Iron House

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Michael gave it forty minutes, then woke Elena in the dark. She was groggy, confused. “Where am I?”

“You’re with me, sweetheart. You’re safe.”

“I don’t remember-”

“Shh. Take it easy. Take it slow.”

She tried to move, and the pain hit her. “Oh, God. Oh, my God…” She curled up in the bed, and Michael knew it was more than pain that found her. “I thought maybe it was a dream.”

“Just take a minute. Here.” He shook painkillers out of the bottle and helped her get them down. She choked a little, and he dabbed water off her chin.

“What day is it?” she asked.

“Friday.”

“Everything feels off. It feels wrong.”

“Hang on a second.”

Michael stood and cracked the curtains so that dim light filtered in. He limped back to the bed, and Elena said, “You’re hurt. God, I forgot that, too.”

“You were in shock. It’s normal.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Really?”

“It hurts. I’ve had worse.”

“And you really have, haven’t you? That’s not just an expression.” She stared at him for a long time, but when he sat on the bed, her eyes dipped so he saw lashes against her skin. “I’ve never seen anybody move like that. When you went for the gun, when you shot… when you shot…”

“Let’s not talk about it right now. It’s a new day. It’s behind us.”

“Okay.”

“Are you hungry?”

She looked embarrassed when she said, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Let me help you.”

“Michael, I’m not comfortable…” Her head moved.

“It’s still me, baby.”

He flashed a grin, and for that moment he looked the same, felt the same. He had the same dimple in his right cheek, the same twinkle. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“Here.”

“Don’t…”

“It’s okay.”

Michael lifted her from the bed, carried her to the bathroom and helped her. When she was finished, he got her back to the bed. She was drawn and shaky, so Michael held a warm, wet towel to her face. He cleaned tape gum from her skin, bits of dried blood and dirt.

“I thought I was going to die.”

“Elena, don’t.”

“I thought the baby would die with me. I thought we’d be dumped in the woods and lost forever. Just gone. My parents would never know. The baby would… the baby…” She wiped at her eyes, and looked stronger. “I’ve never felt anything like I did when you came into that barn. I can’t even describe it. It wasn’t relief or happiness or anything like that. I didn’t think you could save us. He was waiting for you, and ready, he was so crazy, so goddamned confident…”

“Baby…”

“I was so scared, but I saw you and I thought at least we’d die together.”

“But it didn’t happen like that. It’s over.”

“It doesn’t feel over.”

“I promise you it is.”

“Can I be alone, Michael?”

“Sure, baby.”

“Just for a minute.”

He walked outside and looked at the sky, watched a line of pink thin out and fade. Ten minutes later she called his name, and he went back inside. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Her hair was damp from the towel, face rubbed clean. “Abigail left a car.” Michael nodded at the window. “I found these inside.” He held out clothes and crutches, then helped her dress and got her into the car. She wanted to be up front, so he slid the seat back and tilted it as low as it would go. “There.” He tucked a blanket around her. “Almost like you’re still in bed.”

He smiled to make it a joke, but she didn’t smile back. “Where are we going?”

“Someplace safe. We’ll get you to a doctor, get that foot fixed. You’ll be fine. You’ll see. I’ll take care of you. We’ll get everything fixed.” He was babbling, and knew it.

He was losing her.

“I want to go home,” she said.

“Spain could work. We’ll get tickets in Raleigh.”

“I want to go home alone.” His smile faded, but she did not release his arm. “I’m not saying good-bye. I’m saying I need to think. There’s so much. There’s what’s happened, the baby. There’s us.”

“Of course.”

“Michael-”

“No. It’s okay.” Filters snapped across his eyes. “A lot has happened. Bad stuff. Questions. I don’t blame you. Going alone is smart. It’s reasonable.”

“You don’t have to be so businesslike.”

“Actually, I do.” He closed her door gently, then circled to the driver’s side. “The Raleigh airport’s not far. We have cash. The doctor says you can travel. Where’s your passport?”

“Oh, God.” She looked stricken. “He took it.”

“Jimmy?”

“Yes.”

“It’s okay.” He started the car. “I’ve got this.”

Everything looked different in the early light. Fog blanketed the fields, so thick the house almost disappeared. The barn looked broken.

“I don’t want to be here,” Elena said.

