My gaze went to the phone he was also holding. “But there’s a fire.”
“Or an iron in it,” Laurel said.
“Let us get you two back up to the apartments,” Reid said.
Once we were in the common area, both Reid’s and Mason’s phones vibrated.
“Go,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“I can come over,” Laurel offered. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know about the autopsy.”
I shook my head. “Not tonight. I’m reading a good book. I’ll get lost in there for a while and be ready for sleep by midnight.” As my gaze met Reid’s, he grinned.
* * *
Present time~
* * *
“You look real pretty, Lorna. You look like your momma.”
I woke from a scene, a nightmare. It wasn’t my mother in a Montana autumn storm. It was different.
What time was it?
The clock read twelve thirty and yet I was alone. I knew I was.
Throwing back the covers, I walked naked into our bathroom.
The incomplete puzzle of thoughts waged in my head. There were ones that seemed to be more recent and others that didn’t. My eyes met my reflection as I reached for the bottle of sleeping pills. I hadn’t taken one earlier, expecting Reid to join me.
My gaze went again to my reflection as I sprinkled three tablets into the palm of my hand. Hesitating, I retrieved one and put it back. The prescription said one an hour before bed. If I didn’t want to wait an hour, maybe two would do the trick. Popping them into my mouth and swallowing, I caught my own gaze.
Green to green.
At least I hadn’t seen her eyes.
“I don’t look like you. You’re old and dead. I’m not you.” My hand went to my hair. “I’ll never look like you again.”
Turning away from myself, I opened the shower door and turned the water to somewhere over warm to below scalding. Yes, I’d showered to rinse out the hair color, but now it was a need to feel the water over my skin, to let the spray wash away the dream.
Maybe if I soaked under the assault of the sizzling downpour long enough, the dreams would stop.
Reid
Araneae was having memories.
What memories?
How was she?
How was Lorna?
Was she too having memories?
Those were thoughts and questions that cycloned through my mind as I willed the elevator to move faster. It was only one damn floor. As the doors closed and the mechanisms activated, I cursed myself for not being back at her side an hour ago as I’d promised.
As soon as the elevator came to a stop, I squeezed my way through the opening doors and hurried to our apartment. Without hesitation, I threw open the door.
Our living room was dark except for the glow coming from the streets and buildings of Chicago. Such as a pillow of light lingering below us, we were suspended high into the murky night. Without illuminating the familiar obstacles, my shoes clipped upon the tile as I made my way to our bedroom.
Pushing open the door, I stared. The bed was messed. Lorna’s side of the covers was thrown back and her pillows held the indentation, yet she was missing. My heart sank as the sound of our shower filled my ears.
There was nothing wrong with showering or bathing, but in the last two weeks, she’d done it excessively.
Steam slithered from under the bathroom door as I opened it.
My eyes widened at who I saw beyond the glass under the spray.
“Lorna. What the hell?”
Quickly, she reached for the handles and turned off the water.
“Reid. I woke. I guess I...” She wrapped her arms around her breasts. “Can you get me a towel?”
Taking a large plush bath towel to the shower door, I opened the glass, still speechless over the woman before me. A mental battle ensued as the right words to say fought for their place on my tongue.
She smiled up at me as she reached for the towel. “Thank you.”
As she stepped onto the bath mat, water drizzled down her legs as she began to wrap the towel around her. I knew every inch of this woman inside and out. If I were a sculptor, I could knead and mold clay into her likeness. My lips had explored her soft cream skin. My fingers had found each crevice. My ears had heard her fill our home with sounds of pleasure. My body had molded with hers, taken and been taken. I knew what it was like to be buried deep inside her, to feel her body hug mine and the way it convulsed as she let herself go, riding the wave of climax. Over the years we’d laughed and cried. We’d celebrated and mourned. She was my other half and without her I was incomplete.
My gaze went to between her legs seconds before the towel obstructed my view. It didn’t help me. Lorna was obsessive about keeping herself shaved. Even there I couldn’t confirm the redhead I’d fallen in love with.
“Do you like it?” she asked with too much glee.
What could I say?
Lorna walked to the mirror and tilted her face from side to side as water dribbled from the ends of her now-short hair.
I stood behind her, wrapping my arms gently around her. With the top of her head below my chin, I feigned a smile. “Sweetheart, you’re always beautiful.”
She reached up and teased the ends again. “I think it will curl more now that it’s short.”
“Did you do it yourself?”
She spun in my arms. “Well, there aren’t a lot of salons open at midnight and besides, lockdown. Remember?”
“And the dye?” Beyond comprehension, I was trying to make sense of her dark brown locks.
“Oh, I texted the other women, and Madeline had a box of color. She said she won’t use it while she’s pregnant. Chemicals and everything.” Her tone was light and uncharacteristically, singsong.
“Lorna, have you been drinking?”
She waved her hand. “You know I hardly drink.”
“Hardly is some.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, her short bob swinging near her cheeks. “Nothing but hair dye. I didn’t drink it. I put it on my hair.”
“Madeline let you have it without questioning why?”
“I told her it was for a project.”
