by Bobby Nash
“S...sorry,” he stammered. “I just had a rough day. That’s all. I’m really... tired a… and I have a splitting headache. I’m sorry.”
He looked at his daughter. She looked confused.
“Daddy’s sorry,” he told her. “Okay?”
Janine seemed almost... scared of him. In all honesty, for just a split second, it invigorated him. He had never wanted his wife to fear him, but in that moment, Malcolm Washington suddenly felt powerful, like he had been told all his life that a man was supposed to feel. The smell of her nervous sweat was intoxicating.
“Mal, you’re bleeding.”
“What?”
Janine pointed at his face. “Your nose. It’s bleeding.”
Malcolm dabbed at it with his fingers and sure enough, blood was slowly running from his right nostril. He could taste the bitterness of the iron as it rolled over his lips, touched his tongue. It was a strange sensation. He hadn’t had a nosebleed since he was a little kid and that was only after Tommy Snyder punched him in the face because he wouldn’t give up his lunch money. That was such a long time ago.
He dabbed at it more, but the blood kept coming. His wife and daughter were starting to panic.
“Shit,” he said as he tried pinching his nose.
Nothing helped.
“Look, just eat, alright? It’s nothing serious. I’ll go upstairs and take care of it,” he said as he pushed his chair from the table and stood, careful not to splatter any blood on the kitchen food.
His wife rose as well, unable to keep the concern from her face.
“Are you sure...” she started.
“I said I’m fine,” he said sharply, turning on her and cutting her off sharply mid-sentence.
Not taking the hint, Janine stepped forward, reaching out to touch his face.
“Honey, I’m really worried about...”
She did not have time to get the last word out before Malcolm’s clenched fist lanced out and connected with her jaw. The force of the impact knocked her backward and she sprawled across the kitchen floor. The expression on her face was a mixture of fear and surprise.
Malcolm loved that look on her.
He felt his manhood growing. He was getting aroused.
What is happening to me? his brain screamed. What are you doing?
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Janine spat at him from atop the light green linoleum floor where she lay. In the fourteen years they had been married, or the three years they had dated before that, Malcolm had never so much as raised his voice against her, much less touched her in such a fashion. He had never been the type of person to succumb to angry outbursts.
At least not until today.
She tried to get to her feet, but before she could get her balance Malcolm hit her again. And then again and again. After the fifth punch, Janine’s head connected hard with the cabinet door and she felt a wet popping noise inside her head as she bounced off the tile floor.
As the darkness swirled around the edge of her vision, threatening to consume her heart, body, and soul, the last thing Janine Washington could hear was her daughter screaming.
A ping sounded in the den at that moment. Such a small sound that it went unnoticed amidst the chaos that reigned in the kitchen.
The small, monotone, electronic voice that said, “You’ve got mail” went unheeded as Malcolm Washington’s inner monster unleashed its fury again and again and again against his beloved family.
Had anyone been alive to read it, the message would have appeared strange, perhaps even almost humorous under different circumstances.
It read simply:
Malcolm,
Tag! You’re it! Have fun!
Two minutes later, the email was deleted remotely.
Gone… as if it had never existed.
ONE
Washington DC
Saturday
The morning air was brisk.
Which was just the way Catherine Jackson liked it. The wintry winds that had gusted with such ferocity the night before had faded away to almost nothingness, but there remained just enough of a chill in the air so she could see her breath as she exhaled. According to the weather reports the approaching pressure system was huge and threatened a storm that might very well blanket the entire East Coast with snow. So far they had avoided that particular outcome. She hadn’t seen nary a flake all week.
Catherine had been jogging along this street nearly every day, weather permitting, since moving into her condo four years earlier. The traffic was heavy, but not so much that it backed up and it usually kept moving along. She rarely even noticed the cars zooming past her anymore. Dressed down in red sweatpants and a white long-sleeved sweatshirt, the exercise conscious lady jogged to the beat of the music blaring from her ear buds, her cell phone firmly attached to her arm by its Velcro strap, volume at maximum.
Catherine Jackson, “Jacks” to her friends, was quite an impressive woman. She had stunning good looks, which had helped her almost as much as they had hindered in her chosen career. Saying that she was tall would have been something of an understatement. Her six-foot one-inch frame was tightly honed and muscled, chiseled in all the right places yet she could still pull off a girly girl look when she wanted. Jacks was heavily athletic, even though her job made any sort of regularly scheduled exercise impossible. Technically, her job made having a regularly scheduled anything damn near impossible.
During warmer weather finding her on the tennis courts, swimming, or playing softball at the park were always possibilities when she could get away.
Her long, slightly wavy, brown hair, with just a hint of red that she got from her father’s side of the family, bounced around her shoulders as she jogged down the sidewalk that passed her home. Yes, a stunning woman, especially when she was not even trying. Jacks was the kind of woman that other women disliked while secretly wishing they possessed the same ability that came naturally to her.
Jacks had only been two miles this morning instead of her usual five because she’d had a long night and was, quite frankly, exhausted. Technically, she hadn’t even made it home from last night’s date as yet. Yes, ma'am, it had been an interesting evening to be sure.
