Go It Alone

3-1

3

“I’ve figured it out,” Harlow said, marching into Clyde’s apartment before he even had the front door open all the way.

“I… Harlow? Oh my God. What are you doing here?”

Stopping in the middle of the living room, she tossed her purse onto the couch and bent down to pull off her heels. “I figured it out,” she said again, kicking her shoes aside and pulling her earrings out to drop them on the coffee table.

Closing the door, Clyde was dubious as he walked to her, raising and lowering a hand, gesturing at her body. “You look… great. Amazing, actually.”

That was probably why he was frowning and scratching the back of his head. The melancholy woman he’d been talking to on the phone for a month was barely able to muster an ounce of enthusiasm. In contrast, the woman in front of him now felt like she was glowing. Every one of her atoms was jumping and fizzing with anticipation.

“I saw him,” Harlow exclaimed. “I saw him and it changed everything.”

Pausing in front of her, Clyde didn’t appear any more aware. The grin on her face was making her cheeks burn. Adrenaline was pumping her heart; she wanted to jump up and down. Instead, Harlow settled for grabbing Clyde’s shirt in both fists to pull him down so she could kiss each of his cheeks.

Stroking a hand down her face, he bent his knees to descend to her level. Examining her, there was concern written all over his face. “Who did you see, Har?”

No wonder he was worried, her former colleague had a look on his face like he thought she’d lost her mind. Her exuberance probably made it sound like she had.

Harlow just smiled. “You think I’m crazy, but I’ve never felt more sane and in control,” she said, pushing his hand away to go past him into the kitchen. “You got any liquor in here?”

“There’s wine in the fridge.”

Just because she had purpose didn’t mean she’d forgotten her triggers. In her nightmares, when she relived the night he’d died, Harlow always awoke with the sweet taste of wine on her tongue. It didn’t matter that the sensation was only in her mind, it still had the power to make her retch.

“Something harder,” she said, opening and closing cabinets.

He came over to set a hand on her waist, halting her. Leaning over her to open the next cabinet, Clyde pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. Though he moved it down to the counter, he kept his hand around the neck and cupped her face again, taking her attention away from the booze.

“Do you think it’s smart to drink? How much have you had tonight?”

“Not enough,” she said, snatching the bottle from him, and two glasses from the same cabinet. Carrying all three things into the living room, she knelt on the floor by the table to begin pouring. “This is a celebration.”

Clyde sat on the couch. “A celebration of what?”

Pushing one glass toward him, she held up her own and waited for him to respond in kind. “A celebration of my new purpose,” she said, raising her drink higher and letting her eyes ascend to the ceiling. “Crash, you never were subtle, baby.”

She tossed back her drink, but when she winced at the strong taste and slammed her glass to the table, Harlow noted that Clyde didn’t appear to have drunk anything. “You think if he went anywhere, it was up there?”

Harlow grinned, taking what he said as a joke more than a judgement; she didn’t want to have to throw a drink in a second man’s face tonight. “I think heaven would be more of a hell to him than hell itself,” she said and laughed while pouring herself another measure. “I’d say the devil’s been watching him a while and probably didn’t want him taking over.”

Clyde slid his glass onto the table. “Did he come to you before or after your first drink?”

“He?” she asked, sipping her liquor and l*****g its potency from her lips now that she was getting used to its flavor. “He, who?”

“You said you saw him,” Clyde said. “Now you say you have purpose… You’re talking about Ryske, right?”

With her lips around the edge of her glass, Harlow scowled at him and finished her drink. “I only see Ryske after midnight,” she said, leaning back to look at the wall-clock she’d noticed in the kitchen. “Not time yet.”

Sliding the bottle away from her, he tilted his chin. “Yeah, that’s enough alcohol for you.”

At peace with his concern, Harlow’s cause wasn’t lost. In fact, it was just beginning. She slid her empty glass toward her friend, switching it out for his full one as she bobbed her brows in triumph. “Hagan,” she said after swallowing a mouthful.

Clyde’s worry was replaced with surprise. “You mean… you saw Hagan? Jarvis Hagan? The man who ordered Ryske’s murder?” She nodded. He dropped off the couch to sit on the floor, perpendicular to her. “Where? When?”

“Right before I came here. At my father’s yearly company thing… It doesn’t matter.”

“Was Rupert there?”

“Yes, Rupert was there,” she said, holding her glass by the rim, turning it in slow circles. “I told him it was over, completely, forever over.”

“Rupert?” he asked. Harlow just blinked at him like he was an i***t, but it was a stupid question. “I’m sorry, but you jump from Ryske, to Hagan, to Rupert. I lose track. Last we talked you told me never to contact you again and now you’re here and happy and I’m—”

“I know, it’s a head f**k. I’m sorry,” she said and exhaled, trying to be calmer so she could explain herself. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. I was angry and you were right, maybe I was still in denial.” Straightening up, she grinned again. “I’m not in denial anymore.”

Clyde was still dubious. “I didn’t know there was a crazy-eyed, demented stage in the cycle.”

“Updated model,” she said and finished her drink before shoving the glass away and bouncing onto her knees, flattening her hands on the table. “So I was sitting there at the SweSec thing, having a horrible, horrible time, feeling sorry for myself, mooning over Ryske, and who should pop out of nowhere?”

