J. Ellison - The Cold Room

“My God. Do you have the reports? I’d like to read about it myself.”

“Of course. But we have plenty of time for that.”

“It must have been nice to have good parents. Mine weren’t very pleasant.”

“I applaud you killing them. You became a man that day.”

Gavin squirmed uncomfortably. He didn’t like to remember that part of his past. Tommaso was right; he was reborn that day. Just as he’d been reborn yesterday, when Tommaso told him who he really was. He had so far to travel. Tommaso was so sophisticated, so much more of an artist than he was.

“I had no choice. It was them or me. I just couldn’t take it any longer.”

“I’m sorry you had such a hard time. Let’s talk about something more engaging then, something to make you happy. Tell me about your latest-Ophelia in the babbling brook. Do you have the photographs? I saw the Millais when I was in London, it is magnificent.”

Gavin went to his carry-on bag and took out the jump drive.

“Do you have something I can plug this into?”

“What’s that? Where is your laptop?”

“I left it at my house. I was worried that they might make me open it at security, that someone might see the pictures. So I downloaded them to this drive.”

Tommaso was staring at him with a look of abject horror on his face.

“If you had destroyed the originals like I told you, no one would have seen anything on your laptop.” He was yelling now. “You left it at your house? Did you at least destroy the drive?”

“Well, no. I password-protected it.”

Tommaso stood angrily. His face no longer looked familiar. For a brief moment, Gavin wondered if that’s what he looked like when he was furious and a tiny frisson of fear coursed through him. Tommaso’s fists were balled, his shoulders tense. Gavin instinctively ducked a bit, tried to pull away.

“Please tell me you killed the girl, Gavin. Tell me you didn’t leave behind any more evidence.”

Gavin realized he’d made a very big mistake. “I’m sorry. I gave her a massive injection of heroin. There’s no way she could have survived. She should have died in the night. And I was thinking, after I went back home…And I must go back home, Tommaso. I have to take care of Art. I only left him enough food for a week. I can’t let him starve.”

Tommaso turned white. “Holy mother of Christ. You’re worried about a fucking cat.”

Gavin was crushed. How could he say that about Art?

Tommaso went to the kitchen, picked up the phone and made a call. Within seconds, he was speaking in rapid Italian.

He came back in the living room, fury etched across his face.

“I just spoke to a friend of mine who works for the carabinieri, a friend who I have shared many intimate moments with. He told me the FBI has arrived in Florence, and they have your computer. They suspect the art world’s Tommaso of being II Macellaio. We have to get out of here. They probably already know where we are. You’ve led them right to me. You idiot!”

The screaming shattered him, broke all the recently repaired shards of his soul. Tommaso calling him an idiot hurt worse than any of the beatings he’d taken at the hands of his adoptive parents. They’d taken turns with the belt, ripped the skin from his back, his legs. Broken his fingers. None of that felt nearly as horrible as this.

He tried to fight back. “I am not an idiot. No one can break that password, it’s much too unique. There is no chance the laptop led them to you.”

“Gavin, are you totally mental? The laptop has my IP address, which in turn can be traced directly to my apartment. Here. We need to go. We need to go right now.”

Gavin stood. His mind was muddled from all the drink, from the fury emanating from what felt like himself. It was as if his personality had fractured in two, that he was suddenly seeing the voices he’d always heard in the back of his mind. His anger gave him courage. He wasn’t an idiot.

“You aren’t being fair. I deleted out all the history of the chats.”

“It doesn’t matter. My God, you work with computers. You know that nothing is ever truly gone unless you wipe the hard drive, and even then they can find things. The FBI is here, in Italy, on my soil. They are looking for us. Don’t you understand? We could lose everything.”

“I’m sorry,” Gavin whispered.

Tommaso didn’t acknowledge the apology. He was rushing around the living room and into the bedroom, gathering clothes and bags and everything he could get his hands on. He went into the kitchen and loaded up some food.

Gavin watched, incredulous. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I was just so excited to meet you. I didn’t think things through.”

Tommaso came back to the couch, grabbed him roughly by the shoulders. He looked into Gavin’s soul, then pulled him to his chest. “I know. I know, Gavin. I have a place we can go. But you have to promise that from now on, you will do exactly as I say. I am the only hope you have anymore.”

T he food had been spicy and delicious, the wine superb, and Taylor was feeling just a little tipsy as they headed back to their room. She and Baldwin stopped on the bridge again, and this time Baldwin showered her with kisses-her lips, her nose, the soft hollow at the base of her neck, the spot right below her scar that had become so exquisitely sensitive after the surgery. She knew empirically the tingling was nerve damage, but preferred the more romantic version of events.

When they came up for air, she realized her cell phone was vibrating in her pocket.

“Whoops. I better get this,” she said. Still insinuated between Baldwin’s legs, she fumbled the phone and nearly dropped it. She didn’t recognize the number.

She answered it with a brisk, “Taylor Jackson.”

There was no sound, just a deep emptiness. Dread immediately paraded into her system. There was only one person who was making calls to her without saying anything.

She started to hang the phone up, heard whispering. She put the phone back to her ear.

“Did you hear me? I’m coming for you, Taylor.”

The Pretender. What in the name of hell was this guy up to?

She was feeling reckless. After everything that had happened today, she felt like she had nothing more to lose. Her temper flared.

“You want me? Well, come and get me, you son of a bitch.” She slammed the phone closed. Every nerve was on fire; she felt more alive than she had in years. She refused to let this creep slink around in the back of her mind anymore. She’d opened the door. With any luck, she would push him through.

Baldwin knew immediately what had happened; she could read the anger on his face.

“Taylor, was that the wisest-”

She slapped her hand on the concrete, painfully scraping her palm. She jerked her hand back, inspected the cut. She sucked a tiny drop of blood off her wrist and got quiet.

“Baldwin, I can’t stand it. He’s out there, and he wants me for something. So let’s push his buttons and see how he feels for a while. It’s ridiculous that I have to look over my shoulder, waiting to see where and who he’s going to kill next. No, damn it. I’m sick of being manipulated, of being on my guard against everything and everyone. I want this done. I’m going to let him have a taste of what it means to tangle with me.”

“Do you think he’s nearby?”

“No. He’s not ready. I doubt he’ll be giving me a heads-up.”

She started to walk away. He caught her hand, turned her to face him roughly. “I won’t lose you, Taylor.”

She stood tall, looked him deep in his green eyes. “Trust me, Baldwin, you won’t. But if I live my life a minute longer waiting to see what he’s going to do, I’ll drive myself mad. I’m not happy sitting back, waiting and seeing. That’s not me. If I could be more proactive, actually hunt his ass down, trust me, I would do that. I’ll do whatever it takes. You’re just going to have to trust me.”