Tangled

Chapter 6 - What Do You Mean?

~Dylan~

If there is one thing, I have come to realise, time flies. Like it does not stop for anyone, no matter how much someone would pray for it. Despite how many people could benefit from it. It certainly is not slow for a cop, in fact, I have come to believe that time runs on fast forward for a cop. In the many years, I have learnt the art of simply taking a breather and letting myself go, either on a long drive or a night of alcohol. I appreciate it and look forward to it on the busier days, I have. However, when the day really presents itself, I realise how meaningless and purposeless, I feel. There is no company and it feels empty.  If hanging out with Aiden and Cameron makes me feel bad, being alone at Bob’s is worse. Can’t believe I am saying this, but I’d rather third wheel them, that wallow in my loneliness.

The bar is filled with people, but I feel lonely. There is so much noise, yet the silence is deafening.

Just when I call the bartender for another round of bourbon, I hear the metal barstool next to be being pulled making a screech on the floor that reverberates in my ears. Annoyance hits me square in the face and I snap.

“Can you-” “Anybody sitting here?”

Turning to the very familiar voice, I see Maeve, smiling at me and making herself comfortable on the barstool. Her hair’s up in a small ponytail, her casual clothes stained in colours, that I am assuming is paint. Fatigue plagues her eyes and face and she looks down.

“Maeve.”

She gets rid of her jacket and looks at me with a soft, refreshing smile, although her face speaks for itself. It’s highly dissonant, her behaviour and mood. I can feel it. I want to ask her, but I am not sure if it’s appropriate. We are acquaintances after all. Not friends.

“Free day, agent?” she asks casually, signalling the bartender with her lithe, slender fingers and a warm smile.

“Actually, call me Dylan. Agent makes me feel old,” I say, sipping on what’s left of my bourbon.

She chuckles, “Dylan, sure.” She faces the bartender. “John!” She greets with a sense of familiarity. “I’ll have some whiskey, neat and another bourbon for the gentleman here. However, he likes it.”

My eyes widen and I yelp, “No! I’ll get-”

Maeve cuts me off, “One bourbon. On me. For all the help you did! Shouldn’t hurt, right?”

John stands there watching us settle our issue on a glass of bourbon. She’s persistent and extremely persuasive so I give up, finally turning to him and giving him the go signal. He walks off to get us our fill, while Maeve sits there fiddling with her fingers. It shouldn’t ideally be my problem, but unable to stop myself, I begin a conversation.

“So, you live near here?”

She raises her eyebrows and I quickly correct myself, “I am not using my influence as a law enforcer to get your address. I am not being weird, I- I just…”

Maeve laughs. It cheerful and gregarious and I can’t seem to take my eyes off her. “I do live near here. Actually, a couple of blocks from here. “

Nodding, I quickly grab the glass from the bartender’s hands and chug the bourbon down in one go. I hiss at how strong and bitter it tastes and how it stings my throat. before she speaks again, “You live near here?”

I am pleasantly surprised, that she’d even bothered sitting next to me, let alone talk to me.

Hoping that elation isn’t evident in my voice when I respond, “No. Bob’s is just a place close to my heart. Aiden and I used to come here when were in college. Habits stick. Nobody’s bourbon tastes better.”

She bobs her head, acknowledging my statement before sipping on her own whiskey. Who would have thought she’s a whiskey girl? A neat whiskey girl.

It almost feels like chilling with a friend. The silence is not so disturbing anymore. It’s comfortable like I’d feel with a friend.

I glance at Maeve from the corner of my eye and she’s preoccupied. Her eyes are distant and she barely drinks her whiskey. Before I know, I am asking her another question. A question that has been on my mind, since I had laid eyes on Maeve in the bar. “Not to intrude, but is everything alright?”

She finally snaps out of it to look at me. “Sorry what?”

I turn around completely to face her, giving her all my attention. “I asked if everything is okay! You look out of it!”

She is quick to look away, nervously drinking her drink. I continue to look at her unwaveringly and she finally gives up, sighing before answering, “I- I go to art school. There is this gallery event, that’s big. Happens every 5 years. My dean…” She rubs her nose, “-so my dean wanted me to participate and I-I’ve been unable to come up with anything after…”

The bulb goes off and I just hope she’s not saying what I think she’s hinting at. Like, please. No.  She seems to recognize my distress but keeps quiet.

