Page 37 of Sweet Lies

I lift the gun, and his eyes widen, his hands in the air as if that will save him now.

“I have money,” he bargains.

“I don’t want your money. Do you remember me?”

For some reason, it’s important to me that he knows why this is happening. I need him to know that his actions have led him to this moment; it’s not about being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He looks at Andre.

“Don’t look at him. Look at me. He’s not going to save you. Do you remember me?”

“No, I don’t.”

“We met in Levi’s basement. Does that ring any bells, or are there too many of us to keep track of?”

He takes a step back. “You need to take that up with Levi. It was his business. He was the one who set it up.”

“We already did take it up with Levi. He’s dead.”

He takes a few more steps back, looking from right to left, trying to find an escape.

“Tell him hi,” I say as I pull the trigger, and he falls.

“How do you feel?” Andre asks.

“I don’t feel anything.”

“It’ll come. The mix of emotions will come,” he responds as we step toward the body, and he goes over what he’s going to do with that and the evidence.

Two hours later, we’re back in the hotel, where I take a shower.

Afterwards, I yank a fluffy white towel from the rack, wrap it around my body, then move toward the mirror, where I wipe the steam away and take in my appearance. Nothing has changed except my eyes. They’re darker now, more intense, as if what little light that was left after all those years of torment is finally extinct. I expected to feel some sadness, but all I feel is numb.

“How are you?” Andre asks, sitting at the desk.

It appears much smaller with him sitting there, and I laugh. He appears concerned at my laugh; I’m sure he’s thinking I’ve lost it completely.

“That desk looks like something you would have used in kindergarten.”

“You must be okay if you’re making jokes.”

“What’s not to be okay with? We’ve been working on our list. Seeing Claire and E alive just made things more interesting. Did you know?” I ask. If he says yes, I don’t know what I’ll feel. I’ve become used to relying on him these last few weeks. Him knowing the truth would be a betrayal.

“No. As far as I knew they were gone—the same as you. I can find them if you want to talk to them.”

“No,” I hiss, annoyed he would even suggest it. “I have nothing to say.”

“When you change your mind, I’ll find them.”

The confidence in his voice irritates me. He doesn’t know me that well. The old Rebecca would have gone into the restaurant with tears running down her cheeks. Not now.

I don’t respond to his words though, because he’s the one person I want to remember the old me.

“I’m going to bed,” I announce. “What time do we leave in the morning?” Our next man was only a few miles away.

“We can stay here longer. Give you more time to make your choices,” he offers in one last attempt to sway my decision.

“There’s nothing for me here,” I answer, pulling my gray sweatpants and shirt from my bag to change into.

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