As it had since her first days of college, jogging helped clear her mind.
And at the moment there were a multitude of thoughts and feelings running rampant through that highly analytical Spock-like brain of hers. Not the least of these thoughts went by the name Daniel Benson. Daniel was a lawyer from Maryland. He spent his days prosecuting criminals as the District Attorney for the District of Columbia. They had known one another for a couple of years, their paths crossing because of their respective jobs on a fairly regular basis. Jacks worked as a senior investigator for the D.C. Metro Police Department and frequently found herself sitting across the witness bench from the D. A. in court as the arresting officer, a witness. Sometimes she was simply a spectator if the case were intriguing enough.
She found Daniel attractive. What woman wouldn't? He was tall, handsome, charming, instantly likeable, and was quite the flirt. Sometimes, she could swear his perfect teeth sparkled when he smiled. He was hot and he knew it. Since their second meeting he had set his sights on her, continually dropping hints about the two of them going out or making a casual dinner invitation. He was relentless, but yet she managed to fend off his advances.
For reasons she could never fully explain, Jacks always found one excuse after another to respectfully decline the invitation. At least that had been the case until yesterday, when she, in what she could only conclude was a moment of weakness, finally gave in and accepted his most gracious invitation to drinks and dinner after work.
Then she woke up next to him at his home in Maryland this morning.
Now all she wanted to do was jog.
And maybe clear her mind.
###
Catherine made her home in a nice condo on the north side of Washington D.C.
She had originally considered moving
into the suburbs, or maybe even Maryland, but rejected the idea primarily because of her job and the odd hours she often kept while on a case. Spending as much time as she did in and around D.C. proper, it only made sense to live as close as possible. That way she could spend what little free time she had at home instead of driving back and forth. The commute from D.C. to Maryland was a bitch of a drive. Then again, so was every other drive in and around D.C. There was no easy driving there.
Plus, her family was nearby.
Sometimes too nearby for her tastes.
She was barely breathing hard when she came to a stop outside the door to the condo. Her normal daily routine was a five-mile jog, but as tired as she was, there was no guilt in cutting it short today.
Besides, she told herself playfully. I think you burned enough calories last night to make up for it.
She smiled at the memory.
After retrieving the bag with her work clothes, her service weapon, and a few other assorted items from the trunk of her car, which was parked on the street, a good five spaces from her stoop, she let herself in. Almost immediately Jacks felt a tingling in her extremities as she came to rest in the heated foyer. Grabbing her mail before heading up, Jacks noticed it was pretty quiet. Maybe everyone had decided to sleep in this beautiful, chilly Saturday morning. She couldn’t blame them if they did. She planned to do just that herself.
Jacks looked forward to climbing into her own nice, comfortable bed for a few relaxing hours of well-deserved shuteye. Not that Daniel’s bed wasn’t comfortable, because it was, but no matter how nice it was, there was no substitute for sleeping in your own bed. No matter how comfortable she was at Daniel’s place, somehow Jacks doubted she would have gotten much sleep had she remained. She was good and tired from her run and not having gotten much rest last night. Plus, it was only 6:30 in the morning. Being awake and active that early was nearly a crime unto itself, especially on the weekend when she should be sleeping soundly like the rest of the normal world.
After an elevator ride to the sixth floor, listening to some bluesy Eric Clapton on her IPOD, she was just happy to be home. Aside from the quick bite she and Daniel had grabbed after work, she had been running on nothing but adrenaline and caffeine for the last thirty odd hours and they were starting to wear off. What she really needed was a good eight hours of uninterrupted shuteye to recharge the old batteries. She could almost hear her bed calling to her before she reached her floor.
A blast of warm air hit her as she unlocked the deadbolt and opened her front door.
I don’t remember leaving the heat turned up, she thought.
Instinct took over as she stepped inside, her natural defenses going on alert, the adrenaline once again flowing. She felt that same prickly feeling on the back of her neck that was there when going into a hostile environment. Her “cop vibe” as she called it, kicked into high gear.
She let the bag slowly, quietly, drop to the floor beside the door after she reached inside and pulled her holstered gun free. With practiced ease, she rescued the cool metal weapon from its cradle with one hand and let the leather case drop silently on top of the bag. If someone had made the mistake of breaking into her home, he or she would be sorry.
You’ve picked the wrong place to rob, buster.
Jacks seemed to deflate as she entered the living room and saw the half empty pizza box and the three open Coke cans sitting on the glass coffee table that had been shiny and clean yesterday morning when she left for work. The gun resting casually at her side, Jacks eased through the living room without turning on a light, her senses no longer on the alert. She knew the identity of her uninvited guest and realized that the gun would not be necessary.
Jacks sighed. She really did not have time for this kind of crap.
As she suspected, lying curled up on the sofa, was Charisma Jackson, Catherine’s baby sister. “Oh, Sis,” Jacks whispered. “I love you, but I do not need this today.”
