Death is in the Details

by Heather Sunseri

“I know I am. And I’m sorry.” He looked away from me for a second. When his eyes found mine again, he said, “I know about the hyperthymesia.”

  My eyes widened. “How?

  “Chief Reid explained it to me.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes. “Then you know that I relive that night, along with every day before and after, over and over in my head. I don’t get to shove bad memories away like most people do. I don’t get to cover them with better memories. They’re always there. And asking me to talk about them… it only makes it worse.” I curled the fingers of my free hand into a fist and pressed that fist into my chest. “It’s excruciating.”

  “I will be here every single second, Faith. I think if you share your story, I might be able to stop a killer. I know that won’t stop you from remembering, but you’ll be making sure it doesn’t happen to someone else.”

  I let my head fall forward. “Why did they have to let Ethan out of prison?”

  “Because he didn’t kill your mother.”

  I met his gaze again. “I’m starting to realize that. And that makes this even harder. Because now I’ll have to live with the guilt that I might have put him there—and the guilt of wishing he was still there.”

  I started with something easy. There was something else I’d been keeping from Luke—about the case in Midland. I flipped through the photos from the crime scene until I found the photograph of the dog tag that identified Finch as the family’s veterinarian. I tacked the photo under the newspaper articles about that case, then used twine to extend a line from this photo to the picture of Finch.

  “Why didn’t you mention that the first time you spotted that detail?” Luke asked.

  “Family loyalty, I suppose,” I said. “And I was in a bad mood that night. I had just seen Ethan at the Spotted Cat. And you were acting all superior.” I let my shoulders lift and drop. “Besides, it seemed like such a tiny detail. Those tags can be found all over the state, I’m sure.”

  A smirk touched Luke’s lips. “You don’t like to help when you’re having a bad day. Got it.”

  “Speaking of the Spotted Cat…” I went to my purse and dug out the matchbook that was left at my fire pit, lifting it carefully by the edges. “Probably no way to find fingerprints on this now.”

  Luke got a tissue from the nightstand and picked up the matchbook. “Doesn’t hurt to process it. I’ll find a plastic bag to stick this in. Write ‘Spotted Cat’ on a Post-It and stick it up on the board.”

  When he returned, I was still staring at the board.

  “What are you thinking so hard about?” he asked.

  “I was just noticing the dates. My mom was killed eleven and a half years ago. The next fire on your board happened more than two years later. After that, the gap of time between the fires grows tighter and tighter. The crimes are getting closer together. And now they’re coming very fast. Why?”

  “We noticed that too. Typically, arsonists spread their fires far apart; they don’t want to rush and get sloppy. A tighter time frame could indicate that their need for fire has become greater. But the truth is, I don’t think this is about arson at all. In every one of these cases, the victims were killed prior to the fire being set—with the exception of Sadie Porter, who ran in after the fire was started. The killer couldn’t have predicted that, so I believe her death was a mistake.”

  “You’re saying you think a serial killer killed my mom and her husband.” I said it aloud, then tried to process it through what I knew. “If that’s true, what if Ethan and I had come home sooner than we had? Would we have been victims?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Meaning?”

  “There’s one question you haven’t asked. Possibly the biggest question in any case, especially this one.”

  I stared at Luke for a long moment. “Motive.”

  “Motive,” he repeated.

  Twenty-Seven

  “You think someone wanted my parents dead—that they had motive—but you seem certain it wasn’t Ethan.”

  Luke nodded. “I’m certain.”

  “But how can you be so—” And then I understood. “You’ve seen the evidence. The evidence that caused the commonwealth’s attorney to release Ethan and drop the case.”

  “I have.”

  I waited.

  Luke took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s start with your written statement, taken three days after the fire.”

  I nodded. “I was in the hospital, recovering from severe burns.”

  “Yes. You told Chief Reid—Detective, at the time—that you had been with Ethan the night of the fire, but the two of you separated around six-thirty. You got home just after seven, and the fire was already blazing. You said that you didn’t see how Ethan would have had time to leave you, get home, kill two people, and start a fire.”

  “But Chief told me I was wrong,” I said. “He said Ethan would have had plenty of time to commit the murders and start the fire before I arrived.”

  “And you believed him, because you were seventeen. You’d just lost your mother and were suffering from severe burns. You were in shock. But I know you remember every single detail of that night. Look back on it now. What does your twenty-nine-year-old mind tell you?”

  I drilled fingers into my forehead. “There wasn’t time,” I said. “He couldn’t have done it. There just wasn’t time.”

  “You’re right—there wasn’t. And the evidence, withheld from Ethan’s attorney, proves it. There were two parts to that evidence: a witness who said they thought they saw Ethan stop at a gas station at just before seven that night, and a corresponding, time-stamped video proving it.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What?”

  “You testified at Ethan’s trial that he pulled you from the fire. But according to the timestamp on the video…”

  “There’s no way he could have arrived before me and started the fire,” I whispered. I fought back emotion that threatened to bubble up out of my throat.

  “Tell me what really happened that night, Faith.”

