— Translations in corresponding Trivia. —
Marielle ran into Vincent’s arms, and he clutched her against him with a heavy, relieved sigh. He’d already retracted Tour De Force and had been searching for her ever since he had made certain that Cory and Hazal were gone. He rocked her for a moment.
“I saw him,” she whimpered.
“Hazal?”
“Cory.”
He pulled her face back, hands on her temples, and looked into her eyes. “Oh, Masin,” he breathed, and he brought her again to his chest, where she could hear the steady rhythm of his heart. “Masin,” he repeated with compassion.
Her heart was still pounding. “Hazal attacked me,” she barely got out.
“He attacked all of us, but he’s gone now,” Vincent assured her. Marielle noted a distant look in his eyes. “He’s dying.” She shook. “Oh, Marielle, what did he do to you?”
She couldn’t tell him. Instinctively, she checked her tank top again. No cuts, no slits, no holes. She put her face into trembling fingers. None of it had been real.
“Come here,” he murmured, even though she was already in his arms, and at this, he bent and picked her up, cradling her against his chest as he walked toward the elevator. She was so, so small against him. Afraid to move, Marielle went stiff, clinging to him like a small child all the way back up to their rooms.
Once they got there, they discovered Sasha waiting for them in the hall. He stood straight and took Marielle’s hand, which she gave to him from around Vincent’s neck.
“Thank you,” he whispered. She nodded in understanding. “I’m going to post myself here for the night. I’ll be ready if something else happens. I already spoke with Sabine and John. Since Hazal works in the mind, the alarms were not tripped. No one except us had any idea he was here.”
“His focus was so intent on us that he might not have even known they were here,” Vincent explained. “You did well.”
Sasha squared his shoulders and leaned back on his wrists against the wall near the door.
Vincent whisked Marielle inside his room and locked the door. He slowly guided her to the bed and laid her down, where she went still, clutching her hands to her chest. She stared at the ceiling, frozen, although she was still shaking. A tear trickled from her left eye.
Vincent sighed and got to his knees at the end of the bed, where he lifted her left foot and removed her shoe, then did the same with the other foot. Slowly and tenderly, he massaged her feet, giving her something else to focus on for a moment.
She registered his care and swallowed hard, turning to the balcony beyond the desk. Not ten minutes ago she had been out there, trying to escape her attacker. In her mind’s eye, she was still huddled outside, black dust trickling off her body. Had she returned to reality? Or was this still part of Hazal’s trickery?
“Masin, please don’t go inside of yourself,” Vincent murmured.
“Is this real?”
He pulled back a little, a pained expression on his face. “Oui, Masin.” Then he paused. “The first thing I said to you a few weeks ago was, ‘That would be embarrassing, yes.’ And then you said, ‘Well, only if you don’t talk to me.’ And we both laughed.”
She drew a ragged breath, another tear rolling down her temple. Hazal wouldn’t know that because it wasn’t one of her fears. This was real. Still, even though she knew that Cory had taken Hazal away, down whatever dark alley had allowed them to go home… everything in her body told her she was still in danger.
Vincent leaned back, studying her. She looked like a corpse at a viewing. After a moment, he went to the chair and sat down, partially blocking her view of the balcony. “I shouldn’t have come here. You’re in so much danger.” He paused, rubbing his hand over his face. “Mon Dieu, what was I thinking?” he breathed, and he put his face in his hands.
“What were you thinking?” she whispered, staring.
He lifted his face to her again. “I…”
Vincent stopped himself to draw in a deep pull of air, then closed his eyes and let it back out. Then he gazed at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It was hard to believe that not more than thirty minutes ago she had been lying on that same bed, crying in desperation for him… for his body, for their oneness. How he wished he could go back to that time, not just because he wanted to go to bed with her, but because she had been happy and vulnerable in a different way, full of life, passion, joy, and sexual need. Now, she was crumbling.
“I will sit here all night. I will watch you. I will guard you. Nothing will get you,” he whispered, slipping off the chair onto his knees and leaning close. “I’ll die first, Masin.” He lifted a shaking hand and combed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her left ear and running his fingertips over it again and again. “I can’t bear to lose you right now,” he said raggedly. “I’ll die first.”
She swallowed, and for the first time since he’d brought her into the room, she closed her eyes and let her hands drop to her side. He paused for a moment, simply staring at her, taking in her beauty. Then he gestured with his eyes to the bed.
“Viens, rentre dans le lit,” he whispered. She scooted up toward the headboard before tucking her feet under the sheet. She removed her shorts again and tossed them aside; it was too hot for both, even at this hour.
