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chapter 12: The Long Road Home

Jude tapped on the door of Marq’s room, pushing the door open and peeking inside. Marq was sprawled across the bed, fully clothed, his wallet and keys laying on the bedside table.

“Hey Marq,” Jude said. “You awake yet?”

“Mmmph… sleeping,” he grumbled.

“Marq?”

This time he rolled over, yawning.

“Whassup Jude?”

Marq’s eyes were bloodshot, his cheek wrinkled from the pillow. Jude had heard him come in after four, but he didn’t know if he’d gone to sleep right away or not. It was nearly noon now, and Jude had agreed to meet up with Indigo at 12:30. He didn’t want to have to take the train today unless he had to. He was still pissed at Marq for dragging him out to The Vault, and he figured Marq owed him.

“Can I borrow your car again?”

“Sure,” Marq yawned. “What for?”

“I’ve got plans,” Jude said noncommittally.

The shorter this show-and-tell, the better. He’d barely slept last night, his mind trapped in an endless cycle of resentment and pain. He didn’t know what was going on with him and Indigo anymore, and that bothered him more than anything. He needed to talk to Elliot, but he didn’t have any idea how to rebuild that bridge.

“Plans?”

“A school project,” Jude said. “A student asked me for some tech help.”

Marq put his hands behind his head, grinning. “This that girlfriend of yours?”

For a moment he flickered to the moment in the car when he’d tried to kiss her.

“Don’t have a girlfriend,” Jude grumbled.

“Yeah, you do,” Marq laughed.

Jude glared at him.

“Y’know who I mean,” Marq said. “That chick you keep going for coffee with.”

Jude clenched his teeth until they ached, forcing his words to be calm. He’d spent half the night trying to figure out what he was to Indigo Sykes. He was something, but after seeing her draped all over Woodrow, he knew ‘boyfriend’ wasn’t it.

“She’s not my anything,” he snapped, anger from last night spilling out like an over-full cup.. “Not that it’s any of your f*cking business.” He gestured to the keys. “So can I borrow your car or not?”

“Go ahead,” Marq said. “No problem.”

He reached out, pulling the keys from the table. Jude expected Marq to toss them, but he didn’t. Instead he lay in bed, fiddling with the keychain.

“You should buy a car sometime,” Marq mused, “You’ve got the cash now.”

“I’m saving the money from this job,” Jude grumbled. “Finishing it up, and getting out.”

Marq propped himself up on his elbows, squinting.

“Why in the world would you do that?”

“This can’t go on forever,” Jude answered sourly. “Someone’ll notice. Someone’ll turn us in. Gotta get out while we can.” He winced, recognizing Elliot’s warning.

“You worry too much,” Marq chuckled.

Jude sighed, lifting his phone from his pocket, and checking the time: 12:04 p.m. He was going to be late.

“You do what you need to do, but I’m done.”

Marq began to laugh. He flopped back against the mattress, tossing the keys in the air and catching them.

“You never gave a rat’s ass about shit like this before,” he taunted. “I remember you f*cking around with the university grading program back in third year. Told me it was for the greater good.” He smirked. “No Jude, this is your girlfriend talking, not you.”

Jude stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Forget the goddamn car,” he barked. “I’ll take the train.”

“Oh, c’mon, Jude!” Marq whined. “I was just joking, man. I swear!” Jude headed to the foyer, pulling on his shoes. Marq came out of the bedroom just as he unlocked the front door. Marq had one hand pressed against his temple, the keys held out before him, a grin on his face. “Don’t be such a bitch about it,” Marq laughed, jangling keys at him. “I’m just sayin’ ‘bros before hoes’!”

Jude snatched the keys from his fingers.

“F*ck off, Marq,” he snapped. “You’re not funny!” He slammed the front door on the way out.

He needed to deal with Indigo, and then he needed to find a new place to live.

: : : : : : : : : :

Indigo was waiting on the front steps when Jude arrived. She had a small backpack next to her leg, a camera in hand. She turned it off when he pulled to a stop, putting it into her bag and walking to the car. Dressed in blue jeans, a black tee, leather jacket and boots, Indigo felt more like herself this afternoon. She wasn’t playing a role for anyone, and the thought scared her.