  Twenty-Eight

  I managed to talk Luke into taking a walk outside. I needed the fresh air, and I craved the open space when I told him about the night my life changed forever. And maybe being outside would make me feel like I could run if I needed to. Maybe I wouldn’t feel like I was being confined in the prison of my own memories, as I had been for so long.

  The temperature was right around freezing, but the sun warmed our faces. Bundled up in coats, gloves, and snow boots, we walked through the woods between Coop’s farm and mine. I fought against nerves and emotions. I had tried to say the words out loud so many times when I was alone, and I could never do it.

  “What did Ethan do to you?” Luke asked, prompting me to begin.

  I turned my head so that he couldn’t see my face, but he grabbed my arm and forced me to stop.

  Keeping my head pointed down at the snow, I swallowed hard. Then I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. I lifted my eyes to Luke’s and said the words that I’d only said to one other person.

  “He raped me.”

  Unwelcome tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away before they stung my cold cheeks.

  “My stepbrother—my best friend—got drunk and forced himself on me.”

  If Luke had a reaction, he did an incredible job of suppressing it. “Who knew about it?”

  “No one,” I said, then started walking again. I couldn’t bear to watch the pity form in Luke’s eyes. Whether he’d wanted it to be there or not, I knew it was. “Not then anyway. Later, I told one of my therapists.”

  “Wait a minute.” He stopped me again. “You never told your family that Ethan sexually assaulted you?”

  “Nope. Not back then, and not since.”

  “What about your therapist? Did they suggest you tell the authorities?”

  “Ethan was already behind bars with a life sentence by the time I told her. So no, she didn’t push me to report it. What would
be the point?”

  Luke grabbed me and pulled me to him. He wrapped his strong arms around me, and he hugged me tightly against him. “I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through.”

  Even through our winter coats, I could feel the comfort he was offering me. I was rigid at first, but when I realized he wasn’t going to let go, I relaxed into his hold. But I refused to shed a single tear. I’d shed enough tears.

  Eventually, Luke did release me. We walked in silence for several minutes. Then Luke began asking questions I knew he needed to ask.

  “Would Ethan have told anyone?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “No one has ever mentioned it. People did speculate that he and I carried on a secret relationship when we were in high school, though; they whispered about us behind our backs, and sometimes right to our faces.” I thought of Bella and Alexandra in the park.

  “Your brother never knew? Your aunt or uncle?”

  “My brother was off at college. I don’t see how my aunt or my uncle would have known.”

  “Was this a one-time occurrence?” Luke asked, then immediately said, “I am so sorry to ask you this. God, I wish I didn’t need to know.”

  “That night was the first time he actually forced himself on me, but he had tried to convince me that we were meant to be together many times. He was convinced that he was in love with me, and that since we weren’t related by blood, we should be able to be together.”

  “I assume he thought you had feelings for him?”

  “He knew I loved him. But as a brother and best friend. I never wanted it to be anything more than that. And because of my love for him, I was blinded to how deep his feelings for me ran. I never believed he would hurt me.”

  “Of course you didn’t.” This time when Luke spoke, I heard anger in his voice. “You trusted him.”

  “I did.” A lump formed in my throat. The memories were so fresh—as they always were—and those old feelings washed over me, forcing tears despite my desperate objections.

  I began to shake. I fell to my knees. And I sobbed.

  Luke was behind me. He, too, went to his knees, and he hugged me from behind, letting me cry without abandon, my body heaving through a bout of wrenching sobs. “I am so sorry,” he said. “You’ve kept this bottled up long enough. You’ll feel better if you let it all out.”

  But he didn’t get it. With hyperthymesia—even with the amount of therapy I’d been through—nothing could make me feel better. I could never stop from feeling the memories, at full strength, every time they came to my mind.

  “Let me get you back to Coop’s,” he said.

  “I want to go home,” I managed. We were already closer to my trailer at that point.

  He helped me up, and I managed to hold in further sobs as we walked. But I knew the dam I’d constructed wouldn’t hold. I would have to cry over the grief of losing my mom—and the grief of being violated by my best friend. I would cry at having the last vestiges of my youth ripped violently away. I would cry until I had no tears left.

  I tried to convince Luke to leave when we reached my trailer, but he refused, and with my throbbing head, I didn’t have the energy to argue with him. I went straight to my bed while Luke made himself comfortable in the front of the trailer. I thought I heard him talking on the phone, but I simply buried my head deeper into my pillow.

  And when the well of tears eventually dried up, I realized that I felt something—felt more than I wanted to—for this man who refused to leave me alone even after I’d confided in him about the single worst night of my life.

  I knew he could have coerced me to tell that story sooner than he had. He had clearly known there was more to my story—had known I was hiding something. And he had needed to know what I knew. It was the only way to stop these murders. Yet he had been patient.

  Was it truly possible that a serial killer had been on a rampage for more than a decade—and that they had started with my mother and stepfather? That some psychopath had set the fire that had scarred my body and changed my life?

