what now? | outerbanks

• one hundred twenty-three •

Cleo

Of course, I know the woman who sent the letter. Of course, I recognize the guy John B. and JJ described, even from their terrible description. I don't want to, but I do—all too well.
The Pogues know most of where I come from. They know that Terrance took me in when I had no family and no home. They know that's how I stayed alive. But they don't know what happened before Terrance, those five months after I was abandoned. They don't know because I didn't want them to.
Everything catches up eventually.
I met Marlene when I was thirteen. It happened the same way every homeless island kid gets off the street. She asked me if I wanted to make some money, and I never looked back.
I remember her always being nice to me. She fed me and gave me a place to sleep. She even brought me to school when she could, though those days were few and far between. What I liked best was that she never asked me where I came from. Now, I'm old enough to realize she didn't ask because she didn't care.
In return, I did little jobs for her here and there. I delivered packages and messages across town, watched doors, created distractions. I did it all without question.
Jobs like that were always dangerous, I knew that. I knew that what I was doing was probably at least a little illegal. I had no doubt. But having a bed and food and someone keeping me safe quieted any questions I may have had.
I didn't have a sense of Marlene's true danger until one specific night. I remember everything about that night.
I'd never seen a table full of food, piled high and full. Glasses were overflowing with wine, even mine. It was a true feast. I didn't know what for, but Marlene made sure there was a seat reserved for me. I was the only child there. Everyone else was much older and wiser. Even one of the guys, eighteen at most, I knew had seen so much worse than I could comprehend.
I don't think I spoke once the whole evening.
There was one man, sitting three seats down from me, I didn't remember seeing before. I figured he must've been higher in the ranks than I was. Marlene had been talking to him for most of the night. She was always the one talking. She and the other workers talked so frequently about their small jobs and setbacks and plans that I learned to drown it all out. I hadn't paid attention to what she was saying until I noticed the look on her face.
"I told you to bring him back here," she said slowly, straight-faced.
The man shifted in his chair. "He had a gun."
"Have I not trained you? You should have known what to do."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Marlene, he pulled it on me. I had two choices. Get myself killed, or let him go."
She mirrored his movements, leaning in just as close on her end of the table. "And you chose yourself."
"I chose to stay alive."
"Don't make yourself sound noble."
His jaw tightened. "I can find him."
Marlene, picking up her wine glass, shook her head. "You had him. There is no reason he should have gotten away. He knows our plans. He knows where the money came from. He knows everything."
"He won't talk."
Marlene's hand clenches into a tight fist, red around the edges. "How can you be sure?"
The man couldn't answer.
"You were given a task, and you failed."
His eyes were pleading. "Marlene, please."
"Now, I have to clean up a mistake you made."
He didn't look angry anymore. He looked scared. Terrified. I could hear from my seat how the fork in his hand vibrated against the porcelain plate.
No one else at the table was looking at them. They sat there, eyes down, eating the food from their plates. Everyone seemed to know something I didn't.
Marlene sighed. "You know what has to happen."
The man's eyes closed for just a second. When they opened again, there was nothing left in them.
Marlene stood first, then the man, and they walked out of the room in silence.
My eyes followed them as they disappeared. I waited. Waited for him to come back, or maybe for someone to explain to me what was going on.
Then, a gunshot rang through the building. I jumped out of shock, and everyone else sat there unmoving. My fork slipped from my fingers and landed against the plate. A few seconds later, Marlene walked back into the room, wiping her brow with the back of her hand.
She sighed as she sat back in her seat and scooted up to the table. Smiling softly, she said, "You'd better eat, Cleo. I've got work for you to do tomorrow."
I didn't eat. How could I? My hands stayed in my lap beneath the table, fingers curled so tightly into my palms that my nails left little half-moon marks in my skin.
Marlene didn't seem bothered. She picked up her fork and continued eating as if nothing had happened. I stared at her, and, of course, she caught me looking. She smiled again, but not the soft smile she gave me when she handed me food or told me I'd done a good job. It was almost as if she were giving me a warning.
"Eat, Cleo."