There was safety in being someone else.

The sportscar paused by the curb, but Jude didn’t get out. Indigo climbed into the passenger seat, dropping her bag on the floor.

“You still want to go?” Jude asked coolly.

She felt herself rankle, worry turning into annoyance. So he hadn’t let it go after all.

“If you want to go, then let’s go,” she said indifferently. “It’s up to you.”

Jude turned away, staring down the street, his hands tight on the wheel.

“I said I’d help and I will.”

In minutes, they were flying along the ring roads that circled the edge of the city. Jude didn’t seem to want to talk, so Indigo fiddled with the car’s mp3 player, connecting it to her iPod and hitting play. The speakers roared to life, a heavy bass beat of death metal filling the car.

“Turn it down!” Jude yelled, his words muted by the thunderous sound.

Indigo fumbled with the controls, accidentally switching it to another song. This one was even louder, bass shuddering the windows. Jude was yelling, but she couldn’t make out any of the words. Ears crackling, Indigo finally ripped the phone’s cable out of the car’s dash, swearing. Both of them broke into laughter, tension broken. Jude glanced over, grinning, and for the first time that day, Indigo felt herself relax.

“Sorry,” she giggled. “I didn’t realize it’d be so loud.”

“It’s alright,” Jude said. “Didn’t really want my whole range of hearing anyhow.”

She smirked, plugging in the iPod once more, and lowering the volume before turning it on. Music filled the car, and the drive continued.

It took them an hour to reach the far eastern edge of the city. As the highway began to match the curve of the river, Indigo found herself tensing. She hadn’t been here in years, and she felt like an intruder as she returned. Reaching the overpass, she pointed up ahead, unable to speak. It was an older neighbourhood, full of one-level bungalows, common in the fifties and sixties. Indigo felt her breath catch, seeing them again. The trees had grown up, but other than that, it was eerily familiar.

“Up there,” she whispered, her mind caught in the net of the past.

Jude reached out, turning the music down until it was only a low drone. Indigo barely noticed. She was focused on counting houses the way she had as a child, each one alive in the stories they held.

There was the once-pink house with white trim (now repainted a dull grey), hidden in a forest of elm trees. That was the house where Cody Palmer had fallen off an upper branch, and his arm bone had torn through the skin of his forearm. Beyond that was a house which had a yellow, slatted bottom and a rock-dash top. Indigo and her friend Kelly Leniszek had once picked out the chunks of glass, pretending they were a pirate’s treasure of sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds. Two houses down was a house with windows covered in tinfoil. In Indigo’s mind, this was the house where she and Tatem O’Keefe had snuck through the Mortenson’s garden, stealing raspberries and eating the sun-warmed fruit before they could be caught.

Her eyes rose to the end of the street where a small house, sided in blue, sat neatly back from the curb. Indigo swallowed the stone in her throat, eyes bright.

“That one up there,” she said thickly.

Jude parked the car two houses away.

“You want me to help you get some footage?” he asked.

Indigo nodded mutely. She couldn’t speak. Not yet. Everything was too painful now that she was back. This place had been home. Despite all the years that had passed, that had never changed.

She set up the tripod, fumbling as she attached the foot to the camera, and taking several pans of the street. Indigo was three, catching ladybugs while Nan gardened… Indigo was five, walking hand in hand with Poppy… Indigo was eight, riding her bike in the rain… Indigo was ten, sobbing in the backseat of a taxicab... She stepped back from the camera, breathing hard, eyes closed as she fought to breathe.

Jude touched her elbow, and she jumped. He was watching her with concerned eyes.

“Do you want me to get some footage of you reacting?” he offered.

“No,” she growled, turning off the camera. “This is fine. I’ve got enough.”

Indigo had just started to break down the tripod when the front door of the house pushed open. An aging woman with curly orange hair, fading to grey at the scalp, came down the steps, hands on her hips.

“You there!” she said shrilly. “What’re you doing on my lawn?”

Indigo’s eyes widened, fear gripping her chest in a vise. She could feel herself slipping into the old Indigo, back to the past where she didn’t like to go.

