It made her think: how would she feel about saying goodbye to the light?
Serenity had never been a sun worshiper, her skin burned far too easily, but to never experience the sun’s rays on her face again? Maybe the same pleasure could be had in the moon? Perhaps she would come to appreciate the beauty of the sun’s nighttime counterpart instead.
The coffee pot sat on the desk which also held the television. Automatically, she switched on the machine, needing the caffeine to get her going.
Her stomach gurgled. Food, she needed food.
Did she dare put in a room service order? The prospect made her uncomfortable but she had money in her purse, she didn’t expect Sebastian to pay for everything.
Craving orange juice and croissants, she placed a call to room service.
“I’ll pay in cash,” she told the woman on the phone.
“We’ve already been instructed to put everything on the room,” the voice replied.
Serenity hesitated
“Has the room been paid for?” she asked. Suddenly, she worried about being kicked out at midday and expected to pick up a bill she couldn’t afford.
“Sure,” said the friendly voice. “Mr. Lorenzo has pre-paid for three nights and told us to charge everything else to his card.”
Lorenzo?
Sebastian must be using a fake name. Then again, she couldn’t imagine getting a credit card would prove too easy when your birth certificate said you were hundreds of years old. Her shoulders sagged with relief. Though she needed to go back to the house today and make sure the police weren’t snooping around, at least she wouldn’t have to stay.
By nightfall, Sebastian would be back, waiting for her.
A knock on the door signaled the arrival of her breakfast. She tried to hand a tip to the waiter, but he shook his head, “Service is already added to the bill.”
“Oh, thanks,” she said, blood rushing to her face. Even a waiter had the ability to make her feel awkward and out of her depth.
Serenity ate her breakfast, all the time worrying over the previous night. A thrill raced through her as she remembered the things they had done. She squeezed her thighs together, experiencing the same rush of pleasure. She’d never experienced anything like that before; her whole adult life she’d never known sex could be so incredible. If only she hadn’t ruined it. Why had she tried to push him?
It was only nine in the morning and the whole day stretched ahead of her; an impossible void to fill.
The police worried her. She didn’t like the idea of them waiting for her at home. Madeline might have gone back to the police and told them more lies—or even worse—the truth. Sebastian might think their biggest threat was Madeline but the possibility of a lifetime in prison filled her with dread.
The idea niggled at her. Was it worse for her to be hiding in a hotel or should she be at the house to defend her corner? It seemed crazy to want to go back to the house when yesterday she’d wanted to get away. For whatever reason, the small duplex was legally her home and she didn’t like the thought of the police thinking she had run.
At least during the day she was safe from Madeline.
Sitting around in the hotel room all day would drive her crazy. She would go back to the house, grab a change of clothes and make sure the police weren’t waiting for her to return home.
There was no sign of anyone at the house, no cards dropped through the mailbox, no notes left for her. From next door, the neighbor shouted at her children to get back into the house and someone drove past, blaring loud music from their car.
Relieved not to find the cops camped outside her front door, she decided to take a walk.
The local area was decent enough for Los Angeles and didn’t suffer too much from the violence plaguing many of the city’s suburbs. A cafe, its walls lined with books, appealed to her. If she could take one of those books off the shelves and lose herself in another world for an hour, she would be happy.
Turning into the doorway, she collided with a man heading out, carrying a large take-out coffee and something in a brown paper bag.
The man glanced down at her in surprise. “Mrs. Hathaway?” he said. “How are you?”
He wore civilian clothes—jeans and a sweater—and for a moment she didn’t recognize him. Then she realized who the man was; the officer who had questioned her. Serenity searched her memory for his name.
Bently. Officer Bently.
She was surprised to see him. For some reason, she’d not expected to bump into someone she knew in this neighborhood. With everything happening in her life, it seemed strange how other people carried on their normal lives around her.
“Officer Bently,” she said.
“It’s James, please,” he smiled, an easy, warm gesture. “As you can tell, I’m off duty.”
“Sure,” she forced a smile.
He gestured back to the coffee shop. “You heading for a caffeine fix?”
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
He reached across her and pushed the door open for her. “Mind if I join you?”
His request took her by surprise. He must have seen the hesitation on her face.
“I’ll buy,” he offered.
That made her smile and she nodded, bowing her head in surrender. He held the door open as she walked in. A woman in a suit, working on a laptop, sat at one table. A young couple had taken up position by the window and they held hands across the table. Otherwise, the place was empty and they had their choice of tables. Instinctively, she headed to the table at the back of the coffee shop, as far away from the other people as possible.
Officer Bently went straight up to the counter and turned back to her.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“Just a fruit tea,” she told him and watched as he ordered.
He was handsome, though shorter than Sebastian and appeared older, in his late-thirties. He hadn’t shaved that morning—a benefit of not having to work—and a distinct shadow lay beneath his skin. Lines fanned around his brown eyes and grey flecked his hair; all signs of aging, all the things Sebastian would never experience.