“I’ll be in and out.” Michael handed her the nine millimeter. “You remember how to use this?”

She took it without question.

“I’ll check the barn first, then the house.”

“He had my cell phone, too.”

“I’ll get it.”

He opened the door and Elena said, “Michael.”

“Yes?”

“I know you’re not like him.” She meant Jimmy. “That’s not why I’m leaving.”

“Why, then?”

“It’s just…” She sniffed, shook her hair back.

“Hey, forever is a long time. We’ll figure it out.”

“You don’t understand.” She shook her head. “I wanted to kill him myself. I wanted to make him hurt and beg and die. Don’t you see? I hated myself for not being strong enough to do it. Hated my weakness.”

“There’re different kinds of strength.”

“I don’t know who I am anymore.”

“Well, I do. You’re Carmen Elena Del Portal, and you’re the most beautiful person alive.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“It’s one of the few things I know for fact.”

He closed the door, smiled through glass.

She hugged herself and watched him go.

The barn was darker, but the same. Same smells and sights; same dead bodies. Michael stepped inside, angry with himself. Even shot and dealing with Elena, he’d been sharp enough to collect weapons and shell casings. The cell phone had slipped his mind.

Stupid…

The phone was in her name, and could have dragged her into the fallout. If cops had found it first…

Stupid, stupid…

But he’d been emotional. Elena, hurt. Dead men who had once been family. This time, he was doubly careful. He checked Jimmy’s corpse from top to bottom; found her cell phone in his pocket, but no passport. He looked once at Stevan-felt mild disappointment-then kicked dirt in Jimmy’s face.

Motherfucker.

He kicked more dirt.

Sorry, sadistic, disloyal, greedy motherfucker…

The living room was a slaughterhouse. Even with the door standing wide, the dank, copper reek was unmistakable. Michael stepped carefully, emotionally disengaged as he cataloged faces of men he’d known for most of his life. They were soldiers and earners, hard men who’d died hard.

He found Elena’s passport on a battered desk in a room under the eaves; slipped it into a pocket. He found another body there, too, and the hardware case Jimmy preferred. There were half a dozen handguns in padded foam. Knives. Wire. An ice pick. The weapons would be clean and untraceable, but taking one felt wrong, somehow. Not stealing wrong, but dirty wrong. The man was burning in hell.

Let the bastard burn.

Michael left the weapons untouched. Downstairs, he checked the other rooms for anything that could connect Elena to this place. He tried to see the scene from a cop’s eyes, and shook his head at the thought. He should dispose of the bodies, burn the buildings. Because there was another truth about murder this complete: the cops would never let it go. They would dig and worry and scrape; they would track down every angle, every possible lead. And who knew where that might take them? Every one of these bodies could be traced back to Otto Kaitlin. That would tie them to the killings in New York: the dead soldiers at Otto’s house, the civilians in the street. How many bodies? Michael tried to count, lost track because he had no idea how many civilians had actually died. And there was a chance, however slim, that it could all lead back to him. He could not allow that. Not now. Not when he was this close.

He considered logistics, timing, the things he would need. He nodded to himself, convinced. Three hours, he thought, maybe four. He would take Elena to the airport, then come back here to dispose of the bodies and burn it all. It made sense. He was satisfied.

Then he found the file.

It was a simple manila folder, four inches thick and bound up with rubber bands. It rested at an angle on a bedside table in a back bedroom. This was Stevan’s room, Michael realized. Fine suits hung in the closet; Italian shoes and pocket squares made of silk. Michael sat on the bed, opened the file.

And everything shifted.

He didn’t see all the pieces, but certain things made sense: why Stevan was here and what he’d planned, why he’d threatened Julian in the first place. Michael flipped through photographs and affidavits and financial records. Some of this material he’d seen a long time ago. But this file was more complete, more damaging; its presence here changed things. There were implications to its presence. Possibilities.

Michael closed the file and slipped on the rubber bands. Between the porch and the car he decided that nothing would burn, not the house and not the bodies. The cops wanted to play? He’d play. The media wanted a story? Fine.

The file changed everything.

Back at the car he climbed in, slammed the door and sat for long seconds. Elena gave him a strange look, but his mind was still on the implications of what he’d found. He saw a path to walk, and was looking for dangers.

