Page 61 of Identity Unknown
“He left in a hurry, it seemed?” Mindful of cameras, I’m careful what I say, tucking the key in a pocket.
She’ll know that I’m asking how he’s doing. What he witnessed couldn’t have been easy, and I’m not talking about the autopsy. He’s seen plenty of those. But my husband was surrounded by his colleagues while I was interrogated about my love affair with another man. It was invasive and embarrassing, every word of it recorded.
“I think he left because he’d gotten as much as he needed,” Lucy says as the moth zigzags overhead.
“I’m sure he did,” I reply with heavy irony.
“And he has other people in D.C. to report to as we continue monitoring the threat level. I imagine he’s on the phone nonstop.”
“What’s the latest on your mom?”
“Home alone drinking wine while doing her thing on social media.”
“Not a good combination.”
“It never is. She’s been on and off the phone with Marino. All is fine,” Lucy says. “And I’m remote monitoring. Anything triggers various sensors, and I’m going to know.”
“I’m very glad to hear it. Where are you staying?”
“Wherever I end up. But I’ll be here for the next few hours,” she replies as more ghastly images violate my thoughts.
“I want you to be careful, Lucy.” I give her a hug, holding her hard, not caring who might be watching. “Be as careful as you’ve ever been since it seems we don’t know what’s going on.And if it’s her. And who she might go after next.” I avoid uttering Carrie’s name.
“She’ll be targeting someone, maybe already is,” Lucy says.
“After all we’ve been through, I can’t believe we still have to worry.”
I can’t take my eyes off the moth rapidly beating its wings directly over our heads. I can see its pink-and-black-striped velvety body as it hovers like a hummingbird before landing on a wall, clinging to it with sticklike legs.
“If not her, then someone else,” Lucy says with a glibness she doesn’t feel. “Always best to guard against the worst thing you can think of. I wish Sal had.”
“He wasn’t motivated by fear, and for the most part thought the best about people. That was good and bad. But mostly good.”
“I’m sorry about him. And didn’t know how close you were. I’ll see you in the morning.” She heads back downstairs, the door banging shut behind her.
The moth’s stealth-bomber-shaped wings are splayed against white cinderblock. Big black shiny eyes seem to look at me, the spindly antennae twitching as I cautiously approach.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” I talk to it, asking what on earth it’s doing here. “I know you never meant to end up trapped inside this depressing place. But with so many people in and out I can see how it happened.” I inch closer. “Don’t be afraid.”
I ease my hand closer yet and the moth streaks toward the ceiling, disoriented by the bright lights, darting about more frenetic than ever.
“You’re certainly not making it easy for me to help you. Come on now.” I open the solid metal front door, cool air blowing in, the porch light garishly bright. “Leave.”
It doesn’t, and I look for the wall switches, flipping off the outside light, throwing the entrance into darkness.
“You can see better now so get out while you can.” I watch the moth swooping near the ceiling. “There’s a big world out there, and nothing at all in here except death. I can’t hold the door open all night. Leave!”
I flap my hand and yell while imagining how I must look to those monitoring the security cameras. Military guards are probably laughing at me right about now, and I don’t give a damn.
“Go on!” I gesture at the moth. “GO!” I wave at it wildly, and it streaks out the open door, vanishing into the night as tears threaten.
I walk outside, leaving the SLAB behind, taking a deep shaky breath, suddenly exhausted. Fireflies glow and fade like falling stars, the moon higher and smaller, more distant and colder. I think of Sal telling me that humans come from something glorious. But it doesn’t feel like that as I think about what was done to him. I’ll forever see the fire raging. I’ll hear the sounds of it roaring like the wind into a microphone.
Don’t think about it.
The nocturnal din of frogs and owls seems to crescendo as I push away images of hair and bright pink skin showing through clear plastic. Of dead eyes I scarcely recognized. And flames licking, tendrils of smoke curling. The oven door clanging shut.
Don’t think about it!