Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 01_ The Paradise Snare - A. C. Crispin [125]
So she had slipped out, found a bar where the proprietor had let her pay him to borrow his comm unit, and called her father. Bria had appealed for help, both for herself and for Han. The pile of credit vouchers on the floor was the result. Renn Tharen was a man who knew how to get things done, and he had wasted no time. The money had been delivered to Bria by one of her father’s Coruscant business associates, who had handed her the credits, refused thanks, then headed back out into the night, clearly glad to get away from the sleazy, all-night tavern.
During their brief conversation, Bria’s father had warned her not to come home. Renn Tharen told her that inspectors from CorSec had come to the house shortly after Bria and Han escaped, asking about Bria’s whereabouts. “I told them nothing,” he said. “And your brother and mother aren’t speaking to me, because I cut off their allowances for a month, even though they swore they hadn’t called CorSec. Be careful, dear …”
“I will, Dad,” Bria promised. “I love you, Dad. Thanks …”
I’ve hurt him, too, Bria thought. Why do I always hurt the people I love the most?
Despair filled her, but she refused to let herself break down. All she could do for Han, if she loved him, was to leave him. Be strong, Bria, she commanded herself.
Gripping the stylus tightly, Bria wiped away her tears, then forced herself to finish the most difficult letter she would ever write …
Han knew something was wrong even before he opened his eyes. There was no sound, none at all. “Bria?” he called. Where is she? Sliding out of bed, he pulled on his clothes. “Bria, honey?”
No answer.
Han took a deep breath and told his wildly hammering heart to calm down. She probably went out to get some stim-tea and pastry for breakfast, he told himself. It was a reasonable guess, under the circumstances—but something told him that he was wrong.
He sealed the front of his coverall, then picked up his jacket. Only then did he notice that Bria’s duffel was gone.
With a low moan of anguish, he saw something white protruding from the pocket of his jacket. Han pulled it out—and found himself holding a pouch filled with high-denomination credit vouchers. And there was something else, too …
A note. Written on creased and folded flimsy. Han shut his eyes, clutching it. It was nearly a full minute before he could force himself to open his eyes, force himself to read:
Dearest Han:
You don’t deserve for this to happen, and all I can say is, I’m sorry. I love you, but I can’t stay …
She’ll come back, was Han’s first thought, and I’ve lost her forever … was his second. He stared wildly around the room, feeling as if it might explode if he didn’t DO something. With a loud curse he hurled his jacket at the wall, then he yanked the pillows off the bed and flung them, too. Not enough—Han wondered frantically if he were going mad. His head felt too small to contain his mind, and he was filled with the need to howl his pain and anguish aloud, like a Wookiee.
“AAAAHHHHHHHHH!” he cried, and grabbing the battered chair that was one of the room’s three pieces of furniture, Han swung it over his head and sent it crashing full-tilt into the door. A loud curse from his next-door neighbor followed. The chair lay there on the threadbare floor matting, unbroken. The door was still intact, too.
Han collapsed onto the bed and just lay there for several minutes, head buried in his arms. The pain came and went in waves. His chest ached, simply breathing hurt. His only relief came when he felt numb all over.
Somehow, the numbness was the worst of all.
After a long time, it occurred to Han that he had not finished Bria’s letter. Except for the pile of credit vouchers, it was all he had left of her, so he dragged himself upright and squinted in the dim light to read the shaky words on the flimsy:
Dearest Han,
You don’t deserve for this to happen, and all I can say is,