Page 55 of Inside the Maelstrom: Part Two
“Kinda,” Otto quipped back, and Hendrick reached out, rubbing his thigh reassuringly.
“I’m fine. That's not my future either. Not mine. Not Viva’s. We are gonna grow old and wrinkly, and she’ll have to hold up my saggy balls so they don’t fall over my asshole, create an airlock and make me snore.”
“What?” Sampson sputtered, and I couldn’t hold back the laughter either. Fucking Hendrick Kenley.
We’d demolished half a pizza and a bit of the wine before Chaos finally emerged, wearing my spare t-shirt. She gave us all a tight smile that didn’t banish the sadness in her eyes. “Smells good.”
“Maria decided to feed us an Italian feast,” Hendrick said, standing so he could kiss her. “Come on, you’ll feel better after some food and a good night's sleep.”
She gave him a droll look. “You of all people know that's not true.”
He shrugged, kissing her temple. “Okay, but if you eat and sleep, it’ll make them feel better.” He tilted his chin to where Sampson was hovering, even though his expression was purposefully neutral. “They feel pretty powerless right now. No one likes to see you this sad, Viva.”
It was too much. I walked over and picked her up, clutching her to my chest tightly. I wanted to fight her demons personally, but unlike Senator Kenley, the bad guy Aviva was fighting against this time was herself. She snuggled into my chest, and I walked her over to the bed, sitting her in my lap. The guys could fight me about it, but I needed her close too, just for a moment.
But no one seemed to be pissed, and I reminded myself that it wasn’t a competition. There was no prize at the end, only Aviva’s happiness.
Sampson lay at the bottom of the bed, sliding Chao’s feet onto his chest, seemingly happy to act as a footrest. She ate, making happy noises at her food as she carb-loaded like a marathon runner before a big meet.
“You know what I don’t get?”
“How this pasta can be so fucking good?” Hendrick guessed.
“Why Hendrick isn’t the size of a fucking house? Slow down, asshole, before you explode,” Sampson grumbled.
“How we didn’t know he left Iceland. He must have flown into Italy. He would have gone through customs. That should have been on his passport records, right?” She looked up at me for confirmation, and she was right—it should have flagged that he’d left Iceland and came down here to Italy. “Then why wasn’t it?”
I didn’t fucking know, but I’d find out for her.
“While we’re talking about it, why was Nemo still leaving clues even after he was dead?” Otto made a good point. If Nemo was dead, and the search was over, why was he still leaving notes in books? Was it just a habit by then? Had he hoped that whoever took up this insane quest would send his remains home?
She frowned at Otto. “You think the quote was a clue? To let us know that he was dead, in case his body got eaten by sharks or something?”
Otto screwed up his nose. “Maybe? Can I look at the book?” Aviva nodded, and he walked over to the box that sat in the corner of the room, its presence large despite the fact it wasn’t any bigger than a microwave. He pulled out the book, his fingers tracing over the inscription and the small waves in the paper where Chaos's tears soaked into the pages. He flicked through the book with gentle hands. It was just an everyday paperback reproduction ofTwenty Thousand Leagues, something you could pick up in a thrift store or a used bookstore easily. But to Chaos, it was invaluable.
I stroked a soothing hand up and down her thigh. She seemed better now. That was probably just wishful thinking, but that's how it was with grief. Every minute was a little better than the last, every hour a little less raw. Every day you moved forward, until the pain would strike you out of nowhere, but it wasn’t an all-encompassing weight on your chest anymore, threatening to crush you.
“Here. Holy shit.”
Aviva scrambled off my lap toward Otto. He turned the book, showing us the underlined quote from the front of the book. But beneath it, were numbers.
What the hell?
“Coordinates?” Hendrick asked.
Sampson frowned. “How many numbers?”
Aviva counted. “Eleven.”
“Bank account number?” Otto asked.
I shrugged. “Right amount of numbers. Could be coordinates too. What good is a bank account number though?” Eleven numbers. Wait. “Is the first number a one?”
Chaos whirled toward me. “Yes. How did you know?”
“Either he’s directing us to somewhere on the equator, or it’s a phone number. One is the country code for the US.”
“So we have a city on the equator, a bank account we can’t use, or a phone number?” she asked, and I shrugged. That was all I had for her, the only clues we’d get from now on. Would she even want to keep looking, now that she’d found him?
