章節 25: That Never Happen
They walked out silently like strangers, doing their best to avoid each other. He stepped up into the truck, and she climbed in. He sat there momentarily before starting the truck, trying to gather his thoughts.
She took a deep breath and broke the intense silence.
"I feel horrible for him. At first, I thought he was some rich prick with connections. Now I realize he's a grieving father who wants to know what happened to his little girl who happens to have connections," she said. "And he cares for those other families who are suffering their loss," she said.
"He's a good dad. He wants answers just like the other parents do. I couldn't begin to imagine what I would do if it were my child if it were my daughter. If I ever have a daughter. Dads are supposed to do everything in their power to protect their little girls from the world's evils."
"Some of us never got that from their dad's. Some of us had to protect ourselves. Evil is everywhere. Everyone has the propensity to be evil. It doesn't matter who you are."
"I disagree. Some people have lived their lives without letting the evil set in."
"Really? Like whom?" she asked.
"Well, the Pope, I'm sure he has no evil within."
"The Pope? Leader of the biggest cult in the world. He has convinced Millions if someone is not like you, they are horrible people. Did you know St. Peter's Basilica was built with money scammed from his followers? They were called Catholic Indulgences. They were a way for individuals to receive full or partial remission of punishment for sins. This means that by getting an indulgence, a person could have some or all their time in purgatory eliminated after their death."
"Oh… my… fucking… God. That was a horrible thing to say. Did you call my choice of religion a cult? I hope you don't believe in hell because if you do, you are going there,"
"Aren't you mad about the extortion?"
"They don't do that sort of thing anymore. They must have realized that it was wrong," Dean said.
"You put money in a basket every week, don't you? People do that to get into heaven. If they don't, they feel guilty like they are going to hell."
"And how would you know how they feel?"
"Oh, I don't know; maybe because I was raised catholic. Church, confirmation, communion, confession, peace be with you, all that jazz. I confessed my sins to a priest who was found guilty of giving the altar servers communion wine and taking them back to his "special room." Do you know that when I made my confirmation, one of the sisters called to remind me about the ceremony? I confessed that I didn't do any community service or do a right-to-life essay, which was needed. Do you know what that sister said to me? Yes, but your parents paid the money. So, I was confirmed even though I cut almost every class and didn't do my work. My confirmation name is Elizabeth. When I hung up the phone, that was the day I lost all faith. I was in eighth grade.
That is a true story. I am an agnostic. I believe that nothing is known or can be known of the existence or nature of God. Or of anything beyond material phenomenon. I claim neither faith nor disbelief in God," she explained.
Dean looked at her. "Your beliefs, or lack thereof, are your beliefs. My beliefs are mine, and mine believe that you—" Dean was cut off.
"You finish that sentence. I will fulfill my threat of breaking your jaw, and you will never speak again."
There was no more conversation after that for some time. The tension was thick, and it had become unbearable.
"You were there last night, weren't you, at Jake's?" Allie asked.
Caretaker, don't open that door.
"I want him to admit it."
"What fucking difference will it make?" Dean asked.
"If you didn't see me, I wasn't there."
"I'll take that as a yes," she said.
"It doesn't matter if I was or wasn't there. You wouldn't have acknowledged me even if you knew I was there. You were preoccupied."
"What's the difference? It makes no difference whatsoever. I would have still had a fun time. You have no bearing on my life. In my life or not in my life, it doesn't make a damn bit of difference."
"The other night meant nothing to you? I know you don't want a relationship but damn. You hop beds like a bunk bunny," he said.
Holy shit! Did he call you a bunk bunny?
"Don't you dare assume who or what I am! You know nothing about me."
"I know you seduced me, took advantage of my feelings for you, and let me put my dick inside you in a truck parked on a public street. All we needed was a dark alley, a twenty-dollar--"
"You finish that sentence, and I will break your fucking jaw. I don't even care if you crash this fucking truck. I've been ready to die for the last nine years. And the other night... that was a mistake. We spent time together because I felt guilty for leading you on. I figured I should follow through. So that should tell you how drunk I was. You were a means to an end. I wanted to get laid, and that's precisely what happened," she said. "I would give my firstborn to forget that night," she spit the words out like venom.
