Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)(122)

“I know.”

“And don’t you come here unless you have that green card in your hands. Swear it.”

“What? No—” I lean back to argue but Benetto places his hand on my shoulder.

“He’s right, Miss Snow,” Benetto says. “If you’ll be evaluated, it’s best to be safe.”

“But who’ll come to see you? I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I will.” Reagan’s voice is thick but confident. “Every day, Javier. Anything you need.” Javier thanks her, his face registering a shadow of embarrassment and surprise. Then he turns to me and takes my hands.

“Don’t let them starve if this doesn’t work out,” he whispers.

“I won’t,” I promise.

He holds my gaze for a long moment then, abruptly, crushes me to his chest. His tight hold hurts my bruises and I jerk reflexively. He notices my reaction and frowns.

“It’s nothing. Just me being stupid.”

He looks like he’s about to say something but Benetto nudges him. Bailey is watching us. I want to ask about Javier’s call with Aiden but I can’t here.

“It’s time, Miss Snow,” Benetto says, then everything happens too fast. Javier’s arms are gone, Bailey steps between us and they all walk away. I follow mindlessly in their wake. At the double doors, they pause once and Javier’s eyes meet mine.

“Love you,” I say, giving my voice the full strength of the words. The love Javier has given me, and I him.

“Always.”

The doors close on him, as his face loses life.

Elisa, remember we change in death…two metal tables, side by side…white sheets…two discolored hands in rigor mortis… Are you sure, Elisa?… No, not anymore. The hands are nothing like them. I walk backward…the doors close in front of me.

Reagan’s arms wrap around me tightly. Somehow, we’re in the parking lot, in her car.

“Who could do this?” she says over and over again. “Could it have been Feign himself? You said he’s being investigated.”

I shake my head, staring at nothing. “What would he stand to gain now in the end?”

“I don’t know—maybe he panicked. Who else would do this?”

I try to consider her theory but my brain starts connecting dots I don’t want connected. Painting supplies still at Aiden’s home, Aiden’s demand that I turn Javier in, his promise to destroy anything that might hurt me, the tipster knowing Javier’s location and schedule, no links to the DOJ. I hate the suspicions my mind is forming so I dial from Reagan’s phone to dispel them.

Aiden’s phone rings for a long time, compared to the one ring it usually holds for me. As I am about to hang up and call again, he answers.

“Elisa.” His voice is quiet.

“I know you know he was caught and we’ll deal with that later. Right now I need to hear you had nothing to do with it.”

He doesn’t answer. I listen for sound but there is nothing. Empty as I am, I feel like a pipeline. Free for the flowing of any sewage-like emotion. First, fear.

He’s still silent.

“Did you turn him in?” My voice drops to terrified whisper.

“Yes.” His voice is low but even.

“No! No, you’re lying. Tell me you’re lying.”

He doesn’t speak.

“I don’t believe you.” With no reason, I cling to instinct. But as I say the words, I remember his hideous threat to Javier if something were ever to endanger me.

“You wouldn’t do this. You would never hurt me this way.” Every cell—and there aren’t many left—rejects the idea.

“I’ve already done it.” His voice is resigned. The asphalt of the parking lot morphs into black cloth. Black mourning dress, black lace, then darkness.

I fight, reason and plead with him but his answer never changes. Pain comparable only to a fatal accident fills the emptiness. I wait for thought to find me. It forms in scraps.

“Why did you do it? Did you want me to leave you so badly that it didn’t matter how many paid for it? Is this some sick way of saving me from yourself? Of making my dreams come true at the expense of others?”

“Does it matter why?”

The pain becomes bewildering, throbbing until I fade. Because he is right. Knowing why wouldn’t help if, in the end, he still did it. The price was too high.

“I guess not. Nothing justifies this. Not even love.”

“Maybe not. But now you don’t have to go to jail to save him. And his fate is not in your hands. You can finally live your American dream.” His even tone fills my ears long after the line goes dead.

Roses…two white caskets…hundreds of people…look at her, she’s not blinking…poor child…a tombstone engraved, Amor Vincit Omnia…love conquers all.

The best lie ever told.

Time passes in the courthouse parking lot. How do I fix this? How do I make it right? A faint echo stirs inside. A muddled image of myself putting one foot in front of another to leave the grave site, hours after the funeral. Keep going, I remember hearing but I don’t know who spoke. I was all alone. Keep going, that same voice echoes now. It does not sound like life. Just a ghostly whisper to remind me of other lives left after Javier and me.