CHAPTER SIXTEEN – LOCKE

 

 

RIGHT NOW

 

“Pull over.”

Mercer navigates a turn around a hill before he looks over at me. “What?”

“I said pull over.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“Locke—”

“Pull. Over.” I glare at him.

He narrows his eyes at me. But there is a turnout up ahead. Some scenic view thing. It’s almost too good of a coincidence, but I’m thankful for it. Because Mercer complies and eases the Jeep into the small side road and stops next to a guard rail.

He pulls the parking brake and looks at me. “What’s going on?”

“I just need a minute to think.”

“To think about what?” His tone is… not angry. Inconvenienced.

I don’t answer him because I’m not actually sure. My mind is kind of jumbled at the moment. It’s spinning with memories of Nova.

Suddenly his hand is on my arm and when I look up, his expression is soft. “We should go home.”

I don’t answer him, but my head shakes out a no.

“Locke.”

“Just—” I shake his hand off my arm and put up my own hand, asking for distance. “Just give me a minute.” I get out of the Jeep and he quickly follows me.

“Where are you going?”

I don’t know where I’m going. That’s always been my problem. I’m stuck.

And I realize, maybe for the first time ever, that I want out.

I look him in the eyes and allow myself to try this revelation on for size. A life without Mercer.

I don’t want a life without Mercer. I don’t. I love him.

Maybe Olsen is right, and it’s sick. But it doesn’t matter.

I don’t want out of Mercer, I want out of the life we’ve built.

“It’s not enough.”

“What’s not enough?” He looks genuinely confused.

And this kind of pisses me off. “What we have, Mercer. It’s not enough.”

He shrugs one shoulder, nonchalant. “So leave.”

I’ve tried. He knows I’ve tried. We’ve had this conversation before. He knows I can’t do it. I don’t even know why I can’t do it.

But I can’t stay either. And I think he realizes this.

Maybe, if we hadn’t just left Nova, he would let me go. He would give me whatever it is I need to leave. But we did just leave Nova. And he’s acutely aware that if I walk away here, I will go back to her.

And I’m not sure he can handle that.

It’s too much like a prize.

Not for me, but for Nova.

Because she’s the one he’s really playing this game with.

So he pivots. He walks over to me. Puts that hand back on my arm. Leans in to me.

Kisses me.

And this fucking kiss. This fucking man and his fucking kiss.

We all kiss like him now. We want his kiss so bad, we emulate him.

So I kiss him back.

And inside this kiss, I drift.

It’s not the only way I emulate him. I used Olsen and Nova the same way Mercer uses me.

No, the little voice in my head says. No, you don’t. Because you love them, Michael. And Mercer would toss you aside without hesitation.

I know this.

And it confuses me.

How did it all happen?

How did we get here?

Seven years ago I walked into that little prison room where Olsen was sitting and we struck a deal. He wanted to kill the woman who set him up.

I pushed him on this. I wanted details. No one, in all the years I’d been recruiting prisoners, has ever asked for revenge.

This idea in Travis Olsen’s mind was eating him alive.

“She never loved me.”

The moment those words came out of his mouth, I knew.

“She used me. And I was infatuated with her. Addicted.”

I knew the feeling.

“She has no scruples. No morals. No ethical code. But I cannot get enough of her.”

Same, same, dude.

“And I know she’s caught now, but she left me there to get busted. She killed three people, dude.” He didn’t even know my name when we had this conversation. I was still just ‘dude.’ “And she let me take the fall. I had to beg people to believe me.”

“And did they?”

“No. Why do you think I’m still here? I stole a car, fine. But I didn’t pull that trigger, she did. And I’m here on accomplice to murder charges. My life is over. They’re not gonna electrocute me, but they’re never gonna let me out. I didn’t even know she had a gun.”

It was almost too good to be true.

But after some research, I realized it was true. It didn’t take long, actually. Less than an afternoon. I left Olsen’s cell, found Nova Ryanzski in a prison three hours away, and went to see her.

 

 

SEVEN YEARS AGO

 

The woman behind the glass is nineteen years old but she has a worn-out look to her.

Pretty at one time, I’m sure. But right now, she’s nothing—tangled, greasy blonde hair on top of a too-skinny body and rounded out with a blotchy completion that does nothing for her fresh black eye.

