Page 99 of Mob Saint

I don’t need Seamus because I can’t handle life. I want Seamus because I choose to have him be part of my life, and he makes it easier to be the person I’m meant to be. I thought I needed Aaron because he was the key to happiness. I learned fast that I couldn’t rely on him for that. I understand more about the situation he was forced into and that his intentions were good—though I don’t know if they were born of love or duty to his wife—but I wouldn’t have lost my faith in him as a husband if he’d clued me in even a little.

There was no way Seamus could hide who and what he is, and I’ve known from the beginning the type of man I’m involved with. I don’t feel the bait and switch I did with Aaron. The biggest difference between them is Seamus wants to let me in while Aaron shut me out. Seamus will keep far more secrets from me and tell me way more lies than Aaron ever did, but he doesn’t lie about his lies.

My mind wanders because I have nothing else to do in the dark. Wherever it’s headed, it leads back to the simple fact I love Seamus.

I sit up and wait for something to happen. I don’t let myself do more than that for seven minutes. I count. It’s an unpredictable amount of time in case someone’s watching me. I stand, and a wave of dizziness washes over me. I know there’s a wall behind me, so I reach back to steady myself. When I don’t feel like I’ll hurl, I put my hands out in front of me and turn to my left. I shuffle my feet, so I step on nothing and will feel anything I might trip over.

I’m not reaching another wall as quickly as I assumed I would. Maybe the space isn’t that wide, but it’s long. I keep going until my fingers bump into a man’s bare chest. I recoil, but nothing else happens. I’m standing close enough that now I know someone’s there, I should be able to sense their presence. I get nothing. I lift my arms again, allowing my fingers to skim over the person in front of me.

Fuck. Fuck. Holy fuck.

The skin is cold. Not like he’s been outside in winter cold. The been-in-the-fridge-for-too-long cold. I slide my hands up until I reach his shoulders. I gasp and unadulterated terror seizes me.

There’s no head.

“I’ve been waiting to see how long it would take you to explore.”

I freeze—terrible pun all things considered since there’s a corpse in front of me. I don’t know the voice, but it’s coming from in front of me. I’m giving nothing away. I can’t see who it is, but they know where I am. They know I found this body. The only thing that matters is that I know it’s not Seamus. I already know what it’s like to have him beneath my fingertips.

“Are we playing the silent game?” I don’t appreciate the mocking tone, but they aren’t wrong.

Since I doubt I’m going anywhere anytime soon, I’m in no hurry. I sense they’ll get frustrated with me before I’m willing to give in to them.

“Come now, Tiernan. Ignoring me won’t endear you to me. Play along, and I won’t torture you. Make this boring, and I’ll have no reason to keep you alive.”

If this is who’s stalked me for the past three years, then I don’t doubt their willingness to physically torture me after the emotional and mental fuckery they’ve inflicted.

I want to keep them talking because something might give away how I know this person. I don’t recognize the voice. It’s not anyone I know. It’s not Aaron’s cousin or Gareth. It’s not Keith or Vince. It’s not Hillary or Gretchen. It’s not that bitch Stella, though I never considered it might be. I’m just naming people I don’t get along with.

I swallow my aversion and slide my hands down the corpse’s right arm until I get to the top of the man’s forearm. I feel the scar. I know who it is.

Vince.

I lean to my right, my hand outstretched, to see if there’s anyone else there. I do the same to my left.

“It’s just you, me, and Vince. I know you recognize the scar. Aren’t you wondering how he’s still standing if he doesn’t have a head?”

I am, but I suspect there’s a meat hook sunk into his back to keep him upright. I don’t want to reach around to find out.

“Still as stubborn as you’ve always been. You refused to give up when you were six and couldn’t master those drills your coach gave you. You spent hours in your backyard practicing. You refused to give up when you were failing chemistry in tenth grade. You convinced the fire chief to pay you to clean the station house, so you could pay for a tutor without anyone knowing. You refused to stay in New Jersey when Aaron asked you not to go to Chicago. You did what you wanted and loved having him follow you like your little bitch.”

None of that is wrong, though the last bit is distorted. It made me feel loved when Aaron offered to give up everything he had at home to follow me to Chicago for two years. We hadn’t been dating long, but we wanted a future together. We were already in love. I think that desire to have found the one and to have the chance to settle down rather than be alone drove him to offer and for me to accept since we’d only been dating a few months.

I’d already applied to grad school when I met him. I knew what I wanted professionally, and I’d already spent so much time and energy working toward it. I didn’t want to let it go. Aaron realized that and made it easier, so we wouldn’t have a long-distance relationship to juggle along with work for him and school for me.

“Remembering the good old days, Tiernan?”

The mocking tone is back, but I want this person to keep talking. They’re giving things away. They’ve known me most of my life if they knew about the soccer drills. They had connections in my local volunteer fire department if they knew about me cleaning to pay for tutoring. I didn’t admit the truth about why I worked there to anyone but the fire chief. Everyone else thought I was doing it to save money to buy Christmas presents.

“You’re wondering how I know all this, Tiernan.”

My captor stresses my name each time. It’s filled with disdain.

“You were awfully quick to abandon your married name and go back to your maiden name. You were always an ice princess. Cold and aloof. The last name might have suited you, but the first name—you’ve been a disappointment since you were born. Your parents wanted a boy. Instead, they got you.”

That refrain’s gotten old over the years. I believed it for a long time once I knew it was a man’s name. But that wasn’t why my parents gave it to me. I tune that out like I did when Vince used to say the same thing.

“Vince used to tell you that, didn’t he? You’re remembering that, aren’t you?”

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