Songs that inspired this chapter:
Just Breathe by Pearl Jam
Dark by Breaking Benjamin
300 Seconds by Brian Tyler
1980
Montana, U.S.
Lance jerked awake to the crying. It took him a moment to understand what was happening, and by default, he reached to touch Rosie's shoulder.
And then it all came crashing back.
He sat up, trying to breathe. The funeral was a week ago, and he'd barely been able to talk. He was alone here except for Carol. He had moved here from England eight years ago, cutting all ties with family, not that he'd really had family anyway. His father had left when he was six years old, and his mother took more of an interest in drugs and alcohol than her own son. He didn't have any siblings. He was pretty sure he didn't have any grandparents or aunts and uncles, and if he did, they didn't know about him.
"I'm coming," he said, walking down the hall towards the nursery. He ached, thinking about how much time and effort Rosie had put into it. She'd been so excited about every step. He'd been terrified. Being a parent was an adventure he hadn't expected to embark on, but now he was in it, and he had to figure it out by himself.
"Hello, you," he said, bending to pick Rita up carefully and rest her against his shoulder. She continued to wail, and he went down the list of everything he could try to help her stop. Nothing seemed to do the trick, and he was starting to feel like a failure of a parent. He wasn't cut out for this. Who was he kidding? How could he have thought he could do this by himself?
He went to the other room and picked up the landline, dialing the only other person he knew here.
"Lance?" Carol's groggy voice answered.
"Help me," he answered.
"What's wrong?" She was alert and panicked sounding now.
"I can't get Rita to stop crying."
There was a pause and then a sudden burst of laughter. Lance held out the phone to look at it, listening to his so-called friend and sister-in-law howling with laughter with his infant daughter howling with tears on top of it.
"This isn't funny!" he said loudly over all the noise as he pressed the receiver back into his ear.
"I'm sorry," Carol gasped, calming down slowly. "I just...I thought something bad had happened. It's three a.m., give me a break. My brain isn't awake yet, and three a.m. calls are usually reserved for something bad."
"This is bad! She won't stop crying!"
"Oh, Lance. You need to calm down. She can sense your stress, and that's not helping her stop."
"Oh," he said, trying to relax. Rita's volume dropped slightly, and he felt encouraged.
"Just cuddle with her and sing to her," Carol encouraged, "if nothing else is working. She probably just wants some comfort."
"Okay."
Lance could hear grumbling from Greg now, asking who the hell was on the phone. Lance didn't want to get Carol in trouble because her husband already accused her of cheating on him on a good day, so he said his goodbyes quickly and hung up.
Then he remembered hearing from someone at some point in his life that sometimes babies liked car rides, so he bundled Rita all up and took her out to his car. He drove around the roads back and forth until he looked and saw her sleeping. He smiled to himself.
He could do this. Of course he could.
He drove up the driveway and parked, still grinning to himself at his success. No sooner than he pulled out his keys did Rita start to wail again, and he froze, hand suspended in the air with the keys jingling. He rested his head on the head rest and groaned. Then he put his key back in the ignition and tried again.
London, U.K.
Luke watched his mother in the backyard with mild interest. She was practising throwing knives, and he felt a surge of surprise every single time she hit her target, which was either cardboard or some manner of fruit. He didn't understand why she was throwing knives. She'd warned him they were sharp and to not play with them, so why was she playing with them?
"Don't touch," Jess warned when he tried to pick up one of her knives when she wasn't looking. She moved them out of reach quickly. "You're not old enough yet." He wondered what she meant, if she thought he'd be throwing knives one day, but he didn't ask. He was more worried about how she was feeling.
"Are you mad?" Luke asked. He was learning the different emotions slowly. His mother was usually sad or mad. His father was always mad.
"Not at you," Jess answered.
"At Daddy?"
"That's right."
"Why are you throwing knives?" he asked. She smiled as she threw another and hit her mark. She fist pumped and grinned hugely.
"Because, baby, I have to stay the best in order to work."
Luke frowned. He didn't really understand any part of that sentence. He knew that "work" was something his parents did, but he didn't know what kind of "work" would require using knives other than cooking. Maybe his parents did cooking for "work"?
"Go catch me a cricket," she instructed him, and he obeyed because it was more fun than watching her and trying to understand what she was doing. Every time the knife hit its mark, though, the sound went through his core, and he discovered that he found it rather soothing.
A Few Months Later
Montana, U.S.
Lance was doing his best to work at home and manage an infant. It was proving difficult. Rita was five and a half months old now, and she was beginning to try crawling but couldn't quite make it yet. Lance had buried himself in the many books Rosie had read about babies and development etc., and he was realizing that his daughter might be one of the "early bird" types in the crawling area. He hoped not. He wasn't ready to have her mobile just yet.