“And she believed you?”
Lorna stepped back, her smile fading. “You don’t like it?”
“I-I...” Words failed me.
Pulling her arm away from my grasp, Lorna walked past me and out to the bedroom.
“Lorna.”
“What, Reid?” She was in our closet. When she came out, she was wearing a long nightshirt. It was her way of saying sex was off the table. When we’d first found her after being taken, that had been my stance. Now it was hers.
“Lorna, shit. I’m shocked. Why would you cut and change the color of your hair?”
“Does it really matter? Are redheads your thing? You can’t get it up for a brunette?”
“Fuck,” I said, the one word filled with all the exasperation I felt. “No. Redheads aren’t my thing. You are my thing. Getting it up isn’t the issue.”
She was now sitting on the edge of the bed and moving her legs to the mattress. “You’re right. I’m tired. The pills are working, and I’m going to sleep.”
“Lorna, talk to me.”
“And say what? I’m still me, Reid. I wanted a change. So what? Hell, if I could have gotten other colors, I might have tried purple or teal.” Her smile returned. “There are great ideas online.” She pulled the covers over her.
Taking a deep breath, I followed her until I too was sitting on her edge of our bed. I reached out to her wet brown hair and tugged on a strand. “You’re probably right about the curl.”
She pushed back against the pillow and stared at my hand. Holding her breath, her eyes were on only my hand. “Please don’t touch my hair.”
“Sweetheart, it’s pretty. You’re pretty.”
Lorna scooted up to the headboard, shaking her head. “I don’t look like her.”
My lips came together a
s Lorna repeated her declaration, each time louder than the last. It wasn’t only her raised voice. There was something unfamiliar in her eyes, as if she weren’t seeing me.
“I don’t...I don’t,” she repeated.
Unsure what to say, I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around her. Beneath my embrace her body stilled. Cold. Statuesque. A mannequin in my grasp. And then the arms I had captive bent as she pushed against me.
“Stop. I don’t look like her. I’m not her.”
Hell, I held a great deal of knowledge on many things. Understanding Lorna’s outburst and change in hair color was beyond my comprehension. “Her? Who?”
“I’m not Anna.”
Anna? Who the fuck was Anna?
Lorna’s pushes turned to punches as her fingers formed fists, and she pounded against my chest. “Stop. I won’t tell. Please stop.”
Each plea took a sliver of my heart. Instead of releasing the trembling petite body in my grasp, I held tighter. “Lorna, it’s all right. You’re safe.”
Sobs overtook her as cries and gulps of air silenced her pleas. Finally, she lost her fight, her punches losing strength. She curled, her shoulders bending forward and her chin down, clinging to my chest. With her arms tucked in front of her, she continued to curl inward, as if she were trying to disappear within my hold.
I ran my hand over her short brown hair, soothing her as I spoke. “You’re absolutely beautiful, Lorna. If you want purple or teal hair, I may decide to join you. How do you think I’ll look with purple hair?”
When her crying calmed, she looked up at me. The stunning green eyes were the ones I loved. “I get so tired, but I can’t sleep alone. I don’t know what’s real.”
“You’re real,” I said. “I’m real. We’re real.”
“My thoughts and dreams—where do they come from?”
“Do you want to talk about them?”
“No,” she said, encouraging me to join her in the bed by patting the space beside her.
Still clothed with lights still on around our room, I kicked off my shoes and climbed under the blankets on her side. As I did, she cuddled close, laying her head on my chest and curling next to my side.
“Why?” I asked. “Why don’t you want to talk about them?”
“Because what if they’re not real?”
I resumed stroking her hair, and as I looked down, I smiled. “You’re a beautiful brunette.”
She reached up and twisted a strand. “I can probably go back to red, but I can’t glue the length back.”
“Then keep it short, or let it grow.” I rolled until my wife was on her back and I was over her. Her emerald eyes stared up at me, her face framed in chestnut. “If you think for one minute the color and length of your hair have anything to do with my love for you, you’re wrong.”
Looking into the depth of her stare, her orbs were so clear, open, and honest, it hurt. I wanted to look away, still fearful she’d see my dark thoughts. Yet I couldn’t. My wife was my light, and I needed her in my life in the same way that I needed food or air. Without her, life wouldn’t matter.
I’d failed her, let her down by not keeping her safe. Letting her down again wasn’t an option. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”
“It’s okay.”
I ran my finger over her cheek, pleased at the way the dark bruise had faded to green. “I want to be honest with you. We’re getting clues, but I can’t tell you more.”
Her lips came together as a tear trickled from her eye.
“Talk to me,” I pleaded before gently brushing my lips over hers.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Answer my questions. Why did you color and cut your hair? Who is Anna?”
She sucked in a breath. “Why would you mention her?”
“Because you did.”
Her head shook. “No, I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”
“Who is she?”
Lorna’s heart beat in double time within her chest, the vibration coming from her to me as simultaneously, her complexion paled. “Tell me why you’d say that name?”
“I told you. You said it. You said you weren’t her, you weren’t Anna.”