The orange jumpsuit isn’t helping her case any, either.

Travis Olsen fell for this girl?

She looks like a crystal meth fiend.

But then I remember the first part of his story. The part where he’s known her since childhood. People change over the years and sometimes it takes a while for the new reality of that person to catch up with your preconceived ideas of them.

I press Mercer’s contact on my phone. He answers on the first ring. “What’s up?”

“Do you want to see her?”

“Sure.”

I switch the camera on my phone and give Mercer a good look through the two-way observation mirror.

“Oh, shit,” Mercer says. “I don’t know, Locke. She’s a hot fucking mess.”

“Just… picture it for a moment. What’s her new life look like?”

He blows out a breath. “I… you’ve got me. I can’t see one.”

“Come on. It’s so clear.”

“Is it?” He’s in a good mood and these words come out playfully. “Enlighten me.”

“Picture her as…” I actually laugh when the idea comes to me. “Picture her as a scientist.”

Mercer does laugh out loud. “Get real.”

“No. Listen. She’s…” I laugh again. “She’s a fucking brain surgeon.”

Mercer almost giggles. I want to touch him right now. I want to feel his cock in my hand. I want him to kiss me.

But most of all, I just want to make him happy. So I keep going.

“Oh, I got it. She’s not a brain surgeon, she’s a neuroscientist. And we’re recruiting her to help us—”

Mercer guffaws. But then stops.

“What?” I ask.

“You know, you might be on to something.”

“Hell, yeah, I am. She’s a neuroscientist. Just defended her dissertation. You show up outside the room, offer her this lucrative position with the Institute.”

“What the hell is the Institute?”

“A secret society”—he guffaws again—“a secret society doing secret research on the brain. Oh, I’ve got it. We’re developing a…” I look for the right words. “We’re developing a fantasy vacation pill. Oh, fuck. It’s like that movie. That fucking Arnold movie, ’member?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The Mars one.” I snap my fingers in the air. “Total Recall.”

“Huh.” Mercer pauses. “That kinda fits.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“You’re diabolical, Locke. You know that?”

“Well, I have learned from the best.”

He sighs. “I thought you said this Travis Olsen wanted her killed?”

“Isn’t erasing her life the same thing?”

“Jesus, Locke.”

“What? It is, right?”

“I guess. Do you think he’ll go for it?”

“I think I should talk to her first. What kind of promises should I make?”

“What’s this warden like?”

“Corrupt as fuck. Like all the rest. I paid him fifty grand for this visit. He’ll want a million for her fake suicide.”

“Shit. I was thinking… well. Not this. You want to suicide her? This one, really?”

“It’s the perfect setup. She’s got no family. She’s in for life. And judging from her black eye, she doesn’t make friends easily.”

“She’s… kinda gross. If we suicide her, we’re stuck with her. We can’t send her back, Locke.”

“She’s gonna clean up. Watch. I’ve got a good feeling about this one. If we suicide her, we can use her for years. Perfect the whole thing without interruption. Let me do the interview and I’ll call you back.”

“All right. Get back to me and we’ll decide. We can do a million for the warden, but if he haggles, no more than one point five.” He pauses. “Are you coming home tonight?”

“Why, do you miss me?”

“You’re cutting things close, that’s all.”

 

 

I come out of the memory saying these words in my head.

That’s all.

That’s all this ever was, wasn’t it?

Then I have another memory.

This time, it’s Olsen.

It was that same day. Earlier. When I was at his prison.

I understood his betrayal. It made sense. I mean, he got nabbed for murder and that wasn’t his fault.

And I get that criminals throw death threats all the time. I want you dead. I want them dead. I hope they die.

But ninety-nine times out of a hundred, these are throwaway threats.

Travis Olsen was serious.

He wanted her dead and I needed a better reason why.

It couldn’t just be for revenge.

And it wasn’t.

He told me why. And this was the real truth.

“She never loved me. Not like I loved her. She told me. She said the words. But shouldn’t you be able to feel loved without hearing the words?”

Even all these years later, I can’t say I disagree.

Mercer and I break away from our kiss as this thought is floating through my mind.