Always Watching

by LS Sygnet

  Johnny groaned and accommodated the unspoken request. “You’re making me crazy, Helen.”

  “Mmm, good,” I purred. “Take me to bed. God only knows how many minutes we have before those losers show up and interrupt us.”

  Johnny chuckled. “Losers?”

  “You know what I mean. Why does everybody always have to camp out at our house? Why can’t they use OSI or Crevan’s place or some musty old conference room at the district courthouse?”

  “Because we’re accommodating the fact that you’re not acting like yourself,” he reminded me. “But I’m glad you seem to be feeling better now.”

  “Not yet.” I ground my hips against his middle where he held me against him.

  One of his hands plowed through my hair and anchored my head into his palm. “I’m worried about what’s gotten into you, Helen. I’m not complaining, but this really isn’t like you to –”

  “Put lust ahead of a case? I’m not a cop anymore.” I nipped at his neck, savored the soft moan that vibrated beneath my lips.

  “Is that all this is? Lust?”

  I peered up into his concerned eyes. “Love. But at the moment, some pretty intense need.”

  “Me or the sex?” Something that looked suspiciously like doubt flickered in the dark blue eyes peering with such intensity.

  Women know the right answer to this question, but I’m not feeling like myself these days. The thought of anyone else touching me the way Johnny does, well it literally turned my stomach. “Let me down,” I rasped.

  Fortunately, this week had taught him to recognize the change in the color of my skin. Johnny’s hands let go so fast, I almost lost my balance. I made it as far as the bathroom right off the mudroom before the retching started again.

  He was on his knees beside where I draped over the toilet in abject misery with another cool, damp cloth. Johnny pressed it to the back of my neck. He recoiled a little at how fast my skin had become clammy with billions of microscopic beads of perspiration.

  “Honey, I’m really starting to worry about this,” lips pressed against my temple. “Maybe you should see the doctor –”

  “I’m all right,” I rasped. “Maybe if you didn’t say such disgusting things to me, I wouldn’t get sick all the time.”

  Unfair. Yes. I couldn’t seem to control the pendulum swinging inside my emotional body any more than I could stop the nausea.

  “What did I say?”

  Another wave of revulsion roiled through every cell inside me. “It makes me sick thinking of anyone else … anybody but you … ”

  “I’m sorry it made you feel sick, but I’m really glad you don’t like the idea,” he whispered against my neck. One hand slid around my belly and massaged tenderly. “I can’t stand it either.”

  Tears slid from my eyes. “Now I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”

  An arm slid around my shoulders and tightened. “Because the thought that you might want some other guy even a little bit is supposed to make me happy?” Johnny’s chuckle teased.

  “No,” I whispered. “Because I wanted you so much, and now I’m sick again and stink like puke. How many times are you supposed to hold my head while I do this before you have a change of heart about me all together?”

  Johnny pulled the damp washcloth from my neck. “Look at me.” He dabbed the corners of my mouth gently. Our eyes connected, mine droopy and wet, his shining with resolve. “Nothing will ever make me love you less than I ever have. Are we clear on that now?”

  I nodded.

  “And this queasy stomach business has gone unchecked for far too long. It’s been almost a week. Like it or not, you’re going to the doctor, Helen. No more arguments. If it makes you feel better to call me high-handed and overbearing, go for it, but you will see a doctor as soon as I can make an appointment.”

  “But –”

  He silenced me with what had to be the most disgusting kiss he’s ever endured. “No arguments. I’m not letting you waste away to nothing again, Doc. It’s not normal for someone to have a stomach bug this long, and you know it. If it’s nerves, fine. We’ll find out what’s making you so anxious and fix it. But I won’t risk your health. If something else is wrong with you, we’re going to find out. Now.”

  Breath shuddered out of my lungs. “All right.”

  “I want you to go to bed and rest. I’ll call my doctor and make an appointment.”

  “What about the case?”

  He grinned. “Crevan is getting the sketch artist over to meet with Florence Payette. Zack didn’t plan to come back here this afternoon, Helen. You’re not missing out on any action. I figured we’d spend the day trying to figure out how these people are in contact with one another.”

  “What about the records from Central Division on the other infant abductions from Saint Mary’s?” I asked.

  “I’ll make a deal with you. Call Charlie Haverston and ask him if he’s tracked down the reports yet. If he has, we can either have him bring them over, or if I can get you an appointment with my doctor this afternoon, we’ll swing by central and pick them up on the way home. Good enough?”

