Finally, I feel her hand loosen and then fall away from my arm.
“I’ll help you,” she says gently. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do, but you have to set that girl free. We’ll put her in a safe-house to protect her until Seraphina is caught—”
“No.”
Silence fills the car.
Consumed by regret and guilt and a plethora of other negative emotions slowly eating away at me, all I can say is, “I’m sorry for what you went through when you were with Javier Ruiz. And I’m sorry that I dragged you into this—I don’t even know why I did—but I’m not letting Cassia go. I need her to find Seraphina. She’s the only way I’m ever going to find Seraphina.”
After a moment, Izabel says somberly, “Then you’re not who I thought you were.” I hear the door click open and a rush of cold air escapes into the car.
“Where are you going?” I ask carefully without moving a muscle.
She swings the door open all the way and gets out of the car. Leaning over and inside with one hand propped on the edge of the door she glares in at me, her eyes full of anger and disappointment and pain.
“If you won’t let that girl go,” she says through her teeth, “I will.”
She slams the door shut, cutting off the frigid air filtering through the car.
“Izabel, wait!” I’m out of the car in seconds and walking around the front and toward her on the other side. “You can’t do that. You have to trust me on this!”
She stops at her door without opening it, crossing her arms tight against her chest as the wind pushes against her long white coat.
Disgusted with me, she shakes her head indignantly.
“I was wrong,” she says. “You don’t love that girl at all. You’re still in love with that crazy bitch. And you’re so in love with her that you’re willing to ruin an innocent girl’s life just to find her. As if what Seraphina did to her already isn’t bad enough! I can’t believe you’d do this, Fredrik!” Her voice cracks.
A small family approaches from the parking lot heading toward the conservatory. Hearing Izabel’s shouts, the father takes his little girl’s hand and pulls her closer between him and his wife. They watch us over their shoulders as they hurry up the walkway.
Izabel and I both wait until they slip inside the building before saying anything more, glaring into each other’s eyes, hers filled with more anger and disappointment towards me than I ever wanted to see.
“I can’t let her go,” I say calmly, one more time.
She turns on her heels and jerks her car door open, intent on leaving me standing here.
“Izabel!” My voice rips through the air.
She stops, standing wedged between the door and the frame, her face consumed by rage, her body rigid and conflicted by its need to get away.
I sigh heavily, and look down at my shoes, letting regret and pain crush me from the inside out.
And then finally I realize why I brought Izabel here, why I need her so badly.
“I can’t let her go…I can’t because Cassia is Seraphina….”
She stares at me blankly, yet behind her eyes is a lake of shock and confusion and denial and she’s drowning in it.
She steps away from the door, but leaves it open, and very slowly walks toward me. I study her quietly as she approaches, trying to decipher the seemingly impenetrable veil of perplexity that consumes her, and all I can make out from it is pain. Though I can’t tell who she’s hurting for: Cassia, Seraphina, me or herself.
The corners of her eyes begin to glisten with moisture. She steps onto the sidewalk and reaches out carefully to touch the side of my face, and the moment she does, that unnamed pain she harbors transfers from her and right into me. Her throat moves as she swallows her tears down. I realize in this moment that I do the same thing.
“Oh, Fredrik,” she says softly, shaking her head.
But it’s all she can say and she drops her cold hand from my face and rests her arm down at her side.
I choke back my own tears because they’re fucking ridiculous and they don’t belong in my eyes. I don’t have that right. I don’t want that right. Then I slide my hands into my coat pockets and straighten my face to look only like Fredrik Gustavsson, the Specialist, the Jackal—anything but the wounded man with the wounded heart who lost his right to weep or to care or to love, a very long time ago.
“I need your help, Izabel.”
She nods several times.
“Tell me everything,” she says.
Chapter Nineteen
Fredrik
Getting out of the cold and the small space inside the car—Izabel said she needed more room to breathe after what I just told her—we found a quiet place to sit together inside the Desert House of the conservatory. The bench is tucked away between rocks and yucca plants and cacti. It’s very warm in here, a stark difference from the frigid temperature outside. Izabel and I removed our coats and draped them over our laps before we sat down. And I pulled my black beanie off and shoved it inside my coat pocket with my keys.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” I ask her about those sad green eyes filled with heartbreak and pity.
I won’t accept pity. Surely she knows that.
“I just…well, I just know how much you loved Seraphina,” she says with soft, pain-filled words. “I mean, I never knew the whole story, but I knew—I know—enough to know that this can’t be easy for you. I-I just can’t imagine—how is this even possible?”
I look down at my hands.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I say with defeat. “I didn’t know the extent of any of this until last night.” I look over at Izabel to my left. “She finally remembered her past, or what she believes is her past. Izabel, I had no idea—I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m as confused about all of this as much as you are.” My gaze falls to my hands again, draped between my opened legs, my elbows propped on the tops of my thighs. I fondle my thick, dark textured ring under my fingertips uneasily, briefly remembering the engraving I had placed on the inside that reads: The Jackal. To always remind me what the darkness inside of me was born from. In case I ever want to forget.
“What do you mean that she remembered?”
Hesitating, I look out at the desert flora, searching for signs of visitors who might be on their way inside to tour the room.
“Cassia—Seraphina—has had amnesia since I took her from the shelter after the fire…
One Year Ago –New York City
I had been tracking Seraphina for two weeks after seeing her on a news broadcast in Times Square, walking behind the reporter in a small crowd. I knocked a steaming hot cup of coffee onto my laptop when I saw her face flash across the screen. Six years I had been searching for her. Six years—since the night she killed the last of three innocent women because of me—I thought—, injected me with drugs, set my house on fire and dragged my body into the large field behind it so that I wouldn’t burn to death. I never saw her again after that night until a year ago. I thought she was long gone by then. Dead, even. Because it wasn’t like Seraphina to simply vanish. She liked the game. She lived for it. I expected her to leave me a trail of bodies—all women with blonde hair—to hunt her down. So, when I saw her that night after all that time, something dark and predatory triggered inside of me. Anticipation. Vengeance. Lust. Love…
I left Baltimore that day and went to New York City.