CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Marcus and Lisa turn white, and I laugh with relief. “I told you they were coming.”

Marcus swears and looks wildly around, as though for a place to hide. Lisa looks at me and bares her teeth. “You bitch.”

I smile sweetly. “Right back at you.”

The door bursts open, and I hear Detective Reyes exclaim when she sees Evelyn. Marcus gives Lisa a terrified look, but the harpy only has eyes for me. She shrieks and rushes me. I parry the knife blow, but her momentum carries me to the window. I stop myself just before she pushes me through, and we struggle, straining for purchase against the glass.

She is a few years older than me, but she's taller and heavier. I struggle with all my might, but because I need to worry about the knife, I can't get the right leverage to keep myself steady. I feel the glass from the window cutting into my back, and fear lances through me. Another instant, and I'll fall.

I meet Lisa’s eyes and see a wicked grin of triumph. A memory flashes across my mind.

You were smiling. Just like this.

I’m not sure what comes over me then. I only know that the world around me seems to fade. I release a cry not of fear but of rage and rake my fingernails across Lisa’s face. She flinches and claps a hand to her cheek, horrified.

This momentary distraction allows me to grab the knife and knock it from her hand. I grab her by the hair with both hands and twist cruelly. She shrieks, and with another vicious twist, I have her halfway out of the window.

She looks up at me, her eyes wide with terror. “No! No, please! Don’t hurt me!”

Blood trickles down her cheeks where my nails scored her skin. I tighten my grip in her hair and hiss, “You took that girl’s father from her. You deserve worse than what I’m about to give you.”

“Shit!”

Marcus’s cry snaps me out of my fugue. I blink and turn around to see police rushing into the room. Marcus lifts his hands and says, “I’m unarmed!” right before Reyes hurls him to the ground with less effort than a child might use to toss a pillow.

More officers rush into the room, and after them comes Sean. He sees me, and relief floods his eyes. “Oh God! Thank God, Mary.”

Tears come to my eyes. I pull Lisa away from the window and push her to the ground. She remains there, weeping, and two officers come to arrest her. I go to Sean and collapse into his arms, sobbing.

“It’s all right,” he says, holding me close. “It’s over now.”

“Sean,” I weep. “I… I…”

“Shh. It’s all right. I’m here.”

I bury my head in his chest and allow him to hold me while I cry, relief and shame filling me in equal measure. I don’t recognize the woman I was a moment ago. Lisa may have deserved it, but to know that I’m capable of that kind of violence terrifies me.

You were smiling. Just like this.

I remember now. I remember the fight I had with Annie the night before she left. For thirty years, I remembered a sanitized version of that night where we had our short talk in front of the ocean and then I left for home alone. I’d blocked the fight from my mind.

Now I remember. Now I know exactly how much darkness rests in me.

“It’s my fault,” I whisper. “It’s all my fault.”

“Enough of that,” Sean says roughly. “None of this is your fault.”

I don’t respond. He doesn’t know what I’m talking about, and I don’t want to tell him. Let him think that I’m the good, noble woman he believes I am. At least for a while longer.

***

I sip my coffee and stifle the grimace that comes to my lips. Sean always makes his coffee too strong.

He sits next to me, his arm over my shoulders. We watch soberly as the paramedics lift the gurney that holds Evelyn Torres and carry it from the house. I shiver when they leave, and Sean squeezes my shoulder. She’s alive, but only just. One of the EMTs shares with me before he leaves that if she survives, she will face a long and hard road to what will likely never be a full recovery.

Reyes walks inside a moment later. She looks ten years older. She says something to the other officer in the building, and he nods and leaves.

She turns to us, but she doesn’t meet our eyes. “Miss Reinhardt and Mr. Fairfax will be seen this morning. I am absolutely certain they will be held without bond, so you don’t need to worry about them posting bail and coming after you.”

I nod, then ask the question I’m sure she’s dreading. “What took you so long?”

She presses her lips together and looks down. “The story Mr. O’Connell related to me seemed unbelievable. I sent units to Lisa’s apartment first when he told me you were there. I was… coming to arrest you. When I realized you had already fled the… had left the apartment, we came here.”

I don’t have the energy to be angry at her right now, but there’s accusation in my voice when I say, “Evelyn Torres nearly died because of that assumption.”

“Yes,” she says, her voice hollow. “When I am finished with my duties as it pertains to this investigation, I will tender my resignation. I know it’s worthless right now, but… I’m sorry.”

I don’t reply. She’s right. Her apology is worthless. After a moment, she clears her throat. “My preliminary conversation with Mr. Fairfax indicates that he hasn’t received proof of Mr. Holloway’s death. For the time being, we’re still treating it as a missing persons case. I’ve assigned detectives to follow up on the contact information Marcus provided me for the hitman. As for Celeste, we still have an APB out on her. She’s only been missing for twenty hours, so we’re confident that she hasn’t gone far. She might even come home soon.”

“You can’t know that,” Sean replied, a trace of contempt in his voice. “She could have hitchhiked to Tijuana by now. Or she could have jumped off a cliff in despair. You guys have mishandled this thing every step of the way. I’ve seen a number of clusterfucks in my day, but you’ve found new and inventive ways to fuck this cluster more royally than I’ve ever seen.”