“Mets toi à l’aise,” he added, another whisper. She pulled the pillow down to the perfect spot and snugged the other one against her body as she turned toward the wall, away from the balcony… away from Hazal’s burning red eye that remained in her mind.
Vincent had been right: once Hazal got into your head a certain way, he stayed there. Would that change when he died? Would she ever feel like she could close her eyes again without seeing that red eye? She curled around the pillow as she remembered that even when the Hazal from Vincent’s world died, the Hazal of this world would still remain. There might never be an escape.
Vincent took his shoes off and got onto the bed with her, blocking her view of the balcony with his body. He leaned against the headboard, folded his hands on his chest, and crossed his ankles. She knew he planned to stay that way all night.
Eventually, Marielle fell into a fitful sleep.
***
In her dreams, she saw black smoke, glitter… red, veiny lines blurring her vision… the eye. It was always there, always glaring at her, mocking her and her fear. Vincent’s sprawled body, gaping and lifeless, stared at the stairwell ceiling in one last, silent scream. His mouth seemed to move, seemed to whisper, “Run…”
She obeyed, darting into darkness, up flights of endless stairs. Her thighs and ankles burned, and her legs didn’t seem to want to cooperate. She rounded the top of a flight of steps, then dashed up the next one. There seemed to be no doors to let her out of this maze to safety. Something was on her tail… Austin? No… There were large, red eyes on the walls—no, cameras.
“I know exactly where you are…” Amir’s familiar voice whispered in the darkness.
Marielle tossed and clutched her pillow against her body, holding tightly to it like a life raft in the open ocean. But while the nightmare unfurled and blossomed in her mind, Vincent was there. He leaned over to her each time she began to gasp and heave, breathing over her and whispering in her ear. She didn’t know what he said, but his words calmed her each time.
She was also aware, at least in her dream state, that he never once touched her. His hands never brushed her mostly bare shoulders; they never slid beneath the blankets to slip between her legs. His fingers never reached for her breasts or molested her in any way. The most he did was brush her hair back a few times from her sweating, fear-stricken face.
“Not yet,” he whispered… and this was the only thing she heard clearly in her waking and tossing. She had the vaguest memory of opening her eyes and looking up at him at that point. He gave her a soft smile. “Not yet,” he said again. Who was he saying it to? Had she asked him to make love to her, and she didn’t remember because she was half awake?
She groaned and turned on her side, huddling into herself like a baby, swaddled and wanting to feel the warmth of the womb again. She might have cried out for her mother in those fretful early hours. She wasn’t sure.
The only other thing she heard from Vincent was “Shhhh,” and then, “Tu es en sécurité Marielle. Tu ne seras plus jamais en danger.”
Somewhere in the wee hours, amid the endless flights of stairs and cameras, with Amir’s face in every twist and turn in her mind, she stopped tossing and finally found peace.
Nothing else eventful happened that night. Hazal was gone, and Cory never returned… although Cory had never been in the building to begin with. Vincent knew that. He knew Cory’s tricks well.
Marielle stirred in the morning to the thick aroma of coffee, and once again awoke to find a small breakfast waiting for her. Vincent lay across the bed with a tray loaded with scrambled eggs and toast. There was coffee on the side. She looked at him gratefully, but then turned to the balcony again, expecting to see a glowing red eye even though the day had broken and the room was tinted a faint orange.
She sat up and glanced down, burdened by everything that had taken place in the past few days. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she said. “That’s why I’m not an agent, right?” Vincent took a deep breath and looked away sadly, refusing to meet her gaze. “I’m too emotional, not sturdy enough… I can’t deal with these things.”
Before he could offer an answer, she tossed the sheet aside and rushed to the bathroom. She hid her tears in the shower, knowing that for whatever reason, these things were far easier to talk to Austin about than Vincent. She hated that, but it was the truth. She’d probably end up seeing him today, whether she liked it or not… and after the events at his house last night, the likelihood was that she wouldn’t like it.
But at the same time, part of her would. She had to continually remind herself of that. Yes, she’d rejected him, and yes, she’d keep doing it. But she just kept returning for more. Vincent couldn’t have been more on the money last night when he’d said, “You love Austin with an unconditional love. But that’s just you, Masin. You’ve always been a very accepting and forgiving person. Austin is just… someone you can’t let go.” He was right. She wasn’t sure she would ever be able to let Austin go. Why? What did it matter?
