by Kim Faulks
It had been cold living in Michael's shadow. Even after all these years, he still felt the chill. He had always been the one who was seen as 'late to the party', bumming his way through the first few years of a seemingly insignificant college degree, eventually feeling the pull towards the royal blues. His parents were thrilled when he told them he wanted to join. They had assumed that it was because of Michael’s success that he wanted to join. Michael had sprinted through the ranks of the force, making Detective within five years after graduating, then Superintendent, and finally Assistant Commissioner.
He didn't have the heart to tell them otherwise. If anything, the fact that Michael was such a shining light made him deny the call even more. But the call was undeniable and he applied, quickly finding himself bunking with thirty other men in the Police Academy dorm.
He loved the job. Shit, he still loved the job, and it was the only thing that kept him alive after losing Naomi and Bethany. The truth was that this was the only way he could find his way for revenge. He had come to that realization in the darkest moment of his existence. When his world greyed and ceased to exist there had been only one light to find his way, and that light burned blood red.
He sat down, tapping his fingers on the table as he waited impatiently. The door opened and Daniels walked back in, this time leaving the door open, which was either a good sign or a very bad one. "You're good to go," he said, waiting for Darrion to stand before pushing him back down into the chair. "And next time you feel like taking a swipe at another officer, you come and find me and we can dance, you feel me, Detective?"
He nodded even though anger bubbled like a cauldron inside him, threatening to swell to the surface. "Won't be a next time, Sergeant."
"There better not be. And by the way, your brother says to call him."
He nodded, knowing that he had put into motion a course of events that would haunt him for the rest of his policing career, and the look on Daniels face said it all as he moved past him. He had never made reference to the fact that his brother was the Assistant Commissioner, even after the death of his wife and daughter. He chose to fight his own battles at that time, using the media to cause a shit storm for him. He had never, ever called Michael. Until now.
Riccardi stood surrounded by his spineless posse, those who valued their position in the force over their integrity - if ever they had any to begin with. They glared at him as he walked past, he could feel their anger and hatred stabbing him in the back as he pushed past the doors to the car park. He licked his lip, feeling the split with his tongue, and the sweet sting of revenge made him smile for a moment. His smile died away quickly as he swiped his thumb across the screen of his phone, searching for the number he'd never wanted to call.
"Darrion?" said the soft, bass rich voice on the other end of the phone. Michael had a way of sounding caring, but with a firm undercurrent that said he would do anything to get what he wanted. Sometimes he felt as though they were strangers who had lived under the same roof, for a time at least.
He took a deep breath as his brother waited on the other end of the phone. "Yeah, it's me."
"Are you okay?"
God, he suddenly felt as though he was five again and had fallen off his bike with Michael standing over him. He cleared his throat, willing himself to man up and stop acting like a child.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm sorry to drag you into this mess, and I appreciate your help."
Case closed. Now all he wanted to do was hang up the phone.
"I was hoping we could get together to discuss what happened." said his brother, and not the Assistant Commissioner. There was no authoritative tone, even with his standing. There never had been.
Silence carried through the phone as he waited for Darrion to reply, the shuffling of papers the only sound that filled the void.
"I'm good, thanks anyway. Well, it was good talking to you Michael, but I've gotta go."
He knew his answer was too quick, his tone too abrupt, his emotions too unstable, and even though he regretted this he was still prepared to hang up and move on.
"Don't you think it's about time we talked, Darrion? I mean, how long are you going to continue to shut me out?"
No. Not this again. The guilt trip was a one way street and its name was Memory Lane. He couldn’t go there, not if he wanted to keep his shit together. Not if he wanted to ... he groaned and almost dropped the phone as the image from this morning came back to him.
Eyes frozen wide screamed at him, eyes that had already developed the opaque white glaze of death. Why didn't you save me, Darrion? Why didn't you stop this the first time it happened?
It was a good question ... a fucking good question, only he didn't have an answer to it. The sound of Michael's voice bought back the old hurt. He hadn't only lost his wife and daughter that afternoon.
He had lost everyone he had ever known.
He had lost himself.
His brother's voice was soft and smooth and, even though he tried to block it out, it crept its way under his skin and into his very soul. "I visit them every year you know. Every year I drive the five hours to place flowers on their graves. Hoping and praying that this is the year I'm going to find I'm not the only one that's been there.
"Please," he whispered. "Don't say another word."
But his brother continued, either out of desperation or denial, he didn't know. All he did know was, as his brother spoke, the realization of how broken he really was hit home.
"I imagine myself walking down to where little Bethany lies, and when I get there, there is the most beautiful bunch of flowers lying on top of her grave. And you know what I do then, Darrion? I walk away. I take my goddamn flowers and get back into my car, and I drive away the happiest fucking man alive."
A wordless sound escaped from his mouth as he held tightly to his phone, unable to let go, of his past or his present. Michael waited, hanging on to the hope that one word, one sentence, and ten long years had changed him somehow, that in those ten years of torture, he had been able to move on with his life, to find some meaning in waking up every day and living.