“You all right?”

“What? Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Did something happen? You look rattled.”

“Rattled? No. Just thinking.”

“About?”

He considered telling her, but this was not her problem. It affected him and Julian. He’d get her on a plane, then deal with it. “Nothing, baby.” He jammed the file in the crack next to the driver’s seat and smiled as he pulled Elena’s passport from his pocket. “Now, don’t lose it this time.”

“Are you making fun of me?” She took the passport.

“Just lightening the mood.”

She looked at the house and the barn, the mist that hung in the trees. “You’re kidding, right?”

He winked, then took the gun from her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

He found the interstate as the sun rose and mist burned, as Elena swallowed more pills and tunneled deeper into the blanket. “Lightening the mood,” she said once, and laughed a little. After that, it was an odd drive, and difficult. She was close, yet far. He was losing her, but knew deep down that she should go, at least for a while. Things were getting complicated. After a while, she said, “How much further?”

“Thirty minutes. Maybe forty.”

She nodded loosely, and he knew the pills were taking her down. He lifted his phone from the center console. “Do you want to call about flights?”

“I called while you were in the barn. There’s one this afternoon.”

He pictured her in the fog, gun in one hand and a phone in the other. The image was clear, and hurt because it came so easily. “Did you call your father?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it. Is that okay?”

That was hard for Michael, because the scene had played out in his head so many times: flying to Spain to meet Elena’s father. Doing it right and proper. Asking for her hand in marriage so that their family would be built on tradition and truth. Now, she would go home pregnant, alone, and the chance would never come again. “Of course,” he said; and it was one more lie between them, one more bitter nail in the wall of his heart.

The senator called as they hit the outskirts of Raleigh. “Michael. Hi. It’s Senator Vane. Am I calling too early?”

“Not at all, Senator.” Michael glanced at the file beside his leg, and felt anger rise like a welt. “What can I do for you?”

“Abigail says you’re back in town. I want you to join us for brunch. I thought maybe we could talk about Julian. Things are getting complicated, and we three, I believe, are the boy’s best hope. We can put our heads together, plan our best course of action. Are you free around eleven?”

Michael looked at the road, and could see for miles. He thought of the file, and could see even farther. “I can’t join you today, Senator.”

“Oh.”

Genuine surprise sounded in his voice, and Michael smiled. The senator was like Stevan had been. Both spoiled. Both used to getting their way. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

“If you’re certain you can’t make it today…” He left it hanging.

“Tomorrow, Senator. I’ll call when I’m back in town.”

“Oh, you’re traveling?”

“I’ll call tomorrow. Thanks for the invitation.”

Michael disconnected, then dialed Abigail, who answered on the second ring. “It’s Michael.”

“Are you okay? What’s wrong? How’s Elena?”

“She’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Sorry. I’m jumpy today. I didn’t sleep at all. Randall kept asking how I got hurt. He wouldn’t let it drop. Jessup got involved. It was a mess. Then there’s the mind, the tricks it plays. Images, you know.”

Michael did. Death had that power.

“Listen,” he said. “Do you have plans for brunch today?”

“What? No.” She was confused. “Brunch?”

“Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

“Are you at the motel?”

“I’m taking Elena someplace safe.”

“That’s good, smart.” She did not ask where, and Michael was glad. “You’re coming back though, right?”

There was small panic in her voice, and he knew she was thinking about the bodies. “I don’t leave jobs unfinished, Abigail. I can promise you that.”

She exhaled audibly. “It’s been a hard night in a life of hard nights. I didn’t mean anything negative.”

“I have something to do, and it might keep me away until late tonight or early tomorrow. I’ll call you, though. And you call me if Julian turns up.”

“You know I will.”

“One more question,” Michael said. “It’s personal.”

“You’ve earned the right to do personal.”

“It’s very personal.”

“Oh, for God’s sake…”

“Do you love your husband?”

“That’s a very odd question.”

“I don’t mean in a small way, Abigail. I mean the big way. Does he matter to you?”

She was quiet for long seconds. “Can you tell me why you’re asking this question?”

“No, but it’s important. I won’t repeat your answer.”

“I’m forty-seven years old, Michael. I don’t like riddles.”

“I need to know if you love the senator.”

