sort of love they sold you – fierce and hungry but also mending, filling the cracks of your broken identity until you were one, ready to give yourself completely.
What would Michael do, she suddenly wondered, if I walked into that warehouse and ripped the files from his hands until he was looking at me? What would he say if I asked him to run away, now, no more waiting?
She'd given everything she owned for him. She couldn't see why he wouldn't do the same thing.
It was a few minutes before Sara could shake the thought. It wouldn't always be like this, part of her knew it. Things would get better, they would stop running, and then –
Then, a terrifying thought occurred to her. Maybe she was the problem. Not the drugs, not her father's cold upraising or her mother's untimely death. Maybe some people weren't meant to be happy or great. Maybe this was the best it got.
Then out of the blues, she heard the sound of footsteps behind her again. She hadn't heard the sound of the warehouse door opening, and she turned around cautiously and stiffened when she recognized Kellerman.
He stood tall, apparently impassive, blue eyes curiously staring into her own. "What are you doing here?" She asked it bluntly this time. The hell with politeness.
And still she hated the anger in her tone, as she hated the common thoughts it might convey. Poor little rich kid who's bored with everything.
"Would you walk with me?" Kellerman asked.
Surprise made Sara speechless. He hadn't asked as though he was expecting rejection.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Do you want to walk?" He rephrased, visibly unashamed.
She blinked at him as though he would realize this made no sense. "With you?"
He sighed with faint impatience. "Why not?"
"Should I list every reason?"
"Wouldn't it be better than to sit here?" He asked, and he sounded – calm. He sounded knowing. For a moment, it crossed Sara's mind that she had truly been feeling miserable all morning, and from every man inside this warehouse, Paul Kellerman was the only one who had bothered to notice.
But that was not the reason why she got on her feet and started walking with him. Maybe it was just to piss off Michael, although that was petty and he would likely not notice she was gone. Maybe it was truly that she had no idea what else to do and that, at the moment, even Kellerman's company didn't feel as bad as her own cynicism.
"Shouldn't you be working anyhow?" Sara asked at some point. They had followed the path that led down the beach, the tide was going up and, in the early morning, the sight wasn't the worst in Los Angeles.
"Shouldn't you?" He replied, and it came out oddly teasing… not as unbearable as she would have thought.
"No." Sara admitted with a sigh. "It's not as though I'm of any use to them, apart from –" She interrupted herself, and Kellerman gave her a restrained smile. He didn't ask exactly what she did contribute to the team and, though the information was known to them both, she would rather not say.
"Well," he said, doing his best not to sound too obnoxious, "if it can make you feel better, we aren't making that much progress anyway. Most of the team is as lost as you are."
Sara arched a brow. "You're lost?"
"No. But I'm clever enough to be able to tell when my presence is unwanted. I only wish Self hadn't called me if that was going to be the case. I'm done with this sort of games."
There was nothing to do but take his word for it.
"So basically, you're saying you have a hard time fitting in." Sara said. It had come out ironical, but her voice was drained of humor.
Poor Paul Kellerman integrating a harsh team. Had her back hurt his knife?
"I'm not here to make friends, Sara." He answered. "I want to take down the people who ruined my life, don't you?"
She didn't reply, and didn't dare lower his eyes from his, as though it would give him some sort of power. "I don't think so, no." She ultimately answered. "If it wasn't for Michael, if it was just up to me, I would let this go."
"Then why are you here?"
For some reason, the question hurt. "Like I said." She stated calmly. "I'm with Michael."
She said it as a reminder – maybe also as a warning. Probably unnecessary, but from time to time, when Paul Kellerman would look at her a certain way, she would get the feeling that it wasn't.
How he looked at her, spoke her name, even without saying anything disrespectful –
It all seemed to hint he was entitled to her somehow.
His to kill or love or torture, or whatever it was Kellerman did with his belongings.
"Of course." He said, apparently calm. "After everything you've been through together, I imagine it feels as though being with him is the thing to do."
Sara found that a little insulting. As though she were with Michael not because she loved him, but because after giving up her whole life for him, it was all that was left to do. "That's not the way I would put it." She retorted, both polite and cold. "But I don't expect you to understand."
Though he had hit a sensitive note.
Maybe it was true, in a way. After everything that had happened to her, after Panama, it had felt natural that if she made it out, it would be to go back to Michael. Because she loved him, of course, not because she ought to. But that wasn't exactly what she'd dreamed their life would be –
After all the pain they'd both been put through, how disappointing that their love for each other couldn't begin to balance it. Would it be different, if it were just she and Michael and a house, if they could make love all day, feed on summer fruits, some earthly paradise that she used to think would exist for them, somehow. She'd had to believe this in order to survive.
Then, how anticlimactic, that in this warehouse full of working criminals, his love for her didn't outshine everything else, didn't somehow fill her soul with magical wonder, didn't erase everything that was there before – or all that was still lacking.
Sara suddenly realized she and Kellerman had both stopped walking. He was looking at her in that funny way again, intense and silent. Without thinking, Sara started walking again and he followed immediately. "Did I upset you?" He asked.
"No." But that was a lie. Really, she was currently wondering what the hell she was doing taking a stroll down the beach with Paul Kellerman, having a bloody chat. She quickened her footsteps in a vain attempt to lose him.
