Echo(11)

It takes a moment to snap out of my thoughts of Declan to recognize the voice on the other end of the call, and a surge of panic flashes through my system. Quickly composing myself, I answer steadily, “What do you want, Matt?”

“We need to talk.”

“About?”

“Do I really need to say it?” he taunts, and I don’t need a reminder to know that when I passed him in my car the day I shot and killed Pike, he was heading straight to his trailer. Words aren’t needed; we both know what I did.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I can’t,” I tell him as I get back into my car and shut the door.

“You have something better to do?”

“As if my doings are any of your business, but yes. I’m leaving town, so if you’d like to talk, it would need to be done today,” I bite in irritation. Matt has always been a source of friction for me. I’ve put up with him because of his friendship with Pike, but he’s always given me the creeps. Still, there’s a part of me that’s grateful for him, because it was him that gave me one of the greatest gifts, and he gave it from a pure heart.

Probably his only moment of selflessness.

Matt was the one that gave me my first taste of revenge when he set the stage for me to murder my foster parents. My payback for the years of abuse. So as much as I despise Matt, a part of me is thankful for him.

“Thirty minutes? Tribune Tower?” he suggests.

“Fine.”

Hanging up, I toss the phone over to the passenger seat. Hearing his voice makes me even more anxious to leave this town. To run far away from this place and from everything I know.

I start heading back towards Michigan Avenue, and once I’ve parked the car, I walk over towards the Tribune Tower. The streets and sidewalks are flooded with businessmen and tourists. Making my way through the crowds, I cross the street and wait for Matt.

My attention is on a street performer who’s playing an old Otis Rush number I recognize on the saxophone. As people walk past him, dropping dollar bills and coins into his open sax case on the ground, I get lost in the smooth melody. I watch the man, and wonder about him. He’s old and grey, dressed in tatters of worn clothes. His dark skin is aged with deep wrinkles, and even though his knuckles are worn and ashy, they move with grace along the keys. By looks alone, you’d think he was lonely and sad, but the sway of his head as he plays is a sure sign of happiness. But how does one, who appears to have nothing, find joy? I want to ask him how, but I stumble on my feet when I’m knocked off balance, only to find that I’m now in Matt’s arms. He grabs me from behind and turns me around to face him. With a hand on my back and the other holding my hand, he moves me in a slow dance to the music.

His sly grin rakes at me, knowing the pleasure he’s taking in having me this close to him. If it weren’t for the mass of people around us, I’d push him off of me. The last thing I need is to cause a scene, so I allow him to lead me to his liking while keeping my eyes downcast.

“Don’t look so miserable, Elizabeth. People are watching us.”

Biting down, I muster up a weak smile and raise my head to meet his eyes. They’re dilated dope black, but that’s nothing new. It amazes me that this druggie I’ve known since I was a freshman in high school hasn’t wound up overdosing.

Pulling me in closer, he rests his cheek against the side of my head, whispering in my ear, “You miss him?”

Yes.

I don’t answer as I focus to keep my composure in front of him, but inside I can feel my wounds ripping deeper.

His hand wraps further around me, tugging me in close while we continue to dance on the bustling sidewalk in front of the Tribune Tower.

“If you’re worried, don’t be,” he continues softly. “I took care of it.”

When I pull my head back to look at him, confused by what he means, he adds, “I made it look like a deal gone bad. Cops questioned me, and I confirmed their suspicions.”

“Why?” I ask, wondering why he would want to protect me.

“To ensure your loyalty.”

A fury of heat ignites my neck with the realization that this punk sleaze was able to undermine and trap me to him.

“What do you want?”

“I’m not ready to collect on my investment right now,” he responds with a grin I want to knock off his face.

“You’re a sick f*ck,” I sling at him. “Using Pike for nothing more than a transaction.”