I like them both, she admitted to herself. Austin had been right about that, too. I can’t be with Austin, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting him. She felt lost. What a mess. Austin was honest with her about everything, and made her laugh and want to play. Vincent was so calm and controlled, and his mysterious side made her hot and want to be closer to him… but he was a liar. She didn’t know everything he was lying about, but something about all of this wasn’t right, even though that didn’t stop her from wanting him either.
I’ve never been this girl, she thought. This girl who wants two men and acts like a silly teenager. What’s wrong with me? Why am I so attracted to what I know is wrong for me?
Marielle wiped more tears away in the shower, drowning herself in the heat of the pounding water. She wondered for a moment what Vincent was doing. Was he pacing? Simply waiting for her?
She shampooed her hair and got out, then dried off and got dressed again. Spending too many nights here at Valorant was making things strange and uneasy.
When Marielle came out of the bathroom, she gave Vincent a look that said she was too fragile to sit still with him. He nodded once at her from the bed, where he’d apparently been sitting the entire time. She noticed that he’d picked at the meal he’d made, but hadn’t eaten much of it. Coffee sounded like it would burn a hole in her stomach right now, so she went down to the kitchen for some milk.
When Austin walked in a minute later, both paused and stared at one another. He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged, glancing down in shame. Something was different about him; it only took her about five seconds of glancing him over to see it. She snarled and took a large sip from the pint-sized milk carton in her hand before she passed him on the left.
“Nice earring,” she growled, not looking up at him again.
He had a single silver hoop in his left ear, which made her mad. She loved men in jewelry, and he probably knew that. Vincent had studs in both ears… Was this another attempt at seduction? Or more of his spiral into his weird sexuality?
He exhaled slowly before saying, “I heard a lot happened last night.” His deep voice was quiet and caring.
Marielle paused, feeling her heartbeat speed up as memories of Hazal tormenting her with Austin’s face and body rose to the surface. She closed her eyes for a moment, seeing him shoot Vincent in the head, the spray of blood and gray matter all over the stairs. “That’s putting it lightly.”
“Hazal attacked you.” She was silent. “I’m guessing it had a lot to do with me. Your worst fears, I mean.” He crossed his arms, his gray suit coat for the day now dangling over one of them. “Do you need to talk about it?” His eyes were steady on her.
She finally looked at him again. “It…” She couldn’t find the words, and found herself looking away from him again.
“Marielle… Do you know that I would never hurt you?” he asked gently, leaning back against the doorframe. She swallowed hard, and he looked like he was noting her suspicious body language. “I would never attack you, or force you, or try to overpower you.”
She felt her skin crawl, tears in her eyes again. “What was with the door last night?” she managed.
Austin exhaled, looking up toward the ceiling. “I wasn’t going to do anything. I just wanted you to think about it for a second before you ran out. I promised I wouldn’t do anything and I didn’t. I didn’t touch you.”
He was right: he hadn’t. And she knew that he wasn’t lying; nothing in his eyes, body language, or tone suggested that he had wanted to hurt her or force her. There was silence for a brief moment, then he finally looked at her again.
“Did I kill Vincent?” She jerked her gaze to him, eyes wide. That was enough to answer his unexpected question. “I did, okay.” He sighed, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. “I don’t need the rest; I can fill in the blanks.” He looked up, wincing. His chest hurt. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.
He put a hand to his heart and rubbed his chest. This wasn’t indigestion; this was a physical manifestation of pain from within his spirit. He wanted to hold her against him… draw her into him and feel her inside, her heart against his. He wanted to tuck her into his body, to show her… to show her that he could never hurt her… The steady rhythm of his heartbeat would prove that. When would he get that again? Oh gosh, how he was desperate for it.
Just come into me, Marielle. Let me hold you. I can show you how I’m good. I’ll be so good for you.
She started to move past him again, but paused just inches from his strong gaze. “You’re my best friend… I can’t hate you,” she whispered, her eyes glistening as she looked up at him. “We’ll talk later.”
Then she walked away, leaving him with an ache that had no balm.
***
Marielle went to her office and sat in the big chair at her desk, sipping her milk and praying that somehow it would make the acid in her stomach stop churning. Did she keep any Pepto-Bismol or Maalox here? She glanced around the room, knowing it wouldn’t be in here but in one of the rooms designated for someone sick or… dead.
She stared out at the courtyard where they’d been attacked what seemed like a lifetime ago. She could see part of the unused pool peeking out from behind the corner of the wall, a clear, picture-perfect sky above it. Turning away with a sigh, she reached for the telephone on her desk.
