Kim Karr - Torn

Feeling even more confused, I chime in to ask, “What did that have to do with you?”

Ben pulls his knees in, resting his elbows on them, and leans forward. “It had everything to do with me, with us. He asked me to write an article for The L.A. Times . And of course I said I would—who could say no to a story like that? He told me what he knew and I started researching. And son of a bitch if every time I found one thing, it didn’t easily lead to another. Before I knew it I had collected a shitload of incriminating information. What I didn’t know was that the investigation and my article was putting both of us in danger.”

“I don’t understand. Why would writing a story put you in danger? And what does this have to do with you pretending to be killed?”

“I found out things, traced the money, the drugs. I had the operation figured out. Caleb and I thought publishing my article would bring the cartel’s drug ring down faster than the FBI could. But we were wrong. The cartel found out and wanted the story stopped, so I said I’d kill it. But Caleb giving the information to them wasn’t enough. I was in danger. You were in danger.”

My eyes flash to his as the shock of what he’s saying hits me. “Ben, you were a journalist. That makes no sense. Journalists investigate stories all the time. Why would your story be any different?”

He rests his hand in the sand and his muscular arm draws my attention until he answers. “Because I had gotten closer to the truth than anyone else before me. I knew the ins and outs of the operation and they didn’t like that. How they found out—I’m not sure, but they did. Maybe a tip-off, maybe a data trace. I don’t know. But they knew about me, and they knew I had information.”

“Okay, Ben, let’s pretend I understand. So where does the shooting come in? Why,” my voice breaks, “did you have to die?”

“To save you. They threatened me. I had to protect you. It had to look like I died so they’d leave you alone. They had to think I was dead, or eventually you and I, we’d both be killed.”

My thoughts were racing as I tried to comprehend what he had explained. Trying to determine whether this wasn’t some wild fabricated story. I anticipated further imbalance from our conversation, and listening to him only reaffirms it.

He looks at me and continues. “Once I agreed to the plan, Caleb took care of everything. He arranged for someone to take the fall for shooting me, arranged my new location, my new identity, he arranged it all.”

Raking my fingers through the sand, I turn to watch a surfer as he rides a wave. “Wait—so Caleb knew this whole time that you weren’t really dead? He helped you?”

“Yeah he did. He also promised me he’d watch out for you.”

I have to ask, “Did he also know you were coming back?”

“No he didn’t. I saw him for the first time yesterday. He hasn’t been involved with my case for a while.”

Shaking my head, I’m still trying to understand everything. Ben is a case? Is he still working with the FBI?

He inches closer to me until he’s much too close, it feels too familiar, and I need to put some distance between us. But he captures my attention and I don’t move. He hesitates for the slightest moment, stopping inches from me. “So now do you see—I left for you. It was the choice I had to make.”

Gasping in disbelief, I move back and the apprehension I felt earlier turns to anger. “What do you mean ‘choice’? You had a fucking choice? Dying was a choice? Leaving me all alone was a choice?”

Talking over me with the same commanding tone he always used when I’d get riled he says, “Choice wasn’t the right word. Just calm down.”

I can’t take it anymore. “No, I’m not going to calm down!”

He tenses, his shoulders rising. “Dahl.”

“Don’t call me that! You don’t get to call me that anymore!”

“Okay. Alright. Just let me finish.”

I swivel in the sand to narrow my eyes at him. “No Ben, it’s my turn. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? What you put me through? You died in front of me and you weren’t even dead? You aren’t dead!”

Watching the different emotions pass over his face is too much. I divert my gaze to the water. Staring at the waves, I can feel his eyes on me. “I don’t know. I only know what I went through and can only imagine what you had to endure was much worse. I’m so sorry you had to live with my death for so long. But I had to disappear.”

I snap my head back up and look right into his deep blue eyes, feeling the anger seep through every pore of my body. “You didn’t just disappear, Ben—you fucking died in front of my eyes. I saw him—the asshole that shot you. I saw the coroner take your body away. I went to your goddamn funeral knowing we had to have a closed casket. And you weren’t even in there! While I cried for you, mourned for you, loved you, missed you. At times I just wanted to die without you. Are you kidding me?” Trembling, I scream even louder, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t know writing the article would lead where it did. If I had, I never would have stuck my nose into it. I swear I would have just let the FBI deal with it.” He leans closer to me and I stand up. He grabs my hand and forces me to look at him. A strange feeling runs through me, but it isn’t love.

I step back, forcing him to drop my arm but it doesn’t stop his words as he stands and says, “I’m so sorry that I didn’t share my secret with you before I left. No, actually sorry doesn’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling right now. I don’t think I will ever find the right way to express the remorse I feel about what I’ve done.”

I shake my head and open my mouth to say something, but he moves forward and touches a shaky finger over my lips. “Through everything, after all this time, you need to know . . . I have never ever stopped loving you, not for one second. And it scares the shit out of me to think that you don’t still love me. That you might actually love someone else.”

That’s when I lose any sense of control. Unable to listen to anymore I scream, “‘Might love someone else’?” After taking a deep breath I continue, “What did you think would happen? You died three years ago and it took me so long to move on. Getting past the grief, the sorrow, wasn’t easy, but I was finally able to move forward. So yes, I’m in love with someone else. You can’t come back here thinking . . . ,” I motion between us, “. . . that we’re going to just pick up where we left off. You can’t possibly believe that! Why did you even come back?”

He steps into me. He runs the tips of his fingers over the scrape on my cheek before I can move away and says, “Because I finally could, when I never thought I would be able to. Dahl the FBI caught the people that were after me. The ones who threatened your life. They fucking caught them. And I was free to come home. Don’t you get it?”

“I get it, Ben, but it’s crazy—FBI, free to come home. It’s just crazy.”

“I know it sounds that way, but it’s all true. All of it. It’s one big clusterfuck. You were never supposed to know any of this. I was dead—you were safe. That’s what was supposed to happen. But they suspected there was still information out there and they wanted it. They broke into our house looking for it, how they knew I have no idea. Then when the paid-off shooter was released, they went after him for it. He was scared and told them he didn’t have the information, but I was alive. They wanted to know where I was so they threatened his family if he didn’t find me. He went after you assuming you knew where I was.”

I feel my jaw drop. “Wait a minute! Is he the one who attacked me?”