Chapter 433 - 433: A Call Back To Home?

You're right. Chapter 432 ends with Kyle in the dark living room right after Viktor's text, but Chapter 433 opened with him lying in bed and jumped to 6 AM. In this rewrite, 433 picks up on the arm of that same chair, a few seconds later, and the whole chapter happens in one continuous night.

Kyle stayed where he was, perched on the arm of the chair, the phone glowing in his hand.

Two messages sat one above the other.

[[Maya: Yes. Find out.]]

[[Unknown: Smart puppy stays. Good. Viktor stays too. Viktor vatches girl. Nobody touches her. Not even Viktor.]]

A door cracked open by an inch. And a wolf sitting right outside it.

On the couch, Ella shifted in her sleep and mumbled something about croissants. Her feet were still in Jane's lap. Jane's head had tipped sideways onto the cushion, the empty pastry box sliding slowly off her knees. Kyle caught it before it hit the floor and set it down without a sound.

"Find out."

Easy to promise. Harder to do.

"I can't ask Marcello. The moment I ask him what his daughter was like, he knows I've found her."

Viktor had made that clear. Rabbit runs.

Kyle ran through every name he had. Every contact. Every person who had been in Marcello's world seventeen years ago and was still alive to talk about it.

There was only one.

The man who had handed him Angelica's photograph in the first place. The man who had known exactly which country to send him to, which city, which girl. The man who always seemed to know a little more than he should.

Nakamura.

Kyle checked the time. A little past midnight in London. Just after four in the afternoon in Los Angeles.

He crossed the room quietly, slid open the balcony door, and stepped out into the cold. He eased the door shut behind him so the others wouldn't wake. Below, London was quiet. A few black cabs crawled through the wet streets, headlights smeared across the tarmac.

He dialed.

Nakamura picked up on the third ring.

["Kyle."] His voice was smooth, unhurried.

["I was wondering when you'd call. London treating you well?"]

"You know I'm in London." Kyle wasn't interested in playing games.

["I know a great many things. It's my most charming quality."] A soft clink, like ice in a glass.

["Did you find her?"]

Kyle didn't answer right away.

"Yes," he said finally.

Silence on the other end. Not long. A breath, maybe two. But Kyle heard it. With total recall, he heard everything, and he filed that pause away carefully.

["Good,"] Nakamura said. His voice was the same, but something underneath it had shifted.

["How is she?"]

"Angry, confused but certainly smart." Kyle leaned on the railing. "She doesn't remember anything. Just a name in her dreams."

["That's probably for the best."]

Nakamura sounded almost compassionate, which was strange.

"She asked me a question tonight. I don't know the answer." Kyle paused. "I think you do."

["Go on."]

"She wants to know if her father was kind to her."

This time, the silence stretched much longer.

Kyle waited. Somewhere below, a taxi idled at the curb. A young couple stumbled past, laughing too loudly. The rest of the city was asleep.

When Nakamura spoke again, his voice was quieter. The polish was gone.

["He read to her,"] Nakamura said.

["Every evening. Storybooks. He did all the voices. Silly ones. If he ever got lazy and read in his normal voice, she'd puff up her cheeks and accuse him of cheating."]

Kyle didn't move but the way Nakamura spoke about it was not general knowledge, this showed they had a relationship.

["She drew pictures,"] Nakamura went on.

["Terrible ones. She'd run up to him with every single one, and he'd tell her it was the most beautiful picture he had ever seen. Cross his heart."]

"And she believed him?"

["No."] Something almost like a laugh escaped Nakamura.

["She'd squint at him and say, 'You lie all the time, Papa.' She was four, and she already had him figured out. Then she'd hug him anyway."]

Kyle closed his eyes.

["He called her 'my love,'"] Nakamura said.

["Not 'sweetheart.' Not 'princess.' 'My love.'"]

The cold bit at Kyle's face. He barely felt it.

"How do you know all this?" he asked quietly.

No answer.

"Nakamura. You didn't read this in a file. You're talking like someone who was there."

Another long silence.

["Seventeen years ago,"] Nakamura said slowly,

["I watched that man for weeks. It was my job. I saw him with her almost every day."] He exhaled.

["I never told anyone what I saw. Not the voices, not the pictures. It didn't seem useful at the time."]