Marielle dialed and rattled off a string of numbers from a paper that had been sitting on her desk to the operator who connected her call. She held her breath as the line briefly went silent.
“Marielle,” a familiar, compassionate voice said on the other end.
She let the breath out and found tears rolling down her cheeks. “I killed you,” she croaked brokenly.
“I know,” Amir said, his tone filled with sympathy. “Liam called me yesterday and explained the entire crazy situation. I can’t imagine what you’re all going through.” He sighed. “Alas, I am stuck here in Morocco until further notice—at least three or four more weeks. I will come back to Valorant, though.”
“I had to hear your voice,” she explained.
He hummed into the receiver. “I am alive and well. You did what you had to do.”
She paused, drumming her lip. “Amir?” The line was silent; he was obviously waiting on her. Maybe he anticipated what she was going to say. “I know what you look like.”
“Mmm…” A thoughtful sound. “Then you are one of few.” He paused. “Will you keep my secrets, Marielle? You know that I keep yours.”
She smiled softly. She had no idea what he knew, but she was certain it was a lot. Then another thought occurred to her. “Amir, do you know anything about a man named Vincent Fabron?”
“Chamber?” Her eyes widened a little. Had he heard that name from Liam, or did he know who she was referring to? “I know Chamber, my friend.” There was another short pause. “I will not share his particular secrets. It is better, I think, if we remain friends.”
“Chamber is a friend?” she asked.
“He is, in a way.” Another pause. “Do you know him, Marielle?”
“He’s a recent acquaintance. But I know the Vincent from the other dimension, too.”
“How interesting,” Cypher said, and he sounded like he was stroking his chin. Marielle could see his face in her mind. She could see his hazel eyes when they played chess and the tight curls that crowned his head. She could see him smile.
“Anyway,” she said, flicking her hand dismissively in the air, “I just needed to hear your voice. It helps.”
“I’m so glad, Marielle. I do miss all of you. I’ll be there when I can. Please take care, and call whenever you wish.”
A short goodbye, then a click… and Marielle breathed a sigh of relief for the first time in several days.
She turned and eyed the pool again. It was hot, and no one was using it. She was going for a swim.
***
Marielle waded into the pool wearing a one-piece Valorant swimsuit with a V on the front. The icy water stung her body and pricked her skin in a way that felt delicious in the heat. After letting her body adjust to the temperature, she lay back and floated, staring at the clear blue sky. She turned her head as she lightly splashed and looked around this part of the courtyard. Tables and chairs atop square flagstones surrounded the pool with patches of grass and bushes in between.
Austin would be showing up any minute now—she knew he would. He could see the pool from his office, and he wouldn’t be able to let it go. The idea that he’d hurt her somehow had been written all over his face when she had walked away from him earlier, and he definitely wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to talk to her while she was cold and in a swimsuit. Not that she had planned it that way—she’d just wanted a moment to cool off and be alone, even though she knew that being alone would last all of five minutes.
No sooner had she finished these thoughts than Austin strolled up, jacket slung over the crook of his elbow, hands in his pockets. He wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at the ground. He sat on a chair and leaned over his knees as he took in a deep breath, his hands clasped together as though he was going to pray.
She dipped under the water, swam down to the bottom of the pool, and sat on the concrete floor, letting the silence and the cold water surrounding her bring her a form of peace that might be broken once she surfaced again. She wasn’t entirely sure what he had to say, but she could see him watching her now. He looked blurry, standing at the edge of the pool gazing in at her. Maybe he was afraid that she’d been down there for too long and might drown. Or hell, it was Austin—maybe he just wanted to ogle her in the least amount of clothing he’d ever seen her in. But whatever the reason, he was there, looking down, pleading for her to come back up.
For a moment, she could see a clear image of him, and he could see her… and something hurt again. It was the word “never.” It floated in the water all around her. Never… like a ghost flittering past, or a shadow glimpsed out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t know what it meant. Sure, it meant Austin… but why? Never.
Marielle’s lungs pinched, so she launched herself from the bottom of the pool with the force of her legs. She broke through the water, pushing her hair back from her face and taking in a deep breath.
She swam to the side of the pool so she could gaze up at him: his legs, his long-sleeved button-up shirt and wristwatch that covered… whatever he was hiding on his right arm. It was possibly the first time she had noted that Austin wore the watch on his right wrist, even though he wasn’t left-handed. People rarely put their watches on their dominant hands, so he was hiding something for sure.
