by Zoey Derrick
"I don't understand why all this is necessary." I lean into the jamb of the office door and take a long, deep breath.
"I'm not entirely sure it's necessary either. You've done nothing wrong, but I...I'd like Chrys to be here as a buffer from Stevens. He'll know if the questions are crossing the line or making you uncomfortable. And..." He pauses. "And he can help keep me in line from doing or saying something I shouldn't to Stevens." He runs a hand through his hair.
"I don't mind talking to Chrys as much as I mind talking to Stevens. The only thing that I have to tell him, he already knows." My voice is soft but I’m suddenly very nervous. "Or he should know. He would have access to my medical file as far as my injuries were concerned. If he suspects anyone other than that asshole, then he's barking up the wrong tree."
Mikah nods. "I know, sweetheart. I don't know what it is that he's after, what information he thinks you can provide that he doesn't already have. But unless there is some legal way out of you talking to him, I can't hold Stevens off forever, as much as I'd like to." I can see the concern in his eyes.
"I'll talk to both of them if it means that once it's done, it's done, and I don't have to do it again."
I have a gut feeling that it's a waste of time to talk to either one of them. If that cave dream is any indication, I have a feeling that whoever that dark voice belongs to is having his own way with Riley. I shudder.
After a few heartbeats of silence, I hear a door close and shoes clicking across the hardwood floor. I lean back, shrinking into his office as a rather tall, well-dressed man emerges from the hallway.
FIFTEEN
For being a lawyer, Chrys is surprisingly gentle when it comes to asking me questions. It’s hard to talk about again, and I can tell Mikah is uncomfortable with my answers, but they’re the same ones I gave him in the hospital on Saturday night. I'd hoped that Mikah could act as a buffer and handle most of the answers, but Chrys is adamant that the answers come from me and me alone.
When I’m finished telling Chrys everything I remember, I say, "I don't want to talk to Stevens."
"I don't see any reason for you to talk to him," Chrys replies matter-of-factly. "The evidence of what happened to you is in your medical file. You can identify Riley in a lineup if necessary."
I shudder at the idea of having to look at him again.
Chrys continues, "With the previous case, Riley presents with a history of violence toward you, the police shouldn't need anything more. I will try talking to Stevens first, see what it is that he's after, and then we can go from there." He doesn't look at Mikah when he talks, which is reassuring.
Chrys is rather handsome, with dirty blond hair that falls to just below his ears. Definitely doesn't seem like the lawyer type. Maybe that's why I can talk to him without issue. I've never had to deal with a lawyer before, and if I ever have to deal with one again, someone like Chrys would be great. He's not abrasive in any way, and I like that.
"I have a feeling he just wants to see her, talk to her, maybe even apologize to her," Mikah says, and I look at him, puzzled. "He's pretty messed up over what happened to you, and while I'd like to wring his neck for letting it happen, in the end he and his department were hurt far more than you were."
I nod slowly, taking in his words. I remember him telling me about the cop who was parked outside of my apartment and how he was killed. Guilt knots my stomach. If Stevens hadn't felt it necessary to protect me from Riley, his cop would still be alive. In a way, it’s my fault that the officer died.
"I'll talk to Stevens," I blurt out. "Despite the fact that what happened to me happened, he deserves a chance to say his piece."
Mikah looks at me, awe etched on his features.
"Okay, would you like me to talk to him first?" Chrys pulls my attention away from Mikah.
I nod. "Sounds good to me."
I hear the door open and the squeak of tennis shoes across the floor. "Lunch is ready downstairs," Celeste says.
"Chrys, would you like to join us?" Mikah asks him.
"No, I'm going to make some notes. I'll take a sandwich, though, if you don't mind."
Mikah turns to Celeste. "Would you mind?"
"No, not at all," she replies and walks into the kitchen.
"Chrys, why don't you call me when Stevens is ready. I’ll tell Red to bring him up here and you can chat with him first. We will come back up when it's time." Mikah stands and offers me his hand. I take it and stand too.
