“A vigilant gang killed them? Why?”
“I suppose they were seeking justice. Trying to make the world a safer place. It’s not conduct I necessarily agree with, but I’ve learned to look at it no differently than I look at the food chain.”
“What do you mean?”
I drew a long breath. My presentation was important. If done properly, it should relieve Charlee of feeling responsible for the deaths, and allow her to feel prideful for her actions.
“The vigilant gang is a predator, and the kidnappers were their prey,” I explained. “In the food chain, the grasshopper eats the grass. The grasshopper is then eaten by the snake. The snake is caught and eaten by the hawk. The hawk then deposits his spoils from his meal onto the earth, which feeds the grass. The grass then grows to feed the growth of yet another grasshopper. The chain is endless. The vigilant gang is the hawk. The kidnappers are the snake.”
“So, the vigilant gang was after them anyway, right?”
“That is correct.”
“And, the vigilantes didn’t know about anything that I’d said?”
“They did not. They were acting on their own.”
She looked at me. “Just because they knew those guys were crappy people?”
“Correct.”
She reached for the award. “So, my information led the detectives to the girls. They were saved because of me?”
“That is also correct.”
She lifted the frame and gazed at the award. “This is freaking awesome.”
“I’m proud of you,” I said.
“I’m proud of you, too. Even if you didn’t have much involvement.”
I shrugged. “Maybe next time.”
She tilted her head to the side, and rested it on my shoulder. “I like you, Atticus.”
“I like you right back, Scout.”
“Can we tell my mom?”
“I think I need to.”
She looked up. “Speak of the devil.”
Jacky walked up the booth and shook her head. “What do we have here?”
I motioned toward the other side of the booth. “Have a seat?”
She slid into the booth and looked at me with eyes of uncertainty. “What’s going on?”
I inhaled a deep breath, exhaled, and began. “Nine girls were kidnapped recently. One of the suspects had prominent tattoos, and was evading the authorities. A week or so ago, I explained to Charlee how we were looking for him, and she said she’d seen a similar man at the 7-Eleven on Pala Vista. Based on the information she provided, the store’s video was searched. Information was obtained in the search that led detectives to find the girls, and return them to their subsequent families. In short, Charlee’s provision of the man’s description was instrumental in rescuing the girls.”
Her eyes shot to Charlee and then to me. “My little Charlee?”
“Your little Charlee.”
She extended her arm across the table and turned her palm upward. Charlee reached for her hand.
Charlee slid the award across the table.
Jacky’s eyes fell to it. After reading it, she wiped her eyes with the tips of her fingers and then looked up. Her eyes were wet, and her face wore a quivering smile.
“I’m so…I’m so proud of you,” she stammered.
Charlee beamed. “Thank you.”
She dabbed her eyes with a napkin. “No more going to the 7-Eleven alone, though.”
“Okay.”
Jacky looked at me. “Thank you, too. For telling her to stay home until this was settled. I wish you would have said something to me, though.”
“I should have. I’m sorry.”
“Forgiven.”
She took one last look at the award. “I need to show this to Gene. And Marco.”
“Don’t get any grease on it,” Charlee warned.
She stood, looked at the award, and smiled. “I won’t.”
Charlee sat with me for some time, and then got up and moved to her booth. After situating herself in the seat, she pulled her knees to her chest.
She cocked her head a little. “So, this relationship you’re in. Are we ever going to get to meet her?”
I shot her a look. “We?”
She motioned toward the kitchen with her eyes. “I told mom. She’s hoping to meet her, too.”
I finished my coffee, folded my newspaper, and then stood. “We’ll see.”
She gave a flippant wave of her hand. “I know what that means.”
I tossed $30 on the table. “What’s it mean?”
“It means probably not.”
When I was a child, we’ll see was indicative of uncertainly.
And, that’s what I was.
Uncertain.
Chapter 27
Taryn – Day twenty-six
Marc’s presence in my life helped me realize what changes I needed to make to allow myself to blossom. I didn’t become a different person, I simply opened my eyes and saw the world – and myself – with clearer vision.
I wondered if he came along at just the right time. If he were merely a man who entered my life when I was poised and ready for change, and my desire to improve came from a subconscious yearning to love and be loved.
It was also possible that I wasn’t ready to make changes when we met. That, in his absence, I would have been forever blind. He then entered my life, and with his understanding, encouragement, and carefully chosen words, encouraged me to better myself.
I’d never know which of the two scenarios were correct, and I decided it didn’t matter. My focus, at least for the time being, was me. If Marc saw me for who I was – and who I was striving to become – I hoped he’d see the value in continuing his life with me.
Four days remained. A life without Marc wasn’t what I wanted, but I knew I’d somehow manage to survive if that was his decision. If he so chose, I was convinced that continuing life’s journey with him would be nothing short of a dream.
He loaded the last plate into the dishwasher and turned it on. “What did you think?”
