Francesca
Nikki was holding hard onto Francesca’s hand, but she couldn’t even feel it. Even when her bones creaked under Nikki’s too-tight grip, she still didn’t feel it. Francesca couldn’t really seem to feel anything except the gaping emptiness that threatened to swallow her whole. She knew she’d become attached to Logan, but this massive black hole in her body seemed to speak of something deeper than she’d ever imagined.
Caught up in those thoughts, Francesca barely noticed as Quentin Maloney finally came into his office. There were deep, black smudges under both of his eyes, and his tie was on wrong, like he’d loosened it and tied it back several times. His clothes were wrinkled like he’d been wearing the same suit for days. And given his state of mind, Francesca was convinced he had.
“I’ve told yah before, I can’t help with your friend and his legal troubles,” Quentin said for the third time. “I can’t even help myself right now, yah know?”
Nikki made an exasperated noise in the back of her throat. “You told us you were being watched; we’re not asking you to do anything illegal. Just looking for some protection from Logan getting locked up and lost in the system. You know none of those cops are going to look further into the case because he ran from them.”
“Look, Nikki, sweetheart, I know all this. I still can’t help yah,” Quentin made a weird gesture of helpless, exaggeratedly swinging his arms around at the office. “I’m gonna lose my office this week, so I have to start packing. It’s hard to pay your bills when half of your business disappears overnight, yah know?”
Francesca, her eyes swollen from lack of sleep, stared at him, her expression empty and cold. “How much?” she asked, her voice sounding robotic and icy.
Quentin looked at her like he didn’t recognize her. Perhaps, right now, I wouldn’t even recognize myself. But she continued to stare at him, unblinking.
“How much for what?” he stammered in reply.
“Your lease. How much do you owe the landlord?” Francesca whispered, her voice quiet even in the silence of the office space.
Looking nervous, Quentin glanced at Nikki, who shrugged. “About three grand, but that’s not — ”
Francesca reached into her purse which was nestled on her lap, pulling out a small stack of hundred dollar bills and threw it onto his desk. The motion scattered the money like a draft through an open window. Quentin stared down at his desk, his eyes so wide, she could see the whites all the way around his irises. He looked like a frightened horse that was ready to buck his rider and run in the opposite direction.
“Now, will you help Logan?”
Quentin opened his mouth and then closed it several times, like a fish trying to breathe air. Then he closed his mouth, picked up all of the money Francesca had given to him, and walked out of the door with it. He was only gone for a few moments before he returned, a big smile on his face. “Well, I get to stay in my office, my rent’s all figured out for awhile, and I happen to have the next two days off. I had been planning to use that time to move my office to my house, but I’m gonna use it to help your boyfriend out of jail now.”
For the first time since this whole thing started, Francesca felt her heart swell a little in her chest. The void seemed to shrink a little, and then she took a deep breath and steadied herself. Some like hope kindled in her, setting fires in her veins. “Then let’s make a plan to make sure that Logan gets out of trouble. Whatever it takes.”
Nikki was worried, but looked a little happier now that they seemed to actually have something of a plan. Quentin looked like Francesca had smacked him over the head with a two-by-four. Secretly, Francesca felt bad for him. Had no one ever done anything nice for this poor slob in his whole life?
Quentin looked at her, his eyes still too-wide. He still looked stunned as he said, “So, start from the beginning, Francesca. And tell me everything.”
# # #
Logan
Sitting in the back of the transport van, Logan stared down at the handcuffs around his wrists. It had been years since he’d been arrested last, and the memory wasn’t a fond one. Jail had been like a cage for him, pressing in closer every day until the walls squeezed him like a juicer.
The world felt like it was tilting a little, and he wanted nothing more than to run. Break out of this van and run as fast as he could. But that’s what got you in this deep in the first place. I never should have run in the first place. I never should have left my people.
But never running would have meant never meeting Francesca. And even if he spent the rest of his life in jail, he would remember that week living at Francesca’s white mansion in the desert as the happiest of his entire life. Being with her had taught him so many things; he wished he’d been someone else when they met. Someone completely unlike himself.
The van continued to rumble on, the roads bumping up through the world’s worst shocks and jarring Logan’s spine. He was the only one in the back of the police van; the only criminal being transported to the East Coast from Nevada, he supposed. It would be a very long and lonely ride with nothing but his memories to keep him company.
“I hope Francesca is okay. I hope Francesca takes care of my bike for me. I wonder if Francesca is thinking of me right now.”
Every thought of Francesca was like a shank to his ribs, pain lancing through him. But every thought was about Francesca. In the short few days they’d known each other, she’d turned from a mystery he couldn’t touch to his everything. The whole empty world didn’t matter without her in it.
“How did someone like her become so important?” It didn’t make sense; it was like some kind of Disney movie where the big bad beast falls in love with the pretty girl. Even though he knew she could never love him back. Logan wondered if Francesca thought about him now at all, or if she just shrugged him off and fell back into the arms of her ex.
No, he realized with such certainty that it shook him, she wouldn’t have. In spite of what happened at the Gala, Logan knew that Francesca had feelings for him. She wouldn’t have jumped back into Davis’s arms.
Although his hands were bound and the benches in the van were not exactly designed for comfort, Logan managed to lie down somewhat comfortably. He hoped to at least get a bit of sleep. If he was going to make it out of this, he would need his wits and to be ready for whatever the interrogators threw at him.
He slept fitfully, his dreams clogged with memories of Francesca’s skin, her laugh, and her house that somehow now felt like home. Or it felt more like home than the Boston he was heading back to.
In the long hours back to the east coast, Logan tried to build a plan in his mind. He stared at the sides of the van for hours, its ugly white walls looking like they hadn’t been cleaned in decades. After a long hour of thought and a heavy sigh, he said, “I need to do what Francesca wants me to do,” to the walls. He wasn’t expecting a response, but saying it out loud helped to quiet some of his thoughts. “I need to do what would make Francesca proud.”
He would talk to the police. He would tell them the truth. He would make Zook pay, but through legal channels. He would give the police everything he had, hoping something he said would make them doubt just a little bit. Doubt enough to put some legwork into the case again.
This time, he would be the good guy. And no matter what happened next, he planned to stay that way. For Francesca.