Doesn't that mean you don't want to forget since you can't have children?
"Shut up, Malibu, or I am drinking 750 milliliters (about 25.36 oz) to get you 100 % out of my head."
You still called him by an affectionate nickname.
"You need to fuck far off. Go back to where you came from. I'll fuck up my life if I want to.
"Don't you DARE ever call me a fucking bunk bunny ever again if you value your desire for procreation! The other night... was a mistake. I talked you into being with me. So that should tell you how desperate and drunk I was. The best part of the evening was I didn't have to pay for a single drink."
"A mistake? Desperate? Is that what that guy was last night?" he asked.
"What... fucking... business... is it of yours?"
"Like I said, you let me put my bare dick in you. I'm fucking crazy for wanting a little more of you! For caring about you. Most of all, I want to be with you when you're sober. However, I think that will never happen. When are you not drunk? Besides, at work. Though you may blow a .04. I guess it's none of my business. Fuck me for caring about you! Fuck me for wanting a little more for you!" he said.
"I was drunk. I didn't ask you to protect me. I didn't do anything to remotely make you think that I had any feelings for you," Allie said.
"Thank you for proving my bunny theory, and if I remember correctly, you even thanked me for protecting you from that guy. Allie, you are so full of shit you make toilets jealous. Why are you like this? Why don't you admit it?"
"And what exactly am I supposed to admit? That I even make mistakes? Then fine, I made a mistake, and he's sitting right before me!" she was aggressively moving closer.
"Was last night a mistake, or are you proud of taking home some random guy? I don't want to know how many guys you've fucked. Do I need to get tested for every STD on the planet, especially since you've been all over it? And most likely a majority of people on it."
He put the car in park.
"OH, FUCK YOU! HOW DARE YOU! SEE, I WAS RIGHT; EVERYONE IS CAPABLE OF EVIL! YOU ACT ALL KIND AND SOUTHERN GENTLEMANLY BUT HERE YOU ARE CALLING ME A WHORE!"
"How dare I? The word whore never came out of my mouth. If that's how you took it, I can't control what you think of yourself."
"Oh, my fucking God," she said.
"You know what I think? Honestly?" he asked.
"Sure, Dean, enlighten me with your wisdom."
"You're terrified. You act bravely like nothing bothers you, but you are scared shitless."
"What could I possibly be scared shitless of?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know, opening up to someone and letting them in. Showing just a tiny bit of who you are. Admitting that you, the rough and tumble Marine, can have a valid feeling of her own. You always run to trouble and dysfunction; you thrive off it. You can't walk towards something safe. Jesus Christ, no wonder you are incapable of having a committed relationship. Or is it just because you want to keep your options open?"
"I'll tell you right now, I wouldn't have a committed relationship with you even if it cured cancer. As far as keeping my options, that was harsh. You again are saying that I am a bunk bunny, just in a different way."
He wanted to apologize so badly. He couldn't believe the words he was saying to her. He made such a big deal about disrespecting women and not talking to women with any disrespect, but his anger and intense love overtook him.
"Admit, you're scared!" he yelled.
"I'm not scared."
"Admit you felt what I felt!"
"I felt tequila coursing through my veins."
"I felt it, Allie. I know you did, too. I could see it in your eyes that night," he said.
"You need to stay in your own fucking lane Dean," she said. "You want to know what I felt that night? Tequila-fueled lust. I didn't go home with you, did I? That drives you crazy. It's not what I did. It's the fact I didn't do it with you," she poked her finger into his chest.
They sat there, just glaring at each other. His eyes were as hard as the emeralds they looked like. The blue in her eyes had faded into gray. Between them, the perfect storm was brewing.
"You're right, Allie. You can fuck every hot-looking Mexican cop who looks your way. Get drunk, have fun, go home with whoever you want, but I know at night when you're all alone, you think of me," he said. "You have since the first day you saw me."