“So, you’re telling me, I-”

She finally shakes her head. “It’s not that deep. I can come up with something. It’s just, I’m currently having a block. All artists go through with it. I…”

She’s speaking but I am having a mental breakdown on my own, “s**t!” My eyes widen on its own and I feel extremely bad when I look at her. She seems forgiving but it’s certainly not helping me. I gawk, opening and closing my mouth, with nothing seeming to make up for what I had done. No wonder she had reacted the way she did when she had first seen me.

“Maeve, I really am…” She waves her hand around, shaking her head vigorously.

“Agent Foley. I did not- I didn’t say that to make you feel bad, alright? You asked and I- I can come up with something- maybe something better. I don’t know,” she says in a rush in hopes of pacifying me. It is not working.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I wish- I can’t believe I ruined your hard work like that. I should have watched where I was running. Should have apologized, right away. I…”

She reaches forward, extending her hand to touch me. When her eyes meet mine, she pulls away. “You were catching a thief. You were doing your job. How can I blame you?”

Finally, calming down, I ask, “How long do you have? To come up with something?”

She looks down, smiling lightly, “I don’t know. I am having an artist block now. I’m not quite sure. But the show is in another five months.” There is a faint hint of despair and sadness when she says it, but tries to be as bright as she can be at the same time. She smiles, one more time. “I’ll be fine. Don’t be guilty. We’re cool.”

Right when I open my mouth to say more, her phone rings, cutting me off effectively. She holds her finger up and quickly takes the call. Her face goes from calm to panic really quick that it troubles me. She looks at me and mouths, “I gotta go.”

She puts her phone away, gathers everything and starts to leave. I should let her go, but I can’t find myself, doing that. I grab her hand and this time, she doesn’t bite or snap. She simply looks at me with gaping eyes. “Yes?”

“Let me go with you.”

What did you just say, Dylan? What are you doing?

She is equally bewildered as I am with my ridiculous suggestion. “Dylan, you don’t even know where I am going!” she rasps out but does not make any effort to get out of my grasp.

“I’ll go wherever you want to go, right now.” It’s like my tongue can’t stop itself from saying things.

Stupid mouth.

She looks at me, simply gazes at me and studies me, my intentions. Her eyes are red, puffy and watery when she finally mumbles, “Okay.”

When we reach my car, she looks a little awkward. She then asks, “Are you sober enough?” Passing her a confident smile, I say, “No but I am not drunk. I had one bourbon and a half. Plus, drunk me driving is better than a panicky Maeve, I am guessing.” I look at the deserted road and tell her again, “Let me drive you.”

Despite saying all of this, I still expect her to retort. But Maeve being Maeve, never fails to baffle me as she wordlessly takes the passenger seat.

When I get into the driver’s side, she says, “St. George’s Hospital, please?”

~

The drive is silent. Maeve’s fidgeting with her hands, looking outside the window, occasionally. I drive as fast as humanely possible because I know this is some emergency, but slow enough to avoid getting ticketed. Unexpectedly she takes a phone and punches a number quickly and proceeds to put it on speaker.

I hear her mutter, “Pick up! Pick up!”

When the call finally connects, a hoarse voice groggily answers, “Hello?”

“Josh? Hey, it’s Maeve!”

There is a small pause before whoever this Josh person is, replies, “What’s up? Sorry, I fell asleep! Give me a sec.” There is commotion, a little bit of shuffling and squealing.

A faint shadow of a smile comes on Maeve’s face as she listens to the person shuffling themselves awake.

Is that her boyfriend?

“Yeah, tell me,” he finally says and Maeve is quick to spit words.

“Dad’s at the hospital. He- someone attacked him and made it look like a mugging.”

Her dad’s in trouble?

There is radio silence on the other end, followed by a couple of footsteps before the person finally says in a hurry, “Text me the hospital details. I’ll be there.”

Who’s this person?

~

The number of times I visit a hospital is insane. For a suspect, for a victim and occasionally, for me. Maeve runs across the lobby, straight to the receptionist whilst simultaneous being on her phone.