  I nodded. “Thank you, Johnny.”

  “For?” He extended one hand and helped me off the floor.

  “Everything, from the moment I met you.”

  It earned a gentle hug. “Off to bed now,” he said.

  I called Charlie from beneath the soothing warmth of a down comforter.

  “Hey,” the smile tickled across the phone connection, “I wanted to talk to you after that press conference this morning, but you and Orion seemed like you were in a big hurry to duck out.”

  “Did you find the files on those two infant abductions from Saint Mary’s?”

  “I did,” he said, “but I haven’t had time to review them yet. You want me to run them over to OSI?”

  “We’ve sort of set up camp at my house,” I said. “And if I know Johnny, the odds are pretty good that we’re going to have some business downtown this afternoon. We’ll stop and pick them up. Unless something happens, let’s plan on that.”

  “You want me to peruse the files and give you the basics over the phone?” Charlie remembered too well how little tolerance I have for delays investigating anything.

  I gnawed on my lower lip, mindful that Johnny could show up any second and demand that I keep my end of the bargain and take a nap. “I guess I can wait until I get the hard copy. I’m supposed to be working on something else right now. Maybe you could review the cases and give us a bullet when we show up?”

  “Consider it done,” Charlie said. “See you soon.”

  Johnny’s head popped around the corner before I hung up the phone. “What’s this?” he grinned at me. “My girl, practicing restraint?”

  “Hush,” I pretended offense. “I was trying to avoid another lecture.”

  “I’m glad you haven’t fallen asleep, actually. Dr. Schwartz can see you right away.”

  “Johnny, I really don’t think this is necessary. We’ll get to his office and end up sitting indefinitely while his staff tries to fit me into an already packed schedule. I’m feeling better now. Can’t you call him back and get a regular appointment so I don’t have to be there for hours?”

  “Nope,” Johnny shook his head adamantly. “He promised. No wait. When I explained what was going on, he insisted that I bring you over right away.”

  I huffed and grumbled and made more excuses, but in the end, Johnny and his doctor won. I sulked and stared out the window of the Expedition while Johnny drove back to Darkwater proper and escorted me into the plush medical building not far from Central Division.

  The reactions of Dr. Schwartz staff to Johnny didn’t go unnoticed. My cast probably deepened to something in the jealousy spectrum than its previous puke green family. His outrageous smile, all flirtation, made me certain it had everything to do with our quick trip to an exam room.

  It wouldn’t work on Dr. Schwartz, unless of course, he was a she or more like Creva
n than Johnny.

  I was surprised when he entered the exam room less than a minute after I was stripped to my underclothes and clad in a paper gown. I perched on the end of the table.

  “Helen,” he said warmly, stretched a well-worn hand in my direction. “Johnny tells me that you’ve been experiencing some persistent nausea and vomiting for over a week now?”

  I nodded. “It’s probably stress.”

  “Hmm,” he hummed softly. “If the past few days are any indication of the stress level in your day to day life, I wouldn’t be surprised. Johnny said you retired from police work two months ago.”

  He wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my left bicep and started inflating the rubber bladder.

  “I wouldn’t say that my stress level is typically what it has been this week,” I said. “It’s difficult, child abduction cases, doctor. More than anything else.”

  “Hmm-mmm,” he said. A moment later Velcro broke the silence. “Your blood pressure is excellent. I would expect to find a little variance from the norm if this is stress, or perhaps even a low pressure from all of this vomiting Johnny says you’ve endured. Let’s talk about that a little more.”

  He pulled a stool to the edge of the exam table and perched on it. “Is the nausea worse at any specific time? Smells trigger it, worse after you eat? More pronounced at a certain time of day?”

  “I’m not … ” I glanced at Johnny. “I guess I haven’t really paid much attention to when or why. It’s… well, I hate that particular symptom more than anything in the world, doctor. It’s very distressing for me.”

  “Johnny? Any observations you’d like to share?”

  He cleared his throat and stared at the floor for a few moments. “Helen, I’d like to speak frankly, but I don’t want you upset with me.”

  “Upset?”

  Our eyes met. “I love you, and I’m worried. Please don’t be angry when I tell Dr. Schwartz what I’ve noticed.”

  “All right,” I said softly. Tightness enveloped my throat, burning hot and strangling me with unease. Exactly what had he noticed?