There was no answer from the snoring sixteen-year-old, which was not surprising. A freight train could have run though the living room and it would not have wakened the sleeping princess.
Catherine pulled a thick blanket from the hall closet and placed it over her snoozing sibling. She noticed, and not for the first time, how much they looked alike. There was no denying the relation. It took will power not to lean over and give her just a little peck on the cheek, but she knew how much Charisma hated that and Catherine really did not want to chance waking her. That would lead to a conversation that she really didn’t care to have without a few hours of sleep first.
With little sister all tucked in, Catherine turned the thermostat back down to the range of something she could afford to pay when the bill came due and moved tiredly to her bedroom on tip toes.
Catherine was so tired that she did not even attempt to undress. She simply collapsed into her bed, pulling the blankets around her tightly. It was a major feat that she remembered to kick off her shoes before her head hit the pillow.
“It’s going to be a long day,” she whispered as sleep closed in on her.
If only she knew.
###
Jacks woke to the sound of gunshots.
She snapped up on the bed, her hand automatically reaching for the gun she kept in her nightstand. It took her brain a few seconds to process the fact that the sounds were coming from the television in the living room. Lethal Weapon, she thought tiredly as her brain put the sounds together. She could almost picture what point the movie was up to by the amount of bullets she could hear being fired. Yeah. She was a fan. The one thing she and her baby sister had bonded over was a love of 80’s action flicks. There were many nights where they had sat curled up on the couch watching one action-packed thrill ride after another while eating themselves into a snack coma. Those were good times, but it had been awhile since they had spent any quality time together.
Jacks groaned.
She rolled over, her eyes open as tiny slits. Small shafts of sunlight penetrated the blinds and curtains that were supposed to keep the wretched brightness at bay. She refused to look at the clock, because she knew it would only upset her. There was no doubt she had gotten nowhere near enough sleep. The small twinge of a hangover pecked at the inside of her eyes like Chicken Little pecking at corn.
Damn those margaritas.
As she lay there listening to the sounds of weapons fire and explosions emanating from the next room, Jacks sighed. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Especially when her little sister came to visit.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she pulled her still tired body from the comfort of the bed as another volley of automatic weapons fire reverberated through her brain. Suddenly, she regretted installing surround sound.
Mel should be chasing that car down the highway right about now.
A shudder went through her as her bare feet touched the chilly hardwood floor. Then she remembered turning down the thermostat. She pulled a thick pair of socks from her dresser and slid them on by instinct, because she had yet to fully open her eyes. Getting to her feet, she grabbed her bathrobe off the closet door and put it on, also without ever fully opening her eyes. For all she knew it could have been on backward. As tired as she was, she really didn’t care.
“Best get this over with,” she muttered toward herself in the mirror. The reflection looked back, hair mussed and unkempt. Her eyes, what she could see through the barely open lids looked tired. Still, she looked quite beautiful. Maybe that’s why most women didn’t like her. Oh well.
“You look like hell,” she told the woman in the mirror.
“And you’re not exactly a beauty queen either, sweetheart,” the reflection replied in Jack’s own voice.
Jacks was not prepared for the onslaught of light and sound that bombarded her senses as she entered the living room. That would be the result of a few too many margaritas at dinner and too few hours of sleep, she knew. Tequila was not now, nor would it ever be, her friend. The TV was way too loud and all of th
e curtains were open, allowing for a nice, brightly lit home. Jacks wanted to rip her eyes out in the hope it would dim the glare.
“Morning,” she mumbled.
Charisma, who had been sitting cross-legged on the sofa in front of the TV, yelped uncontrollably. The bowl of popcorn in her lap went flying, bouncing off of the armrest and across the floor. The noise of the bouncing plastic bowl only added to the pounding big bass drum inside Catherine’s head.
After her breathing slowed and she confirmed that her heart was still beating in her chest, Charisma Jackson looked at her sister as if she were some horror movie monster that had sneaked up on her. “Jesus, Cat!” she shouted. “You scared the fucking shit out of me!”
Head pounding, Jacks walked past her toward the kitchen, her eyes barely open.
“Nice to see you too, Sis,” she said, motioning with her hands to turn down the volume.
“I didn’t even know you were here,” Charisma said as she pressed the PAUSE button on the DVD remote control, immediately freezing Detective Riggs in mid leap from a freeway on ramp.
“I gathered.”
“Damn, Sis,” Charisma said, still a little too loudly. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks. And what did I tell you about that language?” Jacks asked, just before letting out a couple of choice colorful expletives of her own when she stepped on an unpopped kernel of popcorn with her stocking feet. Her tirade ended with a loud, “Dammit, Chari!”
“I’m sorry,” the young girl said too quickly. She was smart enough to know when not to press her luck. This was one of those times. “I’ll clean it up,” she said. “I promise.”
Jacks sighed. Again.
Something told her it would undoubtedly not be the last time she did so today.
Charri was only this cooperative and apologetic when there were big problems brewing at home and she wanted her big sister on her side.
“So....” she prompted, dragging out the word and waiting for Charisma to fill in the blanks.