“Maria, I’m here. Room 864? Yeah, no, yeah. I’m coming.”

She doesn’t even speak to the receptionist and sprints over to the lift, looking over her shoulder for a brief minute and signalling me to join her. I scurry over to her side to join her in the lift. It’s funny, how she looks like she wants me around, but still hasn’t told me why we’re here. Of course, I know her dad’s here but she had not told me, this. She’d been telling this Josh person.

“Your dad’s alright?” I quiz and she looks at me, nodding.

“Yeah, yeah. I told him to stop with his investigative journalism. He just wouldn’t listen. I live my life waiting for a call from Maria, telling me he’s dead or something,” she discloses.

Investigative journalist?

“Your dad’s a journalist?”

The lift dings open and Maeve walks out, answering me as we walk through hallways. “You’ve heard of the paper, The Inside Out?”

The Inside Out? Of course. Wait, what?

“It’s the Inside Out. Sure. It’s one of those papers that still manages to get some of the truth out to the people.” I tell her, in a matter of fact way.

She waves to a woman, who looks uptight and I think it is safe to assume that it is Maria.  She then turns back to me and in the same tone quips, “My dad owns it.”

“What?”

There is no time for her to respond because she is soon escorted to the room in which her father stays, by Maria. I stand there, unsure of whether I should follow her and that is when she looks back and tilts her head, asking, “You not coming?”

Smiling, I strut forward to accompany her. The room is large and white. Fancier than what we admit ourselves to, obviously. Her father sits reclined on the bed and beams when he catches sight of his daughter. A simple man with a silver mane, nobody would suspect he’d be one of New York’s best investigative journalist.

“Hey, Dad!” Maeve greets and fast walks to embrace him, leaving me to stand awkwardly in the corner of the room. Mr. Markey sends me a brief peek before turning his attention to his daughter.

“Hey, honey. Good to see you!” he heartily says, laughing slightly despite the evident flinch from pain. His lip looks busted, there is a bandage around his head and an indicator of some broken ribs and an arm.

“Wish, I could say the same. What happened this time? Dad, can you please take a break already. You’re ageing,” she whispers yells, shoving her father playfully, making the man wince. “s**t, sorry. Did that hurt?”

“Maybe I should get hurt more often. I get to see my daughter and apparently,” he jokes, looking at the door and continues, “my son.”

 Both Maeve and I turn as well, to come face to face with a tall, tan and attractive blue-eyed man who had a smirk hanging off his lips. He’s Mr. Markey’s son, meaning Maeve’s brother. Attractiveness clearly runs in the family but not in a very obvious way. Maeve and Josh don’t look alike, in fact, she looks quite different from her brother and father who have a semblance of each other. She has stark South East Asian features in her, leading me to assume that she looks like her mother who by the way isn’t here.

“What a cute little family reunion, in the hospital,” he jests, before moving gracefully to hug Maeve and then his father. It’s cute, the way they’re happy to just make fun of each other and talk, even though one of them is seriously injured. I am almost jealous and I feel ignored. I don’t say anything and stick to quietly watching the family catch up. It is almost as if Maeve’s brother can hear me because he looks at me with a mischievous smile, before saying, “So tell me Maeve, is that your new boy toy?”

Maeve’s eyes widen and she smacks her brother. “Josh, that’s so not cool,” she yells before turning to give me an apologetic look.

So that’s Josh.

Her father directs his gaze to me and not being a fan of this sudden attention that I seem to be getting, I saunter forward, greeting the rest of her family, “Sirs, I am Agent Dylan Foley. I work for the FBI, Organized Crimes.”

“Come on, young man. Don’t be so serious. You a friend of Maeve’s?” her father prods, grinning ear to ear.

I hesitate, peering at her to save me, “I-uhmm…”

“He is. He drove me to the hospital,” she finally adds, clearing the awkward with one quick, short answer. Nevertheless, it brings a smile on my face and I nod, affirming her statement. Josh gets on his feet and is quick to offer me a bro shake, saying, “Yo man! I’m Joshua Markey. Nice to meet you.”