"Just hold off on becoming independent, okay?" he said to her. He looked down at her on her blanket where she was on her back and holding her feet in her hands. She smiled and laughed. He loved her laugh. When she'd first done it, he'd been so surprised. He'd run for the video camera only to have her frown at him for the next ten minutes until he gave up. Then she had laughed again.
His daughter apparently liked teasing him.
He answered the ringing landline and raised a brow at her as she rolled onto her side, still watching him. He'd done his best to keep this section of the garage floor as clean as possible and had many blankets down to keep it that way. So far so good.
"Lance speaking," he said as he played with the socket wrench in his other hand.
"It's me," Carol's teary voice said.
"What's wrong?" Lance asked, worried suddenly. Her husband, Greg, had been in a foul mood this week for some reason.
"Nothing. Greg just yelled at me for...you know what? It's nothing. I'm fine."
"Carol, you gotta leave this guy."
"I can't."
"You can. I'll help you," Lance said, keeping an eye on Rita in case she'd figured out how to roll away from him and under something. She'd mastered rolling over, but she hadn't kept the momentum going yet and usually stopped at just one.
"It's complicated, and I have Simon."
"He's not safe there either. If you're gonna do it for anyone, do it for him," Lance urged.
"I called because the boss wants you to come pick up another car."
"Ugh, I can't."
"He says he knows that every parent needs a car seat and that surely you know how to use one."
"I can't put her in the truck." It was a white lie. He'd done it before knowing full well he shouldn't. He'd been in a bind and had promised himself he'd never do it again.
"Look, he's being really gracious at letting you work from your home garage and has given you everything you need. Don't piss him off."
Lance knew she was right. No other boss would take pity on his situation and help him out like this. He sighed roughly and looked at Rita again. He'd have to make do.
"I can drive your car with Rita," Carol offered. "Greg can pick me up at your place."
"You don't have your car today?"
"No."
Lance didn't press. He knew sometimes Greg would take her keys just for fun. He really despised that man.
"Alright. I'll be there soon." He hung up and walked over to Rita, bending to pick her up. He was careful to avoid getting grease on her. He could hear Rosie scolding him in his mind for thinking having Rita in the garage with him was a good idea.
"Let's go for a drive," he said to her, tickling her and making her laugh. Sometimes, her laugh was the only thing that got him through the day and pain of missing Rosie.
London, U.K.
Jess was quiet when Johnny got home. He didn't say anything to her, and she released the breath she'd been holding. She never knew if she was going to have to fight for her life when he came home.
"Daddy," Luke said, going over to him. It broke Jess's heart to see that her son still tried to love Johnny. Sometimes, Johnny would notice him and would spend time with him. Most of the time, Johnny wanted nothing to do with him.
Tonight was one of those nights.
"Sod off," Johnny warned, and Luke faltered in his tracks. He looked over at Jess, who was biting her tongue so hard she could taste blood. She watched Luke lower his head and deflate his shoulders before turning around and going back to his toys on the floor. Johnny grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat at the table, swigging it and staring at her.
"Got you a job," he told her. "You leave tomorrow."
"You didn't give me enough notice to find someone to look after him," Jess said, gesturing to Luke. The boy was sitting with his back to them in the living room.
"Take him with you. He's good cover."
"I'm not taking him with me!" Jess hissed, pushing herself off the counter and walking closer to Johnny. "Are you crazy? He's not old enough yet!"
"He's great cover," Johnny said again, giving her a level stare. "This is what we signed up to do, Jessie, not have a damn kid to babysit."
"He's our kid," Jess said strongly. "He's our responsibility."
"And I told you to get rid of him, but you wouldn't listen to me," Johnny said angrily, standing up now. "I didn't want no damn kid, and yet here he is."
"He can hear you," Jess warned.
"I don't care. Take him with you or spend your life on the run for not doing your damn job," Johnny said, walking away from her. Jess stood there frozen. She knew she had to do the job, but she didn't want to take Luke with her. Not yet, anyway. She'd always planned to train her son to be the next assassin, but she wanted him to be older.
She looked at him now, and he was looking back at her from the floor. Her Luke. He was special to her in so many ways. She smiled at him.
"It's okay, baby," she said. "We're gonna go on an adventure."
He smiled back.
A Week Later
Montana, U.S.
Lance felt groggy as he went to answer the pounding at the door. He opened it to find a soaking wet Carol standing there with her equally soaking wet son beside her. He blinked.
"Carol," he said dumbly.
"I left," she said, her voice shaking. "I...I left. I didn't...I didn't know where else to go."
"Come in," Lance said immediately, snapping out of his grogginess. "Come on." He stepped aside, and she pulled Simon in with their backpacks in tow.
"I'm sorry," she said once Lance shut the door. "I should have called..."
"It's fine," he cut her off. "Are you hurt? Is Simon hurt?" He examined them closely, looking for evidence.
