Chapter Twelve
Liam adjusted his tie as he slipped into the kitchen. There's a confidence, not arrogance, but a sense of self sureness that surrounds him at all times, and I envy him for it. I watch from a diner down the street, surveying the scene on Owens's laptop screen. Peter was too busy to supervise the reconnaissance mission himself, so he sent me. I'd been in this world for long enough to be able to keep a keen eye. Liam however…
Careful to grin at a waitress as he meanders past, he makes his way through the bustling room. Slipping into the hallway, he quickly discards his tray and apron, while taking on the sturdy appearance of a security guard. Pausing for just a moment to admire an aerial view of the 49er's stadium, I catch his hand sliding beneath the tabletop.
"Excellent, now the next one is on the phone in the study, Franks is at a poker game at his one of his friend's places." He nods, almost in perceptively, and I quickly change cameras so I can follow his curving route through the mansion. Sports memorabilia and beer posters line the walls; I can't help but wonder when the last time Frank's mother visited was. I tighten my pony tail and focus back in on the screen.
"What's going on with you and Jason?" Liam mutters under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear him. I blush and glance around the coffee shop, as if anyone in my vicinity would have a clue what I'm talking about.
"Nothing," I blurt, my nails biting into the wood on the table.
"Oh… good" Before I have time to fully process this he continues, "Look I have to go out tonight, I probably won't be back until the early morning. So where's the next one?" He wonders as he puts the bug on the landline perched precariously on Frank's desk.
"In the dining room, silk curtains" I instruct on instinct. "Where are you going?" I demand, and I watch as he tenses before slipping into the poshly furnished dining room, also the one room without any sports memorabilia. This is the only place where Franks could meet his mother when she comes to visit, if I had to venture a guess.
"It's personal, sorry." He mumbles, and I watch as his hand deftly brushes through the curtains, a passerby would think he was just feeling the fabric, but I know better. Three down four to go.
"You're really not going to tell me?" I'm in shock: the last time Liam kept something from me was, well, never. We've shared everything with each other since the day Peter took him in, and that was over five years ago. I just can't believe this. Liam never answers my question, but it's not like I ever expected him to.
"Where am I going?" He wonders, leaning against the dining room wall and reminding me a bit of Jason. N ot ot mention the bitter irony of his statement.
"Wall outside the safe room, up against the door frame" I rattle off, while thinking something entirely different. "Now, sure, I know, but tonight… I wish I knew."
…
The cool steal presses against my back, as I'm forced back into the alley: the dark, deserted alley. How pathetic…. Tears stream down my face, and sobs rake my body. A hand grabs my hair, ripping it back, while another searches my pockets. I watch out of the corner of my eye as they scour through my Vera purse. It was a gift from my sister for my birthday. They chuck the Panera coupon so it slides across the asphalt, not caring when it lands in a puddle. Finally, they come up with a twenty and I hear them all voice their complaints. The gun digs a little deeper into my back.
"Where's the rest of it, give it to us!" Someone snarls in my ear and I shake my head and sob again, before they fling me up against the wall, the gun lowered at my chest…
"NO!" I scream; flying up in my bed, the sheets twisted around me. Tears run down my face. I frantically survey the dark room, still seeing the alley where my sister died. She was helpless, taking advantage of, and she couldn't fight back. I'm sick to my stomach and my heart won't stop racing.
I throw the sheets away from me, and slither into the hallway, glancing in both directions, I'm halfway to Liam's door when I remember he's not here. It's a wonder this is the first night that he isn't here to help. I eye Danny's door before shaking my head. Danny knows about my past, but I can't picture him knowing how to comfort me. If I was a bomb that's about to detonate, sure he'd be able to figure it out, but emotions not so much. Owen on the other hand, would start rattling off what my symptoms could mean. He at least tries though. With a sigh, I finally settle on Jason's door, knocking quickly before slipping into the dark room.
"Jason?" I whisper, feeling silly, but unable to talk myself out of it. He lethargically sits up and I can't help but decide that if I was a serial killer, he'd be dead by now. I watch as he rubs his eyes before they land on me.
"You know, when I imagined this you were in a frilly nightgown." He sits up in his bed, and I can't help but notice he's shirtless, but thankfully I see the top of black sweatpants so I figure I'm all good. I cross my arms over my chest ad look down at my t-shirt and basketball shorts. Frilly night-gown my butt. I feel the blush burn across my cheeks and realize I'm still shaking.
"Jason, I had this dream." I start, feeling like a four-year old. Jason's expression turns confused, then sympathetic.
"You can crash here," He offers, and rolls over before I can even ask. Borrowing a blanket, I curl up on the floor, uncomfortable but slowly starting to relax. "I'm not going to bite." He calls down to me; uneasily, I peer up and he still has his back turned towards me. I don't respond but just roll over, trying to get comfortable. About fifteen minutes later, I cave and slide under the sheets, perched at the edge of the mattress. I can sense Jason smirking, even though I can't see it.
"I wasn't kidding about the frilly nightgown, but I never thought it would happen. What could've possibly been that scary?" He asks, rolling over to face me, his head propped up with his arm. He can probably feel my blush despite of the darkness, and I hide my face in the pillow. A gentle hand strokes my hair out of my face and I flinch. "Okay, hands off." I hear him slide away, towards the opposite edge of the bed. " But if you want to talk about it, feel free." Ten minutes pass before I have the guts to look up. His back faces me, but his shoulders are still tense, he's awake.
"It was about my sister," I breathe and he turns to me. His hair is oddly mused from sleep and closely resembling the way it looked after our last kiss.
"Sorry, I didn't hear you." He slides a little closer as he speaks, so there's barely a foot between us.
"My sister," I repeat, "how she died, that was what my dream was about." Jason blanches and then pulls me close. I hide my face in his chest, grateful for the human contact. It's crazy but he seems to know precisely what I need. I feel a tear curve down my cheek and roll off my chin. I sniffle and then mutter "well, at least I don't have to worry about ruining your shirt." I feel his low laugh rumble through him as he adjusts his pillow.
"Just relax, your safe," He assures me, stroking my hair. Despite the voice of reason shrieking its protests in my head, I drift to sleep in his arms.
