Walking Through Needles

by Heather Levy

  “How’s your stepbrother handling all this?”

  “Not that well.” Or maybe too well. She couldn’t decide.

  “It’s a difficult thing, losing a loved one like that.” He examined her face for a moment, his eyes lowering to her neck. “How are you handling it? You were close to your stepfather, right?”

  Be a mannequin. Don’t react. In and out, in and out.

  She shrugged.

  “Not really. I mean, it’s sort of hard to feel close to someone who attacked you. I’m upset but mostly for Eric.”

  “Not close to him, huh?” He sat up in the chair, his smile faded. “That’s interesting. Your mother seems to think you and Isaac were very close. He took you fishing a lot. Things like that.”

  She wondered how much her mom had told the detectives. Did they know Isaac raped Sam? It wasn’t something they told the police those years ago after the attack because Sam didn’t want them to know. The thought of Isaac coming back to fight rape charges, the possibility of seeing him in a courtroom telling everyone how much she enjoyed what he did to her…she couldn’t do it.

  “The reason why I brought you in, Miss Mayfair, is this.”

  The detective slid the small box over to him and removed the lid. He pulled out a plastic bag containing a pocketknife, and Sam’s stomach coiled tight. He pushed the bagged knife in front of her.

  “Do you recognize this pocketknife?”

  She didn’t want to pick it up, look at the intricate mother of pearl handle, the blade that appeared too clean.

  “No.”

  “We found it on your family’s old property, hidden in the barn loft. It tested positive for your stepfather’s blood. Has Eric Walker’s prints all over it.”

  The beers from earlier stirred acid that threatened to climb up to her mouth. Why would they have that knife? It was supposed to be gone forever. She felt dizzy.

  “Miss Mayfair, do you remember being hospitalized at Norman Regional when you were sixteen?”

  The question came from nowhere and the room was suddenly hot.

  “Yes.”

  “And you know they performed a rape kit on you?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t want to think about all the prodding and swabbing.

  She knew what was coming next, but it was impossible to brace for it.

  “Who raped and beat you, Miss Mayfair?”

  Sam looked down, keeping her eyes on the edge of her shirt, mind spinning through words to say. She couldn’t simply say she fell from a ladder when they had a rape kit. She looked up and the detective’s body language said he could wait all night.

  “My boyfriend at the time…he got a little rough.”

  Detective Eastman released a heavy sigh.

  “Okay. What about now? How’d you get those marks?” He motioned to her neck.

  She grazed her throat with her fingers. She thought the crap ton of concealer and powder had covered the finger-shaped bruises Eric made that brief time when he was drunk.

  “You have a boyfriend now who gets a little rough too?”

  Sam glared at the detective.

  “Yes, but it’s consensual. I enjoy it.”

  Her words didn’t faze Detective Eastman as she’d hoped they would. His face remained calm and controlled.

  “Did you enjoy it rough with Isaac Walker?”

  His smirk reappeared, this time like a dare.

  Her hands found the edge of her tank top, but she fought the urge to twist the cotton around her fingers.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  What about Meredith Lang? Would she know?”

  Acid shot up against the roof of Sam’s mouth, but she swallowed it back.

  “Yes, we know you paid her a visit about Isaac.” Detective Eastman leaned forward, his clasped hands on the table. “Guess you don’t trust us to handle the investigation, but we know all about Miss Lang and everything that allegedly happened with your stepfather. Trust that we’re looking at all possibilities.” He nudged the bag with the pocketknife closer to her. “So, perhaps you cared more about his murder than you thought. Would that be a fair statement?”

  She decided no answer was better than a lie.

  “Listen, I’m sure you’ve been through a lot in your life, Miss Mayfair.” A shadow of genuine concern seemed to cross Detective Eastman’s face. “I’m sure you want the truth to be known, for that burden to be lifted from your shoulders.”

  Sam knew this game, give her the illusion of being on her side, protecting her. She knew he was on no one’s side but his own.