Jude strode forward, offering his open palm.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said, all gentility and good humor. “Sorry to bother you, but my friend and I are working on a university project.” He chattered on, his voice taking on the sophisticated tone Indigo had noticed the first time she’d spoken to him. “I was wondering if you could tell us a little about your house.”

The woman launched into a story, talking about her husband’s retirement from the army, and their decision to move to the suburbs. She rattled on about children and grandchildren, while Jude oh’ed and ah’ed at her descriptions. As the story ended, he leaned closer, grinning down at her mischievously. Seeing it, Indigo realized that Jude Alden was very good at getting his way when he wanted to. He knew exactly what to say to talk himself through a situation. In that way he was exactly like Cal.

“…and I was wondering,” Jude said, “if we could take a few photos inside.”

The woman looked from Jude, over to Indigo, brows rising.

“Well, I… I don’t know, I mean—”

“My friend here used to live in your house,” Jude explained. (“Don’t!” Indigo hissed, but no one seemed to notice.) “And if we could just get a bit of footage, that would really help with the film project.”

“Are you Sherry?” the woman gasped. “I knew your mother. We kept in touch even after we bought the house.”

Indigo felt the ground fall away. This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

“No,” she muttered. “I… I’m Sherry’s daughter.”

“Oh my goodness!” the woman chortled, her hand fluttering up to her chest. “Then you must be Indigo! Your grandmother used to talk about you all the time before she passed away.”

“She did?” Indigo whispered. The realization that Nan was dead slammed into her with the force of a truck. She struggled to absorb it, to shuffle it into the facts she knew, but nothing would fit in place.

“Yes, honey,” the woman tutted. “Of course, she did.” Her voice dropped, and she leaned in. “She worried when you ran off. It took a lot out of her, hearing you’d run away... and then when it happened again. But she never lost hope you were okay.”

Indigo dropped her gaze to the ground, her voice swallowed up by more than a decade of lies. Nan had never given up. Old memories began to rise inside her, rattling against the door where she’d locked them away. She blinked again and again, eyes burning.

“And now you’re back,” the woman breathed, her eyes soft and maternal. “I’m just sorry your grandmother didn’t live to see it.” Indigo looked back up. She needed to focus on something else – ‘anything!’ – or she was going to fall apart. “So yes, by all means, come in!”

She took Indigo’s arm, but she jerked away.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I can’t, I didn’t know. I just…”

Indigo stumbled backward, panic rising. Jude turned to the woman, patting her shoulder.

“On second thought,” he said gently, “we should probably go. We’ve got to drive back into the city and all.”

“Well, it was great to see you!” the woman said, beaming up at him. “I’m glad you stopped by.”

Indigo walked back to the car on stiff legs, leaving Jude to gather up the equipment. When she sat down in the seat, she began to shake, her entire body wracked by tremors. She took slow breaths, forcing the tears away, fighting the urge to break. Her gaze was lost in the middle distance, the day reappearing.

Sherry had taken Indigo’s hand, dragging her down the steps while she cried.

“It’ll be just like home, Indie Baby,” she’d said anxiously. “You watch, you’ll love it.”

“But I’ll miss Poppy and Nan,” Indigo had sobbed.

She’d wrenched against her mother’s arm, trying to escape. Unwavering, Sherry had dragged Indigo to the waiting cab, hustling her inside. The taxi had pulled away and Sherry’d begun crying. Both of them trapped together.

“You can’t stay here anymore,” Sherry had whispered as the cab had pulled away from the only home Indigo had ever known. “I wish you could too, but you can’t…”

The door opened, the sound dragging her back to the present. She could breathe again, though her chest ached, cheeks flooded with tears.

“I’m so f*cking sorry,” Jude said. “I didn’t know.”

Indigo stared at the floor, voice hollow.

“My mother had me at sixteen, and left me with her parents when she moved out. They were good people, and I loved them, but when Pop had a stroke, Nan couldn’t take care of both of us.”

“I’m so sorry,”Jude repeated.

