Page 96 of Captured Heart

They gave me a new name, a new identity. With it came freedom and the three hundred thousand dollars Victor had funneled into John Turner’s account. The investigation never tied it to me, so I got to keep it. A small consolation prize after that shitstorm.

For Katelyn’s protection and mine, Detective Collins told me I shouldn’t contact her again. At the very least, I should keep my distance until the case was done. And Victor dragged this thing out in court for sixteen fucking months. He fought tooth and nailby burying the prosecution in motions, delaying hearings, and challenging every piece of evidence on technicalities.

For the first two months after I got here, I couldn’t sleep. Every creak of the floorboards, every car door slamming outside, made my heart race. I’d peer out the window, convinced Victor’s men had found me. But week after week, nothing happened. The case wrapped up about two weeks ago, and Detective Collins informed me that Victor’s sentences of his crimes are to be served consecutively, not concurrently, so he’s pretty much in there for life.

After hearing that, the tension finally eased, and I started to settle into some kind of routine. I’ve even been trying to do things normal people do. Grocery shopping without looking over my shoulder. Jogging through the park without planning three escape routes. Hell, I even agreed to a blind date, thanks to my sweet neighbor, Beryl. She’s been trying to set me up with her granddaughter since I moved in.

So, I’m standing in front of the mirror now, adjusting the collar of my light-blue button-down shirt. I’ve never worn something like this before. Clean, pressed, and not bought from a thrift store. It feels weird, like the fabric’s too stiff, the image too... polished. My dark jeans and leather boots ground me a little, but the shirt? Fuck, no. That’s someone else.

I drive to the address Beryl gave me. When I knock on the door, her granddaughter, Claire, answers with a smile. She’s beautiful, with soft blonde curls and kind brown eyes. The kind of girl you could bring home to meet your parents...if I still had parents.

I take her to a museum in the next town over. As we walk through the exhibits, my eyes do a quick sweep over the place. They find the security cameras, noting the blind spots. I catch the three guards lingering near the more expensive piecesencased in glass boxes, their radios clipped to their belts. It’s so easy to get into that case. If I just dismantle—

I shake my head, trying to shut those thoughts down. Old habits die hard, and this one’s ingrained in my bones.

Claire chats about the art, her voice light and pleasant. “I love how Impressionists capture light. It’s like they’re painting the way a memory feels.”

I nod, half-listening. “Yeah, it’s...interesting.”

She tilts her head, her smile a little wry. “Not an art guy, huh?”

“Not really,” I admit. “But I can see why people like it.”

After the exhibition, I take her to dinner. We make small talk, and she’s sweet, thoughtful even. She asks about my job at the repair shop, and I give her the sanitized version. Fixing cars, enjoying the quiet life. She laughs at the right moments, the sound soft and musical. She’s a catch, alright. Yet I still feel nothing.

It’s not her fault. I’m the problem. I can’t shake the feeling that, even if we had a connection, it wouldn’t work because she’d never really know me. If she had to develop feelings for me, she’d actually be falling for a façade, a tame, diluted version of my former self.

I drive her home, and when we pull into her driveway, she looks over and smiles.

“I had a great time tonight.”

I nod. “Me, too.”

She unclips her seatbelt and leans toward me. I know what’s coming, but I shift back.

It’s weird. I shouldwantto kiss her. She’s sweet. She’s attractive. She’s pretty much flawless. But I can’t stop picking her apart. Her damn near perfect face doesn’t measure up. Those aren’t the thoughtful, intelligent eyes that seem to hold the answers to every question. Those aren’t the lips that couldignite a passion deep inside me and drive me to madness within seconds. That isn’t the smile I’d fight demons just to see again.

She’s not Katie.

And, ultimately, that’s her biggest andonlyflaw.

“Claire, you’re great,” I say. “But I’m just not in the right headspace for this.”

Her smile falters, and for a second, I feel like an asshole. But she nods, giving me an understanding look as she opens the door. “It’s okay. Take care of yourself.”

I chastise myself the whole way home. How am I still not over this chick? I spent five months in jail and another sixteen months here, yet all that time has done nothing to dim my memories of her. I tried to convince myself that I was just smitten with her because she was the first woman I encountered after I got out of prison. But no. I’ve met plenty of women since then and none of them compare.

I still think about Katie every damn day. It’s ridiculous. I knew her for...what? All of two weeks? And those two weeks feel like a lifetime ago. But she’s always there, in the back of my mind. Her laugh still echoes in my memories. Her citrusy-vanilla scent still haunts me.

I’ve kept tabs on her through social media, even though I know I shouldn’t. She’s thriving. Top of her class. Giving presentations. Winning awards. She’s everything I knew she’d be. Smart. Driven. Unstoppable. The world is at her fingertips. And I shouldn’t be part of that world. I don’t belong there.

By the time I get home, my small apartment feels even smaller. The tiny space is a prison itself because I still feel trapped. I want a life I can’t have with a woman I don’t deserve. She deserves someone good, someone whole. Not a guy with blood on his hands and a fake name.

I toss my keys on the counter, head to my bedroom, and drop straight into bed. This is the hardest part. The nights. Thequiet. The moments where there’s nothing to distract me from the nagging feeling that our story isn’t finished. Maybe if I’d had a chance to say goodbye, to thank her, it wouldn’t feel like this. Like there’s a piece of me missing. But this is my life now. I need to move forward and leave the past behind.

I toss onto my back, staring at the ceiling. “Goodnight, Rebel,” I mutter, hoping her night is not as dreary and lonely as mine.

And then I let the darkness take me.

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