It’s Just Me. Page 10/11

I drained my glass and finished the bottle. The buzz warmed me and made my fingers tingle.

I looked over at him and said, “You can get the next bottle.”

“Did you hear me?”

“Do I have to answer you?”

“Work with me?”

“I can’t work with you.”

He looked confused for a second then grinned. “Sure you can.”

“Let me rephrase that. I will not work with you.”

His grin remained. “Is that your final word?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Don’t feel you have to stay on my account.”

“You’re kicking me out?”

“I’d like to enjoy what’s left of my husband’s concert, so yeah, I am.”

Cold.

“Did you want another bottle before I go?”

“Sure, make yourself useful and fetch me another Pinot noir.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He clambered over the back of the couch and headed to the door. 

“I take it you know where the cellar is?”

He nodded. “Had some time to explore earlier today.” He left the room. I watched as he passed the glass shelf. It was like an internal window with shelves.

How did he find us? How did he get here? I listened to a few more songs. Mac returned, opened the wine, and sank into the couch.

“How did you find me?”

The words hit the air as I circled my finger tip around the top of my glass, it sung. I clicked. 

“You fuc’n bugged me. Where is the GPS?”

I knew it wasn’t my lack of signal phone but I was carrying something, what? He filled my glass. “Where is it, Mac.”

He flinched, it was a barely noticeable act but I saw it.

“Mac?”

He did it again. It was as if my saying his name hurt him.

“You’re wearing it.”

Not clothing. It had to be jewelry. My fingers sought the locket hanging from a gold chain around my neck. The last thing Mac gave me. It was posthumous. Lee found it in a jewelers case when emptying his desk at work. I looked at Mac. He must’ve had O’Connell plant it.

Panic edged into his voice as he said, “Don’t take it off.”

“I have to Mac. My life is not with you. It’s with him.” I pointed to the screen. “That man there loves me and I love him. You don’t belong here anymore.”

My fingers struggled to find the clasp and undo the chain. Drunk fingers aren’t well suited to fine work. 

Mac stood. His grin was gone. I managed to get the chain undone. I dropped the locket on the coffee table. 

“Take care Ellie.”

“Goodbye Mac.”

He let himself out. 

THE END.

Wasn’t that fun? I guess when I wrote the story I was exploring options or maybe it was my way of saying goodbye to Mac or maybe Ellie needed those words to say goodbye. But the fun with Rowan didn’t ‘t stick and Ellie couldn’t really walk away from the FBI. Not then anyway. 🙂
If you’ve read Raidbyte you know a lot more than most people about Mac’s death. 😉

mybook.to/raidbyte