“My mother didn’t want to be a mom,” Indigo said wistfully. “She was young… younger than I am now, actually, when I was sent back to her. And she just couldn’t handle having a kid.” Jude put his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off. “I ran away for the first time when I was fifteen,” she said. “Lived in foster care after they caught me. I hated the family. Shoplifted and got caught while I was there too. Spent some time in juvenile detention, and got moved again. Hated that family. Hated them all, but I couldn’t go home.”

“Sorry.”

He reached out a second time, his knuckles brushing her wet cheek. Indigo closed her eyes, wondering how crazy it was that Jude reminded her of her long-dead grandfather.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said quietly. “I never knew…”

She let out an angry laugh. There was so much more to the story, she couldn’t even start to tell it.

“The second time I ran away,” Indigo said, turning to stare out the window. “I made sure I stayed lost.”

: : : : : : : : : :

It was midday when the impromptu meeting took place. Gina Cerritos stood before King, an envelope in hand. If it hadn’t been for the company she kept, one might assume she was on her way to an art gallery. Her wool suit was haute couture, her shoes special-ordered from Europe from the same leather shop that served the Queen of England. All elements of Gina spoke of refinement and culture, and that’s how she thought of her position: as maintaining a particular caste system. The mob, in one form or another, had existed since the earliest years of settlement in America, and Gina’s heritage went back four generations into its history.

“I have the information from Brodie,” she said, placing the envelope on the desk and smiling at the group that surrounded her. “The informant is Elliot Baird. He’s a friend of your programmers.”

She smiled at the man behind the desk, only a hint of distaste in the expression. Her connections here went further than blood ties. Marriage had once connected her brother, Rocco, with King’s sister, Sonia, but no longer.

“Which one?” King asked. He didn’t bother to hold her eyes.

Gina’s lips curled down in irritation. With Rocco’s disappearance, three years before, any pretence of a familial bond between the two of them had died. Though people might say otherwise, rumor was that King had ordered Rocco’s death.

“Baird used to be roommates with Jude Alden,” she replied. “But their association goes back further. I ran a background check this morning. It turns out the two of them grew up together in Brooklyn. They both attended the same private high school, though Alden was expelled in his senior year, and had to finish his coursework online,” she explained. “They’ve lived together since graduating from college. My guess is they had some kind of falling out. Jude isn’t living at their apartment anymore.”

“He’s living with Marq Lopez now,” Luca interjected. All heads turned, and King glowered. Luca stepped back. “Sorry, sir. Not my place.”

King nodded, turning back to Cerritos.

“Keep going.”

“As I was saying, Jude is no longer living with Elliot Baird. I’m guessing that’s what precipitated this. Elliot’s report to Officer Brodie was mostly conjecture.”

“Meaning?” King growled.

“Meaning he had no names or details,” Gina answered smoothly. “He’s just a kid with a grudge, making wild guesses about what his friends were up to.” She gestured to the envelope on the desk. “Brodie has included a complete report of the conversation.” She gave a catlike smile. “I could dig up more given a day or two, but I thought you should see this right away, Tyrone.”

His eyes flicked up, catching the use of his first name. Gina smirked, flaunting the informality.

After a moment, King tore open the envelope. He shook the paper into his hand, reading while the rest of the people in the room waited in silence. His expression grew dark, fingers crumpling the paper.

“This kid already knows more than he should,” he snarled. Gina’s calm smile wavered as King’s head snapped back up, black eyes flashing. “Why didn’t you report this sooner?!”

“The information only came in this morning, sir,” she replied, reverting to deference in light of his anger. “I let you know as soon as I had the background information.”

“Does anyone else know?!”

“Brodie doesn’t think so,” she said. Her voice had lost the insouciance of seconds before.

King turned, pointing to the man on his left.

“Patel,” he growled, “go talk to the usuals. I want to know what the word is on the street.”

“Yes, sir,” he said quietly, stepping away from the group, and disappearing like a dark ghost.

King swivelled the other direction, smiling malevolently. He held the paper out.

“Luca,” he said gruffly. “Go teach this talker a lesson.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A lesson?” Gina asked.

“He’s going to work the kid over,” he said knowingly, “but not kill him. I want Jude Alden to see his friend afterward.”

Gina paled, her thoughts on her brother Rocco.