But he was wrong. The Darrion Hunter he had known, the brother that he lifted up after crashing his bike and carried him all the way home while he cried in his arms, was gone. All that remained was a hollow shell that vaguely resembled someone he used to know.
The weight of his failure was reduced to two meaningless words, words that, although spoken with love, felt so far below what summed up the entirety of the situation. But it was all he had ... all he knew, and as his thumb hovered over the red button on the screen he whispered, "I'm sorry."
He moved in a daze, driving through streets he had no recollection of how he got there. Darrion ... a voice called to him and his head jerked up, staring at a stranger in his rear vision mirror, then realizing he stared at himself.
Why didn't you save me, Darrion? Why didn't you stop this when it happened the first time?
He drove faster, pushing the car until the revving of the engine roared inside the compartment. But no matter how fast he drove, he couldn't escape her voice.
Her questions haunted him more than anything else. The vision of her torn bloody face and her dead eyes staring at him was bad enough, but her judgmental demands weighed heavy on his soul.
Stephanie wanted answers and refused his pathetic attempt at seeking solace, so she haunted him. He didn't want to remember her like this. He wanted to remember her like she was last night, the peaceful look of pleasure as she licked her lips and reached out for him, and once again he felt utterly powerless.
How much is one man supposed to take? How goddamn much? First his wife and daughter, then the constant war with Kellah Slater, and now this? Everywhere he turned was filled with death. Would it end with his?
He had to get away from Kellah. She was like a heavy black cloud that hung over his head. But instead of heavy drops of water, she unleashed blood, torrents and torrents that fell from the Heavens and washed him away.
Last night, she stood outside his house. Last night, she watched him with Stephanie. Ten years ago, he was drawn to her in the alley. Ten years ago, she was no more than kilometers from where he lived, from his family.
Kellah Slater was more than just a petty thief. She was a murderer.
A murderer ... she is a murderer. She killed Naomi. She killed Bethany. She killed Stephanie.
The coincidences were too many for him to think otherwise, in his mind she was judged and convicted on circumstantial evidence. Pain, deep and tortuous, ripped through his chest. He groaned and bent over while he searched his pockets for his ant-acid tablets, shoving them in his mouth while he massaged his chest. But this time the pain was different, it didn't center over the slight bulge of his stomach, and he found his hand massaging his chest directly over his heart.
A voice inside tried to warn him, and the ache in his chest tightened until he thought he was going to have a heart attack. He needed to sit down, to catch his breath, to gather his thoughts.
Fuck that! He'd been sitting long enough. He'd been at the mercy of every fucking thing and everyone else. From now on, he was in control. He was making his own decisions, not some fucking alter-ego inside of him. He needed to get his shit together, and he needed to take the bitch down!
Chapter 19
The bleating noise of her phone saved her from another second of Lucy's annoyed expression, and she looked down at the caller ID, mumbling a string of obscenities before answering.
"I've seen your flabby hairy body once today and that was more than enough, so fuck off Gerry,"
"It isn't that girly, you need to get here now."
"I can't," she hissed as Lucy turned and stormed off towards her apartment. "I got things I need to do."
He whispered into the phone, his words a muffled noise as he almost ate the handset. "More important than keeping the cops from crawling all over my bar, including the safe in my office?"
She could hear voices in the background, a lot of voices which could only mean the old bastard was telling the truth. Her mind was focused two things only and was not getting sidetracked. All she had to do was to wait for Lucy to find the note, make her way to the shelter and she was all but done. She’d follow that with squeezing X's balls to get her money and, finally, getting the fuck out of Red Valley and everyone in it.
Now she needed to go and deal with Hunter, for the last fucking time, then race back here before Lucy left to meet her sister. She looked up toward Lucy's door
Cars littered the street, parked at odd angles, and one even mounted the curb outside the nightclub. She stared at them as she walked in. Well, it was really only one car that stood out amongst the others, Hunter’s car. The last time she saw Hunter he was punching on with another Detective, she was sure he was done, apparently she was wrong.
She slowed and stopped, debating whether to just turn and walk away and leave Gerry with whatever heat there was bound to be. Large amounts of money and a few stolen items that had caught his eye sat in his safe, but those she couldn't care less about. It was the contract that worried her, the one between her and Gerry that had been written in blood, her blood. If the police got their hands on that, they would soon find out that it wasn't human DNA that covered the now faded paper.
If she walked away now, how confident could she be that Gerry wouldn't squeal if it was found? The answer simple, she wasn't confident at all.
The door shrieked as Kellah pushed it open and found herself the center of attention in a room full of cops. "Gee, wish someone could have told me there was a barbeque on, I would have bought the eggs 'cause there seems to be a lot of bacon."
She watched their eyes narrow, their gaze turning steely. It probably worked on most humans, but not her. She smirked and winked at them, making her way through the foyer into the office.