My eyes widen as I remember the scrap of paper from the studio. “She’s alive.”

They both turn to look at me. “You know this for sure?” Reyes asks.

“No,” I admit, “but I think I know where to look for her.”

“Where?”

I get up and rush up the stairs to the studio again. My battered body screams at me for rest, but I ignore it once more. Soon, but not yet. Not until we find Celeste.

They follow me up the stairs. I look around the floor for the note, retracing my steps from the earlier fight.

“What is it, Mary?” Reyes asks. “What are you looking for?”

“A note,” I reply. “From Celeste. It looks like… there!”

I see the scrap of paper and pick it up, then read aloud. It’s not very encouraging.

“If I want to vanish, I think I’ll go to the second inlet, the one with all of the wildflowers just past the lighthouse. I’ll wait for a clear morning so I can see them shimmering in the sunlight reflecting off of the water. Then I’ll drift out to see and disappear in a pool of light.”

I look out the window. There’s no marine layer today. Not a cloud in the sky.

My blood runs cold. I turn to the two of them and see the same worry on their faces.

“Point Pinos Lighthouse,” Reyes says. “It’s ten minutes north of here. There’s a meadow just on the other side of the lighthouse near a shallow lagoon.”

“We’ll take your car,” I tell her. I meet her eyes and say, “This is your chance to redeem yourself.”

“Come on,” she says. “I’ll call ahead and have units meet us there.”

We run downstairs to Reyes’s waiting cruiser. A few neighbors are still gathered around, for the third time witnessing catastrophe at the eccentric artist’s house. Several of them ask what’s going on, but we ignore them and jump into the vehicle.

Reyes is off before we're even strapped in. As she speeds toward the lighthouse, she calls for backup in the radio. "I need units to Pinos Point Lighthouse, ASAP. We're looking for a Caucasian female, seventeen years old, dark hair, dark eyes, five-foot-two, around one hundred twenty pounds. My name is Celeste Holloway. She is possibly fifty-six, repeat, possible ten-fifty-six in progress. Get Harbor Patrol out there too."

“Ten-four,” a metallic voice replies. “All units, please respond to a possible ten-fifty-six at Pinos Point Lighthouse.”

“Will they get there before us?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Reyes replies. “But I’ll sure as hell try to be the first one there.”

She guns the motor, and my head is pressed back into the seat. Reyes maneuvers like a racecar driver, weaving through the traffic that doesn’t have time to get out of our way and skidding around corners, tires screeching. Ahead of me, I see the lighthouse, a bright white-brick building sitting atop a tall promontory that juts out into the ocean.

“Come on,” Reyes whispers. “Come on.”

Hang in there, Celeste, I think to myself. Don’t give up.

We reach the lighthouse six minutes later. Reyes pulls off the road onto a meadow just on the other side of the lighthouse parking lot. The meadow is breathtaking. Marigolds, poppies and sunflowers blaze in bright oranges, yellows, reds and purples. It’s glorious. I can understand why Celeste would have chosen this spot.

It hits me rather poignantly that there’s nothing abstract about this beauty, nothing transcendent. It’s the simplest, most natural expression of beauty possible. One doesn’t need to wrack their brains for the essence of these flowers. It’s plain and obvious and easy to see. One need only look at them. Perhaps Celeste will look at them. Perhaps she’ll see them and remember that there’s something left that’s worth living for, that even when life seems bleak, there is joy to be had.

Reyes slams on the brakes, and the car comes to a stop right before a slope that leads down into the ocean. We get out of the car, and Reyes immediately cries, “Shit! God damn it!”

I follow her eyes and see the reason for her cry. My heart sinks to my chest. In the water, fifty yards past the shoreline, a figure bobs up and down on the waves.

We’re too late. Celeste has already begun her journey toward the vanishing point.

We try anyway. We sprint down the slope, shouting her name, begging her to come back. Reyes calls into her radio, asking where the hell her harbor patrol is, calling for the helicopter and asking for someone to please give her a damned ETA.

Sean outstrips me, tearing his jacket and shirt off as he runs. I see he intends to swim after her. I intend to follow him, but I feel something tear in the calf Lisa stabbed, and I fall to the ground with a cry of pain.

Sean skids to a halt and looks back at me. “Mary?”

“Go!” I shout. “Go get her! Please!”

He turns around and starts to run, but after a few feet he stops. His eyes widen, and a grin breaks out on his face. “Hell yeah! Yes! Go, Victor!”

I pull myself to my feet, grimacing and favoring my injured leg. I look for Celeste, and my own eyes widen when I see the reason for Sean’s cheer.

Ahead of me, just before the point where the shallow inlet vanishes into the ocean, Victor Holloway has reached his daughter. Tears of joy fall from my eyes as I see Celeste wrap her arms tightly around him. They embrace in the water for a long moment, then both of them swim back toward the shore.

A soft breeze blows in from the sea, and the flowers rustle, a soft cheer to the triumphant end of the story.