Page 122 of Brutal Devil
Just silence.
Like I’m dead.
And I guess Iamdead to him. Makes sense, because a part of me died that night.
The doctor checked on me in the morning when Rocco came to pick me up for the airport. And, surprise, I wasn’t supposed to fly so soon after getting concussed. Alternate arrangements were made. By Priest? By one of his guys? I don’t know.
All I do know is that I wound up in a five-star hotel with a stack of cash and an open-ended return ticket to Iowa. But I didn’t leave the city. Instead, I used the cash as a deposit on my apartment. I bought furniture. I texted Rocco and told him where to direct my books and my laptop. I haven’t even had theheart to unpack my Lorine Niedecker collection yet. But I’m firm on one thing.
I’m not going back to Iowa. Not finishing my MFA there. I can’t. I’m not the same person who left, and I don’t want to be her. Instead, I’ve been working on finding a postgraduate program that appeals to me here in the city. I’ll transfer my credits. I’m not giving up. But the plans have changed.
And there’s someone I need to tell. Not Priest. He’s made it abundantly clear that he wants no contact with me. Any communication concerning the divorce or my father’s businesses comes via lawyers. I’ve been ghosted.
I tap the contacts list on my phone and scroll to Isla’s name.
When I powered on my phone a month ago, I discovered at least two dozen missed texts and calls from her. She’d been worried about me after I’d gone to see my father and hadn’t returned. If she’d only known.
I was tempted to call her the very first day. I’d been devastated and confused and alone. My instinct was to call my bestie and unload. But I hadn’t known where to begin. I’ve never been honest with her about my father or his occupation. What would I have said?
I hadn’t known then.
I’m not sure I know now.
All I do know is that the time finally feels right.
I call Isla.
She answers in half a ring.
“Oh my fucking God, woman. Where have you been? Are you dead? Are you alive? This isn’t Luna’s kidnapper on the phone, is it? Shit. Luna? That was a bad joke and now I’m rambling, and if this isn’t really you, I’m going to have a stroke. But if thisisLuna’s kidnapper, I’m going to the police right now. They’ll trace your cell phone pings, and you’ll be totally fucked.”
I’m grinning. “It’s me, Is.”
“Luna! Oh, thank God. I was starting to worry I was mouthing off to your creepy stalker who abducted you and was hiding you in his basement lair.”
I choke out a laugh, because part of that is painfully close to the truth.
Except there was nothing about Priest that was creepy, and he certainly wasn’t my stalker.
“Not exactly.”
“Wait. What?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Never mind. Where have you been? You disappeared on me after you went back east, and I was afraid something terrible happened to you.”
Terrible things did happen.
But I don’t even know where to start, how to explain. I’ve kept a lot from her, out of necessity.
“My father died,” I blurt. “And I needed…some time. I’m sorry I went off-grid.”
“Oh, Luna.” Her voice goes hushed with sympathy. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Thank you. It was unexpected.” Part of me feels guilty at accepting her condolences when I’m still withholding the truth.
But I can’t exactly try to explain to her over the phone. There are some things that will need to be said in person. Hopefully, we can get together sooner rather than later. I know she has a lot of obligations involved in finishing up her own thesis.