"Really?" He insisted, annoying as ever. "I have a feeling I did."
Sara didn't retort. She was too busy scolding herself for having such thoughts about love, when things would probably be perfect as soon as Paul Kellerman was out of their lives.
"I just don't think we should be talking anymore." She said.
"What a shame. And I thought we were making progress."
Sara let out a frustrated a sigh. Walking with the man? What had she been thinking?
"You know," he went on, "I didn't force you to be here, Sara." She only stopped when he stepped in front of her, and going forwards would have implied bumping into his chest. "I didn't actually make you do anything." He added.
Sara swallowed, struggling to remain impassive. "Of course. We're working on the same side now – there're no secrets for you to draw out of me. Nothing for you to make me do."
For a moment neither of them said anything. They hadn't been walking for long and not particularly fast, yet Sara was out of breath. There was something about Paul Kellerman, a certain presence that seemed clearer than ever now, something that felt powerful and virile in the most primal sense of the term. Her cheeks grew red from the heat, and she realized that giving in to her hate of him would be like diving into a bottomless pit. Kellerman was a lot of things, but not the kind of man you feel for moderately. Or who felt for you with moderation. The kind whose feelings consume you.
"Who do you think you are?" Sara heard herself ask.
The question seemed to amuse him, but he didn't sound mocking. "Why don't you try and guess."
"I don't think I could." She realized. "First you're a recovering crack addict, then you're one of the bad guys and now you're here to help. What is it you're even after with me, a clean slate? Wouldn't it be simpler for us to avoid each other?"
"It's not what it's about."
"Then what? Are you trying to making amends in your life, make up for all of your wrongs?"
"I'm not so patient as that." He smiled joylessly, but the deviousness was there. "You didn't give me an honest answer, earlier. Did I upset you?"
Sara let out a slight sigh of irritation, without being able to break from her disbelief. "I can't see how you could. You're a lovely person."
It was so unexpected for her to joke that Kellerman actually laughed. "All I meant to say," he resumed, "is that it's normal to feel low after reaching a high. A common paradox. Getting everything you thought you wanted out of life is one of the most unsatisfying things there is."
"Is that why you left the company when Caroline Reynolds became President?" His silence was so stiff she felt compelled to speak again. "Thanks for your theory, but I'm not unsatisfied, Paul. I'm not unhappy."
Kellerman gave her a smile, making her cautious. Still, she was working on figuring out whether he was a decent person in the end of a wolf dressed up as a sheep. "You know, Sara," he said, "I'm no one that you like. I have no intention to judge you and even if I did, what would you care about my judgment? My point is, there's no one for you to impress here."
Suddenly, what he said made a lot of sense. She didn't know why it hadn't occurred to her before. Around someone she hated, she didn't need to sugarcoat the truth. Paul Kellerman could take it as ugly as it was. Why she told him though, she could never quite figure out.
"Maybe I am," she admitted, "but it's reasonable."
"You're reasonably unhappy?"
"Yes."
He looked serious, hardly exasperating as she knew he could be. Your regular, caring listener.
Something happened that morning, while half a dozen of cons were trying to sort an impossible case inside a warehouse, in L.A. Something happened that had nothing to do with Scylla or the company or any of the things going on in Sara's life. Absurd, inexplicable, yet Sara never thought to fight it.
One moment, she was in the company of a man she couldn't stand and the next, she was talking to him about everything and nothing while he listened without a complaint. That Paul Kellerman was dangerous never actually slipped her mind. But for some reason, the danger about him started feeling oddly reassuring. As though, with Paul Kellerman walking at her side, she was the safest person in town. They talked about abstract views and principles but also more personal things, and if he might tease her about it later, he behaved remarkably. They walked for hours, and Sara felt all the while she had the power to stop if she chose to.
Sara had never been much of a sharer yet, in the presence of a man who didn't care but was somewhat willing to listen, everything started pouring out.
If she had known these morning walks down the beach would become regular, she might have been more careful, might have thought this would look like an odd friendship to everyone else in the warehouse. But it actually felt so natural, Sara couldn't think of feeling guilty for it, even as those walks would turn into the best part of her day.
Though the morning had been sunny and quiet, Sara and Kellerman stilled with surprise when, all of a sudden, thunder broke from the blue sky and rain started pouring in fat, frozen drops, soaking them both immediately and turning the warm sand beneath their feet into a brownish swamp.
It felt ridiculous to think the world was exactly the same as this morning, when he'd followed her out of the warehouse.
For a moment, it crossed Sara's mind that the rain might wake them up, that she would look at the awful man in front of her, filled with righteous outrage, but nothing of the sort happened.
Sara tensed under the freezing water and closed her eyes from startle, but when she opened them and saw Paul Kellerman, ridiculously soaking wet in the middle of a beach, she thought even evil masterminds look like idiots when they're taken by surprise.
And she started laughing.
He arched a brow, exaggeratedly disapproving, as if to suggest this was an immature reaction, but soon – she couldn't say how soon exactly – whatever had taken over her took him over and he was laughing, too.
Only when thunder roared ominously above them did they start running for shelter, not quite managing to stifle their hilarity along the way. Ultimately, they got themselves under a bridge, though not without sinking knee-deep into the ocean. Then, as morning faded into broad daylight, Kellerman and Sara were still standing there, wet and laughing, mindless of consequences.