"And now?"

["Now it seems like the only useful thing I know."]

"You told me she was alive," Kyle said. "Which means you knew she survived that night. Which means you know how."

["Kyle."]

"Which means—"

["Kyle."] Nakamura's voice was firm now. Not angry. Just tired.

["Ask me that question another time. In person. Not over the phone."]

Every instinct told Kyle to push. But he heard something in Nakamura's voice that he had never heard before.

Guilt.

"Fine," Kyle said. "Another time. But I'm holding you to it."

["I know you will."] A pause.

["Kyle? When you tell her... tell her he was the kindest man I ever watched. Even if nothing else I've done is is untrue, that much is true."]

The line went dead.

Kyle stayed at the railing, phone still in his hand.

It didn't add up. This was the same Nakamura who had wanted him to fly to England and kidnap Marcello's daughter. Use her as leverage if anything

And yet the man on the phone hadn't sounded like someone talking about leverage.

He had sounded like someone confessing.

"What did you do that night, Nakamura?"

r

He thought about the photograph Nakamura had given him. Not a childhood picture. A grown woman's face, sharp cheekbones and all, clear enough for a stranger to recognize her across a library. Someone had been keeping track of Maya for a very long time. Long enough to know which country. Which city. Which school.

People didn't keep that kind of watch over a target.

They kept it over someone they felt responsible for.

Kyle filed the thought away. His eyes drifted to the dark street below, to the shadows between the parked cars and the doorways across the road. If Viktor was out there watching, Kyle couldn't see him. He doubted he ever would.

Then he looked back down at his screen.

She had said she couldn't sleep. She might still be awake.

He typed slowly. Deleted it. Typed again. He didn't dress it up. He didn't add anything Nakamura hadn't said.

[[Kyle: He read you stories every night. He did silly voices for every character. If he ever read in his normal voice, you'd accuse him of cheating.]]

[[Kyle: You drew him pictures. He told you every single one was the most beautiful picture he'd ever seen. You told him he lied all the time. Then you hugged him anyway.]]

[[Kyle: He called you "my love."]]

He hit send before he could second-guess himself.

Behind him, the balcony door slid open.

Kyle turned. Jasmine stood in the doorway in her oversized hoodie, Wolverine clutched against her chest, her eyes puffy and wet.

"Hey, kiddo." He crouched down immediately. "What's wrong?"

"Bad dream," she whispered.

Kyle didn't ask what about. He knew her nightmares well enough by now. The screaming ones from her first nights with him had faded, but they never fully went away. He just opened his arms, and she walked straight into them. She was shaking a little. He held her until it stopped.

"It's cold out here," she mumbled into his shoulder.

"Then let's go inside."

He carried her back in and sat down in the armchair with her curled in his lap. Ella and Jane hadn't stirred. Jasmine looked up at him, studying his face the way only children could.

"You look sad, Brother Kyle."

"I'm not sad. Just thinking."

"Is it a hard think?"

Kyle smiled. "Yeah. It's a hard think."

Jasmine considered this seriously. Then she took Wolverine and placed him on the armrest, facing Kyle.

"He can help. He's good at hard things."

"Thanks, kiddo."

She nodded, satisfied, and tucked her head under his chin.

Five minutes passed. Ten. Jasmine's breathing slowed until she was asleep again, heavy and warm against him.

He wondered if Maya was reading his messages right now. Lying in the dark like him. Or if he had handed a stranger's memories to someone who would never want them.

The phone buzzed on the armrest beside Wolverine.

Kyle reached for it carefully so he wouldn't wake Jasmine.

[[Maya: I'm studying fine art.]]

He frowned. Another message came through.

[[Maya: I've drawn every day since I was fourteen. Susan says I drew on the walls of my room the first week they brought me home. I never knew why I couldn't stop.]]

Kyle stared at the screen.

[[Maya: I think I can sleep now.]]

That was all.

No yes. No no. No more questions.

Kyle set the phone face down. On the couch, Ella snored softly. Jane murmured something in her sleep. Jasmine's small hand was fisted in his hoodie.

He looked at Wolverine, still standing on the armrest like a tiny bodyguard.

He didn't move for the rest of the night. He sat in the dark, holding the little girl he had pulled off the streets, thinking about the one somebody else had hidden.