CHAPTER SEVEN
759 Words
SAINT'S POV
I sat on the edge of my king sized bed in the dark.
Curtains closed. Lights off. Silence.
It was my ritual. The only way I could actually think. The only way I could sit with myself without everything else getting in the way.
I stood up and started pacing.
Today was a good day by every measure that should matter. Business was booming. Money was coming in faster than I could clean it. I had outsmarted the feds again which never got old.
Life was good.
Except I didn't feel that way.
I never felt that way.
I was numb. Empty in a way that didn't go away no matter how much money hit the account or how many problems got solved.
It had been years and I still woke up feeling the same way.
I had tried praying. Asked whichever God was up there to fix whatever was broken in me.
Nothing.
Either he wasn't listening or he just didn't give a f**k.
So I started praying to my mom instead.
Catholics do it...pray to saints, pray to Mary, pray to anyone who might be closer to God than they are. My mom was closer to God than anyone I had ever known. She was strong and resilient and loved people in a suffocating way. She was compassionate when the world gave her every reason not to be.
She was perfect.
She was the only person I had ever looked up to.
Until she died and left me in this cold cruel world to figure it out alone.
A knock came at the door. Soft. Barely there.
Lillian.
Nobody else knocked like that. Like she was apologizing for existing.
"Come in."
The door opened and she stepped inside. Two steps and she stopped. Standing in the dark waiting.
She knew better than to turn the lights on herself.
I walked to the door and reached past her to hit the switch.
The room flooded with light immediately.
I squinted hard. Stood there blinking like an i***t for a ten seconds or more before I gave up on blinking and just rubbed my eyes instead.
"Are you okay sir?"
She had taken one small step forward. Voice careful.
"Yes." I blinked twice more. "It's just the lights."
"Should I turn them off?"
"No. It's fine now." I sighed and waved it off. I didn't want her hovering. I didn't want anyone hovering. I was a grown man who could handle himself and the last thing I needed was someone standing in my bedroom looking concerned about me.
I walked back and sat on the bed.
"How is she doing."
Lillian paused for just a second before answering.
"She's okay sir. Eating well." Another small pause. "But she's scared."
"She should be." I looked at her with a blank face. That was the point.
"Did she get the blankets and clothes?"
"Yes sir she did." Lillian's voice stayed careful. "I don't think she's settling in well though. The basement is very quiet."
"She'll survive." I straightened up. "She's indebted to me. Quiet is the least of her problems."
"Yes sir."
She said nothing else. Just accepted it the way Lillian accepted everything...quietly, without pushing, with that look on her face that said she had more to say and had decided against it.
"That will be all. You can go."
She turned and left without another word.
The room went quiet again.
My mom used to say a lot of things. Most of them I didn't understand until it was too late to tell her that.
I stood up and walked to the window. Pulled the curtain back slightly and looked out at the city below. Lights everywhere. People moving around down there living their small lives completely unaware that mine was falling apart in ways I couldn't explain to anyone.
My mind wandered to the woman in my basement.
Reggie's wife. The collateral. The girl with the blue eyes who cried too much.
I haven't gone down there since Rico brought her in.
I wasn't going to either.
But I had a problem.
If she disappeared and nobody knew where she was, that became a missing persons case. That became cops asking questions. That became attention I didn't need anywhere near my operation.
I needed this situation controlled.
I needed someone close to her to believe she was fine. Alive. Somewhere by choice.
I stood there thinking.
And then an idea came to me.
I smiled.
I knew exactly what to do.
I was a f*****g genius.
- Writer
