She gasps. “You want to take me out?”
“I want. You sound surprised.”
“Well, I’ve never been…” She stops. Seconds tick by. “I can’t go to dinner with you, Quinn.”
“On account of those shackles?”
“Something like that.”
My hand travels down to lie on the bulge in my pants. Just hearing her voice makes me hard. “I want to see you.”
She sighs. “Maybe…I can come to your office. Have lunch…?”
“No.”
“Right. Okay.” She sounds hurt.
“No, because I’m not there. And lunch is too short. I want dinner with you.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t say no to me, Elly.” I harden my voice, give her a glimpse of my obsidian heart. “I don’t like it.”
Her breath catches. Silence thrums. “Can you give me half a day? I can’t promise anything, Quinn, but maybe I can work something out?”
Despite the cruel game I’m playing, I’m intrigued. “I can do that.”
“Okay.”
We don’t speak for a minute, but the silence is easier. “Tell me,” I encourage.
“No. You sound better.”
My laughter takes me by surprise. “Better?”
“Yes. Less…anguished.”
Laughter ceases. I open my eyes, stare blankly at the white ceiling. “That’s a shame.”
A huff of surprise. “You’re sorry you’re feeling better?”
“I’m sorry you believe me to be anything but what I am.”
“I…don’t know what that means.”
“Sure, you do,” I respond. “You see me, Elly. Don’t you?”
“I see that you’re in pain,” she whispers. “That for some reason you’re locked into the suffering and choose to stay in it.”
My breath doesn’t catch. My dead heart doesn’t skip a beat. Truth is truth. Truth from Elly is…something else. But I’m not going to examine it right now. “Yes,” I respond simply.
“Why?”
“Ask me why I need breath to exist.”
“Quinn…” Her voice drifts away together with, I suspect, her attempt to understand. “I’m so sorry,” she eventually says.
Then my breath catches. Because in that moment, right then, I’m ablaze with the need to wrap myself in that sympathy, devour it until there’s nothing left.
“Call me tomorrow. Early. And, Elly?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll need a yes.”
I hang up and quickly redial.
“Fionnella, is the apartment ready?”
A deep sigh. “No, you said you wanted it done by morning. Twelve twenty-eight am is not morning.”
“Technically—”
“No. It’s not.” I hear muffled sounds, probably her sitting up in bed. “What’s gotten into you, Quinn?”
Ghosts dance on the ceiling. I squeeze my eyes shut once more. “We need to bring the schedule forward.”
She doesn’t pause a beat. “By how much?”
“Weeks, not months.”#p#分页标题#e#
“I can make it happen. But are you sure?” There’s cautious optimism in her voice. But also palpable relief. The end is in sight.
“I’m sure. It’s time.”
“Does this have anything to do with Lucky?”
“Will it matter?”
“Not to me. But will you let it matter to you? Or is that question already redundant?”
“You see too much.”
“Isn’t that why we’re in this thing together? We saw too much, felt too much. And we paid the price. Is that what’s happening with Lucky? Is she—?”
“About the apartment—”
“No. Morning is morning. I’m going back to bed. And Quinn.”
I remain silent.
“You better not do anything stupid.”
I hang up and stand. I root around for my car keys and wallet, then shove the discarded clothes in the trash.
The Mustang isn’t as fast as my DB9, but it still gets me back to my apartment in under half an hour. I go to the second bedroom reserved for Q and pick up the things I need.
The DB9 has me outside the Hell’s Kitchen loft in record time.
I key in the code, disable the alarm and let myself in. A single lamp softly illuminates the living and kitchen area, but upstairs is shrouded in darkness. I adjust the mask, make sure the needle thin wire of the voice distorter is tucked inside my cheek.
On silent feet, I walk up the stairs.
Tomorrow, I’ll have Elly. Tonight, I need Lucky.
***
Lucky
I’m dreaming that stupid dream again. The one where happiness mocks me with its sheer fucking brilliance. I want to shove it out of the way, skip to the terrifying bits and just be done with it. But no, the death by happiness continues its fucked up play by play.