Sara Jane

Alexander was dangerous.

When I met him I had no idea the trouble he’d bring to my life, but reflecting on the years we’ve shared—I’d welcome it with open arms all over again. Alexander is my puzzle piece. We fit together by design.

“We can go out to dinner,” Shelly offers. “You need to get out of this place even if for only an hour or two.”

“I can’t. What if he comes home?” I walk onto the balcony, searching the dark for the lake in the distance. I know it’s there. I have the image memorized, but I hate that I can’t see it. So much like Alexander.

My heart still undulates to the rhythm of the lake when we bonded. There was no end to me and no beginning of him. It was us in the dark waters, making love, making a life together. Despite the precious memories, hope drifts away each day. I tried to catch it, but like a balloon it’s floating too high in the sky for me to reach.

My frustration has turned to anger. Am I a fool? Am I holding on to something I should let go of? Should I let Alexander go? I’ve protected his secrets for so long, protected him, it’s as though I’ve lost myself and am simply full of his deceptions. Maybe I’ve been deceived. I rub my temples, trying to convince myself he’s not gone forever. “He’ll come back. I know it.” Come back to me, Alexander.

Shelly stands behind me and asks, “How about we order a pizza and watch movies?” Simple things. Like our life before we knew darkness.

I’m reminded of a conversation I was cornered into four days ago . . .

Grumbling, I finally have the four textbooks I need for next semester. I want to get a jump on things since I’m so far behind already. I make my way to the register to check out when I round a corner and run into the cops I’m too familiar with. “Ms. Grayson,” the portly man with an uneven shave says.

My instincts kick in. He’s testing me. Again. “It’s Mrs. Kingwood.” I remember what Quincy said, “They can’t use a wife against her husband, so you owe them nothing personal. Stick to the basic facts.”

The cop says, “You sound a lot like your husband.”

I clam up at the mention of Alexander. What can I say? What do I need to hide? I want to tell them everything: He’s missing. Find him. Bring him back to me. The books are heavy and the top one begins to slide, but the other cop angles around the other whose nametag I catch—Brown. “Mrs. Kingwood, we’ve been trying to get hold of Alexander Kingwood for a few weeks now. His lawyer isn’t returning our calls either.”

Staring at him, I keep my expression steady. Did he leave me on purpose? I still struggle with what my head thinks versus what my heart believes. But if he didn’t leave me on purpose, he left against his will, which has left me scrambling to run his life without him, without guidance, without knowing if I should tell the police or not. By telling them anything, it could open a closetful of skeletons. If he’s gone by choice, that leaves me potentially going down for who knows what crimes have been committed.

The nicer cop asks, “May we speak with you now?”

“No. I’m sorry,” I say as he adjusts the top book back into place. “You’ll need to speak with our lawyer.”

He sticks his card between two of the books. “We’ll try Mr. Quincy again, but the statement needs to be finalized. You have five days to comply, or we’ll have to arrest you for obstruction of justice. I recommend you comply willingly.”

Brown steps forward and does the unexpected. Taking my books from me, he says, “Let me carry these up front for you.”

“Thank you.”

The three of us make our way to the end of the line. Brown sets my books on the counter and tells the clerk they’re mine before nodding and leaving with his partner.

. . . I walk inside and dig the card out of my purse. I have one day to comply or I’ll be brought in. Sitting on the end of the bed, I make the call, but it goes to voicemail. Okaaaayyy. That’s odd. “Hi, this is Sara Jane Kingwood.” Shelly’s eyes land hard on mine as her eyebrows shoot up. I turn my back to her and add, “Please call me so I can give the rest of my statement, and we can move on.” I hang up.

It’s then I realize that Alexander’s not gone for good.

I would feel it inside. My heart would surrender to the pain, and I’d be buried in his absence. With a racing heart and a small smile on my face, I know he’ll return to me. We’re destined for each other, and nothing can tear us apart. If Nastas didn’t take me down, no woman with a vengeance will.

