The Palace Crumbles

Girl

Trenton Transit Center, Trenton, NJ
$732.83
We board the train with no setbacks.
We choose a seat towards the back, and you let me sit by the window. I fight the urge to pull down my mask, reminding myself that it's one of the only things keeping my true identity safe. To grow complacent would be foolish. One success is not indicative of another.
The train is rather crowded, with only a few open seats left once everyone has boarded. I realize that, even over the loud chugging of the engine, it would be much too risky to talk to each other. Someone could listen in very easily if they tried. I sigh. It just means more waiting for the answers that I'm desperate for.
You tap my shoulder. When I look over, you have the newspaper in your lap, a black pen in your hand. You begin to write in the margins, then reconsider, glancing around at the many watchful eyes that surround us. In front, behind, to our left. Too many ways to be seen.
Instead, you begin to circle letters and words in the nearest article. You go meticulously, one by one, until I see that your marks are forming a sentence.
I went to jail.
"Because of me?" I ask softly, and you nod. More circling, taking longer this time.
I told them it was you. No one believed me.
"After everything you told me, I can see why. There was so much evidence."
"Yep."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Stop. You helped me. You got me out."
"I got you in, and I got you out?"
You hesitate before turning back to the paper.
You killed the judge in my trial. It was clear I couldn't have done it. They realized I had been framed.
"I assume I did that on purpose?"
"Everything you do has a purpose. A meticulous, brilliant purpose." You stare ahead at the back of the seat, pondering something greater than I can understand at the moment. "You wanted to help me."
"And then what happened?"
You shake your head. "I'm ashamed of it."
"I'm ashamed of everything you've told me. There's no need to hold back now."
The pen moves. I decided to catch you in the act. I worked with the FBI to try and trick you. I betrayed you.
I blink. "I'm not sure what you mean."
I acted like your friend. Like I was falling for you. But I was really spying on you. Turning everything you said over to the police.
"You were having me and Jack- my boss, remember- over for dinner. That was supposed to be the night."
"Why then?"
"We would all be in the same place."
"You could do that anywhere. It seems silly to do it in that kind of setting."
You open your mouth to speak, seeming flustered, but think better of it.
He wanted you dead.
Understanding dawns on me. "I see."
He wanted me to help him kill you. But he didn't know that I made the same plan with you to kill him.
"You were a double agent of sorts?" I lean in, my eyes widening. "Working with us both?"
"Yeah. But I chose you."
"Why? What made you turn to me?"
I loved you. I wanted to run away with you. You anxiously tap the pen against the paper as you think. I had to get you out of there, because I didn't want you to get hurt.
I grab onto your hand, kissing your knuckles. You swallow, and I watch your throat bob. Your lower lip quivers.
"I love you," I whisper to you. "I know that I'm not the same, but I can tell that I love you. It's a core part of myself now."
You nod. "Me, too."
"What happened after that?"
"I called you. The day that things were supposed to go down, I called you. All I had to say was 'they know,' and you figured it all out from there."
"Those words alone conveyed to me that you'd been working with...Jack?" His name lodges in the back of my mind for a moment, struggling to emerge.
You begin to write again, forgoing the code and just writing in the margins. It takes a long time, as you ponder what and what not to tell me. You prepared everything. Jack was there first, and you attacked him. You ended up stabbing him in the side of the head and trapping him inside of your pantry. Then you waited for me.
"Why? Because-"
"Remember what you said to me? In the Starbucks?" Your hand travels down to your abdomen once more, touching your shirt lightly. "What happened to me?"
"I st- I...I hurt you." A shudder travels through me. "God, I stayed just for that?"
"You couldn't decide," you say. "You didn't know what you wanted. You chose the option that would keep you safe."
"How would that keep me safe?"
"You wouldn't have someone to mercilessly see you anymore. You could hide from yourself again."
"You saw me?"