"Sounds good," Chrys replies, and Mikah and I head for the door.
SIXTEEN
We’ve barely finished our lunch of salad and chicken soup - I'm thankful this soup is so good, otherwise I might tire of it - when Mikah's phone rings.
"Blake," he answers. I see his face fall slightly.
We haven't talked too much over our meal. I get the impression that Mikah is waiting for me to talk. Though about what, I’m not sure. Or maybe he is just trying to make sure that I really am okay after what’s happened to me.
"Alright, Chrys, we'll be up in a moment," I hear him say, then he shifts the phone and pushes a button.
"Chrys says that Stevens is satisfied with what he's told him regarding what happened," Mikah says rather stoically, as if he's thinking about something.
"I'm still mad at him," I say quietly. I look up at him and he smiles.
"That makes two of us.” Mikah wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. He lightly kisses the top of my head. "It will be okay." He squeezes my shoulders. "How are you feeling?" he asks.
"Okay. Just tired."
"Alright, we'll make this quick and you can come down here and take a nap."
"Will you join me?"
He smiles a little wider. "Maybe." He grins.
I smile back and we head for the door and back upstairs.
As we walk into the apartment, I hear Chrys talking but I can’t really make out what he's saying. We come around the corner to find Stevens, Chrys and another cop - one of the ones from Thursday night, whose name I can't remember - sitting at the dining room table.
Stevens stands and turns to face us. Mikah still has his arm around me protectively, but Stevens smiles when he sees me.
"Hi, Vivienne," Stevens says, then he points in the direction of the other cop, who's now standing as well. "This is Officer Ruiz."
"Hi," I quietly, not sure why I'm so shy.
Mikah leads me a little closer to the table and Stevens comes over. He's dressed in full uniform, though I notice that both his and Ruiz's gun holsters are empty. Red must have made them leave them downstairs.
"How are you feeling?" Stevens asks. There is a lot of emotion playing on his features.
"I'm okay, just very tired."
"I'm sorry, Vivienne. Very sorry," Stevens says. His voice breaks and I can see raw emotion in his eyes. The look makes my heart lurch.
"Stop. I'm alive, it's alright," I say, and as I do, I realize that it really is okay. I have no reason to be mad at Stevens or anyone else for what happened to me, except Riley. "Riley is a very driven individual. He will let nothing stand in the way to getting what he wants," I say, and Stevens relaxes a little bit. I step out of Mikah's arm and gently hug Stevens. I feel all eyes on me as I do this, but I understand the pain he is going through. If it helps him heal from what happened to me, I'll do it again and again.
"You're too kind to me, Vivienne." He wraps his arms gently around me and squeezes just a bit. I can tell he's being cautious.
I pull back. "Is that the only reason you're here?" I ask and step back.
Mikah is quick to wrap his arm around me, and exhaustion washes over me.
"No, I wanted to ask you a few questions, but Chrys has answered most of them for you."
Mikah leads me to the table and pulls out a chair for me.
"Thank you," I say as I take a seat.
Stevens, Chrys and Mikah all sit. Ruiz stays standing about ten feet away.
"I just wanted to ask you a couple of follow-up qu
estions. I'll make this quick, promise," Stevens says. "First, Mr. Crowley, downstairs from your apartment. Do you know whether he would have let Riley into the building?"
The mention of Mr. Crowley brings a knot to my stomach. "I don't think so. He knew his tenants pretty well. Especially if Riley said my name, he wouldn't have let him in."
"That's something we've been trying to figure out, how he got into the building."
"Again, Riley's determination got him into that building. I vaguely remember Mr. Crowley's door being open when I got home. I didn't think much of it because he's done it in the past when he's run off to a tenant’s apartment," I say, my voice still quiet and weak. But Stevens is listening intently.
"Detective, do you know why his door was open?" Mikah asks.
Stevens face scrunches up a bit. "Mr. Crowley was..." He pauses and looks at me. I nod slightly for him to continue. "He was killed. From what we can tell, it happened before he got to you."