“No.” Silence spooled out as the world flicked past. “I love someone else.”

They reached the Raleigh-Durham International Airport at ten minutes after nine. Traffic was heavy, the sidewalks crowded. Michael found a car-length of curbside near the American Airlines departure gate, and parked. Elena sat upright, both hands in her lap, neck rigid. Michael leaned forward and looked past her at the crowd. “I’m going to find a skycap.” He flagged a porter just inside the door, gave him a hundred dollars and asked for a wheelchair. “The silver Range Rover.” He pointed. “Just outside.”

“Give me a few minutes to get the chair.”

“Another hundred if you’ll bring two cups of coffee, one black, one café au lait. And some fresh pastry, please.”

The skycap hurried off, and Michael pushed through the crowd. He dug money from the bag in back of the car, then opened Elena’s door and dropped into a crouch, one leg stiff and straight. She didn’t want to look at him. Creases cut the corners of her eyes. Her foot was heavily wrapped, her lips swollen. Michael folded the currency into a thick wad, took her hand and cupped the money against it. “This is thirty thousand dollars-”

“I don’t need that much.”

“You don’t know what you need. Take it. I’d give you more, but it would be bulky and obvious.” He opened the glove compartment and found a large envelope, the owner’s manual inside. He pulled out the manual. “Here.” He handed her the envelope, and scanned the sidewalk as she stuffed the bills inside. “Listen.” He put a hand on her undamaged leg. “Everyone with a reason to want you hurt is dead. Jimmy. Stevan. No one is looking for you.” He ducked his head and lifted his eyebrows. “All of that is behind you, now.”

“I still taste metal.” She paused, breaking. “I feel it in my mouth.”

“Don’t-”

“I thought I was dead, Michael. I close my eyes and see his fingers going for that stick. I see you shooting, but he never stops.” She touched bruised lips. “I still taste metal.”

His hand tightened. “It’s done. It’s over.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“Then don’t go.”

But she was already shaking her head. “I want to be home, to be with my father. After all this, I need something pure.”

“My love for you is pure.”

“I believe your feelings are.”

“But not me.”

“Can you blame me, Michael?”

He looked away, shook his head.

“Then give me time.”

“How much?”

“Weeks, months. I don’t know. But I’ll call you.”

“To say what?”

“To say good-bye, or to tell you where I am. One or the other. Nothing in-between.”

Michael studied the lines of her face and felt something like panic. He didn’t even know where she’d been raised-she would never talk about it. He knew only that it was a village in the mountains of Catalonia. Once she left, she was gone.

But what choice did he have?

He gestured for the chair, then helped Elena into it. He handed the crutches to the skycap.

“Any luggage?”

“No.” Michael peeled a thousand dollars off a sheaf in his pocket. “Whatever she wants.” He handed the money over. “As long as she wants it. You understand?”

“Yes, sir. Absolutely.”

“Give us a minute.”

“Yes, sir.”

Michael took his coffee and put it on the car. He handed a cup to Elena, then a small paper bag. “I know how you like pastry.”

She looked at the bag, thought of yellow paint and breakfast in bed. She thought of unborn children and promises never kept.

“You were right, you know.”

“About what?” she asked.

“I should have taken you out of there. None of this would have happened.”

“Julian must be very special for you to love him so much. You’re right to help him.”

“But you’re my family.”

“And he’s your brother. It’s okay, Michael. I get it.”

Michael blinked several times, cleared his throat. “What are you going to do?”

“Be with family. Heal. Try to process this. How about you?”

Michael thought of Slaughter Mountain, a list of names and the contents of a four-inch file. He thought of all the cops looking for his brother, the unique fragility of Julian’s mind. “I’m going to find some answers,” he said. “Dig Julian out of this mess. Finish what I started.”

“Is that all? Save a man’s life, solve some murders.” She offered a smile. “Little things.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Do it again.”

Her smile faded. “I need to go.”

“Reconsider.”

“I need to go now.”

“Listen, baby. I know you think I’m… impure.” His hands found the arms of the chair and he leaned close. “But I’m more than the things I’ve done. I hope you find your way to that truth.”

“Michael…”

He leaned closer and kissed both cheeks. She put a hand on her stomach, felt it move.

“Have a good flight,” he said.

And then turned away.