"And how are you so sure of that? Huh, Dean. Are you also a mind reader with that perfect memory you have? HOW DARE YOU PRESUME TO KNOW WHAT I THINK ABOUT AT NIGHT! HOW DO YOU KNOW?"
"I know you've been purposely treating me like shit! You push everyone away, and I noticed that when you do, you act like a stone-cold BITCH. I KNOW BECAUSE I THINK ABOUT THE SAME THING! I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU. YOU'RE ALWAYS RIGHT HERE," he jabbed his forehead with his finger.
"A bitch? The guy who busted into my interrogation because someone called me a bitch is calling me a bitch. Talk about fucking irony! To quote you, the only bitch here is YOU!
They looked at each other, fury, rage, passion, intensity, each emotion piling one on the other. Chemicals coursing through their brains, infiltrating every nerve and vessel in their bodies. She leaped forward like a tigress, ambushing her prey. He caught her, his hand on the back of her head. She grasped his head with both hands and pulled his face into hers. The kiss was raw, unrestrained, and uncoordinated. It was almost theatrical. It was hot and heavy. Hands moving, heads quickly shifting from side to side. It went like that for a solid 2 minutes. Then she stopped and pulled away. They were panting, hearts racing, she looked at him.
"He's Latino," she said.
"What?" he said, sounding confused.
"He's not Mexican, he's Latino."
"I don't fucking care," he said, aggressively pulling her close.
They kissed again. Dean leaned forward, she leaned back, and till she was laying across the front seat. He had his hand up her shirt, kneading her breast and pinching her erect nipple. He was pressing against her thigh. He was hard. He reached down and put his hand between them.
She moved her pelvis back and forth, rubbing against it. It was getting uncomfortably hot in the truck. For a moment, she wanted to go further. For a moment, she wanted to tell him he was correct about her feelings for him. As soon as the thoughts came to her mind, she stopped, dead. She pushed him off her and pulled back from him. She sat up and moved over to the end of the bench to the window.
"No, nope. Aught ah. This is not happening. This didn't happen. I'm not letting this happen. Do you understand? Just another mistake. There is no us, no we, and there is no this."
"There you go, run, Allie, run. You've got some issues. No, you don't have just issues; you have full-blown subscriptions. You know what, I couldn't handle you even if you came with a manual. Not to mention, all your parts are out of stock, and you are too damaged to try fixing. You're incapable of love because you're incapable of letting someone love you. It's like you're serving a penance for something, and living a miserable, lonely, loveless life is your sentence," he said.
He grabbed his keys from the cupholder and flung his door open.
"You know what shakes me to my core? I could effortlessly love you. You can show yourself out. At least do me a favor and lock the doors behind you."
He left her sitting in the truck. She watched him walk away quickly, taking longer than necessary strides. He was running from her without running away.
She started to tremble. "But you don't know me. You don't know my story," Allie whispered.
Tears sprung up in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. She started to hyperventilate. She put her head between her knees and slowly rocked back and forth in a self-soothing rhythm, her head in her hands and covering her ears.
⚡Flashback⚡
She could hear the explosions. There was yelling and screams, so many screams. No school or training in the world could prepare anyone for combat. People think they could go to war without problems, issues, or worries. It's just a job with a bit of war mixed in.
She was in a convoy heading into the city. Her Humvee was third in line. The first Humvee hit a buried IED bomb. It flew twelve feet in the air and came crashing onto the second one. The smell of burning diesel filled the air. The explosion killed seven of her company instantly. She bailed from the vehicle with the rest of the passengers. The scene was chaotic. Orders were being yelled out. The ringing in her ears from the explosion made it hard to hear. Gunfire echoed through the hot, still air. She stood next to Falkner, who they called Falcon, as he glanced around the back of the Humvee. A bullet hit him in the face right under the eye, shattering his cheekbone. He fell backward on the ground, and she pulled him over towards her. She looked left and right; on the ground about eight feet away lay their Corpsman, dead.