“Hagan.”

Snapping her fingers, she pointed at him. “Exactly!”

“He was at your father’s party? Why would your father invite him to—”

“Because he doesn’t know who Hagan really is or what he did. No one does. And that got me thinking, why are we letting him get away with this?”

“Why are we…” Clyde started. “Well, because if Hagan ordered one murder, what’s to stop him from ordering another?”

Simple for a person who saw the world in basic terms. Harlow had been one of those people once. Not anymore. Some risks were worth taking and fear was relative. Until someone had lost the thing most important to them, they could never understand fear. It made anything less than that ultimate loss pale in comparison.

“Do you think death scares me?” she asked, her chin moving towards her chest. “The only thing I have left that can be taken from me is my life and if I lose that…”

She shrugged, to which Clyde blinked and reciprocated the movement. “If you lose that… what?”

“I won’t be around to care,” she said, matter of fact about it. “Do you think Ryske is pining for me? Out there breaking his heart, missing me? No, he’s not. He’s dead. He can’t care about anything anymore.”

Clyde reached for the Jack Daniels and unscrewed the cap to drink straight from the bottle. “That’s a beautiful sentiment, Harlow. Romantic. He’s worm food, who cares if you end up worm food too?”

“They probably got him cremated,” she said, holding up a hopeful glass.

Clyde slumped back, clutching the bottle to his chest, showing he planned to keep it to himself. “What makes you think that?”

“He wouldn’t want a permanent erection,” she said and laughed loud, running a finger around the inside of her glass. “Monument would probably have been a better word to use there.”

One side of his mouth rose. “I think Ryske would prefer you to trust your first instinct.”

“Hmm, no doubt,” she murmured.

Touching her fingertip to her lip, she sucked the digit into her mouth and thought about those mornings in the shower with him. How he’d press her against the tile and kiss her. Sometimes it felt like Ryske had all the patience in the world, like he could kiss her for hours even in spite of his need imprinting itself into her belly or thigh.

Even when he’d been hard during their make-out sessions in bed, he’d been generous enough to take her at least to the cusp of her own o****m before he’d think about letting her touch him. Sometimes the torment of that tease was enough to heighten her arousal.

“You’re thinking about his d**k, aren’t you?”

Snapping out of her daze, Harlow noted Clyde’s nausea and laughed. “Yes,” she said, nodding and leaning across to take the bottle from his slack hand. “Yes, I am… He had a magnificent cock.”

“Okay,” Clyde said, snatching the bottle back after she’d poured more liquor into each of the two glasses. “The first time you think about opening up to me about him and that’s what you start with?”

Picking up her drink, she shrugged. “You asked.”

“I didn’t! I asked if you were thinking about it, not for a description,” he said. Harlow opened her mouth wide while inhaling, but he raised a hand. “I really don’t want to know about that.” Enjoying another drink, she was happy to be selfish with her thoughts. “I do want to know where this enthusiasm for suicide came from. What did Hagan do?”

“It’s not enthusiasm for suicide,” she said. “It’s enthusiasm for doing what I should’ve done months ago.” He shook his head, showing he wasn’t following her meaning. “Ever since I went home, ever since it happened, I’ve had this… I don’t know, this feeling inside me I didn’t know what to do with. I felt sick, and angry, and unfulfilled. Something was eating at me, and I didn’t know what it was. I was apathetic about everything. The only thing I cared about was Ryske. He’s the only thing I care about.”

Clyde put a comforting hand over hers on the coffee table. “That’s a normal thing to feel after losing someone.”

“No,” she said, sliding her hand out from under his. “Before Ryske I… I don’t know what I believed about love. I don’t know if I believed in soulmates or The One and all that nonsense… I don’t know that it matters. What I do know is that just because he’s not here anymore doesn’t mean what I feel for him isn’t here anymore either.”

Bobbing his head, he took another drink. “Again, normal.”

“Ryske is dead. I can’t do anything about that… I can do something about the people who took him away from me.”

Though Clyde hadn’t exactly been light and breezy since she came in, he got even more serious now. “Revenge,” he said. “That’s what you’re talking about, and it’s incredibly dangerous.”

“I don’t care about the danger,” she said. “I should never have left this city without doing something to take down the man who took down my love. Do you think that Ryske would’ve let it go so easily if someone had taken me from him? Do you?”

Becoming solemn, Clyde lowered the bottle to the floor and although she could tell he didn’t want to, he told the truth. “No.”

“Hagan was a coward. Alleyman too,” she said. “They think they won, that they did something clever. They didn’t, but it’s my fault that they believe they’re the victors. In truth, they’re both weak… Hagan wouldn’t even face Ryske himself and he probably made sure he had a rock solid alibi. Alleyman was in and out fast. He targeted a distracted man without giving him a chance.”

Guilt niggled at her for being the one who’d distracted him with her ridiculous sulk. That was just one item on a list of things that Harlow hadn’t forgiven herself for.

Her friend was considering her words. “Alleyman was the one who shot him?” he asked. Harlow nodded. “What’s his real name?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “That’s just the nickname I gave him because I met him in an alley. It’s possible he’s known as Animal… Ryske never told me for sure.”