I dried my hands on the towel, and then handed it to him. “It was really good. What exactly is a scallop, anyway?”
He pinched the towel between his thumb and forefinger, similar to the way a girl would hold something she despised. He opened the trash compactor, dropped the towel inside, and turned around.
“A saltwater clam,” he said as he washed his hands. “When you think of the pretty sea shells with a pear-like shape that comes to a point, those are the shells that encompass a scallop.”
“They were good. I liked the fish, too.”
“You should have. It was your favorite.”
“Fresh Icelandic Cod?” I asked, my voice infused with phony excitement. “Was it?”
Truth be known, I’d never had Icelandic Cod, at least not to my knowledge, before the night we ate in the restaurant. I was simply trying to avoid eating an oyster.
“It was,” he said. “I ordered it from the restaurant’s manager.”
“The place where we ate those awesome oysters?”
He chuckled. “333 Pacific.”
“That’s awesome. Thank you.”
It was thoughtful of him to go to the restaurant where we ate and order the fish he thought was my favorite, even if it wasn’t. It was further proof that he was a very caring person – not that he needed validation.
I studied the contour of his face. His angular jawline, slightly cleft chin, and high cheekbones made him a very attractive man in appearance, but it was what couldn’t be seen that caused him to stand out as exceptional.
I recalled what he said on the night we made the agreement.
The beauty one sees satisfies the eyes. The beauty incapable of being seen satisfies the soul. You satisfy my eyes. Only time will tell if you satisfy my soul.
March Watson satisfied my soul.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I realized I’d somehow drifted away. I blinked a few times and brought my eyes into fo
cus. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”
He draped my hair over my shoulder with his index finger, and then looked me over. He grinned. “About?”
“Fish.” I shrugged. “Icelandic Cod.”
I had grown to like it, but it wasn’t what I was thinking about. I was thinking about a life with him in it, and what it would be like.
“What about it?” he asked.
“How much I like it.”
“I’m glad I could please you with something as simple as a meal.”
It wasn’t simple, I watched him prepare it. It was time consuming and would have been aggravating for me, had I done it. Having him cook had become a guilty pleasure. I found it oddly comforting that he hadn’t once asked me to cook for him.
I looked him up and down. “Easy for you, maybe.”
He moved my hair again. “Everything in life is easy. Some things simply take longer to complete than others. Personally, I find life’s time-consuming challenges to be the most satisfying.”
I tried not to read anything into his statement, but couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to tell me something. The longer he searched for the right woman, the better the results might be.
“I’ve got something for you,” he said.
“For me?”
He nodded and turned toward the glass table. “It’s over here.”
I followed him to the table and sat down at his side. A single sheet of blank paper sat in front of him. I looked at it, and then at him, bewildered as to what was going on.
“I hope this doesn’t upset you.” he turned the sheet of paper over and slid it in front of me. “If so, I apologize in advance.”
I didn’t want to look at it. I couldn’t. I kept my eyes fixed on him, and searched his face for a hint of what lay before me.
I had several ideas as to what it could be. My walking papers. A formal note, telling me to kick rocks. A description of all the things he’d wished I’d done, but had failed miserably at because I couldn’t read his mind.
A deficiency report.
It could be a contract. The sexual side of our relationship, outlined item by item, with a check box beside each one.
I hadn’t even decided what my safe word was going to be.
Salamander.
That would be my safe word. I’d always liked saying the word, and I doubted I’d ever forget it.
Curiosity got the best of me, and I dropped my gaze from his expressionless face to the piece of paper. Several typed paragraphs all but filled the page. Using my finger as a guide, I began to read.
Miss Fisher,
At the insistence of Detective March Watson, an investigation into the events causing and being produced by an accident on the early morning hours of July 27th, 2007 was conducted.
The results of the investigation are detailed below.
The eastbound vehicle, driven by Todd Westfield, was traveling in excess of 80 miles per hour, fifty miles per hour beyond the posted speed. Toxicology reports determined Mr. Westfield’s blood alcohol level exceeded the legal limit of .06. Furthermore, methamphetamines and cocaine were found in his bloodstream.
The southbound vehicle, originally believed to be driven by James Fisher, entered the intersection though the green light, unaware of Westfield’s rapid approach.
Westfield’s vehicle traveled through the traffic light despite the signal’s warning to stop. The Westfield vehicle and the Fisher vehicle then collided. The collision took the life of James and Marty Fisher, and of Todd Westfield. Taryn Fisher remained the sole survivor of the crash.
Review of traffic signal video, available following the accident, but not reviewed for reasons unknown to this investigator, have revealed the Fisher vehicle, believed to be driven by Mr. Fisher, was actually being driven by his daughter, Taryn Fisher.
Further investigation into the accident, Miss Fisher’s driving record, and her temperament at the time of the officer’s interview, indicate no wrong doing on her part, and absolve her of any adverse action associated with this unfortunate event.
