“And called the state police, not my father.”
“I wanted a police force that was impartial,” Mason says, yanking his shovel out of the dirt.
“I’m not the killer!” Aaron inches a little closer to Mason.
“All right.” I grab Aaron’s arm and pull him away from Mason. “Thank you for your time, Mason. We really appreciate everything you told us.”
I jerk Aaron closer toward the house and farther away from Mason.
“Don’t piss him off,” I whisper. “He’s our best source of information.”
Aaron crosses his arms over his chest and looks down at his feet. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry.”
“Can you repeat that again?”
He smirks at me. “You’re an ass.”
“But I got you to smile.” I laugh and his smile widens. He changes into a different man when he smiles. He looks like a man whose heart is healing.
23
Sarah, 2015 (Monday morning)
LEANING AGAINST THE DIRT sides of the mine, I open my eyes. It’s been hard to stay awake, but I can’t tell if that’s because of my brain feeling scrambled, because I’m starving, because I’m thirsty, or because the air in this place feels stale. Maybe I’m breathing in carbon monoxide and it’s slowly killing me. I had found a crevice in one of the walls, where some water was trickling in, so I drank it, but I’m wondering now if the bacteria in the water is making me sick because my skin feels oddly hot compared to the cold air.
I have to keep moving. Clearly, neither of those addicts are returning to get me or give me any sustenance, so I have to find my own way out. The trouble is I’ve taken out the lightbulbs of every trail I’ve gone down and I’m still lost.
I stumble to my feet and make my way down a mine trail that I’m fairly certain I’ve gone down before. Or maybe not, because I don’t see any lightbulbs missing from the lamps. As I move farther and farther down the trail, I begin to hear the faintest noise. At first, I think it’s more water trailing into the mine except this is loud enough that it could mean there’s a hole large enough for me to crawl through. But this sound isn’t as consistent as water. It sounds like…lumbering footsteps. Lazy and inhuman.
Then, I see it.
It’s small, maybe seventy to seventy-five pounds, but it’s not the baby black bear that makes my heart beat so fast it feels as if it’s pounding in my ears. The one thing that will make a female black bear absolutely attack a human is if a human is anywhere near her baby.
A black bear can get up to seven feet tall and weigh up to six hundred pounds. It is not something you want to be trapped in a mine with, especially not a mama bear that will tear into flesh on pure instinct.
I take several steps back, then turn and run. I have only run about twenty feet when I hear the grumble of a much larger bear. I push myself to run faster, but without food or water, my body is weak. I stumble a few times and nearly slip in some muddy areas where the water is trickling down the walls and onto the floor. As I hear the bear getting closer, I jump into an ore cart to hide. As I slide my body as close to the bottom as possible, my back against the metal, I realize how stupid my plan is. The mama bear surely smelled me, which is why she’s tracking me now, and she’ll absolutely be able to find me in this cart using her nose again.
I hear her paws and her nose sniffing around the dirt. For a moment, the whole mine is silent as if the water had stopped moving simply to stand witness to my inevitable death.
Then, the bear rises onto its hind legs. It is massive—easily close to six hundred pounds. Its beady black eyes stare down at me in the cart. If I’d had any substantial amount of water, I would have pissed it out. I flinch as her giant paws come down at me.
I open my eyes as the cart lurches forward on the old track. The bear’s paws must have hit the side. The cart speeds for less than ten feet before it falters on a wooden bridge, most likely made of thin lumber. The bear gets back onto four feet and approaches me with its teeth bared.
I hear a crack underneath me. By the time I peek over the side of the cart, the bridge snaps altogether. I’m falling and the last thing I see is the bear’s face staring down as I plunge into the depths.
24
Aaron, 2015 (Monday afternoon)
I PRESS THE RAZOR against my jaw and drag it down in one short stroke. It only takes the smallest amount of hair away from my beard. This is going to take forever. I rinse the razor and continue to shave away the facial hair that had been a symbol of the difference between Aaron-before-the-fire and Aaron-after-the-fire. As I shave, I tell myself that by trying to return to my old self, I wasn’t forgetting Becky or Lisa. I was respecting them by attempting to enjoy life like they could have done if they were alive.
When I’m finished, I splash my face with cold water and check myself in the mirror. Not bad. There’s a little redness in some places, but that’s to be expected when I haven’t shaved in a while.
I dress in some black pants and a burgundy red shirt. It’s really the most professional I’ve looked in the last two years. Being the town drunk was easy, but this is…refreshing. Almost exciting. I feel like I could actually accomplish something now.
I look down at my wedding ring. My index finger and thumb circle around it. If I want to become a new person, I can't cling to who I was. I slide the ring off then place it in my pocket. It's a start.
As I open my front door to go to the police station, Teresa’s fist is ready to knock on the door. She glances at me without recognition for a second before she steps back and her eyes widen.
“What happened to you?” she asks.
I roll my eyes, step out, and close the door behind me.
“Oh, you know, I guess I’m turning into one of those city guys who care more about how he looks than doing his job. What is it that you told me before? You didn’t like guys who put their egos in front of their jobs?”
