Page 132 of Soul So Dark
Adrian grins and starts shaking his head. “Man, you remember when thatSpidermanmovie came out when we were kids and Luca got so into it that he’d post up on the furniture around the house like hewasSpiderman?”
I furrow my brow. “Yeah?”
“That’s what he was doing,” Adrian chuckles. “They’d come get him for his one hour outside and he’d be perched on whatever the hell’s in those cells, and—” he pauses again to suppress a laugh, “it’s not funny, it’s really not. But one day they went in and he’s on the wall like a goddamn spider.”
“What?”
“Straight up, he’s in the corner, up near the ceiling, braced between the walls…like a goddamn spider.No idea how long he’d been there like that, but scared the hell out of everyone. They called me up to tell me about it and said he either needed a doctor or a priest.”
I lose it right there and burst into laughter, and for a couple of minutes it feels like we’re somewhere else instead of a hospital waiting room to hear whether our brother is dead.
“Anyway,” Adrian composes himself, “they found out he has a giant tumor in his brain that’s pressing on his frontal lobe.”
Luca was released straight here from prison, and according to these doctors, maybe they can release him from his diseased brain, too. But I’m not holding my breath. It doesn’t change what’s already happened, regardless of why he did it.
Six hours later, I’m not sure how I’m in so much pain from falling asleep in this hospital recliner. I’ve slept in exponentially worse conditions than this.
“Adrian?” I look up to see an older guy in green scrubs approaching us. “The surgery went well, Luca did great, and he’s in recovery now.”
I don’t pay much attention to anything else he says. It seems like he and Adrian have spoken before. I also can’t help but feel like I’m watching all of this play out from outside my own body. I haven’t been here, in this city, for four years. And it feels premature—like I’m not allowed back yet.
The feeling is so strong that when Adrian gets up to follow the doctor to wherever we’re supposed to go next, I stay put.
Adrian pauses when he realizes I’m not following. “Are you coming?”
“No,” I reply with a shake of my head, “I’m not. I’ll see you at the house.”
“You’re not even going to see him?”
I rise from my seat and glance at the exit. “He’s alive, right?”
“What if he asks about you?”
I hesitate, feeling everything rush back that I’ve been trying to forget, only to fail miserably each time.
“Fuck him.”
???
A few of us got discharged together. Some of my friends went wild; bought fast cars, women, alcohol, whatever vice seemed appropriate at the time. I turned around and signed up for another two years on foreign soil as a contractor because it was the fastest way to make the kind of money I needed. I just had to survive long enough to see it.
Clearly, I did, but not without paying for it in other ways.
Before my plane even touches down, I already have an appointment to see an apartment in a high-rise in the middle of the city and an interview scheduled the next day with an employer who wants me to supervise their security detail. It’s no PMC pay, but I’m pretty confident I won’t get ambushed while patrolling their offices and monitoring their property.
Regardless, it’s a good transition with minimal stress and the benefit of knowing I can go home at the end of the day and run my life as I see fit. After three years of Adrian trying to run a tight ship and then six years of actually living on a tight ship, I have to admit that a tiger can’t change its stripes. I thrive on structure and discipline.
I grab a rideshare from the airport and have it drop me at the nearest car dealership. A couple hours later, I’m driving off the lot in a brand-new Raptor. The only reason it doesn’t take longer is because the guy selling it to me is a veteran and doesn’t try to dick me over when I say I’m paying cash. Which is fortunate, because I’d rather not be late to view this apartment.
Structure, and all…
As soon as I walk through the glass doors, a girl in a beige tweed dress and six-inch stilettos comes waltzing out from behind the front desk beneath a massive stone slab etched with,The Enclave.
“Mr. Barrera,” she extends her hand and flashes her brilliant smile.
I still have a light beard, which makes me look older than I am. I’m also really good at blending in where I need to. Just weeks ago, you wouldn’t have been able to pick me out of a crowded market in Qatar or Iraq. Now, with some hair product and a tailored outfit, I look like I stopped here on the way to the country club.
“You must be Olivia.” I shake her hand. “I appreciate you meeting with me.”