The officer’s report has been modified to include these findings, and this case has been sealed to protect the information contained herein.
With my highest degree of sincerity, and in acknowledgement of your losses,
Captain Gene Sprague
As soon as I finished, I glanced at him for an instant. Then, I read the document again.
I couldn’t believe it. I felt like a ton of weight had been lifted from my chest. Weight I had no idea was there. I swallowed heavily and looked up. “Is this for real?”
“On department letterhead and signed by the man in charge.”
“It’s uhhm. That’s it?”
“It’s not that simple, but yes. You’ve been exonerated, and that document stands as proof. However, the case has been sealed. I don’t know if you know what that means.”
I shook my head. “I don’t, no.”
“To dusguise the fact that the officers didn’t review the film from the video cameras immediately following the accident, the case has been sealed. That means that it will not be discussed, and the findings of that document are not to be made common knowledge. It’s a secret they’re sharing with you, because they feel they must. But, you’re not to share their findings with anyone else. I suspect it’s a liability issue. That’s my guess, anyway.”
“Oh my God. This is just…it’s…I’m so relieved. You asked them to look into it?”
“I did. I asked my boss. He’s got contacts in high places.”
Words could not express my gratitude, or how I felt. I looked at the document again. “I’m going to put this in my goodie box.”
“What exactly is a goodie box?”
“I keep things that are important. Birthday cards. Letters. Receipts. Notes.”
“A goodie box, huh?”
I felt foolish, but I nodded nonetheless. “It must be a girl thing. I’ve done it since I was little.”
He grinned. “That’s cute.”
He was one of a kind, that much was certain. “Do you know how many days do we have left?”
“I do not,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Four. Four days left, that’s it.”
“That’s not very many,” he said.
“I want them to be the longest four days of my life.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Why?”
“So I can cherish them.”
Chapter 28
Marc – Day thirty
The repeated ding-dong from the doorbell’s chime resonated throughout the dark room. I sat up in bed and glanced at the alarm clock.
5:05.
I wondered why in the ten kinds of fuck someone was doing ringing my doorbell at 5:00 a.m. on Sunday, the one day of the week I allowed myself the luxury of waking without an alarm clock.
To find out, I got out of bed and proceeded to walk to the front door.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.
I checked my watch, just to be sure I wasn’t going crazy.
5:05.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.
I fixed my eyes on the front door and sauntered through the living room.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.
I stepped to the door and pressed the button to unlock it. After opening it slightly, I peered through the crack.
At first, I was shocked. Taryn, now blond again, stood on the porch with her hair twisted into a gorgeous mess of loose curls. Dressed in a sleeveless coral-colored dress and flats, she looked breathtaking.
“Taryn?”
She cocked her head to the side and gave me a look. “Who did you think it was?”
I pulled the door open. A hint of her perfume came in before she did, causing me to smile as it rushed past.
I shrugged one shoulder. “Sorry.”
She came inside and looked around. “It’s dark as hell in here.”
�
��It’s night time.”
The outdoor lighting filtered in through the windows. As I admired the shadows that her body’s curves cast against her dress, she nodded toward my hand.
“Do you always answer the door with a pistol?”
“Force of habit.” I looked at my hand as if I had no idea what it held, even though I did. “Didn’t even realize I’d grabbed it.”
“Did you realize you’re wearing boxer shorts?”
I didn’t. I looked down at them, and then shrugged. “Must have slipped them on.”
“Where do we stand?” she asked, her voice demanding of an answer.
I flipped on the light switch, then immediately flipped it off again. “What?”
She pressed her right hand against her hip and gave me a look. “Where do we stand?”
I was completely lost as to what she was asking me. Confused, and wondering just what in the hell was going on, I asked the question I’m sure she didn’t want to hear. “Have you been drinking?”
“I haven’t had a drink in thirty-one days. Thirty-one,” she snapped back. She arched an eyebrow. “So, guess what that makes today?”
I hadn’t realized what day we’d made it to in our relationship. We’d gone out on the previous night, and she insisted on sleeping at home, despite the fact I invited her to stay all night. She expressed hope that the last few days would last forever. I, on the other hand, wanted them to somehow disappear.
As much as I wanted our thirty-day obligatory session to end, however, I’d somehow managed to allow our final day to creep up on me.
“Day thirty?” I asked, my tone somewhat apologetic.
“Day thirty,” she said mockingly. She placed her hands on her hips and looked me up and down. “Do we decide now, or do we have to make it through the entire day? Please tell me you’re not going to make me wait until midnight.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I asked, knowing the answer would be no.
“No,” she snapped.
She was eager. I liked that about her. Regardless of her hope to discuss matters in the wee hours of the morning, I knew starting a conversation – and having it be meaningful – without a cup of coffee preceding it would be impossible.
I turned toward the kitchen. “I need a cup of coffee before I start much of anything.”
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