I feel my eyes fill with tears. Mr. Crowley was a really nice man. He didn't deserve this.
"How do you know that?" Mikah asks.
Stevens shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "We, uh..." He looks to Officer Ruiz then back down at the table. "Forensics came back on Vivienne's apartment. We found a t-shirt that wasn't Vivienne's. It was white, and it had several spatters of blood on it. We found three types of blood." I flinch. "Vivienne's, Mr. Crowley's, and what we can only assume is Riley's, as it doesn't match any DNA in our system, but it matches DNA on a couple of hair fibers we found in Mr. Crowley's apartment as well as-" He pauses again, looking at me. "-on Rebecca."
I can feel the tears sliding down my cheeks. "That asshole," I spat. "I get it, I get me, I get why me, but damn it why them?" The tears are flowing harder. I bury my head in my hands and start to sob.
I vaguely hear Chrys. "I think we're done here. If you have any more questions for her, contact me. Or when you capture him and need an identification, let me know."
"Come ’ere, Viv." I feel Mikah's hand across my shoulders. His other hand snakes under my legs as he pushes the chair back and picks me up. "Here or downstairs?" he whispers.
"He-" I can't finish, but he catches my words and he turns toward his room.
SEVENTEEN
For two weeks Mikah barely steps foot out of the building, staying with me no matter what comes up. We talk, watch movies and take naps, and when he needs to do some work-related things, I indulge in his library. About a week into our self-imposed seclusion, I finally start to feel more like myself. I have a little trouble with being tired, but sometimes I think it is because I’m not doing much. Mikah and I start taking morning walks along the river, when the weather is decent.
Connor, Andrew and Red are ever-present in and around the two apartments, and I take it upon myself to get to know Connor and Andrew a little. They are really nice guys, and I get the distinct impression that they are naturally protective.
Zirah hasn't made an appearance since the Sunday I was released from the hospital, though, strangely, I keep having the same recurring dream about the white hallway and Mikah. I always seem to wake up right before we kiss, and it is getting to the point of frustration. I want to know what's going to happen next.
Mikah and I grow close, but he hasn't so much as kissed me - well at least on the lips - and it's starting to feel like my dream: so close and yet so far away.
Then he has some pressing business to deal with in Phoenix, and he leaves me alone for the first time since bringing me here.
I miss him like crazy, and it doesn't quite feel like home without him here. The house is far too quiet; I leave the iPod he gave me - loaded with music and hooked up to the stereo system – on all the time. When he first gave it to me, of course, I rebuffed the gift, telling him it was too much and there was no need to spend his hard-earned money on me. He wouldn’t hear it. Eventually I relented and kept it.
I'm in my bedroom, getting dressed for my appointment with Dr. Alston, when I realize for the first time that my breasts seem very swollen and tender. I was never well-endowed in that department, but holy crap, these things are getting huge. My nipples are puffy and turning a dark, almost cherry wood color.
I turn around to look in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. I'm a little shocked by what I see.
My eyes are a bright blue, bluer than I've ever seen them before. I turn completely sideways and look toward the mirror. Of course I've noticed my belly getting bigger physically, but I’ve never really looked at it like this. Okay, it's not huge, but it is definitely there, and it looks....
Tears prick at my eyes. Good tears, but damn. This whole thing is really sneaking up on me.
I face the mirror head on again, and now I can see why I really hadn't noticed it much; from this angle it looks cute and tiny, small compared to my breasts.
I notice too that my hips are softer, the bones no longer as defined as they once were. All the food I've been eating, plus the vitamins that Mikah has been making me take three times a day, have no doubt been helping me put on some weight. But it appears to be really good weight.
My face has completely filled in, rounded, and there is a flush to my cheeks, no doubt because I’ve been looking at myself in the mirror. My collarbones are still visible, but in a very healthy, almost sexy way.
"Sexy?" I say. I've never thought of myself as sexy before.
