CHAPTER THREE
In order to achieve a different outcome, one has to reexamine his/her approach.
If she was going to make good on all she professed to Tom, Lizzie had to modify her behavior toward Red, how she treated him - beginning with respect to privacy. Yes, she had a key to his domain, but being in its possession wasn't the equivalent of having the right to enter.
She couldn't just march up the stairs, insert the item into the lock, and turn it.
Cell phone now in hand, she reviewed her log, highlighted his number, and pressed 'call'. She let it ring a few times, receiving no answer which was atypical. Dembe answered Red's phone after two rings, three maximum. Disconnecting the call, she looked out of her window, her eyes soon fixed on where she estimated his apartment to be.
There was no sign of light.
It was late, but Lizzie knew firsthand that neither man was one for sleep. How either man functioned at such a high capacity astonished her. She waited a couple minutes before trying again.
No answer.
Great. Now, he's avoiding me.
Irritation - that was her defense mechanism.
Given her new operandi, she would have to find another mode of response when the situation didn't pan out as she hoped for. Her gaze still trained on his window, she found herself not so much curious but concerned, worried. Memories from earlier in the day become clearer, more defined. Only now did it occur to her how much physical discomfort Red was in when they met on the terrace of Leonard Caul's safe house.
His movements lacked their usual ease and fluidity, his expression pinched. Even his voice was less rich. She felt ashamed for not once thinking of him, or extending any offer of kindness.
A singular focus was an asset when operating in the field. While her and Red's exchanges primarily concerned such matters, it was another error on her part to allow such focus to carry over and ultimately misguide. She wouldn't do that again.
Securing her cell phone and purse, Lizzie exited the car, shutting the door and enabling the alarm as she approached the main entrance. She crossed the lobby and navigated the staircase, following the trail to the second floor, and made her way to the end of the corridor. Inhaling deeply, she began to question the wisdom of it all.
This was necessary, right?
It was.
Simple as that.
She was exactly where she needed to be.
Her right hand still clenched tight, Lizzie raised her left and knocked, unconsciously leaning inward. She pressed her ear against the door, trying to identify any activity or motion from the opposite end.
Another door being pulled open - or drawn to a close.
Minimal shuffling.
Light footsteps across the hardwood floors.
Soon after, the door opened to reveal Dembe regarding her with hard eyes as she expected. While not blocking her path, he didn't seem inclined to invite her in either, crossing his arms over his chest. "You shouldn't be here."
That was his greeting.
No Agent Keen or Liz.
He was direct, straight to the point.
"I know that, and you're right. I'm sorry for just showing up like this, Dembe. I just..." She paused, chewing her lip. "I need to see Red. Please, this can't wait."
"Would your presence here coincide with another of Tom's suggestions, or is this a desire of your own? Perhaps you didn't create a large enough mess for us to have to clean up earlier, so you thought you'd return and toss around more objects, or in the alternative you want to apologize."
She was taken aback not so much by his inquiry, but more so the recrimination attached to it. When structuring her observations, she failed to account for the effect that her decisions as well as her actions would have on Dembe.
"I met with Tom. I'm here in part because of that meeting, but believe me when I tell you that he gave me no directive. Even if he tried to, I wouldn't listen."
He's gone. My husband is gone.
Your husband never existed.
Maybe there was some truth to her being a crappy profiler.
That was another matter to dwell on privately at a later date.
"He's not my husband. He never was - I get that now. And I do..." She chewed her lip. "What I did today, I was wrong, and again I'm sorry. I understand if Red doesn't want to see me right now, but - "
"You still don't understand!" Dembe interjected, his exasperation all the more apparent. "Agent Keen, this isn't just Raymond's place of residence. It's mine as well. This is one of only a handful of locations that he and I consider home."
As he paused, gathering his composure, Lizzie stood in place - taking in his words.
"Raymond, as usual, was correct in his assessment - that my reasoning for sending you here extended beyond your recovering the interface and meeting with Caul. He wanted you to discover secrets, those were his exact words. I hoped that your coming here would improve your perception of Raymond, that you would see or begin to see him for the man he is - the man I know. I was trying to help your situation, but instead I've accomplished the opposite. Twice in the span of a week, I have failed him."
Lizzie felt a rush of empathy for him.
"I digress. Back to the original point, Agent Keen. I know you want to talk to Raymond, but it'll have to wait. I'm sorry, but you have to leave now."
"I can't. If Red's asking you to keep me away, then - " She regretted her choice of words but couldn't stop them from coming out.
