“But between you it was?” I couldn’t hide the doubt from my voice.
“Between us, everything was intimate. And nothing was. I’m sorry I can’t explain it better. I recognized the same darkness in him as I had in myself.” She paused, twirling a leaf on the knotted wood table. “Did you know my father sexually abused me?”
The question flashed through me, a painful burst of light in the dark, even though I’d known that already. It was hard to imagine that on top of whatever abuse she’d suffered with Carlos. It changed a person, to look evil in the face at so young an age. I should know. But maybe they weren’t so different, flipsides of the same coin. The criminal and the victim. The aggressor and the defenseless. One couldn’t exist without the other.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
“We had that in common.”
Surprise lifted my eyebrows. “You mean Carlos? He was abused?”
A nod. “You know, I’m not saying that as an excuse, either for him or for me. We made our choices. But it leaves its mark on you, even when you think you’re over it. I don’t think he would have been capable of a regular relationship.”
I couldn’t help but ask, softly, “And you?”
Her lips twisted in a wry smile. “I wouldn’t call my relationship with Tyler conventional. And I still have problems, being…what’s the word? Fatalistic. That’s what Tyler says. I get sort of detached, go through the motions. It drives him crazy, because he wants me to be present, you know? But we work on it together in counseling.”
I tried to imagine the gruff, uncompromising Martinez in a therapy session and failed. But he must have a softer side he showed Mia. That part I could imagine. She had a quiet, nonjudgmental way about her, as if I could tell her anything and she wouldn’t be shocked. And she wouldn’t reject me either. It was seductive in a way that cleavage and hooker boots could never compete with. Carlos Laguardia had more discerning taste than I’d have expected.
She leaned forward. “I’m telling you all this because if you’re going after Laguardia, you have to understand he’s like a dog who’s been kicked too many times before. If you get close, he’s going to lash out at you.”
“I see,” I murmured as an uncomfortable realization settled over me. Laguardia would have every reason to lash out at us. We were going to kick him, figuratively. Literally too, if Hennessey was serious about wanting Laguardia dead.
I remembered watching Lady and the Tramp as a kid, where the dogs ate spaghetti by candlelight and viewed the pound as a jail. There was something chilling in the realization that I was the dogcatcher in this scenario. I was one of the good guys, but only depending on the story. Told from another perspective, I was the villain.
Her eyes grew distant, as if she looked into the past. “The thing about Carlos is that he doesn’t mean well. Whenever possible, he would try to do the wrong thing, the cruel thing. It became a point of pride for him. And then…well, it tore him up inside. It split him into the man and this other type of being. Like an animal, but smarter, more cunning.”
“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
She cocked her head. “Who?”
A flush heated my cheeks. I felt stupid, as if I’d been trying to talk down to her. I knew that she’d dropped out the first year of high school, that she’d run away to escape her father’s abuse. And ran into Carlos instead. She didn’t seem to regret it. Instead, she seemed oddly loyal to him, protective as she warned me away.
Her expression was guileless and curious.
“It’s a play,” I said. “There was this doctor who wanted to find a way to remove the evil parts of man. He experimented on himself, but all he ended up doing was splitting himself into two parts. The good man and the evil one.”
“He can’t be both anymore. One or the other.” A mournful glint entered her eyes. I suspected this was a play she had witnessed not on the stage, but in real life.
I nodded.
“And how did it end?”
“The good doctor grew more and more unstable.” In fact, there was a female character, a prostitute. It felt a little pointed, as if it were about her. And by the end, the evil Mr. Hyde had killed her. In his grief and to protect all others, Dr. Jekyll killed himself. These types of stories often ended in death. I cleared my throat, thinking of a lie. “Then he came up with another potion to put himself back together again.”