I’ll be everything Alexander wanted me to be. I’ll find Alexander and prove to him I am the queen he knew me to be all along. I’ll reign alongside him.

Repeating what he knew we’d always be—rulers of our own destiny, I accept his darkness, letting it happily rain down on me.

* * *

I’m just about to see Shelly out but jolt in surprise seeing Jason on the landing when I open the front door. “I need to talk to you.”

My heart starts racing. “About?”

“Somewhere more private.”

“Upstairs. Follow me.”

We step aside so he can walk inside. He looks around, checking out the place, like he always seems to do when he comes here.

I lock the door behind us while they sit on the couch. When I turn back, I run to the coffee table and plant myself right in front of him. “Tell me, Jason. Is it Alexander?”

“He’s alive.”

“What?” I say in unison with Shelly, but then add, “Alexander? You heard from him?”

“He’s safe.”

“Safe?” Shelly asks, leaning toward us.

He glances to her and then back to me. “He was kidnapped, Sara Jane. He’s alive and will recover, but you need to know he’s in bad shape. Cruise is even worse off.”

My hand covers my mouth. “Cruise, too. Oh my God. I need to see Alexander. Let’s go.”

I start to dash for the door, but he grabs my wrist. With only a few inches between us, I look up at him. “What?”

“Try to calm down. There’s a plan in place. You’ll see him soon, but after he’s examined by the doctor.”

“Can you take me to him?”

His hand falls to his side. “We need to hang tight. Can you do that? I know it’s stressful and a lot to ask, but we can’t let this get out. I need you to pretend you don’t know.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not supposed to tell you. So listen to me. Don’t change your routine. He’s anxious to get back to you too, but I need you to act normally. Go to bed like you usually do. It’s getting late anyway.”

“How can I sleep, knowing he’s out there and hurt?”

“He’ll be fine. I’ve seen him.”

I sit on the arm of the couch, and he sits back down too. “How do you know all this?”

“It’s part of my job.”

“Your job? You mean the job like how Alexander paid you to watch me?”

“Over.”

“Over?” I ask, my anxiousness getting harder to contain.

“Watch over you. I wasn’t watching you. I’m not a fucking peeping Tom.”

Shelly asks, “What are you?”

He sits forward, aggravation coursing through his muscles as his leg begins to bounce. “I can’t give you the details you want. Please be satisfied with Jason Koster or even Eric from the mini-mart. You’re too good to know the bad stuff I’ve done.”

“I already do.”

His hands fist at his sides as he stares at the floor at my feet. “You don’t, but you do know all you need to know.” Standing up, I follow him to the door. He stops and looks back. “See you around, Shelly.”

“Bye, Jason.”

When his eyes meet mine, there’s the kindness I’ve always seen in him. He doesn’t laugh as much these days as he did in that mini-mart, but I see the good in him because I’ve seen the real him. “You’re leaving for good, aren’t you?”

“No, but I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too, and hey?”

“Yeah,” I reply, whispering.

“King’s the luckiest man I’ve ever known.”

“He survived. That’s determination.”

“I was referring to you.” Always the straight shooter.

Alexander’s words as I lay dying in his arms come rushing back. “It was always you for me. I was just lucky enough that you chose me. I’m the lucky one.”

“No,” I whisper. “I’m the lucky one.”

I watch as he walks out the door without looking back, without so much as a goodbye. I’m not sure if it’s for now or forever, but it’s settled either way.

Shelly leaves shortly after. She didn’t want to go, but I want to be here alone when Alexander comes back to me.

It doesn’t take me long to get ready for bed. My body buzzes with energy, so I lie down to curb my impatience. My hand slides under my T-shirt, and I run the tips of my fingers over my wound. I’m healing “nicely” the doctor says, and I don’t have to wear bandages anymore. The scar is ugly, but living is good, so I’ll take the tradeoff.

And wait for my dark king to return to me.