The place was a mess and that was putting it lightly. Two uniformed police moved from one shelf to the next, pulling down books and folders, tearing them apart as they went. The floor was littered with strewn paper, plastic sheaths and books. She looked over to Gerry, who sat stone faced as he watched them tear apart not only his livelihood, but the only thing he had left.
One of the officers walked in and made his way over to Hunter. He bent and spoke quietly in his ear, but he needn't have bothered, she could hear every word that was spoken. "Do you want me to go through the bar?"
He was answered with a small nod as Hunter locked his eyes with Kellah. "Leave nothing untouched."
He nodded and left the room. It wasn't long before the cracking sound of shattering glass filled the air. She could almost see a hint of satisfaction as the sounds of smashing bottles reached them, and she knew at that moment, for Hunter, this was personal. This was payback. She guessed it seemed only fair, she smashed his window and in turn he smashed an entire bar.
Gerry seemed to turn grey and age before her eyes as he listened to one bottle after another crash against the floor, but his face never wavered from its stony expression. He was one tough old bastard, she would give him that. But his pretense was about to crack like the bottles of liquor that smashed on the bar room floor as one of the officers tore the pictures from the walls around them.
The pictures were hideous, washed out green mountains surrounded by what once was a glistening timber frame, but now resembled some kind of orange waxy substance. The years of a cigarette filled haze corrupted not only the unyielding objects, but the more animate of objects in this room as she looked to Gerry. Yes, the old man had not long left in this world, the cancer had spread rapidly, escaping from his lungs and now taking refuge in most of his organs. The officer called out as the picture was pulled from the wall, "Detective, over here," and Kellah groaned inwardly.
They tugged on the handle, but the lock held fast, and for once she appreciated his borderline neurotic tendencies, making sure the cylinder locking mechanism spun freely before hiding the safe.
"What is the combination?" Hunter said, turning to Gerry.
He shrugged and tugged the corners of his mouth down, poking out his bottom lip. "Can't remember."
She couldn't help but snigger. The old man may as well have said fuck you, feisty old bastard he was. Hunter whirled on her, piercing her with his sparkling sapphire eyes as he made his way to stand in front of her. He was giving her his best cop stare, and she was using this opportunity to see what made this man so interested in her.
She could tell right away that he was one of them. A human destined to spit in the face of her Father. His eyes tried to convey the cold, heartless person he wanted her to see, but that wasn't what she saw.
He was good, down to the very core of his being, even if he didn't know it. Everything about this man screamed righteousness and determined. He was everything she was not.
Her gaze sought the ugly green mountain picture that sat on the floor in front of her, and she could feel his attention shift from her as well. It seemed neither was comfortable in each other's presence. Why would they be, they couldn't be any more opposite if they tried.
"Get a locksmith on the phone. I want this safe opened now!"
Gerry moved from the lounge and stood, walking with an uneasy gait out of the office.
"Where do you think you are going, Mr. Brom?" said one of the other officers as they tried to stop him.
He brushed him out of his way as he said in a quiet tone, "I don't know about you sonny, but I need a fuckin' drink."
One of the officers spoke quickly on the phone, giving the details and the address of the club before finally hung up. "The locksmith will be here in about fifteen minutes, Detective."
Hunter nodded and waited for the others to continue with their search, or smashing, whatever you wanted to call it, before he turned
to her. "This is what happens when you fuck with my life."
The hatred that poured from his eyes and skin scented the air around him, strangely ferocious, and the intent was not lost on her. Something had definitely wormed its way up Detective Hunter’s arse, and it wasn't in her nature to let such a good opportunity slip out of her grasp. Fuck with his life? She mimicked. Delusional was just added to a growing list of lunatic qualities for the Detective, laughable qualities at that.
So she did. Throwing her head back, she laughed in his face, allowing her throaty sound to carry throughout the building and bounce off the walls to echo in stereo sound.
When the intense moment crested and fell, she realized that everyone stopped and stared, but it wasn't her they were staring at. Darrion Hunter was growling like a rabid dog, his top lip pulled back as he murdered her with his eyes.
Well, well, well. Detective Hunter suddenly got a whole lot more interesting. She couldn't help but be fucking turned on and, even though he glared at her as though he wanted the strangle her until she turned blue, she found herself licking her lips and imagining him doing exactly that.
His eyes widened as he watched her getting aroused. His emotions already seemingly unstable, he broke.
She was able to track the blur as he lunged at her and side step easily enough before the officers pounced on him, pulling him backwards by his arms.
"You fucking bitch! I know it was you! I know it was YOU!"
He thrashed around, whipping his arms to and fro as he attempted to pull out of their grasp and launch himself at her again. They tried their best to hold him back, but he was like a man possessed; a beautiful, deranged and demented man.
"I'm going to take you down!" he yelled around the others as they stood in front of him, his red face a magnet for her gaze. "I'm going to fucking end you!"
Gerry and the rest of the officers stood watching her with eyes as wide as their mouths. She never even noticed them, her focus solely on Hunter, taking in the pure beauty of his fire. The familiar ache centered in her chest, the burn spreading as it had before to between her thighs, igniting her desire once more.