“Is that what you’re doing?” she asks. She looks down at her own black pants and short black blazer with a teal camisole underneath it. “You make me feel like I’m lacking.”
“You look good,” I admit, though I don’t know what compels me to say it. You look fine or I don’t look that good would have sufficed, but the truth came out anyway. I swear I see her cheeks slightly redden for a second. “Um, so, what are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at the station.”
“We were…I wasn’t sure if you were going to—”
“Show up sober?” I finish for her.
She shrugs. “I didn’t want you driving your lawn mower to the station and, from what I’ve seen, people don’t change who they are. You might be my first exception.”
“Well…since we’re both here,” I say. “Do you really want to go to the police station? They kind of suspect me of double homicide there and you’re…an FBI agent.”
“True,” she says. “But where else would we go?”
“Are you hungry?”
She puts her hand on my shoulder. It feels small there, but at the same time, it feels right.
“Mr. Grant, I’ve been on a diet for the last three months. I’m starving.”
I laugh. “All right. I know a good Thai place. Do you like that?”
“I love Thai.”
I glance between our cars. “I would offer to drive you in my car, but it’s a mess.”
“Well, you did say someone needed to mess up my car,” she says.
“I am good at doing that,” I say, and follow her to the SUV. “Agent Daniels, for the record…you can call me Aaron.”
She smiles. “Only if you call me Teresa.” She opens the driver’s side door. “One other thing…”
“Yeah?”
“If you literally get my car dirty, I’ll kill you. I have the weapons to do it and the resources to cover it up.”
I open the passenger side door, shaking my head, but I feel uplifted in a way I have never felt before. Not even when I was with Becky.
It almost feels like a betrayal toward her.
25
Sarah, 2015 (Monday afternoon)
EVERY BREATH HURTS AND I can feel goose bumps all over my skin.
I cough and open my eyes. I stare up at where the bridge dangles from the edge of a cliff. I fell between thirty and forty feet. As I sit up, there’s a stabbing pain under my left breast. Could I have broken a rib or two in the fall? My shirt is wet and stuck against my back. That’s when I notice the creek trailing past me. I must have landed in the water and the stream pushed me onto this small patch of land. It may be the first bit of luck I’ve had in the last few days, because if I had landed on dirt, I would certainly be dead. How much time has passed since I fell? My only indication of time is that I’m incredibly hungry and still thirsty.
I try to push myself onto my feet, but I quickly realize that a couple of my ribs aren’t the only thing that’s broken. Something is wrong with my left ankle. I can’t get it to rotate and any weight I put on it is followed by pain that seems to shoot straight up my leg.
Maybe I wasn’t so lucky.
I glance down the creek, wondering if any plants could grow inside the mine, anything that is edible. Instead, I catch a patch of daylight glittering off the water. There could be a large enough hole in the mine wall or ceiling for me to crawl through.
I lean against the dirt wall and manage to balance on my right foot. I mostly hop while putting the slightest pressure on my left toes to keep myself balanced. My hand stays against the wall and occasionally my shoulder has to press against the wall to keep myself from falling backward. My teeth chatter from a cold breeze I feel, but if there’s a breeze, there must be a way out of here, right?
I close my eyes. I’m not even sure if people are looking for me yet, but I don’t want their help anymore. I’ll get out of this by myself. For once in my life, I will be the one to save myself.
26
Teresa, 2015 (Monday afternoon)
THE THAI RESTAURANT IS stereotypically Asian with its light fixtures embellished by fake bamboo and a snake-like dragon decorating the wall. When the hostess seats us, I notice a lotus flower at the center of the table.
“Did you know lotus flowers are a symbol of growth in Buddhism?” I ask him. “Because the lotus’s roots dig into the mud and the blossom rises above a water’s surface?”
“No,” he admits. “I don’t know much about flowers. Or Buddhism. Or Thailand. How do you know about it?”
“I was married to a Buddhist. Or at least he liked the idea of Buddhism. He wasn’t very good at following the idea of rejecting materialism or not holding grudges.”
“Ah, so you are divorced.” A small smile spreads across his face.
“Yes, yes, you were right. I am the divorced FBI agent without kids.”
“Do you want kids?” he asks.
“Maybe someday, but I’d want to make sure I’d have enough time in my life to help them grow,” I say. “What about you?”
I catch my mistake as soon as the words come out. He cringes for less than a second before his face goes smooth. He picks up a menu.
“What do you like? They have a really great spicy curry here. It has avocados, roasted peppers, and bell peppers,” he muses.
“I’m sorry.”
He glances at me over the menu. “It’s fine. An easy mistake. Becky and I had actually talked a few times about having another kid, but…I don’t think I could do it again.”
“That’s understandable,” I say, as a waitress walks over to us.
“Hello,” she says, her voice having a light Thai accent. “Can I get either of you a drink?”
“Water, please,” I say. Aaron lowers his menu and I see his finger lingers at the alcoholic beverages section.
“I’ll…get the same,” he says.
She nods and leaves us.
“Is it hard not drinking?” I ask.