Then she looked up into his face and eyes. The sun played across the water and danced on his fair, closely shaven face. For a moment, they simply stared at one another as she shivered, her bottom lip quivering in a way that made him want to bend down right there and kiss her, damn Vincent or anyone else who saw. She looked vulnerable, and the look in her eyes said yes in an innocent, girlish way he found nearly irresistible.
Austin let out a ragged breath and looked off, toward the building. Why had he come out here again?
He sat on the ground, removing his expensive black Florsheims and socks, then set them aside and rested the jacket atop them. Then he proceeded to roll up the cuff of his pants and slid his feet into the pool with a hiss between his teeth. “Damn, that’s cold,” he said under his breath.
There was a long silence. Marielle floated on her back and stroked her way to the other side slowly, then whirled, kicked off, and came back toward him. In a way, neither of them had to speak, since the events of the night before danced around both their heads.
“What am I thinking right now?”
“We just had dinner… Now you’re contemplating dessert.”
“You like being in one another’s heads, admit it.”
“Okay, yes.”
But for her, there was so much more from Hazal’s attack as well. She had experienced a moment of relief upon seeing Austin, but then he had killed Vincent… and then there had been the assault. While it was true that the most Austin—Nightmare—Hazal had done was finger her throat a bit and press into her with his body… well, his astral body…
Confused by that thought, she started over. While it was true that Hazal had only pressed into her with his astral body and grabbed her throat, and maybe nipped her neck and torn her top a little … It felt like she’d been entirely violated.
Even more, the fact that Hazal had imitated Austin had forced her to confront some things she wasn’t ready to confront, and question others. Why was she afraid that Austin was going to kill Vincent with a single shot to the head? Austin could hardly aim.
She reached him and paused for a moment on the wall, meeting his eyes. Yes, Marielle, I’m just going to watch you. I just want to be near you. I don’t feel so alone when I’m near you.
She pushed these thoughts out of her head. They were his thoughts, not hers. She didn’t need him to speak them; she could read them in his eyes, and she pondered them as she went to the other side of the pool and back again, where she paused beside him. Again, they stared at one another, each waiting for the other to speak. Were there really any words right now? She knew them all anyway, and felt a little like Eliza in My Fair Lady, wanting the men in her life to show her their love instead of giving her nothing but meaningless words.
He wanted to show her, was desperate to show her, but knew it was impossible. If there was anything he knew, it was this… He knew who he was, and it was a cesspool of disaster.
-Love me anyway? his eyes pleaded.
–I do, hers replied as she put her forehead against the side of pool. -But the word is still “never.”
He closed his eyes and hung his head a little, finally breaking the silence. “I know every time you lied to me last night. I don’t know all of the truths, but I know the lies.” She only listened, taking in a deep breath and letting it back out. “‘Fuselage’ is not your favorite word. You almost don’t even like pizza, and you obviously don’t read books about homosexual hippos.” He scoffed. “Your favorite smell is not cinnamon, and I might be pushing this one, but if I had to guess? It’s me, Marielle.” She closed her eyes, feeling naked, exposed. “You breathe me in like you’re coming up for air every time we’re close.” A pause. “And you hate Lance Barring.”
She looked up at him, her gaze conflicted.
“Oh, yeah… and…” He leaned down a little, whispering, “Tu veux que je te parle en français.” She shuddered—a good shudder, the kind that makes you hungry. “E Italiano,” he whispered even more softly. “And you wanted me to cool you down, you were just afraid of what would happen if I did.” She glared up at him, the vulnerable look in her green eyes now pleading for him to stop. He nodded. “Glad we talked.”
He went silent again for a moment. “I’ll make a deal with you. We both know where you’re at in your heart and in your head. You’re confused, and you know it.” She pressed her forehead to the wall again, trying to escape his reading of her. She was confused. “So”—he paused for a second—”if you’re thinking about me… if you want me…” Another pause as he bit his bottom lip a little. “Wear red. Anywhere. Earrings…” She couldn’t help but meet his gaze again. “Your mouth…” He looked at her lips when he said this, obviously envisioning her lips in blood-red. “It doesn’t matter. Just tell me. And if you can’t say it, then do that. No need to use words. I’ll know. I won’t respond with urgency, or press you up against a wall or something. I won’t insist on acting on it. I’ll just know, and that’ll be enough for that moment.”
Austin got up and collected his shoes. “If you want me… wear red.” He paused and stared down at her, making her feel even more exposed than ever. “I’m sorry. You’re my best friend, too. I have no idea what last night with Hazal was like, but I wish it hadn’t happened, Marielle. I wish to God it hadn’t happened.”
He walked back to the building and returned to his office.
She was shivering harder now.