  “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

  “Let’s be honest here. You know there are inconsistencies in what you and Eric Walker reported to police in 1994, and now we have a knife testing positive for Isaac Walker’s blood and his son’s fingerprints hidden in a barn loft. Is there anything you’d like to add to that story?”

  This wasn’t good, not good at all.

  “My grandmother—Delia Haylin—she gave a statement to police back then, my mother too. My grandmother witnessed him attacking us, and she confirmed that Isaac was fine when he left. That is the truth.”

  Detective Eastman paused a moment, looked to be in deep thought.

  “You and Eric Walker, you were close?”

  “We were.”

  “And now?”

  What could she say? It felt like a trap.

  “Your mother says he had an unhealthy attraction to you,” the detective said, pressing back into the plastic chair and stretching his hands. “Says he sent you many what she considered inappropriate letters. So, how would you describe your relationship with him back then?”

  Sam sensed the lie rise to her lips, the one she’d told so many times—to police, to her mom…to herself—but she pushed it down. The lie could never deflate the swell in her chest still there when she thought of Eric. She knew he would always have a hold on her, whether she wanted him to or not.

  “We were…he was more to me than anyone. I loved him. Not like a stepbrother.”

  She’d never said it aloud to anyone and it made her lightheaded and terrified to admit it.

  The detective was quiet for a long time like he was waiting for her to say more.

  “Did you have a sexual relationship with Eric Walker?”

  She paused a few beats. “Yes.”

  “And your stepfather knew about this?”

  She nodded.

  Detective Eastman let out a long exhale, nodding a little in return, and she knew what he was thinking.

  “Eric didn’t kill Isaac.” Saying it, she hoped in her gut it was true.

  “That’s for us to determine, Miss Mayfair, but you telling the truth helps us with that. There’s something else we’re trying to figure out and maybe you can assist me with it.”

  His blue eyes didn’t waver from her face.

  “Your hospital records from Norman Regional showed you were pregnant. What happened to the child?”

  The air left the room. An invisible vacuum sucked and sucked, and Sam couldn’t breathe, cold running down the back of her neck to her spine, tightening every muscle in her. She had to get out of the room, get away from this detective staring her down. Now.

  “I want to speak to my lawyer.”

  Chapter 31: Eric, 2009

  Eric scanned the downtown police station parking lot again for Dan Baumann, Sam’s lawyer friend she asked him to call for her. The evening was balmy, but he felt chilled when he imagined the questions detectives were asking Sam.

  Five more minutes passed, and he saw a black BMW pull into the lot. A tall man got out of the car and made his way directly to the entrance until Eric stopped him.

  “Are you Dan?”

  “Yes. You’re Eric?”

  “Yeah.”

  Dan’s dark hair was damp as if he’d just taken a shower, his moss-colored eyes analyzing Eric with cool detachment.“Never thought Sam would end up h
ere,” Dan said, “and I’ve seen her in some interesting places. And positions.”

  Dan smiled at him, but it wasn’t in a friendly way, and Eric decided the guy was an asshole.

  They entered the station, and Dan pointed to a small waiting area.

  “Wait over there. I’ve got to speak with the officers holding Sam.”

  Eric wondered if Detective Eastman was there and how Sam would handle his questions. He searched out a tucked away spot in the waiting area and sat on the most uncomfortable plastic chair imaginable.

  Every time he checked his phone, only a minute or two had passed. A couple of officers walked by carrying take-out, the smell of something deep-fried making Eric’s stomach grumble. He longed for his beef and cheese burrito abandoned in the microwave as soon as Sam called. He didn’t want to read too much into her calling him and not Dan or her mom, but he couldn’t help it.

  Dan reappeared fifteen minutes later and they both followed an officer back to the tiny room where Sam waited. She stood up as soon as she saw them and embraced Dan hard. She gave Eric a guarded hug. She had goosebumps from the overly air-conditioned room, and Eric tried to rub some warmth into her arms before he realized how intimate the act looked. He doubted Dan knew anything about their relationship and he really didn’t care if the man did, but Sam widened her eyes, so Eric stopped.