"We're okay," Carol answered, pulling the rain coat off of Simon carefully. "He just got really hammered. I could see it coming, and I...I didn't want to endure that again. I kept hearing what you said last time, and I just decided to leave."
"Good," Lance said, taking both of their coats and hanging them up to dry. "That's what I've been telling you to do for months now."
"I don't know what we're going to do," she went on. "I have nowhere to go. I don't have any money. Greg has control of everything. I...I'm screwed." She gave Lance a pained expression.
"You stay here," Lance said simply. "As long as you need."
"Oh, I couldn't do that..."
"You can and you will," he interrupted. "I insist."
"Greg might come looking for me..."
"And when he does, I'll deal with him," Lance promised. "He doesn't scare me."
"Oh, no..."
"I will deal with him," Lance repeated firmly, and Carol swallowed.
"Okay."
"Come on, let's get this guy to bed," Lance said, gesturing. Carol followed him to the bedroom downstairs. She tucked Simon in and reassured him everything was going to be okay. When he finally settled and fell asleep, she came out to join Lance in the living room.
"Take my bed," he instructed. "I'll figure out sleeping arrangements tomorrow."
"I couldn't..."
"Just do it," he said firmly, raising a brow at her. She stopped arguing. He showed her where it was and offered to change the sheets, but she simply crawled into it without saying a word. He went to the couch and tried to fall asleep, but he just kept thinking about what Greg was going to do. He hoped the man had enough sense to let Carol go, but only time would tell.
Rome, Italy
Jess sat by the canal and watched. Luke was sitting next to her, coloring. She hated to admit that Johnny was right. No one gave her a second glance. Luke made her invisible.
"I'm thirsty," Luke said after a moment. Jess reached into her bag and pulled out the water bottle, pulling the top up so he could access it. He held it with both hand carefully as he drank. His eyes looked all around them.
"Better?" she asked when he stopped. He nodded, and she took the bottle back and put it away. He wiped his mouth with his arm and went back to coloring. Jess went back to looking for her target. She saw him not long after, newspaper tucked under his arm and walking hurriedly. She wondered what he'd done to warrant a target on his back. She wasn't ever supposed to ask those questions, but it didn't stop her from thinking about them.
"Who is he?" Luke asked, and Jess realized that her son noticed her watching her target.
"Oh, I don't know," she lied. "He just looked interesting, so I was watching him."
"Oh."
She was thrilled at how intuitive he was and had noticed her watching the target. He was going to make a very good apprentice soon. She turned her head and saw her target approaching. It was now or never. She stood up casually, reaching into her bag as though she was looking for something for Luke. She grabbed the knife and slid it up her sleeve.
"Come on," she said to Luke, helping him to his feet and putting his coloring book away. "Let's go."
He obeyed, and he took her hand as they started walking. Jess waited for the exact moment, and when her target reached her, she stumbled and crashed into him.
"I'm so sorry!" she cried, sliding the knife in and out extremely quickly. The man grunted, and she pulled away from him and kept walking, pulling Luke along with her.
"Mummy?" he asked, looking back at the man, who was now falling to his knees and then his face onto the ground.
"Keep walking," she urged him. "Don't look back." Luke had the sense not to argue with her at the sound of her tone, and they rushed through the crowd and disappeared.
Johnny was right. Luke was extremely helpful to giving her cover.
Two Days Later
Montana, U.S.
Lance looked up when Greg's truck roared up the driveway. He'd waited for this, and he picked up a wrench to stick in his back pocket just in case. Rita was inside napping. Carol was out with Simon.
"Where is she?!" Greg shouted, slamming his truck door and storming towards Lance. The man was just over six feet, had a bushy black beard and cropped black hair, and wore a furious expression in his green eyes. Lance could see where the farmer's tan stopped on his arm as his shirt sleeve rode up. The paleness of his skin glared at him in the sunlight.
"Who?" Lance asked.
"My wife," Greg answered, stopping a foot away from him. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."
"She ain't here," Lance said with a shrug. "Sorry."
"But she came here, didn't she? Did you help her run away from me?!" Greg yelled angrily.
"I know nothing about your situation," Lance said, holding up a hand. "Sorry."
Greg got in his face, but Lance didn't budge. He remained calm.
"If I find out she was here or is still here, you're dead," Greg threatened.
"I think you'd better take yourself off my property," Lance said evenly. "Before you do something you regret." Greg was breathing heavily as he stared Lance down, but Lance just stared back. Eventually, Greg took a step back and snorted.
"I'll be back," he warned. "You tell that bitch I ain't done with her yet."
"Take care, Greg," Lance said, and he watched Greg go. He revved the truck and threw gravel everywhere as he tore out of there. Lance just unclenched his fist and sighed.
This wasn't over yet.