Laying down on her stomach, she crawled forward and stretched her arm, trying to reach the med bag their Corpsman had been carrying. With fingertips, she pulled the bag over to her. She opened the bag, turned it over, and dropped all the contents onto the ground. With shaking hands, she struggled to open the pack of abdominal pads. She was trying to push his eye back into the broken socket. It was useless as the blood pooled behind his head, mixing with the dirt.
Behind the fourth Humvee, she saw her friend Carter, whom they called Cartman. Somehow, from 200 yards away, a sniper managed to shoot him an inch under his helmet. It tore through his cheeks, tearing his face apart; he dropped like a stone. Sgt. Horner sent out the SOS. She climbed under the last Humvee and took cover, continuously peering out from underneath.
She set her rifle into the pocket of her shoulder, aimed, and fired. She shot out knees and shins. When they hit the ground, she would shoot them in the head. She hit more than she missed.
In what seemed like an hour, the Blackhawks had flown in. The gunners opened rapid fire, and the ground insurgents were dead within seconds. Only the sniper remained. She climbed from under the Humvee and slid inside through the open door. She peered out the window using the mirror she always kept in her pocket. She couldn't see anything. She knew she had to get up and set on the bottom of the window. Looking through the scope, she caught the slightest glimpse of reflection off the sniper's scope. She steadied the rifle on the window, aimed and fired. Recoil. The sniper dropped from his prone position on his elbows, and it was over. Nothing was left to do but gather the wounded and the dead and leave hostile territory.⚡
She had been in the truck for around ten minutes when Dean and Bruss approached it.
Dean saw her first. There she was, hunched over, crying, and rocking back and forth.
"Oh my God, Allie." He threw the door open, almost hitting Bruss square in the face. "Allie. Allie! Alexsandra Grace!" he spoke loudly, trying to get her attention.
"You know her middle name?" Bruss asked.
"I work for the FBI; I know her credit rating too. Patrick Karl, with a K."
He reached in and grabbed her. He held her tight to his chest. Her eyes were fixed and staring forward like she was in a trance. He leaned in and whispered into her ear.
"Allie, come back to me." She slowly lifted her head and looked at him. "Hey. There you are," Dean's voice was soft.
She backed away from him and wiped off her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.
"I've got to get back to work." She pushed him away gently.
Bruss backed up, and Dean followed suit.
She slid down out of the truck.
"Allie, I think you need to go home; let me take you," Bruss said.
She slowly shook her head. "No, I'm okay. Thank you, though."
"He's right, Allie, you don't need to be here. We can handle things."
Her face got serious; it was like someone flipped her switch.
"No. Why would I need to go home?" she asked, trance-like.
She walked off toward the station. Bruss and Dean looked at each other, baffled.
"Have you ever seen that before?" Dean asked.
"No. Never. Not, like that. What happened on the drive back?"
"We got into an argument. A loud, intense argument."
"What about exactly?" he asked.
"Well, it's complicated. There was some yelling. There were some regrettable words. I may have indicated that I thought she was afraid of getting close to anyone, and I called her crazy; then we—" he stopped himself.
"You what?" Bruss asked.
"We, umm, I mentioned her drinking."
"So heightened emotions, uncomfortable situation, you preached about her drinking, and you told her she was crazy?" he asked.
"I didn't say crazy. I said she had issues," Bruss said.
"You don't know, do you?"
"Apparently not."
"Allie has PTS. Why do you think she fast-tracked her way into the Bureau?" Bruss asked.
"She never mentioned it, but I don't know anything personal about her. She's not really a sharer."
"Well, there's a lot less gunfire in the detective bureau. She's not as brave as she makes herself out to be. Don't get me wrong, she is tough as fuck. She can handle herself, but she's been through some terrible shit."
Dean turned and watched Allie round the corner. He looked up at the gray Cleveland sky.
"Fuck. Just when I thought this couldn't possibly get worse."
"Hey man, you didn't know. In fact, only a chosen few know. It's simply better that way. Come on." He slapped him on the back, and they headed inside.
每周推薦票狀態
-- 推薦票
榜單 
-- 推薦票