I swallowed. "Yes, ma'am." I picked up my fork and forced myself to take a bite.
I learned that night that being taken care of and being safe were not the same thing. One could come without the other.
I lay awake that night, contemplating leaving, running away and starting over again.
But I was thirteen. I had nowhere to go. That's why I was there in the first place. So, I stayed. For another five months. Five months of doing whatever she asked, of learning what streets to avoid and what names not to say too loudly. Five months of pretending I didn't see things.
Mostly, I tried to forget that night. I got very good at it. I went back to sleeping in the little room Marlene gave me. I went back to school when she remembered to take me. I went back to delivering packages and messages, watching doors, creating distractions.
Because when you're thirteen and you've spent months wondering where your next meal is coming from, morality gets complicated. You can know someone is dangerous and still be grateful when they hand you a plate of food. You can be terrified of someone and still be terrified of losing them. I think Marlene understood that about me. She knew I wouldn't leave.
Then came Nassau. Marlene didn't send me alone. She sent me with her sister, Elise.
Elise was different from Marlene. She didn't have Marlene's temper. She was understanding and actually kind to most of the workers who would typically be overlooked.
I'd only met her a handful of times before that. The job sounded simple. A package was supposed to arrive at the Nassau docks. We were supposed to collect it, deliver it to someone waiting near Potter's Cay, and bring back a ledger that had been taken from one of Marlene's contacts.
We took a fishing boat across before sunrise. The package turned out to be smaller than I expected. A little metal case chained to the inside of a cooler. The ledger was supposed to be waiting for us in an old warehouse near the docks.
It wasn't. Instead, there were men waiting.
I remember Elise grabbing my arm and telling me to run.
After that, everything happened too quickly. Elise got separated from me. There was shouting. Someone grabbed me, but I fought my way free and ran.
I didn't know where I was going. I didn't know where the boat was. I didn't know if Elise was behind me or ten feet away or already gone.
I only knew what she'd told me.
Run.
I made it back to the docks alone. Elise was gone, and my soul knew that eventually.
Worst of all, I thought, the mission wasn't complete. I convinced myself in a matter of minutes that I would be next, sitting across the table from Marlene, awaiting my death.
She was there when I returned, waiting at the dock. Her eyes searched the boat.
"Where is Elise?"
I couldn't answer.
"Cleo."
"I don't know."
Marlene's face changed. I'd never seen her look like that before, and I never did again. "What happened?"
"She told me to run."
She took a step toward me. I took one backward. For the first time since I'd met her, Marlene looked at me like I wasn't a child she'd taken in. I looked like a liability.
"You were supposed to stay with her."
"I did."
"Then where is she?"
I shook my head. "I don't know."
Marlene stared at me for a long moment. Then, she reached out and grabbed my wrist hard. "You had one job."
I flinched. I pulled my arm free. Something in me shifted then, as five months of pretending broke down around me, leaving me face-to-face with the truth. The deadly truth.
Marlene's expression hardened. "Don't you dare."
I backed away.
She stepped toward me. "Cleo."
I ran. I knew the island better than most people did. I knew which alleys were narrow enough to lose someone in, which roads led toward the docks, which places had people awake after dark. I ran until my lungs hurt and I couldn't hear her anymore. And I kept running after that.
That was the night I stopped working for Marlene. If I went back, I knew I'd never leave again. Even if somehow, by some miracle, she did spare me, I'd be indebted to working for her until I, too, was inevitably killed by her or a mission or an enemy. I'd never escape. I knew that.
I spent the next few nights sleeping wherever I could. Behind buildings, under docks, anywhere no one would think to look. I barely ate or slept. I was barely living.
Everytime I heard steps, I thought she'd found me. And she got close a few times, but Terrance was the one who got to me first.
I was hiding behind a warehouse near the marina when I heard someone coming. I thought it was Marlene. I remember curling into myself, trying to make myself smaller.
Then I heard a man's voice. "You planning on staying there all night?"
I looked up. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking down at me.
He just looked at me for a long moment and said, "You hungry?"
I nodded.
He jerked his head toward the boat. "Come on."
That was it. No grand rescue, no promises, no questions I wasn't ready to answer.
I never told Terrance about Marlene. I never told anyone. Until now.