  Sam sat while Dan and Eric remained standing near the closed door.

  “You do remember I’m an estate lawyer, right?” Dan said.

  “An estate lawyer?” Eric shot Sam a look he hoped conveyed a big what the fuck.

  Sam ignored him. “Are they releasing me or not?”

  Dan gave Eric that artic stare again. “Do you want him present?”

  Him? Like Eric was some nosey bystander and not the person who called him.

  “Yes,” she said, “you can tell him anything you’d tell me.”

  It annoyed Eric how grateful he was for those words.

  “They’re releasing you, but if this goes any deeper you might need a criminal defense attorney.” Dan sat next to her. “I don’t think they suspect you in your stepfather’s murder,” he said, giving Eric a sidelong glance, “but don’t talk to anyone without a lawyer present, okay?”Another hour later, officers signed Sam out of custody. She needed a ride back since she didn’t have her car at the station. Eric replayed their fight earlier and fully expected her to go with Dan, but she asked Eric to drive her home.

  They didn’t speak much on the way back, something he was fine with. He didn’t know what to say to her, how to take away the shame he made her feel before. Why did he have to use the word sick to describe what she liked in bed? He didn’t really think that was sick, but what his father did to her? There was no other word for it.

  They pulled up to Sam’s house, and he walked her to her front door like they were ending a first date and about to have an awkward kiss. She looked tired and he wasn’t sure if the police gave her anything to eat at the station, which made him regret not asking if she wanted to stop by someplace for food.

  She dug in her purse for her keys and turned to him, her face troubled.

  “Do you want to come inside?”

  He did, but something pulled and nagged in him. His lie to her.

  “Earlier, you asked me what I really did that night I said I was at the Stewart farm.”

  Sam unlocked the door as if she hadn’t heard him, and Eric held her shoulders, turning her to face him. As soon as he looked into her eyes, he almost changed his mind about telling her. She looked like she was on the verge of breaking.

  “I did go for a walk that night, but I went to the barn first.” He could almost smell the chimney smoke as he had walked away from the farmhouse, could hear the crunch of the snow under his shoes. He’d gone to Maddie’s empty stall, the place where his father had done terrible things to Sam, things Eric hadn’t stopped. He stood there for a long time, letting the emptiness in his chest expand and engulf him. “I got some rope, and I went out into the woods.” He swallowed over the swell in his throat. “I tied the rope to a tree limb…put the other end around my neck.” He could still feel the coarseness of the rope rubbing his skin raw as he climbed higher up in the tree.

  Sam took his hand, but his mind was in the woods, crouched on a tree limb with a rope around his neck, the winter air sucking any reservations out of him.

  “I was going to do it,” he said.

  Sam held his hand so tight, her nails dug into his palm.

  “Then I felt my mom.” He smiled as the memory surged through him. The pain, the grief, the guilt—it all washed away, replaced with the rich spice of Opium. “I know it sounds crazy, but I felt her all around me. I could smell her perfume.”

  He had felt so weightless, he thought he’d float out of the tree and up to the moon.

  “I was so damn happy to feel her. I hadn’t felt that happy in a long time, and I forgot why I was in the tree.” He blinked and tears fell. He wasn’t ashamed for Sam to see them. “My coat got stuck on the branches, so I left it there and came straight back to the house.”

  “Eric.”

  Sam had tears in her eyes now too. He held her, his hand rubbing the back of her head. He pulled back from her and squeezed her upper arms.

  “Before, what I said, I didn’t mean it, Sam. It’s different with us. I don’t want to change you and I don’t think you’re sick. I just don’t know how to be what you need.”

  She stared at him for a long time. Then she pressed against him, hand low on his back. “Do you want me to show you?”

  He nodded.

