Page 97 of The Art of Dying

She watched me while he spoke, confused at first and then concerned. By the time Sully was finished, she’d calmed down. She walked back to me and narrowed her eyes.

“You don’t think she’s dead?”

“I need the journal, Alecia. I’m doing you a favor by taking it off your hands. I don’t know how no one found out it was you all this time, but you’re lucky. Maybe he assumed you wouldn’t know what to make of it. But whatever the reason, you’re very, very lucky Mason and his people didn’t consider you a threat.”

“Say thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you… are you saying she’s alive?” Alecia asked.

Her question took me off guard. Everyone else had assumed I’d just gone crazy.

I held out my hand. “Hand it over, Al.”

Her eyes glossed over. “If she’s alive, Kitsch, if you did all this to protect her, I’d understand.”

Sully’s brows pulled together as he stared at Alecia. It took a moment for realization to hit and then his eyes shot to me, waiting for an answer.

“If anyone could pull it off, it’s you,” Alecia said. “Is she… is she alive? Are the babies okay?”

I leaned forward, extending my hand.

“Tell me!” she yelled.

“They’re in Oklahoma,” I said.

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Sully bent over at the waist and grabbed his knees. “Christ Almighty.”

Alecia held the journal tight to her chest, her shoulders bouncing as she cried. Her face scrunched and her head fell forward. I let them both catch their breath before I spoke again.

“I don’t have to tell you that Mason isn’t the guy you remember. He’s spent the better part of his adult life with Russian killers who are involved in everything from drugs to government coups. He’s been trained, and whatever he’s been through, it’s broken his psyche. He’s delusional, and obsessive, and… I’ve had a long time to think about this, and I think he believed if he got Mack back, it would erase the things he’s done and seen. He’d return to the reality he remembers, one that makes sense and feels normal.”

“You’re right,” Alecia said handing me the journal. “And when he thought she died, he spiraled to a point where his boss sent him away until he could focus.” She pointed to the book. “Inside are dozens of unsent letters, too. Nita was sending them for him, but it looks like she was under the impression it was harmless.”

“No, she wasn’t,” Sully said. “It’s willful ignorance at best.”

“Can I… can I talk to her?” Alecia said with a nervous smile. She crossed her arms again.

“She’s really alive?” Sully asked. “You staged all of it and what? Set her up somewhere, changed her name, witness protection type shit?”

“Something like that,” I said. I looked to Alecia. “You can’t talk to her until this is over. This journal is going to help us get there.”

“Kitsch,” Alecia said, looking so frustrated she was about to lose it. “If you’d just told me this the first time, I would’ve given it to you.”

I thought about that, suddenly just as frustrated as she was. “What’s done is done. Until Mason is out of the picture, we didn’t have this conversation. It’s important. My family’s life depends on it.”

They both nodded.

I returned to the Jeep and pulled away, watching Sully hug Alecia in the mirror.

Besides the journal’s brown leather binding, it was otherwise non-descript, but still its presence in the passenger seat kept drawing my attention from the road. My heart was racing so fast you’d think there was a bomb in the passenger seat. As badly as I wanted to pull over and flip the pages, I would feel too exposed to concentrate. I wasn’t sure I could, anyway, still pissed about what Alecia had said. I could’ve been home with my family years ago if I’d just gone to her directly and told the truth. I slapped my cheek and shook my head to focus. Every word, every location, every thought in Mason’s journal had to be deciphered, cross referenced, and only then could I decide what was meaningless psychopathic babble and what was a clue.

My foot pushed harder on the accelerator, but just two blocks from the house, red and blue lights showed up in my rearview.

A few choice expletives left my mouth as I pulled onto the shoulder, waiting for the officer to step out and approach my window. My head fell back against the headrest with a wave of relief. It was Vazquez.

“You don’t have anything better to do than harass someone for ten over?”

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