Erasing Faith (22 page)

NUMB

“Are you listening to me, Abbott?”

Benson’s voice was even more annoying in person. It normally would’ve pissed me off, but at the moment I wasn’t capable of feeling anything but numb. He walked several steps closer to where I sat. I continued to stare at the grains in the hardwood floor. 

“Abbott. I’m not fucking around. Did you hear a goddamned thing I just said?”

I lifted empty eyes to his face. “You have a lead on Szekely via your sources in Turkey. Got it.”

“I need you in Istanbul,” he snapped. “There is no room for error. With this fuck-up of a mission, we’ve blown any element of surprise we might’ve had. This op is going to be a long-haul. Deep cover, little contact. No more half-assing it.”

I was silent.

“I need to know your head is in the game, Abbott.”

“Yeah. Got it.” 

Benson stared at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I laughed, the sound mirthless and bitter as it filled the air.

What was wrong with me?

What a ridiculous question. What a ludicrous answer.

I killed the love of my life.

Killed her.

It wasn’t my bullet, but I might as well have pulled the trigger.

Now she was dead.

Or soon-to-be.

She’d never wake up.

Never laugh again. Never smile. Never see the world through caramel eyes and rose-colored glasses.

Because of me.

“Abbott,” Benson growled. “There is no room for error, here. Can you do this or not?”

I could do it — lose myself again.

I was an expert at it.

The only thing I couldn’t do was sit around here and watch her die. I couldn’t live in a world where I knew Faith Morrissey didn’t exist.

“When?” I asked, my voice remote.

“Tomorrow or the next day.”

I thought about that for a moment. “No. Now.” 

“Excuse me?”

I cleared my throat and rose to my feet. “I’ll leave now.”

Benson’s eyebrows went up. “Are you sure?”

I nodded.

I wouldn’t last another minute in this city. She was everywhere.

On every bridge, at every street corner. Saturating the air. Seizing my thoughts. Seeping into my bones.

Faith was Budapest. Budapest was Faith.

And I was the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

My very presence in her life was a cancer, a life-draining force. If she had even a shot at survival, I had to go.

The sooner I left, the further I fled, the better off she’d be.

And, if she died…

The last shred of good in me would go to the grave alongside her.

The man I’d strived to be whenever I was near her…

He’d be dead, too.

SHRAPNEL

When I finally peeled my eyes open, it was five days later.

My lips were cracked, my throat was raw. My eyes swept the hospital room, taking in the tan-brown walls and the series of beeping machines and monitors parked next to my bed. There was an IV line in my right hand and, despite the painkillers that were flowing into my bloodstream in a steady drip, there was a lancing, throbbing ache in my abdomen.

A man I’d never seen before was sitting in a chair by my bed, staring at me with cool eyes. Pudgy, balding, and noticeably uncomfortable in his own skin, he instantly reminded me of my seventh grade math teacher, Mr. Schwartz – the perspiring, chalk-dusted lump of a man who’d first introduced me to the horrors of algebra.

“Water,” I croaked.

He poured me a glass and lifted it to my lips, helping me take small sips until my throat started working again.

“What happened to me?” I asked, once he’d settled back into his seat.

“You were shot.” He had small, beady brown eyes that never seemed to blink. “Your spleen was ruptured and a portion of it was removed during surgery. You lost a lot of blood, so you’ve had several transfusions. You also suffered severe smoke inhalation, so you’re being monitored for long-term lung effects.”

I blinked as I tried to process all of that.

“I remember the fire,” I murmured, thinking back to that horrible stretch of time I spent trapped in the inferno. It seemed almost like a dream, now.

“Yes, it consumed the entire Hermes office.” Begrudging anger laced his voice.

I lifted my gaze back to him. “Who are you?”

“My name is Joseph Benson. I work for the U.S. Government.” He flashed an official looking badge that read, in embossed gold letters,
CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY
.

I felt my eyes go round. “What? Why are you here? How…?”

The man sighed. “You will, of course, have a full debriefing later. For now, all you need to know is the organization you were working for has strong ties to a crime syndicate that we, as a nation, have a vested interest in putting a stop to.”

“Crime syndicate…” I echoed, disbelief plain in my tone. I wondered if I was still unconscious, if this was some kind of drug-induced dream. “Like a front company for the mob, or something?”

“I’m afraid I’m not authorized to tell you much beyond what I’ve said already. Not until we’ve cleared you and had you sign a non-disclosure agreement.”

“Cleared me?”

“Formally absolved you of any involvement in this. It’s protocol.”

I nodded, as if the things he was saying were making any sense at all.

They weren’t.

“Can someone call my—” I broke off mid-sentence and glanced down at the ring on my finger. The pure-white cord had been blackened with smoke and ash. “My boyfriend?” I finished.

Mr. Benson was silent. I looked up at him.

“I think he’d want to be here,” I said quietly, hoping my words were true. “His name is Wes. I can give you his number.”

I thought I saw the man’s eyes widen fractionally when I said Wes’ name, but I might’ve been imagining things. The drugs made it hard to focus my full attention on anything.

“That’s the other reason I’m here, Miss Morrissey.”

My eyebrows went up.

“The man you’ve been involved with for the past several weeks…”

He drifted off and I felt the breath slip from my lungs in a terrified exhale as I braced myself for whatever news I was about to receive. From the look on this man’s face, whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“He was a trained operative, stationed here for both your protection and the wellbeing of our nation as he investigated the crime syndicate.” The man’s face was blank, empty of any readable emotions. “Your involvement in this will be regarded as service to your country. You can be proud of that.”