Old habits do die hard.
"This isn't his request. It's mine." His voice was hard, firm and intimidating. "Raymond is sleeping now. Earlier, he became ill. I need to get back to him."
Red.
Sick.
"Will he be alright?"
"What difference does that make to you?" Lizzie remained perfectly still as Dembe collected himself, taking several breaths. "Through your actions today, not only did you violate our trust, but once again you've violated our home. An apology, however nice or beneficial it may be for you, isn't enough."
Again?
"Dembe, when did I - "
"Six months ago. At your request, Agent Mojtabai reviewed Mr. and Mrs. Hyland's phone record which you subsequently used to pinpoint their - more accurately, her - location. Am I interpreting the events correctly, Agent Keen?"
Lizzie nodded, feeling more embarrassed.
"Do you remember the cabin?"
How could she forget?
"It was Raymond's long before we came to be in each other's lives, but if it was possible that is where we would reside permanently. He and I have spoken of that often. Before, when I discussed my reasoning for directing you here, you should know that I omitted one detail."
"That is?"
"I feared that you would get him killed."
She felt her grip on control spiraling. "Get him killed? I would never - "
"You called the task force, providing them with the exact address of the warehouse. Raymond was in surgery at the time, life-saving surgery."
That reality wasn't lost on her.
"Before the situation escalated even further, we were able to relocate, a dangerous move given that Raymond was still unstable, but you left us with no other option. Factoring Tom's presence - either by design or accidental - into the equation, our outcome was...fortunate."
"It was a mistake. I'm guilty of making a number of them, but I do care for Red. I wouldn't be standing here now if I didn't. It took my meeting with Tom to remind me of that fact."
She paused, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet, and inched forward.
"And I'm not leaving until I see him."
The silence stretched as they stared at each other, two pieces on a chess board fighting for position, for control, evaluating every potential move and their counters. Eventually, the quiet was broken not by sound or a declaration, but through action.
Dembe shifted his stance, no longer blocking the doorway, and extended an arm toward her.
An unspoken invitation.
Crossing the threshold, Lizzie's gaze fell to the partially open door.
Red's bedroom, she deduced.
Securing the lock behind him, Dembe moved to the living room area, retrieving a throw from the leather sofa and returned to Lizzie's side, passing the garment to her.
She'd forgotten being drenched and cold.
"Thanks." Wrapping the soft knit material around her upper torso, she hummed in appreciation. To her delight, it smelled like Red.
"Come with me."
Without hesitation, she walked alongside him, her anticipation of being in the same room as Red growing with every step. Carefully, Dembe eased the door open, and her eyes fell to the man lying on the bed asleep, but not peacefully. He appeared flush and trembled despite having a pair of blankets covering most of his torso. The kitten sat up slightly, watching her. The bedside table was littered with a half-filled basin, cloths, and what appeared to be a log of some kind.
A temperature log.
Not that she doubted the validity of anything Dembe relayed to her, but having visual confirmation was still a shock to her system.
For a moment, Lizzie regretted being so insistent, but like before she rushed to his side, nearly knocking into Dembe, and took the chair next to his bed, draping the throw across its back. She studied his face, noting the perspiration along his brow. Reaching for a cloth, she dipped one into the basin and then applied it to both his forehead and neck intermittently.
Lizzie whispered into his ear. "Everything's going to be okay. You're going to be okay." She repeated that over and over, like a mantra. Those simple words spoken by him gave her so much comfort, and with the situation now being reversed she hoped to achieve the same effect.
Red never stirred.
Occasional groans were the only indication that her touch registered.
When the tremors subsided and his breathing calmed, Lizzie wrung out the cloth and positioned it along the basin's rim - anticipating having to reach for it again at some point. Pressing her hand to his cheek, feeling the slight stubble there, she reflected on her tenure in the hospital a few months prior, remembering how equally surprised and happy she was to wake and find him there, holding her hand.
He never stopped looking out for her.
Why no longer mattered.
Establishing that, she'd reached another decision: she wasn't going anywhere tonight. Pulling her eyes away from Red, she looked toward the window and smiled at whatever form of fate was looking down on them as once again it was raining heavily.
"You'll stay with us, Liz. It's not safe to travel."
Was reading her mind another commonality he shared with Red?
Dembe had brought another chair over and sat next to her, looking to her briefly before returning his eyes to Red. Reaching for the log, Lizzie studied the entries, particularly interested by the time stamp of the first. It was less than an hour after the call she ignored.