“What makes you so certain that I’m an alcoholic?” he asks. “Maybe I just had a hard night when we first met.”
“After you were found with the two kidnappers, I asked around about you,” I tell him. “Alcoholism was a common first descriptor.”
He groans. “I’m never going to live that down.”
“Like I said before, it’s understandable.”
“Well, I began cutting back a few months ago and I did have some withdrawal, but it’s better now. I just have the craving—you know that need to be numb—now. They say it’s like an itch, but…it’s worse than that. It’s—”
The waitress returns with two waters. She places them in front of us.
“Are you two ready to order?” she asks.
Aaron shakes his head. “Could we have a few more minutes?”
She smiles. “Of course.”
As she walks away, he picks his menu back up.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’ve known other people who suffered with addictions. It’s difficult.”
“I guess,” he says. “But enough about me and my depressing life. What about you? Can I ask about the divorce?”
“I suppose it’s only fair to go from your depressing life to my depressing life.” I lean back against my chair. “His name was Dwayne, but he went by his middle name, Nathan. The divorce was amicable, but I am the one who served him with the papers. He was a market research analyst, but he also had political aspirations, and as a result of being two people with big dreams for their careers…we had problems. He wanted me to give up on being an agent in order to support his campaign. He thought I was being ridiculous for divorcing him over the fact that I knew we were heading in two different directions—not to mention that I’m sure a divorce didn’t look good for someone who wanted to be mayor—but I didn’t want to spend my life trying to force something to work.”
“So, you don’t think two ambitious people can work together?”
“I think they could if they both support each other and their relationship is strong enough to deal with the stress,” I say.
He nods. “Maybe.”
“How’s your dad? He gave me quite the lecture after he found out you were under suspicion for the kidnappers’ murders,” I say, trying to hide a grin.
He shakes his head. “That’s my dad. He’s always running offense to protect me. He always has and apparently always will. If something happens to him…if he’s part of the small percentage who dies from prostate cancer…I don’t know. He’s really the last thing that’s keeping me from going off the deep end.”
“Can I ask about your mother?”
“She died from cardiac arrest related to a congenital birth defect when I was in third grade.” He absentmindedly picks up the lotus. “It was sad and confusing when it happened, but I suppose that’s life. At least, that’s how my life works. What about you? What do your parents do? Do you have any siblings?”
I sigh. “And that is a topic we’re not getting into.”
“Really? I spill my guts and you’re going to block me on your parents’ occupations and whether or not you have siblings?”
“It’s complicated.”
“How complicated could it be?”
“I have seven siblings. Three are adoptive siblings and three are biologically related to me. My mother had some issues, so I went into foster care. I was adopted after a year and seven months by the Daniels.”
“Wow. I’m sorry. Foster care sucks. I had this one kid who was involved in a drug case and social services had to send him to foster care. I had half a mind to adopt him right then and there.”
“Do you know what happened to him?”
“I kept tabs on him for about a year, then my family died, and I became…lost and unmotivated. In my state of mind, it didn’t matter anymore. Do you think less of me for that?”
“No. I think less of you for being a jerk when we first met, though.”
“I was a jerk?” he says in mock rage. His face smooths over as he smiles.
“I was a jerk. I’m sorry.”
He reaches forward, the lotus still in his hand. I take it, my fingers brushing against his palm as I pick it up. His cheeks turn pink. I lift the flower up to smell it, taking in the tropical, sweet scent. Aaron’s eyes stay on me, as if taking in every detail of my face, every detail of my movements.
The lotus flower grows from mud and rises up to the water’s surface in order to feel the sun’s rays and fresh air. I suppose, when it’s their time to grow, humans do the same.
27
Aaron, 2015 (Monday afternoon)
BECKY AND I MET in high school. She was beautiful enough to be a cheerleader, but she was on the swimming and softball teams. I was the high school quarterback. We were a dream couple and nobody was surprised when we won homecoming king and queen. Our whole romance was a fantasy come true, down to our marriage, which was filled with roses and “At Last” by Etta James for our first song.
Sitting across from Teresa, I can feel something different, but equally as good. I can feel a tingle underneath every inch of my skin. It feels like sunlight, warm and bright. It feels like I could turn into someone worthy within her presence.
I put my spoon down after finishing the green curry. Teresa chases the last few pieces of rice on her plate with her fork.
“So…” she says after she takes her last bite, “you told me that there were suspicions of Judge Latham being abusive. Why were people suspicious?”
“I wouldn’t say people, as much as one person. Wendy Norris, Mason’s defense attorney. Apparently, after Mason’s case was settled, he mocked his father for getting him out of trouble, and the judge began punching him.”
“Is there any reason Wendy would have made up that story?”
“No. I’m not a huge fan of defense lawyers since they tend to be the people who put guilty men back on the street, but…she’s a good woman. Honest. Respectable. She mentioned it to one of my colleagues and he asked Mason about it, but he denied that it ever happened. We can’t help someone who refuses to press charges.”
Midnight Sun: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (A Grant & Daniels Trilogy Book 1) Page 8