“You’re joking.” My voice was flat — I lacked the energy for incredulity.

“I assure you, I’m not,” Benson said, his eyes steady. “The man you know as Wes Adams is one of our country’s greatest intelligence assets.”

I stared at him as my mind struggled to process the ludicrous things he was saying.

Wes was an
operative
? Like, a
secret agent
? A freaking
spy?

I almost laughed at the absurdity of his words, but my brain seemed to be disconnected from the rest of my body. My mind emptied as all thoughts fled. Silence crackled in the space between my ears like a record player left spinning long after the final track has played.

Nothing made sense.

We sat in silence for over a minute — an impatient man glancing subtly at his watch and the girl whose world he’d just crushed with a few careless words. 

“No,” I said finally, breaking the quiet. “That’s simply… not possible.”

His eyes were cold. “I’m afraid it is. The man you knew doesn’t exist. You served as a vital part of his cover — nothing more. The sooner you accept that, the easier things will be.”

His cover.

Nothing more.

“I want to see him.” I felt myself starting to get hysterical. “I want to see Wes.”

God, was that even his name?

“I’m afraid that’s not within the realm of possibility, Miss Morrissey. He’s already left on another mission. He won’t be back here.”

He left.

He won’t be back.

My breaths were coming faster and faster, and I thought my throat might close under the strain of hauling air into my hyperventilating lungs. The room before my eyes began to spin and there was nothing I could do to stop it, like I’d boarded a carnival ride with no exit.

“Your hospital expenses are being taken care of, so don’t worry about that. As soon as you’ve recovered fully, we’ll fly you home at no cost to yourself, if that’s what you wish.” The man rose and fastened the button on his ill-fitting suit jacket. “Your questions will, of course, be answered during the full debrief in a few days. I simply came here as a courtesy. After all you’ve been through, we felt you shouldn’t have to wait for an explanation.”

What was I supposed to say?

Thank you for ruining my life, sir.

For taking away the one thing that mattered to me.

For telling me it was all a lie.

I swallowed roughly, trying to gain control over myself. It was no use — I was spiraling into a full-blown panic attack. My heart started beating at twice its normal rate. My vision was weaving in and out of focus as I watched him preparing to leave.

“I’ll be in touch,” the man said, nodding at me and turning for the door. My heart raced even faster.

I waited for him to spin around and smile, telling me it was all some kind of twisted joke Wes had thought up.

He didn’t.

I wanted to call after him, to beg him to wait. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs that this was just
wrong
, all of it.

But as I opened my mouth, I was overtaken by the most intense pain I’d ever felt.

Harsher than the smoke damage in my lungs.

More painful than a gunshot wound to the stomach.

A pain so great, so intense, my body couldn’t cope. My heart beat so fast, it simply couldn’t sustain itself. 

It shattered to fragments inside my chest like shrapnel — cutting me open, flaying me into a bloody mess.

Rivers of blood filled up the hollow space beneath my ribs and poured into my lungs.

I struggled for breath, drowning in the damage inflicted by my own shredded heart, as the dream I’d been living for the past month fizzled and faded into dust.

Wes was gone.

He’d never existed in the first place.

My fingers trembled as they unclasped the horsehair bracelet he’d given me and hurled it across the room. It hit the far wall and fell behind a particleboard table, out of sight. Tears streamed down my face as I tore the dirty rope cord from my ring finger and threw it to the ground beside my hospital bed.

Looking down at my empty hand, I felt my last vestige of hope slip away.

The pain — inside, outside, everywhere. It was too much.

As I let go of the dream that was Wes, as I awoke from the fantasy, I felt myself lose consciousness.

This time, as I faded back into the dark, I prayed I wouldn’t wake up at all.

***

THREE YEARS LATER

***

“
And I am done with my graceless heart.

So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart.
”

Florence + The Machine

PART TWO

New York City

END OF THE TUNNEL

I hate that phrase.

There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel.

Supposedly, you’re in the darkness, and you look up and see it — a faint ring of light in the distance, marking the end of the moonless, lonely night. Drumming in the dawn.

But my tunnel wasn’t just dark. It was an abyss.

A tomb.

After a while, when all my hopes for rescue missions and recovery teams had been abandoned… when I realized that my screams would never, ever be heard through the dense-packed rock blocking my path back to the surface…

I stopped waiting for rescue.

And I embraced the dark.

I learned to like my cave. That bleak, bereft place became a comfort, instead of a burden.

I stopped trying to claw my way back to the surface and wrapped myself in a blanket of shadows. 

Then one day, years and years later, when I least expected it, when I least wanted it, when I’d been alone in the dark for so long I’d forgotten what the light looked like… an explosion shook the walls of my cave, blasted open the crypt of my own making.

And I finally saw it. The light at the end of my tunnel.

But she wasn’t the dull glow of a flashlight I’d been expecting. Not the dim luminescence of a solitary streetlight, or the dull flicker of a lantern in the starless sky.

She was a fucking sun-ray.

A flare. A fire. A detonation.

She was C-4.

She blasted her way into my life, into my heart, and hauled me from my nightmarish void onto the streets of Budapest. I kicked and clawed at her the entire way like the wild thing I’d become in my isolation, unable to readapt to the world of the living or play well with the masses.

She dragged me out anyway.

She blew up my life.

I hated her for it.

But not as much as I loved her.