Bently sat opposite her and pushed the large takeout cup across the table. “I don’t think you’ll find much caffeine in fruit tea.”
“I’m trying to stay off the stuff,” she said. “I’m staying up too much at night as it is.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Heard nothing from your husband, Mrs. Hathaway?”
“I thought you were off duty,” she said. Then she sighed, “And it’s Serenity.”
“Serenity? Unusual name.”
“Yes, it is,” she said, without offering an explanation.
She took a sip of her tea and the hot liquid scalded her mouth. She had a flashback of sitting in the hospital cafeteria and Sebastian warning her the coffee was hot. The memory made her smile to herself.
“Look, Serenity.” Officer Bently said. His broad chest expanded as he took a deep breath and her heart sank. Whatever he was about to say, she didn’t want to know. She only wanted to while away the hours of daylight alone and later, get back to being with Sebastian.
The officer carried on talking.
“I don’t want to step out of place but I couldn’t help notice some things about you—how you flinched at the house when I reached for your husband’s cell, how you move carefully, as though you’re worried sudden movement will hurt, and then there’s the faint bruise on your wrist.”
Suddenly self-conscious, she pulled at her sleeve, trying to cover the bruise. Jackson had caused the mark a week ago when he grabbed her wrist to make her drop the television remote. The strength of the memory made her blanch. It was so fresh in her mind—everything was so fresh in her mind.
She saw no aggression in Officer Bently’s brown eyes, only concern and compassion, but her defenses went up in the same way they had any time someone made a friendly, but concerned enquiry into her private life. Only this time she had more to worry about than work colleagues finding
out her husband liked to use her as a punching bag.
Serenity said nothing. Bently continued to talk.
“The thing is, Serenity, if I am right about your husband—about how he treated you—then men like that don’t leave their wives. They wouldn’t allow their wives the freedom of being left.”
She cleared her throat, her gaze fixated on her hands “I don’t know what you want me to say. Am I supposed to be justifying my husband’s actions to you?”
“No, but if you do have any information that might lead us to your husband’s whereabouts, not telling us is as good as being an accessory.”
“Are you still off duty, Officer Bently?” she said. “Because if you are, I can’t see how this is any of your business.”
“You’re right, I apologize.” He glanced down for a moment and then looked back up, seemingly resolved to get out what he wanted to say. “The thing is Serenity, we can get a warrant to search your house and if no other leads come forward, that may be exactly what happens.”
Serenity froze, her jaw tight with apprehension. Bently leaned in toward her and lowered his voice, “I think you’re a good person Serenity, a good person who probably just has bad taste in men. Like I said before, abusers don’t leave the people they’re abusing and if he didn’t leave, we’re going to start wondering what happened to him.”
“My husband left me,” she said, “and if you want proof, you only need to check his computer. Maybe you’ll discover one of the reasons a man like Jackson leaves a woman like me is because he’d had his fun, got bored and decided to hook up with some other poor sap.”
“I’m trying to look out for you—give you a heads up. I would hate for that warrant to find something you wouldn’t want it to.”
She cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow. “So you’re trying to tell me you’re one of the good guys, James?”
“I’m trying to tell you any information you willingly give up to the police might work better for you than tying our hands and forcing us to get it ourselves.”
Serenity bit her lower lip. “I don’t know where my husband is,” she said truthfully. “If you think you might find something on the computer to give you some idea of where he might be, please, take the damn thing.”
She resisted the urge to drop her forehead to the table. This whole situation was crazy; nothing more than a charade. They were looking for a man who was already dead at the time the crime had been committed. She almost wanted to laugh. The part of herself she’d never felt completely in control of wanted to reach across the table, grab the cop by the shoulders and shout, ‘I murdered Jackson three days ago so he couldn’t have raped a woman. And, by the way, the woman who told you she was raped is a vampire.’
Serenity gave up. “So do you want to come and check out the computer now, or do you have to wait until you’re back in uniform.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t victory she saw, it was relief that she had caved.
“I’ll come now, but if anyone asks, we ran into each other on your way to the station.”
“Isn’t that what happened?” she said, reluctantly smiling back.
She might be making a colossal mistake. The officer didn’t know she’d murdered Jackson but he’d made some pretty uncanny suggestions. Of course it worried her, but he seemed genuine. The last thing she wanted was the police coming back with a search warrant. She had no idea what they might find and she hoped showing them what a perverted cheat Jackson really was might put them off the scent.
At what stage should she be asking for a lawyer? No, this wasn’t an investigation into her, but Jackson. So far, she hadn’t been accused of anything other than trying to protect her abusive husband.
Her duplex was a couple of blocks from the coffee shop and they walked in silence. In her head, she ran through conversations she might be having with the man beside her, ‘Do you live close by?’ ‘How does your wife feel about you constantly being on the job?’
Had she even seen a wedding ring?
No, his finger was bare.