  They entered her house, and she led Eric to her bedroom, her hand never leaving his. She told him everything she wanted him to do to her, and how to cause her pain without harming her. She said this as she slowly undressed. She told him to do whatever else he wanted and not to ask her permission first; she would let him know if it was too much by saying a simple word they would both remember.

  “What if you can’t speak?” he asked.

  “If you’re choking me, I’ll pinch your wrist like this. Just never press here.” She motioned to her windpipe.

  He soaked in her every curve as he started to undress too.

  She took his hand, stopping him from unbuckling his belt. “Not yet.” She paused, her eyes downcast. “Please.”

  She kept her eyes down, not looking at him directly, and he knew why she wanted him to stay dressed for now. She needed to feel vulnerable. She was giving him permission to overpower her.

  He grabbed the back of her head, pulled her hair hard as he kissed her. He thought his body would explode from how good she felt against him.

  He leaned back from her, heard her breath as rapid as his own. She was waiting. Patient.

  He could do this. He wanted to do this for Sam.

  He held her by her throat like she taught him, and slapped her hard across the face, the sting racing up his arm. Nothing about it felt natural to him, but it was what she wanted, so he did it again.

  Sam closed her eyes and smiled. Then she opened herself to him like she never had before.

  Eric glanced at his cellphone resting on Sam’s nightstand. It was almost two in the morning, but his mind wasn’t tired. Sam was, though. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as they were done.

  He got up to the use the bathroom, and she was awake when he returned and stretched out next to her.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “Strange.”

  “Strange bad or strange good?”

  “Strange good.”

  It was the truth. At first, it was difficult for him to relax and do what she wanted, but hearing her pleasure transcended his reservations. Now, though, worry disturbed the strong arousal he had felt in giving her what she needed.

  “When you were at the station, what did the detectives ask you?”

  Sam sighed.

  “Why did you hide your knife in the barn?”
she said. “Your prints are all over it. And Isaac’s blood.”

  He knew he should’ve told her the detectives found the knife, not let her get blindsided. “Did you tell them it’s mine?”

  “I’m not an idiot. Why the barn? Why not any place else in the world?”

  “I know, it was stupid. I should’ve tossed it in the stream. Something.”

  “No. We should’ve told them the truth.”

  It was too late for that. They had been young and afraid of jail, scared the truth would send them there to rot.

  “Eric…they know about us.”

  “How?”

  “They just do,” she spat out.

  He was screwed. Detectives had a weapon and a motive—to protect the person he loved from his father. No way around it now, but he didn’t want Sam to worry.

  “All right. It’s going to be okay. What they have, it’s mostly circumstantial.”

  “They have your fucking knife,” she said. “I’d say that’s more than circumstantial. Don’t you see that?”

  Of course he did. Everything led to him. He fit the narrative of the troubled son with the disreputable past, his father the normal, hard-working provider for his family.

  “We’ll figure it out, okay?”

  He pulled her to him, held her tight. He kissed her and her lips tasted like mint, like the lip balm she used instead of lipstick. This beautiful mouth that hurt him earlier, her words coming back to him, broken glass in his stomach: He understood me in ways you’ll never know. Was it true or was it just her way to stab him where it’d do the most damage? Did it matter now?

  He hugged her tighter to him and tried not to think that it could be the last time he’d ever be with her.

  Chapter 32: Arrow, 1994

  Arrow counted out four twenties, two tens, three fives, and eleven badly crumpled ones. Would it be enough? He stacked them, twenties on top, rolled the money and stuffed the wad into a white tube sock, buried it under the pile of other socks in his top dresser drawer.

  Sam’s seventeenth birthday was next week, Thanksgiving the week after that, but they would be gone before then. Arrow’s chest tightened when he thought about how upset Jeri would be. She probably wouldn’t shed a tear for him, but Sam was her only kid. And Grandma Haylin—he didn’t know what she would think. He imagined she would she hate him, or maybe she would guess their reason for running away.