  Several hours passed. I could tell the sun was low in the sky by the light in my bedroom, and the chill inside my trailer. I rolled out of bed and wrapped myself in a large sweater. I could hear the banging of pots and pans in the kitchen. As I pulled open the divider, I smiled at the thought of Luke making me something to eat.

  But it wasn’t Luke standing in my trailer. It was my brother.

  I frowned. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s good to see you, too,” he said. “I’m making us some spaghetti. It was either that or tacos. It’s all I really know how to make. How are you feeling?”

  “Better. Where’s Luke?” I looked past Finch as if Luke could be hiding in the hundred square feet of space beyond the kitchen.

  “He got called in to work. He didn’t want to leave you alone, so he called me. I had a surgery cancel today, so I took off early. I wanted to see how my kid sister was doing anyway. Luke said he pushed you to talk about the night Mom died. Said he was pretty rough on you.”

  “It’s fine. Just dredged up all the memories, you know?”

  “Well, I know how it is for me. I can’t even imagine how it is for you.”

  Finch had seen me break down over too many memories at once. He knew life was hard for me, even if he couldn’t imagine what it was like to remember your worst memories like they were happening again. Of course, Finch thought I was only remembering the fire, and Mom’s death. He had no idea what Ethan had done to me.

  “Finch,” I said, hesitantly. I didn’t want to make him have to relive that horrific time. “How did you manage to finish college after that?”

  He stirred the sauce on the stove, then looked over at me. “The same way you managed to get through high school, I guess. We both did what we had to do. And having Aubrey helped. But she was dealing with so much of her own stuff then.”

  I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I didn’t press. “Aunt Leah made it easier for me. She literally did everything for me.” She went out and purchased me new clothes that would cover my bandages and scars. She made every meal, never asking for help, and she didn’t let me help when I offered. She made sure I answered every college letter that spring, and encouraged me to accept the proffered scholarship into the forensics program at Eastern Kentucky University.

  “She and Uncle Henry helped me a lot, too,” Finch said. “I don’t know what I would have done without them. And I was so thankful they could help you. I was ready to give up vet school to take care of you, but Uncle Henry and Aunt Leah wouldn’t hear of it. I guess they forced us both to stand on our own two feet and not let our tragedy define us.”

  “I guess,” I said. When the water in the second pot was boiling, I reached for the box of spaghetti and dumped some in. “Thanks for coming over. I know you hate cooking in this tiny kitchen.”

  He smiled. “It’s not so bad.” He looked around. “You’ve done pretty well for yourself. This place suits you.”

  I glanced around to see what he was seeing. “Yeah. It’s fine for now.”

  “So… the FBI agent?” Finch asked.

  “How long have you been saving that question?”

  “Since yesterday when we were at Uncle Henry and Aunt Leah’s. I don’t like him. And I’m surprised that you trust him. He’s digging a little too deeply into our pasts.”

  “He’s just doing his job.”

  “Do you care for him?”

  I shrugged. “Too early to tell.”

  “I don’t know,” he sang. “Aubrey and I knew after our first date that we would be going on many, many more.”

  “Well, that’s you and Aubrey. You two are different. You have something really special.”

  “Oh, and you can’t find something special?” He drew back. “Not that I’m saying it should be this jerk.”

  I laughed, then picked up a slotted spoon and played with the softening noodles. “I don’t know. That kind of love might not be in the cards
for me. Can you imagine being in a relationship with me? I remember every bad thing anyone has ever said or done to me. And I hold grudges. There’s no way to win a fight with me.”

  “True.” He pulled a couple of plates from an overhead cabinet. “Seriously, though—how much do you trust this guy? He did say he was rough on you today—though to his credit, he seemed torn up about it.”

  “It was necessary. And he had to ask.”

  “Why? That was over ten years ago.”

  “Because the FBI doesn’t think Ethan was responsible for Mom’s death.” I took the plates and set them on my dining table.

  He gripped the stirring spoon so hard that his knuckles turned white. “And you believe him?”

  I was quiet for a moment, then I met his hard stare. “I do, Finch. Ethan isn’t completely innocent, but he wasn’t responsible for either the murders or the fire.” I didn’t want to get into what Ethan was guilty of. Not yet.

  “So they’re pushing forward with the reopening of the investigation? That’s what today was all about? That’s why he’s digging up the past?” He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. “Son of a bitch. He had no right.”

  “He had every right. I’m just thankful he questioned me as gently as he could. Any other investigator would have grilled me harder. At least Luke could take me home and let me curl up in bed after.”

  “I guess I should thank him for that.” Finch eyed me sideways. “I won’t, but I know I should.”

  I nudged him playfully with my hip. “Do what you do best and be nice. Let him do his job. If what he told me today is true, they’re looking for a serial killer. And serial arsonist.”

  “Wow. So they think these recent fires are linked to Mom’s murder.” There was something in Finch’s voice. It wasn’t disbelief. He seemed to be analyzing something of his own.

  I nodded. “And there have been more, in other places. But the pieces of the puzzle seem to be clicking into place.” I shrugged. “At least Luke seems to think so.”