A knock on the bedroom door causes me to jump, like I've been caught doing something I'm not supposed to do. I cover myself instinctively as Andrew’s accented voice comes through the door. "Vivienne, we have about five minutes before we need to leave."
"I'll be right there," I holler back and slip the bra on. It's a little bit snug in the chest and made from a thin, sheer material. My nipples poke through like nobody's business.
Standing here in my sheer black bra and black yoga pants, I cannot help but admire myself. For once in my life I actually look and feel pretty. I flush at the thought and reach for a black tank top, then I grab an old Boston College hoodie I inadvertently “borrowed” from Mikah a couple of days ago. It's soft, huge, and warm. I throw it on and head out the bedroom door.
EIGHTEEN
Within a matter of moments we're out of the apartment, down the elevator and into the lobby. Connor is standing next to a sleek black SUV, something I've never seen before. The windows are tinted really dark, and it looks mildly intimidating. Andrew opens the rear passenger door for me just as Connor slides in behind the wheel. I clamber in, noticing that the window on the driver’s side is down, wiping out my anxiety of tight spaces. Andrew shuts the door behind me. He is quick to slide into the front passenger seat, and we're off.
I take a deep breath. "What's the big rush?" I ask.
Connor peers at me through the rearview mirror. "Safety precaution, ma'am."
I roll my eyes, whether at the safety comment or the fact that he called me “ma'am,” I’m not sure. "Call me Vivienne, please, Connor?"
"Yes, ma'am."
I scowl at him.
"Vivienne," he corrects himself.
"Thanks."
He turns back to the road, driving at a speed I'm not entirely sure is legal. I watch out the window as we make our way through downtown. It is Friday morning and the traffic is moving quickly.
A few minutes later we pull into the parking garage at H.C.M.C. Connor steers the car up the ramp to the third floor of the structure and pulls up at a door.
Andrew climbs out of the car, moving a little slower now. Is that deliberate?
He opens my door and I climb out. I expect Connor to drive away to a parking space as soon as Andrew shuts the door behind me, but the SUV doesn't move. Andrew walks with me through the automatic doors into the hospital.
"Do you know where we're going?" I ask Andrew.
"I do." He looks down at me with his bright blue eyes, and his thin lips stretch into a friendly, reassuring smile.
I smile back. Andrew has been really nice to me these la
st couple of weeks.
We round a corner, and it's practically a dead end except for a door to the right. Andrew goes straight to it and knocks.
"Come in," I hear a woman on the other side of the door say.
Andrew opens the door. "Hi, Dr. Alston,” he says. “Vivienne is here to see you."
"Of course. Come on in."
Andrew steps in and stands with his back to the door, holding it open for me. I sneak in between him and the jamb to see Dr. Alston sitting behind a desk.
"Is there any other way into your office?" Andrew asks.
"No, just the room behind you, but no outside access," she says, looking at the same door Andrew is leaning against.
Andrew quickly figures it out and checks the other room. Then, turning back to me, he says, "I'll be right outside if you need me."
"Thanks," I say, and he slips out, closing the door behind him.
"Hello, Vivienne, how are you doing?" she asks as she looks me up and down.
"Great," I say, but I feel a little uncomfortable at her gawking.
"You look amazing," she says with a bright smile on her face, and I relax. "You've put on some weight. Good job."
I blush a little bit. "It's all the food Mikah's been feeding me."
She laughs. "I'll bet. Come in, have a seat."
"Thanks." I do as she says and take a seat in the chair across from her. Then I look around her office. It's decorated in warm browns and tans, not sterile at all, but rather homey looking. She has a few landscape pictures on her walls, but nothing clinical. Though there are no windows, the room is well lit by lamps. The florescent lights overhead are off.
"So, you've been eating okay?"
"Yeah. I have some issues with meat, particularly red meat. The smell turns my stomach," I say, making a face.
"That's not all that uncommon. When we're pregnant, our bodies tend to crave the things it thinks it needs and reject the things it doesn't, or at least doesn't like. What about white meat? Like chicken or pork?"
