Murder, rape, drugs trafficking, people trafficking, a guerilla war of attrition. And it’s not a million miles away in some Middle Eastern caliphate; it’s right here in the U.S. It’s right here in Chicago.
Crime reporter Phil Nickeas’ met with three victims of the rise of the new mafia from Russia, three people who survived terrible oppression and modern-day slavery.
And there was a large black and white photograph of Ash mid dance, his intense gaze staring from the page, his powerful physique displayed. I recognized the costume—black pants and silver shirt slashed to the waist. It was from the tango he’d performed in Broadway Revisited. They’d cut Sarah from the photo—I bet she’d be mad about that. But then I remembered that she was 4,000 miles away in London.
The article was a powerful voice, crying out against organized crime and the way loopholes in the system were used and abused. From the general, it went to the specifics, telling Ash’s story alongside Yveta’s and Gary’s.
My cell phone rang and Angie’s name flashed up.
“Have you read it?”
“I’m reading it now. It’s good, really good.”
“Told you. I think this will really help the case. Phil wants to keep the pressure on the authorities both here and in Nevada. He’s got evidence that other cases have been swept under the rug, and victims who survived are just sent back to Europe or Africa or wherever. But Ash is too public—it’s just what was needed.”
I bristled at her excited tone.
“Ash is a person, not a story!”
She was instantly contrite.
“I know, I’m sorry. But if Phil keeps Ash’s case in the newspapers, it will help other people—you must see that.”
I sighed. “Yes, I do. But I also see the stress it puts him under.”
“Fair enough.” She paused. “So, I’ll see you both at the police station.”
“Yes.”
“It’s going to be fine, Laney.”
“Sure.”
And so for the fourth time since I’d known Ash, we spent the afternoon at the police station being interviewed.
I wasn’t allowed to sit in with Ash, or hear what he said, but Angie told me that he’d done well and hadn’t allowed himself to become emotional.
Now, all we had to do was wait.
“My best advice is to try and put this behind you both,” she said. “It’s New Year’s in a couple of days. You should go out—celebrate. After all, going into a new year you’ve got more to celebrate than most people.”
I laughed dully.
“Well, that’s definitely true. Actually, we’re having lunch with Gary and Yveta at his parents’ house on New Year’s Day. They’re up in Kenosha. We don’t want to do anything much for the next few days, so we’re staying in and keeping the TV company—low key is all either of us can take right now.”
We parted with mutual promises to meet soon and discuss additional publicity strategies. Would we ever put this behind us?
As the sun sank behind the city, and the clouds turned from purple to an ominous gray heavy with snow, we watched the old year fade into the past. Alone, but together.
“It’s been some year,” I said thoughtfully.
Ash slipped his arm around my waist as we snuggled on the couch, my head on his shoulder.
He shifted slightly so he could look at me.
“Do you regret it?” he asked cautiously.
“Yes, lots of things,” I said honestly. “I should never have let things go on so long with Collin. I hate the way he found out. He’s a good man—he didn’t deserve what happened. But you’re a good man too, Ash. I regret the way we met. I hate what happened to you, but I will never regret that we did meet, and I will never regret marrying you. We don’t make any sense, nothing about us fits, but we’re real.”
He smiled, his eyes the color of chocolate in the dim lighting, his sharp cheekbones casting stark shadows.
“You are the strongest person I have ever met, Laney. I am awed by you, my love.”
I shook my head.
“No, don’t give me false credit. But I will say one thing: I’m stronger with you. It’s like . . .” and I struggled to find a word that conveyed everything I felt. “It’s syzygy,” I said, finally.
Ash’s forehead creased. “I don’t know that word. Is it Polish?”
I smiled. “No, it’s from Ancient Greek. The psychoanalyst Carl Jung used it to mean ‘a union of opposites’. In astronomy, it’s an alignment of the sun, the earth and the moon—three celestial objects.”
I could see that the idea appealed to him. He pulled me against him more tightly.
“My sunshine,” he said.
I sighed. “I really want to make love to you right now, but I’m so tired and everything hurts.”
He was silent for a moment.
“Maybe I could make you feel good without fucking?”
“Such sweet words. You’re really turning me on,” I said, deadpan.