"I saw who you were, and I embraced it. No one else had ever done that before. And you did the same thing to me." A small smile travels up your lips. "It felt good. But it was also the scariest thing in the world, being seen like that. I couldn't handle it, and neither could you."
"So I chose to hurt you instead." I begin to reach for the place where your hand was resting, but then I remember my manners. "May I?"
You nod, and I rest my hand on top of your torso. It's firm, warm, and you guide my fingers down below your navel. I can feel the faint imprint of scar tissue, thick and raised.
"Wow." I pull my hand away, averting my eyes. "What was wrong with me? Not a single thing you've said about me has been good. As an outsider now, I absolutely hate myself." I shake my head. "I've been deplorable."
"That's the problem, though. You're an outsider." Your brow softens in sympathy. "You don't know yourself well enough to see the truth."
"What truth am I supposed to see?"
You think about what you want to say. "The inside of your mind is this...this beautiful palace. Massive and awe-inspiring. You've let me in many, many times- and that's a rare gift in itself. Every time I've gotten to see the inside, I'm reduced to nothing." You tap your foot. "It's like witnessing a miracle."
"Doesn't that seem a little dramatic?"
"Not if you know the truth. Not if you've actually seen it." You blink rapidly, seemingly holding back tears. "I think that you've accidentally fallen into the basement. We just need to get you back up into the light, and then you'll be the man you used to be."
"I'm not making much progress."
"It hasn't been long. And you've remembered little things. That's promising."
"What happened after this?" I touch your scar, wanting to know the rest of the answers.
You flip the page of the newspaper and begin to write once more. You ran away without me. You ran to Italy.
I lean as close to you as I can, my forehead resting against your temple. "Did anyone die that night?" I whisper. The question causes your expression to shift imperceptibly, but you quickly jot down a no.
"And now everyone knew who I really was?"
Yes. You ran to escape capture. You ran with a colleague of yours, someone who knew of all of your crimes. I don't know if you forced her, or if she ran on her own to escape being an accomplice.
"Is she alive?"
She claims you forced her and brainwashed her. I think it's bullshit.
"And what did you do?"
I went to find you.
I reach up to stroke your short hair. There is something so subtle in our movements, in our contact, that reassures me that we are joined together. We share a soul, you and I. I can tell that you love me dearly, and I wish I could find the memories to love you back as strongly. "After what I did?"
I forgave you. Living with you was more desirable than living without you. I had never known myself as well as I did when we were together.
"What did you find?"
You gesture to your forehead, where another scar sweeps across your scalp. "You."
"Good lord." I shake my head. "I didn't stop, did I?"
"We never stopped. It was constant." You smile softly in disbelief. "The only reason you did this was because I tried to..." You cut a hand across your neck.
"And then what?"
You pause. "I think...I think I've given you a lot of information. I'm gonna let you process what I've given you first, and then we'll finish. Okay?"
As frustrating as it is, you're probably right. I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes, pondering all of the things that we've been through. So many attempts to harm each other. I imagine myself thrusting a knife forward into your gut, slowly dragging the blade across your skin, and-
and there is a knife in my hands. I am clutching you to my chest, but as you let out a cry of fear I realize that it's not you. It's a girl. A very young woman. She struggles under my grasp, yet I show her no mercy. The blade slices deep into her neck, and she gasps for air as blood bubbles in her trachea. I lower her to the ground, seeing terror in her big blue eyes, and lay her down right next to
you. You're sobbing, leaning over this girl like she means the world to you, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. You clutch your stomach, and there's blood coming from there too. I watch both of you, feeling nothing, and-
and I wake up. Someone is making an announcement, voice booming across the train that we are reaching the border and we need to prepare our passports. I glance out the window, and it is pitch black outside. There is a crick in my neck.
"Nice nap?" You smirk at me, but all I can see is your twisted expression, the tears, the pain.
I rifle silently through our backpack for the passports. You notice my sudden change in mood, and your face falls.
"You okay?"
"I'm okay. I just want to get through the border." I stare at the seat in front of me. "And then you need to tell me about the girl."