"His temperature has dropped considerably since my initial check several hours ago. He's down nearly four full degrees, maintaining a steady 101 for the past three."
Ear thermometers tended to be less accurate, but she understood Dembe's reasoning for their use.
In order to heal, Red needed uninterrupted rest.
They agreed that, within the hour, he needed to be woken for a proper check. If his temperature remained constant, they would let him sleep through morning or longer. According to Dembe, he had no meetings or appointments on the next day's schedule.
"You take care of him."
It was a statement, not a question. She continued to stroke the sleeping man's face.
He nodded. "We take care of each other."
Dembe was silent for awhile. Despite sitting so close, his eyes suggested that he was far away, reflecting on a prior memory perhaps. Truthfully, she didn't expect him to elaborate further on the subject, but he did.
"Twenty-one years ago, that's when we met. I was fourteen at the time, and Raymond...he saved my life, took me in, raised me. My family - father, mother, and older brothers - were killed eight years before. I watched it happen. I still remember them but only in fragments, pieces."
Lizzie blinked back tears, listening to Dembe's account.
"You're entitled to have questions, to want answers, and find it difficult to trust people, but I assure you. Raymond isn't the person that your government portrays him to be. He doesn't enjoy withholding information from you and only has your best interests in mind."
"I know all of that. I just...I wish that he would talk to me, trust me to make my own decisions instead of making them for me."
Dembe smiled. "He does that but only because he cares. He wants more for you, to be sure that circumstances don't determine the path your life takes. Be patient with him, Elizabeth."
He patted her shoulder before each focused on Red again. This time, the silence between them was a more comfortable one, tension replaced by a shared concern, and it afforded her the opportunity to get a proper look at him.
She saw the lines around his eyes and mouth.
"You look tired."
He nodded in concession. "I'll rest only when I'm sure Raymond is okay."
Lizzie shook her head. "No. You won't be any good to Red if you don't take care of yourself. He's going to need you as he recovers."
"I made a promise years ago that I wouldn't let anything happen to him - "
"And it won't. I'll stay with him tonight, Dembe. I won't leave his side. I promise."
He appeared to give her words some thought, realizing that this was an argument he would be on the losing end of.
Raymond wouldn't be alone.
That knowledge made him feel marginally better about retiring to his room. As certain as he was that Raymond would never have wanted her to see him in this condition, he was equally confident in the degree of comfort he would draw from her presence.
For the pair, this was a true step forward. To what end remained to be seen.
Standing, Dembe reached over Liz and planted a hand on Red's forearm. He recited what sounded like a prayer before regarding her again.
"If he asks for me..."
Completing the thought was unnecessary. Carefully, he reached over his brother and scooped the kitten into his arms. Taking in the scene one last time, satisfied, he slipped away from the bedroom, leaving her and Red alone.
Allowing her eyes to roam over the man, she focused on his chest. Fine golden hairs and the ends of the gauze dressing peeked out from beneath his undershirt.
This journey we're on isn't over just yet. You may have given up on us, but I haven't.
Us.
Lizzie flattened the palm of her right hand over his heart, needing to feel him, to feel his heart pulse under her touch. Why she couldn't initiate the contact while Dembe was in the room, she couldn't explain. It wasn't as if she hadn't done so before. Maybe it was Red's being oblivious to all that was going on that stopped her.
Or maybe it was fear.
Fear of the same sequence appearing in her mind with vivid detail.
Red was in a similar position. Replacing a warm, comfortable bed, however, was the cold, filthy pavement. She remembered Dembe taking her hands, using them to apply pressure to his chest, before covering hers with his.
Her storming away couldn't be Red's last memory of her.
That's all Lizzie could think of, feeling his life slip away and being powerless to prevent it. They weren't supposed to end like that, not when so much more had been promised to her. Even in an imperfect world, there was...possibility.
It had to be.
Otherwise, what was the point?
Lifting her eyes to his face, she smiled as his expression was more relaxed. He looked boyish, innocent and younger. Checking her watch, she regretted having to disturb him. She wasn't going to encourage or coerce him into discussion - not tonight - because he owed her nothing, and she owed him everything.
"Red."
Lizzie called his name, applying light pressure to his shoulder and not wanting to startle him. The only response she received was a sigh, his face wrinkling a bit, before he shifted away from her. Just as quickly, his breathing deepened again.
Leaning inward, she waited a few seconds and then shook him with a little more force.