Chapter four

It was after sunset the next time Irina awoke. She rolled over and saw the plate of rice and the mug of tea next to the mattress. She was alone in the room. Grateful she didn't have to face Jack – face the look of betrayal he wore – she sat up and picked up the plate. She still couldn't manage more than a few handfuls, but it felt wonderful to have food in her stomach again. She sipped the tea slower this time.

Jack entered. When he saw her sitting up, he stopped.

"Hi," she said, uncomfortable with the long silence.

"How are you feeling?" He didn't look at her.

"A little stronger. Still tired."

He nodded. "Well, you should rest while you can." He turned to leave again.

"Jack!"

He stopped at the door but didn't turn around.

"Aren't we going to talk about, well—"

"There's nothing to talk about." His voice was cold.

"What? Jack, I – how can you say there's nothing to talk about?"

He slowly turned. Her breath caught at his expression; his face was empty, emotionless. He just looked at her.

"Why – Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?"

"Because you look like my wife."

She blinked, tears stinging her eyes. "I am your wife."

"My wife is dead." He left.

Irina could only stare after him in shock. She didn't realize she had still held the faint hope that she could explain, that he would forgive her. Now that hope was gone, crushed with four words.

She felt ill and put the mug aside. Was Laura dead? She thought of the last few years with Jack and Sydney, and wondered if it was Irina who had died. Irina, who had been forgotten and cast aside.

Maybe they were both dead and her body was just an empty husk, a shell containing nothing of either of the women she had once been.

Jack's words did what seven months in prison – seven months of torture and rape and praying for some kind of salvation – had not: they killed her.

Yusuf offered Jack a cigarette. Jack took it, but instead of smoking, stared up at the night sky. His thoughts were on Irina. Laura.

Irina.

It was easier tonight, now that he'd had a little time to process everything, to look at her without seeing Laura. She was thinner than his wife had been, and there was a haunted, desperate look in her eyes that had never been in Laura's. A look that touched him more than any words she could have said.

For almost seven months he'd cultivated his hatred, using it to keep from losing his mind in solitary. Now that he was with her again, he knew he could kill her and not one of his colleagues would question him.

He thought of Sydney then. In his mind's eye, he saw Laura holding the infant Sydney in her arms; saw the two of them curled up on the couch, reading a book; saw Sydney watching her parents as they danced around the living room.

Ten years of deceit and lies, and he had not suspected a thing. He had believed every untruth she had told him: I love you, forever, you're the best thing that ever happened to me.

Love was definitely blind, he thought, and finally raised the cigarette to his lips. He rarely smoked, and the tobacco tasted strange to him. He crushed the cigarette under his heel.

"You should sleep," Yusuf said. "We leave very early tomorrow. Before sunrise."

Jack nodded, though sleep was the last thing he felt like doing. He would rather be out here, away from Irina, where he could try to gather his thoughts and figure out what he was feeling.

He wondered what time it was in Los Angeles, and what Sydney was doing.

-- "But why do have to go away again?" Sydney sits cross-legged at the foot of her bed.

"I have to work, sweetheart."

"But you just got back."

He can't tell her he wasn't working before, can't tell her it's her mother's fault, and when he sees the picture of Laura on Sydney's nightstand, he feels the sudden urge to throw something at it. "I know, sweetheart," he says instead. "But I'll be back soon. I promise."

Sydney scowls. "Mommy promised she was coming back too."

He has nothing to say to that. --

Yusuf stood and moved to the door. Jack followed, his thoughts still on his daughter and, inevitably, her mother.

Yusuf hadn't been kidding about the early start. It was still dark when he woke Jack. The woman – Noor – was standing at the door with a bag. Jack got up and glanced across the room at Irina. She was in the same position she'd been in the night before; he wondered if she'd moved at all. He knelt beside her and touched her shoulder.

"Irina, it's time to go."

She didn't wake. Jack shook her shoulder. There was still no reaction.

"Irina."

He rolled her onto her back. She offered no resistance, but still didn't stir. He shook her again, then glanced up. Noor and Yusuf were gone.

"Come on, Irina. We need to get going."

It struck him then, how cool her skin was to his touch. He patted her cheeks to try and rouse her. When she still didn't wake up, he felt the first stirring of panic within his chest. He pressed his fingers to her neck, and was relieved to find her pulse steady, though slow.

He picked her up and carried her out to the pickup. The space Yusuf had created for them was small, but looked comfortable enough. Jack carefully climbed up onto the truck, Irina still in his arms, then settled, his back against the window of the cab, Irina cradled against his chest. Noor passed him the bag.

"There's food and water in here. You'll need it."

Jack smiled. "Thank you. May Allah bless you for what you've done for us."

"Insyallah, we'll meet again one day. Good luck." Noor stepped back to allow Yusuf to cover them with a tarpaulin.

The truck started. Without realizing it, Jack's hold on Irina tightened. Her breath was soft and warm against his neck. Without meaning to, Jack kissed her forehead, then froze in horror. She was still asleep, and he let himself relax.

Now was not the time to be weak.

Still, it was hard to have her in his arms and not think about the way things had been before.