While I’d love to stay and chat, I decide it is best to leave the family alone. Smiling lightly, I say, “I think, I’ll leave you guys alone. It was a pleasure meeting y’all.”

The family smiles and it’s so blinding because it is so genuine. Maeve stands. “I’ll send him off and be back?”

~

Both of us walk quietly and I halt when I see the news flash in the waiting lounge.

“One girl goes missing in Yonkers. This raises alarm since this is the fifth girl that’s gone missing across the West Coast in the past 3 months... police...”

I mentally note to take a printout of this missing case for my case wall before Maeve abruptly speaks, “Thanks for coming along, Agent Foley. You didn’t have to come, but in all honesty, I really did appreciate your presence today. It’s been a tough day.”

I nod, gently beaming at her. However, there is nothing more to add to the conversation and so I choose to wave.

“I’ll see you around, Maeve.”

And, she smiles right back, pinching my heart in a way I haven’t felt before. “Damn right you will, Agent Foley!”

I shake my head, leaning forward slightly and catching her off-guard. Tenderly reaching out, I grab her arm, only to whisper, “Call me Dylan.”

~Maeve~

I feel flushed when Dylan finally pulls away with a lazy smirk. My hands automatically reach for my neck, rubbing it in efforts to hide the beet that seems to be spreading to my cheeks. He stuffs his hands inside his leather jacket before two-finger saluting me as he had done in the past.

It’s cute.

When I’m back in the room, my father and brother are smiling perversely. f**k my f*****g life.

“Dad, you hungry? Should I get you some good food from Jolibee’s? You like that, don’t you?” I am trying to divert them from bringing Dylan up. It is not a conversation I can avoid forever, but I can try for now.

Josh wastes no time, pointing his fingers at me with a cheeky face. “Don’t divert, Little Maeve. Is that agent your boyfriend?” he teases.

I sigh, rolling my eyes, “No. He is a friend.”

He puts on a fake thinking face. “He’s handsome but looks a little old for you. You into older men?”

My dad simply laughs. He is so into enjoying this conversation that I would probably throw stones at him if he wasn’t my dad... and hurt.

“Joshua Zander Markey, for the last time. He is a friend and I am not discussing the kind of men I am into, with you. Stop being an i***t!” I snap and despite this, my family laughs.

I often wonder if this is the plight of all last borns in the family. Are we all considered a joke within the family?

My dad calls me and I plop down next to him, indignantly. He pats me softly and speaks, “You know your brother’s making fun of you. Why don’t you ever learn?”

I huff. Josh leaves a kiss to my hair and takes a seat across from me. “I am sorry, okay? Don’t be angry! It’s been a while since we’ve met. You’ve become a lot more sensitive, huh?”

“Dad!” I whine, which earns me another happy laugh from him and despite being mocked at, it makes me content to see my father like this. He deserves this more than anything and anyone. If only he hadn’t been hurt.

There is a comfortable tranquillity and my dad takes the opportunity to talk.

“Josh? Maeve? Have you spoken to your mom, recently?”

It’s not that I don’t want to talk about mom, but I’d rather have my dad healthy when we have this conversation, although there is nothing adverse that I have to say. I shake my head. “No. I spoke to her on Christmas, dad. She’s okay. She seemed happy.”

My dad thoughtfully nods his head and gives me a half-smile, “That’s good. I’m glad she’s happy.”

The topic, however, doesn’t sit well with Josh because he tenses before he seethes, “Dad, stop talking about her. Just give up already.”

This is not the first time my brother is reacting this way and it most probably is not going to be the last but I wish he’d be more understanding of mom. She’s our mother, after all.

“Josh, stop yelling,” I warn, but my dad puts his hand on mine, reassuringly.

“Son, she’s your mom. The woman of my life. She’s my love. I can’t not ask about her just because we decided to go separate ways. Maeve’s accepted this. Why won’t you try?” My dad asks and this only fuels my brother’s wrath because he abruptly stands up.

“Because I don’t want to. It is a choice that I am making, dad. I’m off. Take care,” he stoically says and stomps off. I jump up to go after him but my dad stops me.

“Let him be. He’ll come around.”

“But dad…” I trail off, but my dad just smiles.

And I just trust him. I have learnt to.