Trapped in his End Game (Series)

I trace a pattern on his chest as my eyes fight to stay open. I’m trying to work out what’s bothering me. Now that Vince promised he would help me, I feel better. Before him, I didn’t have any answers about what happened. Now he’s promising to find out who did it. Sleep drags me into its clutches before I can think of anything to say. His chest rises and falls like the sea. I’m warm. I’m safe.

Fear billows in my chest as I walk into the stale room, surrounded by people in black. There aren’t very many people. It’s a wide-open room. Huge floral wreaths surround a long, brown coffin. I can see a tuft of daddy’s hair surrounded by the white, fluffy interior.

My knees shake and I grip Mom’s hand. People walk beside the coffin in quiet, murmuring succession. They occasionally reach inside to touch him.

I don’t want to touch him. I don’t even want to go near the coffin.

“Adriana, you’re embarrassing me.”

Mom’s fingers tighten around mine in a bruising grip.

“Please, Mom. I don’t want to!”

“You have to. It’ll be the last time you see him.”

No! I don’t want it to be the last time-I don’t want to see him like this. A loud, wailing cry shakes out of my throat, but nobody pays me any attention. She pushes me along the coffin. I see a powdered face. The lines in his face have vanished, but he’s frowning. I swallow hard when I see his chest rise and fall. I’m hallucinating. The slash on his throat is now a faint line, barely visible.

“Go on,” she urges me. “Say goodbye to your Daddy.”

He’s not my Daddy. He doesn’t look anything like him.

I reach out and touch the hands clasped over his chest. It’s like touching cold wood. I recoil immediately, and shame fills my chest.

The letter I wrote trembles in my hands, but I slip it inside, careful not to touch any more of him. All the things I never said often enough: I love you, Daddy. I’m sorry for being a brat sometimes. I didn’t mean to break that vase. I told you I didn’t want to go fishing, but I did. I only said it because Mom told me that girls shouldn’t do boyish things like that. I’m sorry.

A hysterical scream distracts me. Grandma, nearly 80 years old, screams in a language I can’t understand as she stands nearby. It scares me. Everyone cries after me when I run past the coffin and sprint towards the open doorway, out of that wretched place.

I tense upon waking up, my mind still filled with the funeral. I want to shove it out of my mind immediately. My palm spreads over the warm sheets, but Vince’s body is absent.

Footsteps clip over the hardwood floors and a scream catches in my throat.

Christ, it’s only him.

Vince walks into the bedroom, dressed into a charcoal grey suit. His hair looks damp, like he just took a shower. A smile spreads over his face as I drop the sheet from my body and get up out of bed.

“Maddon, I’ll never get used to this,” he says in a low hiss as I walk towards him, completely naked.

He’s all I’ve got.

I grab his tie as his arm curls around my waist. I pull his bemused face towards mine and kiss him softly, pulling back when he tries to deepen it. My hands move along his torso, around his hips to the bulge between his legs. I squeeze him.

He smirks and pulls back. “Bad girl. Trying to distract me when I need to leave. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do.”This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

“You’re right, I’m trying to stop you. That doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”

“Ah, Fuck.” His eyes blaze as he takes my head and kisses me long and hard. “I don’t deserve you.” Dark eyes flick to the door. “I still got to go, though.”

But it’s so dangerous for him to be out there. I don’t understand, and I know he won’t explain.

“Please be safe.”

“I will.” He kisses my cheek and gives me a smoldering look before he leaves the bedroom. I hear the front door open and close.

I get dressed slowly because there’s really nothing to do. I putz around for the rest of the day, watching TV, lounging on the couch.

My phone rings and I grab it absentmindedly, hoping that it’s Maria.

It’s not.

“Adriana!”

My mother’s frantic voice blasts through the tiny speaker. Jesus. What does she want now?

“Mom-what?”

“You need to get here right away. It’s an emergency.”

Bored, I change channels on the television. “You’ve done this before.”

“Adriana, I’m not fucking kidding! I need you to come, now!”

I sit up straighter on the couch. She definitely sounds distressed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t tell you on the phone! Just get here now!”

“All right, Jesus.”

I hang up and twist my phone in my lap. I know I’m not supposed to leave, but there’s something seriously wrong at Mom’s house. My gut clenches as her voice rings in my ear.

Something’s not right.

I gather up my shit, snatching my purse, phone, wallet, and coat. Halfway through the door, I shrug on my coat and lock it. Sprinting across the street, I descend the stairs into the warm metro. Only then do I remember that I should probably text my fiance where I’m going.

My fiance.

It sounds so weird.

Halfway there, I convince myself that Mom probably left the stove on and all the crap cluttered nearby caught fire, or she needs me to change a light bulb. I check my phone again and the message is still unsent. Goddamn tunnels.

Despite my inner voice, I still walk a little more quickly when the doors open to the station. The cold nips at my nose as I ascend the staircase. It’s really bright outside. I’ve forgotten how long it’s been since I’ve actually seen the sky, and it’s a blinding white. A thick white blanket covers the sky, mirroring the bright patches of snow on Mom’s lawn. I try to peek in the darkened windows, but I don’t see anything.

Stamping down my nerves, I twist the door and shove it open, stumbling in the dark. My mother is down the hall, looking frightened but in one piece. Another flash of irritation heats my skin.

“She’s here,” she says.

She’s here? Who’s here?

Her eyes are not focused on me.

There’s a sound of a footstep, the scrape of a shoe on carpet, and I turn right into it. A man aims a gun at my forehead and I open my mouth-

“Don’t fucking scream.”