27. Lia

27

LIA

"Berry likes you, you know."

"Shut the fuck up."

"I may be dying, but I'm not blind."

"It doesn't matter?—"

"I say it does. And since I'm in this bed, not you, what I say goes."

—Caleb, from One of a Thousand Wishes by A. R. McGeorge

I was outside of my apartment building at seven forty-five as the sun was beginning to set. I paced in a loop between the large decorative cement planters my building had. How late we were going to be out? How dark was it going to get? And—where the hell were we going? I'd dressed down like he'd said to, wearing tennis shoes, jeans, a T-shirt, then pulled on an oversized cardigan over everything that had very long sleeves—but I didn't like not knowing what the plan was.

I also didn't know what kind of car he had, so I made awkward eye contact with far too many people until finally a small black truck drove up, and I was a little bit surprised.

Rhaim leaned over and opened up the side door for me. "Get in," he said, brusque, and I did what I was told, pulling myself into the truck's cab. It didn't smell like barn...but I could see loose strands of hay stuck into the corners of the truck bed in the rear view.

He didn't say anything after that, driving us through the city, heading out of town. I kept glancing nervously over—he'd changed clothes too, back into what I'd caught him wearing the other morning almost. A flannel jacket, dark jeans, and, I noticed, the same leather shoes I'd almost licked.

A shiver ran over my body at the same time as he looked over. "Do you have underwear on right now?" he asked, before giving me a devilish look.

"Maybe?" I answered slowly, and with a higher pitch at the end, because I was, and he chuckled, knowing that I was a liar. "Can I wear them when I'm not around you?" I asked, and then realized what I'd said. "I cannot believe I just asked you that," I said, and he outright laughed.

"Yeah, you can. And I'll tell you if that changes. Don't worry, I'll always warn you when things are important to me," he said, swinging us onto a bridge. "I don't expect you to be able to read my mind, and, again, I would prefer not to punish you."

I found myself inordinately curious about his punishments—but then I noticed how far we were outside of town and how low the sun was sinking. "Where are we going?"

"A special place."

"That sounds like what serial killers tell hitchhikers they pick up."

He laughed again, and I realized how addictive the sound was. "That sounds fun," he said, glancing over. "Do you want to play that sometime?" My jaw fell open, and he laughed even harder at that. "I meant what I said, and I'm not taking it back."

"I don't even know what to say—but I don't think I'm going to encourage that, though."

"Too bad, your loss," he said, taking another turn.

I sat in contemplative silence as we drove miles and miles outside the city, the sun dropping lower all the while, until we were off on sideroads and gravel, places that must have been impassable during winter months. And right before the last of the sunlight dripped below the horizon, he pulled over and put his truck into park, to get out and open a gate—which he then returned to drive the truck through, driving forward till he parked in the middle of a field.

The entire area was desolate, bounded by trees and the encroaching darkness. While I didn't feel worried about being here with him, I was a little worried about meeting the Jersey Devil—and what would happen to me if he turned the lights off.

"Get out," he said, while hopping out himself, walking around to the front of his truck. He'd left his headlights on, and I practically ran for them once I was outside, to bask in their protective beams.

"Why are we here?" I asked, turning back to him.

"Do you remember the Giancarlo family?" he asked, moving to sit up on top of his own truck's hood, equidistant between the two headlights, and shrouded in shadow by comparison. "I know you left when you were a kid, but they may have been to a family party or two before that."

It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying. There was so much fucking dark. I slid my arms up their opposing sleeves to hug myself and take deep breaths. I was going to be okay, dammit . I wracked my memories to answer him. "An older guy? Liked to pretend he was Santa Claus each year?" He nodded, and I went on. "Yeah, I remember him and his wife. I think they had some kids, too—way older than me, like in high school."

"They did," he said, sounding purposefully past tense. "Walk about five steps back, would you?"

I glanced over my shoulder, and then looked back at him. Five steps back was on the edge of the dusk the headlights had created, right at the edge where the darkness was creeping in.

But he didn't know that.

He thought I was normal.

Ish.

I turned, gritting my teeth, and took five steps forward, while fumbling for my phone so I'd be ready, in case he was going to be an asshole or something—I didn't have reception, but it still had a flashlight.

"Turn on your phone and toss it here," he said, and I looked back at him.

I couldn't even see his face anymore, my vision messed up by the truck's beaming headlights, and him all hazed between them. "Rhaim," I complained, and he clucked.

I frowned but unlocked my phone, and then I chucked it at him, a little harder than I otherwise might.

"Good arm," he said with a laugh, after catching it, but I couldn't laugh back with him. I saw him mess with it and put it in his pocket.

"I don't understand why we're out here," I said, rising up on my toes.

He jumped off of his truck, making the lights bounce. "Because you're standing where we buried them," he said, walking up.

My jaw fell. "You're not funny," I complained at the shadow that was coming for me.

"I wasn't trying to be."

I realized he was telling me the truth, and suddenly I was about to have another panic attack, only this time for a very different reason. It felt like the ground was rocking beneath my feet, and I was about to stumble.

"I still don't understand," I said, then added, "sir."

"You wanted in, Business Lia. This is as in as you can get."

"That's—that's crazy!" I said, shaking my head, and when he didn't respond, asked, "Did you have a good reason?"

He'd stopped exactly where I couldn't see any of him at all, his face and body cast in complete shadow while he spoke to me. "Did I need one?"

I couldn't answer him. Not with the way my throat was squeezing up.

"Everyone thinks you always need a reason," he went on. "Does God have a reason for half the things he does?" He sounded angry now—but not, I belatedly realized, at me.

At the death of his beloved Isabelle.

"You're not God," I whispered.

"No. But neither is anyone else, and that's the point, Lia. Everyone yearns for simplicity, and for the world to make sense. They want to think that everything we do on this planet has meaning ," and he said the word with such contempt. "But sometimes, you're in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes shit just happens. It's how you deal with it that counts."

I bit my lips. I couldn't disagree with him. There'd never been any good reason for even half of the bad things that'd happened to me. And I'd also tried to kill someone once upon a time—it would be very hypocritical of me to judge him when the only reason I wasn't also a murderer was because my plans had fallen through.

"I don't make a habit out of cruelty, Lia," he went on. "Witness me, not wanting to have to punish you. I don't play mind games or lay traps. But if cruelty were ever required, in any situation—trust that I wouldn't care about it in the least."

"And . . . that's why you brought me here?"

"Yes. For two reasons," he said, his shadow standing taller as he put his hands into his coat's pockets. "I want you to know the caliber of man whose lap you've crawled into twice."

I inhaled tightly. Would I trade either of those times back, knowing what I did about him now?

I couldn't say I would—and I didn't know what that made me.

"And the second?" I breathed.

"So that the next time you see Freddie Junior, or anyone else at Corvo, you hear my voice in your head."

"Saying what, sir?"

"That you know where the bodies are buried."

I gave a soft gasp, as he jerked his head at the truck behind him.

"Get back in the truck," he commanded, and I ran to do what I was told.