“River, I don’t know where she is because I don’t know who ‘she’ is—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
River shook his head. “Don’t pull this crap on me. I know she was there; I just saw her. Believe me, I hate hurting people—I hated using this gun. But I will shoot if you don’t let her go. She has no part in this; she never hurt anyone.”
“River, put the gun down. Sometimes, no matter our best efforts, innocent people wind up being hurt.”
The innocent wind up being hurt …
“River, listen to me. All we need to do is talk.”
The man’s voice suddenly took on a faraway quality, almost like an echo to River’s ears. His head began to throb. All they had to do was give him Natal. She was everything to him.
He blinked, hard, then opened his eyes again and looked toward the statue.
She was there, in the sunlight.
Yes, Natal was there. Beautiful, her dark hair curling around her shoulders, her big blue eyes on him. She was there, so lovely, loving, and kind and …
And then she wasn’t.
She faded as if she were a wisp of cloud in the heights; there—and not there.
The men in the blue suits remained.
River stood still as the dead, a terrible, long-forgotten agony creeping into his soul.
It had to be some kind of trick they had played with lights or projection.
How could you play tricks with the sun? Where could a projector be?
“River, no one is here to hurt you!” one of the other men called out, the bald one.
River shook his head, becoming keenly aware of his finger on the trigger of his gun.
“I don’t know why the hell you’ve been after me, following me, trailing me—but it ends now!”
“We just need to talk,” the man, Henley, said.
“No talking. I want her.”
“Her who?” Henley demanded again.
“Natal! Where is she?” River shouted. “Where is Natal? What have you done with her?”
The two suits who faced him looked over to the third—the blond man—who remained hovering at the edge of the statue’s base.
“Bring one of the friends, please,” the man who had called himself Henley said.
River stood still. “No tricks!” he cried.
He had a gun, yes, he had a gun. He was trained to kill; he knew how to shoot.
But they weren’t pulling weapons on him. He was sure that they had them, that they were armed; but the man Henley, facing him, in his direct line of vision, wasn’t pulling a weapon. And he wasn’t allowing the others to pull weapons either.
To his amazement, the blond man in the blue suit moved, allowing a man to pass by him. It was Beluga.
Beluga—who came to stand next to the men in blue.
Dismay rippled through River. Beluga had betrayed him. Yet, he’d seen the men at Beluga’s house, and Beluga had sent them away. He had stood with Maria and Convict—and he had sent the men away.
But now it seemed that, despite everything, Beluga had betrayed him.
“Beluga. How could you?” River asked quietly.
It looked as if there were tears in Beluga’s eyes.
“You have to listen to them, River,” Beluga said. “Talk to them. They need to take you home; they need to get you to your doctor—to your family.”
“My—family?” River said. “I don’t have a family.”
“Yes, River, you do.”
River faltered and then gripped his gun more tightly; his own mind was playing tricks on him. Sounds came to him again—the sounds of the bombs whistling, the earth exploding …
The laughter of a child.
His head was suddenly pounding.
Why did the horrid sounds of war combine with that of a child’s laughter?
He stood facing his friend. A friend who had apparently betrayed him to these men, and yet, these men didn’t seem to want to hurt him.
Still, Natal had been there. Then they had appeared. And she was no longer there.
“River, please, I beg you, listen,” Beluga said.
“I can’t listen to them, Beluga. Can’t you see? They’re after me; they’ve been after me. I can’t believe that you could have betrayed me to them.”
“I would never betray you, River. I love you.” Tears were falling down his cheeks.
“No, Beluga, no,” River said. “Natal—”
“There is no Natal, River.”
The world fell silent as it closed in on River. It made no sense. He’d seen her. He’d kissed her—
“There is!” he protested.
“No.”
“I drew you a picture of her!”
“You drew me a picture of—”
“Of what?” River demanded.
“Your wife.” The word was so soft. Beluga paused and stared at him with his face contorted in compassion. “Your wife, River. Your wife.”
“My wife?”
“Your dead wife, River. Your wife—Natal.”
The entire sky seemed to burst; the world began to crumble. Pain wracked him as if he were being torn limb from limb. River fell to his knees, the gun gripped tightly in his hands. He knew. He suddenly knew. They were telling the truth.
And truth was absolutely unbearable.
“River.”
He thought he could hear her—Natal. He thought he heard his name spoken in the soft sweet timbre of her voice.
He looked up, and there she was. And yet, she wasn’t. She was a shimmer of light in the trees and yet he could see her so clearly, hear her voice.
“River, don’t you remember?” she whispered to him. “We always dreamed about this. Adventure—backpacks in the jungle, in the wild, and blowing our money on a few nights at Carnaval, dancing into the night. It was our dream. But then Harbor was born so soon and it didn’t matter, our daughter was so beautiful and so sweet. River, my precious River.”
She was there, that shimmer of light, and yet so strong in his memory that he could have sworn that he actually felt her touch.
“River, remember, because to forget what is painful steals the mind.”
But I want to forget; I can live when I forget.
She seemed to hear his silent words, this woman he loved, this … illusion.
She continued to speak softly, and still, she was so real; the sound of her voice in his ears was what it had been always, rich and sweet and true.
Memories flooded his mind. River joining the military so that they could have a better life when he returned. Reading letters that Natal had written. Skyping with his daughter, who would laugh when she saw him over the computer screen. How happy she would be, and how much he loved that laughter. The battle in which he was injured and resulted in his being sent home …
The battle. He had lived it over and over in his dreams. The explosion of the bombs, the screams of the people, adults and little children, soldiers and civilians … He remembered trying to reach one of his buddies … the man’s legs had been blown off by a mine … he remembered … pain. His flesh burning, his ears ringing so loudly …
But now, there was Natal’s touch, fingers so gentle as she brushed his cheek.
“You survived—but Harbor and I did not.”
Her words were soft, like the breeze. They were filled with love—the love that he could never forget, never live without.
He reached out for her …
So damned real before the eyes of his mind.
But he knew that she wasn’t there. He lowered his head, wishing he could cry and scream and deny what had been there all along.