It was a shame; he seemed like a nice guy. If they were under different circumstances and she had never met Sebastian she might be looking at him in a different way. As it was, only Sebastian filled her thoughts—there was no room for anyone else.
Using her key, she opened the front door.
“I guess I don’t need to tell you where the office is,” she said. “You must be getting to know your way around by now.”
“Sure,” he grinned.
Bently mounted the stairs toward Jackson’s office, and Serenity followed. Each time she entered the small room, nausea clamped down on her stomach. The atmosphere was like being swamped in the essence of Jackson. Just the smell brought back terrible memories.
Filled with anger, she swept a pile of girly magazines off the desk and into the trash. Half of them fell out on the floor and she bent down and gathered them up, stuffing them back in. However, old beer cans already filled the trashcan and most of the magazines only fell out again.
“Damn it,” she swore.
Remembering the other person in the room, she straightened up and ran a hand through her hair.
“I hate mess,” she said in a small voice. She felt as though she’d been discovered picking her nose or squeezing pimples; an embarrassing intrusion on a private moment.
Officer Bently watched with a faint frown on his face—the one he seemed to get when something troubled him.
“You don’t seem at all worried about your husband coming back,” he said. “Won’t he be pissed at you throwing his stuff out?”
“I don’t care if I never see him again,” she said.
“His type can be extremely controlling, yet you don’t seem bothered.”
“Oh, I’m bothered. I’m just good at hiding it.”
Officer Bently pulled the office chair toward him and sat down in front of the computer. His fingers rested on the keyboard for a minute and then he turned back to her.
“Here’s the thing, Serenity. Most women with abusive husbands are scared of their own shadows. You seem different. I struggle to imagine you putting up with someone who harms you.”
“I guess something changed when I found out I wasn’t the only woman in his life.” She put her hand to her mouth, trying to think of a way to explain her situation to someone who had probably never experienced emotional abuse in his life.
“I know you won’t understand,” she tried, “but even when he hit me, I thought he loved me. Any attention was good attention. I told myself he must really love me to be so protective and passionate, even if his way of showing affection was bad. He used to cry afterward, tell me how sorry he was. I believed him at first, I honestly thought he regretted what he did, but after years went by and nothing changed, the love turned to hate.”
Confusion clouded Officer Bently’s eyes.
“So, do you still love him?” he asked. “Do you still love him enough to cover for him?”
Serenity shook her head, her eyes wide. Had this man listened to nothing she’d said? She wanted him to understand; understand how it felt to have your emotions ripped from one side to the other, to spend your life wondering where the next fist was coming from.
“I hated him!” she said. “As you pointed out, Jackson used to get his rocks off by beating the shit out of me. One time, he dragged me out of the shower by the hair and beat me with the shower head until I passed out. I woke up naked and freezing on the bathroom floor. In so much pain, I had to drag myself to the bedroom. I couldn’t even get on the bed, so I just lay on the floor with a towel over me, trying to stay warm until Jackson came home. When he finally rolled back from the bar, I asked him to help me and he laughed. He told me if I behaved like a dog, I should sleep on the floor like one.”
“I’m sorry,” Bently told her, unable to meet her eye.
“Do you know what really got to me?”
He shook his head.
“To this day, I have absolutely no idea wha
t I did to deserve that beating. I wracked my brains for weeks wondering if I’d left the breakfast dishes out or if I hadn’t cleaned the floor well enough. I was so paranoid, whatever cleaning I did, I checked, and checked, and checked it again to make sure I had done the job right. I didn’t question my husband’s state of mind to beat me as he did; I questioned my own ability to do the God-damned cleaning!”
She pressed her lips together, realizing tears were perilously close. She had promised herself she wasn’t going to shed another tear for that man and she meant it.
Serenity sniffed and rubbed her hand across her face. “I guess what I’m trying to say is until you’ve been in that situation yourself, you’ve no way of knowing how you’re going to react when you finally think it might have ended.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry,” he said again.
“I should probably tell you something else.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“I’m not staying in this house at the moment. I needed to get away so I’m staying at a hotel for a couple of nights. It’s not far, so you don’t need to think I’ve run off.”
Officer Bently nodded. “Okay. You’re not under arrest, so you have the right to do what you want. But I’m glad you told me. What hotel are you staying at?”
She considered lying to him, but then realized it was pointless. “The Hilton, near the airport. I’ll only stay a couple of nights. This place has too many memories.”
“I understand.”
Not saying anything else, she reached across and pressed the ‘on’ button for the PC. The screen flashed to life and she typed in the password.
“Knock yourself out,” she said, “but I’m warning you, it won’t be pleasant.”
Chapter Eighteen
Officer Bently noted down a number of different login ID’s and told Serenity he would get back to her if he had any more information. Apparently, Jackson had offered to meet a number of women he’d met in various chat rooms. According to Bently, he’d probably done exactly that and was now staying with one of them. He thought he may be able to run traces on the ID’s and get names and addresses.
Alone Page 15
