Page 73 of Captured Heart

Her voice rises just enough to break the silence. “Do you think this would’ve gone differently if I hadn’t gone to the gym that day?”

I hesitate. It’s the kind of question with no good answer, and I know what will happen if I let her spiral. “Don’t do that. It doesn’t change anything.”

“Why couldn’t we have met at a party somewhere? I would’ve caught your eye from across the room. You would’ve sauntered over and offered me a drink.”

She’s playing out these delusions, conjuring up these what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. But I need her to stay here with me, stay rooted in reality so that she doesn’t give herself a false sense of security.

“I don’t saunter.” It’s a lasso I use to drag her out of that fantasy and back into this dingy room.

“We would’ve talked for hours, and you would’ve laughed at my jokes.”

“Even in your wildest hallucinations, I wouldneverlaugh at your jokes.”

She coughs out a small laugh. “You would’ve asked me to dance, and as you held me, I’d ask:Where have you been all my life?And you’d say—”

“Jail,” I cut in abruptly to jolt her back to the present moment. “I’d say I was in jail.”

Her head rolls slightly on the pillow, her vacant eyes finding me. “Surely, that’s something you could save for the third date.”

The tiniest titter escapes me. She’s drained and diminished, yet somehow, her sense of humor is still intact. It’s weird, but that subtle resilience makes me like her more.

She stares at me for a long time, seemingly nervous to ask her question. “How did you even get involved with someone like Victor?”

I release a heavy breath. “Well...my mom got sick when I was still in high school, so I had to drop out to help pay the bills. She kept getting worse. The bills kept piling up...and Victor entered my life when I was pretty desperate.”

She turns onto her side to give me her full attention, propping her elbow on the mattress to rest her head on her hand. This isn’t something I want to talk about, but if it distracts her from falling into a deeper pit of despair, I’ll tell her whatever she wants to know. I give her some of the sordid details of the shit I got caught up in, fully expecting her to throw some scathing judgment my way. Yet all I get is empathy. She asks about my mother, and how I dealt with the difficulty of watching her deteriorate right in front of me.

It throws me for a loop because that wasn’t the response I was anticipating. It’s this quality of hers that completely disarms me. She’s scared and so despondent, yet she listens to everything I say and offers words of comfort when needed. She’s kind in the most wholesome way and somehow that demeanor gets me to lower my guard every time. I open up to her about things I’ve never told anyone. My childhood. Some of the things I did for Victor, which inevitably leads to more questions about the darker side of my life.

“Have you ever killed anyone?” she asks.

“No...but I’ve hurt a lot of people.”

“Bad guys?”

“Mostly, but not all of them were bad. Sometimes, innocent people get caught in the wrong situation...like you.”

“Have you ever kidnapped anyone before?”

“No. You’re my first.”

“I was your first. I feel so special. You handled it like a champ. A-plus for execution because I thought you were a pro.” She tries to elevate her voice to sound playful, but it’s weigheddown by the helplessness trapped in this room with us. “What crimes have you committed?”

I hesitate because I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I keep expecting contempt to cloud her eyes when she takes on an entirely different view of me. But in the end, she deserves the whole truth. I want her to know the real me.

“All of them? Or what I was charged with?”

She seems more curious than fearful, wanting to know the full extent of my depravity. “All of them.”

“Uh...where do I even start?” I run my hand over my head. “I was charged with breaking and entering, possession of stolen property, and accessory to crime because that was the only ones they could prove. That’s why I only got four years. My other crimes...” I look away because I’m ashamed to admit this to her, but I push through and give her my full, candid history. “My other crimes include, but are not limited to...assault and battery...fraud and forgery...concealment of illicit proceeds...” I watch her, the way she swallows as she tries to digest this information, the way she flinches as more of my felonies are revealed, but I keep going. “...grand theft auto...grand larceny...I’ve now added kidnapping...and I’m pretty sure accessory to murder is in there too. God knows I’ve helped cover up enough of those.”

“That’s quite a rap sheet you have there.” Her eyes are wide with surprise, but she tries to play it off like it’s no big deal. “I see why you thought comedy was a better career choice. There may still be hope for you, though. Maybe you can be my warm-up act one day. We’d be fire.” It’s meant to be light-hearted, but she still sounds so dead inside. Somewhere in her head, she knows she’s living in a delusion as a mechanism to deal with all this. “Imagine if things had been different. Don’t you think we could’ve been good together?”

I groan inwardly. “Katie, please stop doing this to yourself.”

“I can’t.” She drops back onto the bed and stares at the ceiling again. “I rather focus on the what-ifs because if I think of what’s actually happening right now, it only makes me realize how grim things are.”

She goes quiet again, mumbling softly to herself, and a few minutes later, a sharp sob breaks the silence. “I’m going to die here, Alex.”

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