The Stolen - Jason Pinter [2]
were whole. She was everything I wanted in a partner.
Strong, brilliant, beautiful. And she laughed at my jokes
that made everyone else cringe. I repaid her by offering
all the love I had to give. Had I offered merely love, it
would have been more than enough. It's the other baggage
I brought along that was too heavy for our relationship to
bear.
Six months ago, a killer began terrorizing the city by
publicly executing those he felt deserved his wrath. I was
able to weave together the strands of his mysterious past
and learned the horrific truth about his ancestry. During
my search, the killer turned his sights not just toward me,
but to those I loved.
The Stolen
13
He brutally attacked my ex, Mya Loverne, and left her
fighting for her life. He broke into Amanda's office at the
New York Legal Aid Society and nearly killed her. It was
then, in the aftermath of those acts of violence, that I
realized what I had to do. To protect those I loved, I had
to turn away. I had to shield them from myself.
There was nothing more I would have wanted than to
spend the rest of my life with her, playing shuffleboard and
eating dinner at noon, doing whatever old couples did. It
should have been easy. I mean, everyone complains about
how hard it is to find someone in New York City. Once you
find the right person, you hold on to them for dear life.
Unfortunately I had to do the opposite.
Amanda nearly lost her life because of me, because of
my work. And because being a reporter was in my blood,
I shuddered to think that it was only a matter of time before
those odds caught up. So I left her. In the middle of the
street. And every day since I've had ample time to think
about my decision.
We have not spoken in six months. My apartment,
once warm with her presence, was now cold and uninviting. The stove, where we used to burn our attempts at
lasagna, hadn't seen a pan in weeks. The place reeked of
carelessness, abandoned by a man who felt like a stranger
in his own home.
Work had always been my passion. Now it was my
whole life.
Underneath my desk was a small duffel bag in which I
kept a clean shirt, slacks and a pair of loafers. Every other
day I would venture back to that unfamiliar home, unload
the dirty laundry and pack up a clean change of clothes.
Every other week the accumulation of soiled attire would
be sent to the cleaners, and the cycle would start again. I
14
Jason Pinter
would change in the men's room, always drawing a few
weren't you just wearing that? looks from my colleagues.
I heard a noise behind me, turned to see Evelyn Waterstone striding up to my desk. Evelyn had barely given me
the time of day when I first started working at the Gazette,
but she'd warmed considerably over the past few months.
Evelyn was in her late fifties, a solid tree stump of a
woman who commanded attention, respect, and made
everyone leap to the side when she walked by. Like many
of the newspaper's top talent, Evelyn was unmarried and
childless. She was also one of the best editors in the
business. Somehow I'd grudgingly gained her respect. I
figured as long as I kept my head down and did what I did
best, it would stay that way.
"Got your story, Parker," she said, barely slowing down
as she approached, then stopping abruptly before she
knocked my desk over. "I swear you must have replaced
your brain this year or taken basic grammar and spelling
lessons. I haven't had to smack my head in frustration at
your copy in almost a month.You keep it up like this, I might
actually be able to cut back on the migraine medication."
"They say reading is the cure for all ills," I said.
Evelyn eyed me skeptically. "Who said that?"
"You know...they."
"Tell 'they' that they can shove their quotations up my
keester. Anyway, keep up the not-so-terrible work. You're
giving me more time to spend with crustaceans whose
brains haven't fully grasped the ' i before e' concept."
Evelyn shot a glance toward Frank Rourke, the city's top
sports columnist, to