Both of Lorna’s eyes closed, long lashes batting away more tears.
My mind scrambled. Lorna was having memories, but of what? “Sweetheart, if you mentioned her before, I’m sorry. I’m drawing a blank.” And then I recalled something from a long time ago. “Didn’t you work with an Anna when we met?”
Lorna nodded as she closed her eyes tighter and lifted her hands to her ears. It was as if she were a child trying to block out the world. “No more. I can’t. I promised.”
I sat taller, looking down at my wife.
What should I do?
I could call Laurel, but last I heard she was with Araneae.
Gently, I tugged Lorna’s hands away from her ears.
As I did, her body lost a bit of its tension. “Don’t.” Her eyes opened, glistening emerald shining my way. “Please don’t make me.”
Make her?
“Lorna, you do what you want. Don’t tell me anything if it’s upsetting. I’m sorry again that I let him take you.”
“Him?”
I inhaled. “We have evidence that a man was with you.”
Her head shook. “No, I wasn’t raped.”
“Not with you like that. With you—in the same room. Blood was found, his blood and yours. And his DNA matches the hair in the report Dr. Dixon gave us.”
Slowly, the tips of Lorna’s lips curled. “I fought.”
“Yes, sweetheart, you fought.”
“I didn’t freeze.”
Laying a kiss on her nose, I said, “You’re a fighter. My fighter.”
“And he didn’t rape me.”
“That’s what the test said.”
Sighing, she brought her lips to mine. “Reid, I’m sorry if I’ve lied to you.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. There’s something I need to know. It’s right here, and I don’t want to know it and I do. Laurel said there could be memories and flashes. In those flashes, he’s dirty and smells. He says I am pretty like my mother, but she is no longer pretty.”
A few minutes later, I’d stripped off my clothes and turned off the lights. Getting into bed on my side, I reached for my wife, half assuming she’d fallen asleep. I was wrong. Her voice was calm and cool. The earlier emotion was gone, replaced by a dream-like voice.
“Rape is only when there’s forced sex. That’s what my mother said.”
The small hairs at the back of my neck stood to attention. “Why would your mother tell you that?”
“Because as long as a man doesn’t put his penis inside you—there—nothing happened.” She sat up. “Your mouth doesn’t count.”
What the fuck?
“Your mother said that?”
Lorna nodded, again curling against my side. “I wasn’t raped.”
The temperature of my blood rose as I tried to connect the pieces of the puzzle. “Lorna, who is Anna?”
“Mom said it isn’t bad if you are okay with it. Anna was okay. So I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about her either.”
“Fucking Christ.” I sat up. “Lorna, how old were you when your mother told you that?”
“Ten.” In the darkness, her eyes glowed with a hint of fear. “Don’t tell Mason. I promised I wouldn’t.”
A million images I couldn’t stomach came to mind, yet the woman in my arms was no longer distressed. She’d shared her concern with me and moved on. Her muscles relaxed and her lips parted as she slipped into slumber.
Time ticked away as the numbers on the clock moved.
“Reid?”
I startled as I wrapped my arm around her. “I’m here.”
“Good. Please don’t leave.”
“Never, Lorna. Never.”
Reid
Sleep was difficult to come by. My thoughts were dominated by the beautiful woman in my arms. Psycholog
y wasn’t my thing. Give me numbers, codes, and computer programs. Give me a trail, just a small piece, and let me work on finding where it goes.
This was different.
I tried to recall Dr. Dixon’s warning. It completely contradicted what Lorna said she’d been told. Dr. Dixon said, “It’s a misconception that only the act of penetration is psychologically harmful. One day, she may remember. On that day, that minute, that second, she will need to know that even if it wasn’t what most refer to as rape, her trauma is real and she may express it any way that will help her deal.”
As Lorna lay in my arms, I struggled with what was happening in her head. It was as if once she made the connection that only penetration was rape, she was fine, unaffected, and asleep.
Why would I want to tell her otherwise and risk the opposite?
My eyes closed for a moment, only to open with an earlier thought.
Give me a trail, a small byte of information.
Easing my way out of bed, I messaged Mason.
* * *
“SLEEPING?”
* * *
As I stepped into my blue jeans and slipped my feet into canvas loafers, my phone vibrated.
“Reid?” Lorna’s sleep-filled voice called through the near darkness.
I knelt on the bed. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m going to go down to 2. Will you be okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, I-I...still tired.”
“That’s all right. You sleep.”
“Those pills...worked...”
“I love you.”
Her words were mumbled. “Come back.”
My lips brushed the top of her head. Even in the dim light of our bedroom, I saw her new hairdo, the way her shorter locks framed her face in dark brown ringlets. Unable to resist, I smoothed a stray strand between my fingers and watched as it sprang back to a curlicue. “Who hurt you, Lorna?” The question wasn’t voiced loud enough for her to hear or disrupt her sleep.
My gut told me that this new hairdo wasn’t about Andrew Jettison. If I could make an undereducated psychological jump, what happened with him, combined with seeing her mother’s body, brought back something she’d hidden away from Mason, and if it was possible, even from herself.
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