Page 145 of Before She Disappeared

“I’m sorry you got shot,” Angelique states.

“Totally worth it.”

“Do you... Can I...” Angelique begins. She doesn’t seem to know quite what to say, but I think I understand.

“Can we have a moment?” I ask Guerline and Emmanuel.

Both hesitate. Having gotten Angelique back, they clearly don’t want her out of their sight. But after another second, Guerline concedes with a nod. Emmanuel follows her out.

Alone, Angelique appears even more uncomfortable. I finally pat the side of the bed. “Sit. It’s okay.”

She complies, but again, holds herself rigid.

“It will get better,” I tell her. “Not today, not tomorrow, but eventually.”

“It’s all my fault.”

“No, it isn’t. But I understand it feels that way. I lost someone I love. It’s been ten years. I still blame myself.”

She regards me solemnly. “I loved Livia. When she first came to me about the fake IDs, I told her it was too risky. But she wanted to make me happy. And she’d started meeting her older brother. Deke. I didn’t think he was good for her. But he was her brother, and family is family.” Angelique shrugs.

Given her closeness with her brother, Emmanuel, I could see her not wanting to take such an opportunity away from Livia.

“But Deke’s friends... They kept wanting more. So we would work harder. But nothing seemed enough. Deke tried to tell us it would be okay. Just do this, do that, it would all be fine. But I knew. I suspected...

“By the time Deke said his friend wanted to meet face to face with Livia, we were both nervous. Livia didn’t think she could do it. I told her I would go in her place. I thought I could protect her. I even had a plan—I had found online articles about groups that had set up fake universities for issuing student visas. They made millions and millions. Even ICE set up a fake university to trap foreign students looking for visas. I thought such a sophisticated operation would placate Frédéric. He would leave us to work on some mysterious website. We could forget about the fake licenses, which were much more difficult to perfect than we’d thought, and Livia could stop being so stressed out. I assumed I was doing something good. Instead, I made everything worse.”

I understand. The lure of so much money had caused Frédéric to become even more intense, leading to the eventual abduction of both girls.

“You can’t go backward,” I advise Angelique, “so consider this: If you can’t save the people you already lost, maybe you can save someone else instead. Become a doctor. Build a life. Livia, Deke, they would’ve wanted that for you.”

She looks down at her hands.

“I was with Deke when he died. He tried. For you and Livia. He loved his sister, and genuinely regretted what happened to you. In the end, this was more his fault than either of yours.”

“Deke tried to help,” she says, still looking down at her lap. I’m assuming she means her and Livia’s relationship. “The night, when Frédéric strangled Livia... He would’ve killed me next, but Deke stopped him. I was still useful, he argued. The student visas had been my idea, yes? He also convinced Frédéric to drive Livia’s body to Franklin Park. He said it would distract the police and be safer than having the cops discover her body near the rec center. But really, Deke couldn’t bear the thought of Livia being dumped in some alley. I couldn’t either.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Holden shot him in the van. Emmanuel saw. Deke... He wasn’t a good man, he made many mistakes, especially with his sister, but I’m sorry he’s dead.”

I’m not sure what to say. I’m getting tired, the ache in my shoulder deeper. Finally: “You’re a survivor, Angelique. You’re strong, resilient. Don’t forget that. If you hadn’t risked posting the essay, dropping the fake license, appearing in public, we wouldn’t have found you. We wouldn’t have been able to save you or your brother.”

It’s not gratitude I see reflected in her eyes, however, but guilt. She wasn’t trying to save herself. She’d been trying to save Livia. And her girlfriend’s death was now her burden to bear.

“It will get better,” I repeat, though I can already tell she doesn’t believe me. She’s not ready to forgive herself yet. Maybe she never will. I understand that, too.

Angelique stands up, gives me a final, solemn nod, then departs. I manage some water, more of what I’m assuming is Viv’s homemade soup. I brush my teeth, comb my hair, refresh my bandage. The bullet graze on my right arm is already significantly healed. Which leaves only the recently stitched hole in my shoulder. That will definitely leave a scar. I can picture myself fingering it at night, reminding myself that once, I was successful. Once, I got it right.

Do I feel like a different person yet?

I keep waiting, but no such luck. I remain Frankie Elkin. Alcoholic. Ex-lover. Lost soul.

I retreat to the mattress, taking with me my brown leather messenger bag. I pull out two manila files, pore through the contents till my eyes grow heavy. When I wake up again my room is dark and a shadow looms beside my bed.

“Shhh,” Lotham says as he climbs onto the mattress beside me. “Just rest.” Then he gathers me up against him, and I feel the heat of his body. I drift off to the steady rhythm of his breathing. Later, when I wake up crying, he wipes away my tears with his fingers and then with his lips and I turn myself fully against him. I move urgently and demandingly until he finally gives up and gives in. Then we are skin to skin, gentle but rough, soft but demanding, and it is better than any drop of booze.

Afterward, I finally sleep deep and hard and when I wake up to find him gone, that’s okay, too. It makes it easier for what I have to do next.

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