  “It’s definitely worse in the morning,” Johnny said. He focused his attention on Dr. Schwartz so completely, I might as well have been invisible. “But as worrisome as the nausea and vomiting have been, I’m more concerned with the loss of appetite and mood swings, Dr. Schwartz. Helen is the toughest woman I know. For her to burst into tears at the drop of a hat is uncharacteristic. I blame myself for most of that. Under orders from my boss, I was forced to keep Helen in the dark about a case I’ve been working for Joe.”

  “And you’re concern is that Helen’s current symptoms are related to anxiety over your job?”

  “Yes,” Johnny said curtly. “She suffered a bout of what I would term pretty serious depression last fall after she was shot, and I’m afraid –”

  Schwartz held up one hand, effectively silencing Johnny. He turned his gaze on me and smiled empathically. “Helen, do you think you’re depressed?”

  I hadn’t considered it. I only used the Prozac for a few weeks after my radiologist of all people intervened to treat what my orthopedic surgeon ignored. “I don’t think I’m depressed. I don’t feel like curling up in a ball and sleeping my life away.”

  “Dear, when was your last menstrual period?” Schwartz asked.

  “Before I was shot,” I said. “I’ve never been what you’d call… well…”

  “Predictable?” He smiled again.

  “For lack of a more explicit definition, yes. Do you think this is some kind of early menopause?”

  Schwartz chuckled. “Helen, are you and Johnny using birth control of any kind? I see that you’ll be thirty-nine in a few months. That’s far from the age where hormonal issues –”

  “I am not pregnant!” I gasped.

  “Then you do use something to prevent pregnancy?”

  “Of course!”

  “All right, then lets consider the efficacy of that method,” Schwartz said. He rolled his stool over to a cabinet beneath a small countertop and opened the door. A moment later, he pressed a urine collection cup into my hand. “What sort of contraception are you using? The pill at your age –”

  “Condoms,” Johnny said. “Except for once, about two months ago.”

  Schwartz pointed toward a door opposite the exit of the exam room. “Then let’s get a urine sample right away, Helen, and rule out the most obvious cause of this malady before we start looking at more serious problems.”

  At the moment, I couldn’t imagine a malady worse that what he suggested. I slipped into the tiny bathroom praying for something – anything more benign that what he suggested.

  Terminal cancer came to mind.

  Chapter 23

  I stared malevolently at the enormous bottle of prenatal vitamins in my hand – or maybe it was in stunned disbelief. Abject terror? Johnny insisted that I wait in the SUV while he ran inside Central and snatched the files from Charlie Haverston. Ran.

  Floated into the building was a more apt description. I don’t get it. Yes, I freely admit it, that the mysterious ways of men in love have me completely baffled.

  He had to notice that my reaction to the news of our impending parenthood had me less than thrilled. I think my exact words were something in the neighborhood of, “Like hell am I pregnant!”

  His euphoria clearly plugged his ears to anything he didn’t want to hear. Either that, or Johnny simply accepted the mood swings for what they were, or what they would continue to be after Dr. Schwartz verbose dissertation on pregnancy and every ugly potential side effect.

  Johnny hadn’t stopped beaming.

  I hadn’t stopped crying.

  Delusion-boy probably forced himself to see tears of joy.

  I mourned the end of all good things. No more freedom. No more options. No more getting sucked into dangerous investigations, even though a short two months ago, I swore on the proverbial stack of bibles that I was sick to death of chasing monsters.

  But pregnancy?

  Give me Ed Gein, Jeffrey Dahmer, Ted Bundy and John Wayne Gacy all rolled into one. They were heaven compared to this latest development.

  Still, the natural solution to the problem, the one that my brain knew but dared not utter, was clearly not an option.

  Johnny. Catholicism. Stupid, dastardly, soul-sucking, will-crumbling love. As much as the notion of diapers and nocturnal feedings and seven more months of morning sickness and weight gain and stretch marks made my spirits delve to the depths of hell, Johnny’s pain and disappointment in me if I were to do something utterly stupid and selfish nixed any such inclinations.

  Unless nature intervened.

  The universe hates you, Helen. Remember that Karmic debt you started tallying last year?

  Not only do I hate my lack of viable options, I despise the fact that my newly repaired conscience doesn’t know when to shut up and stop needling me. Internal war seems to be my true forte in life. Heart versus brain. Heart was winning.

  Dammit.

  The driver’s door swung open and Johnny climbed inside the Expedition. The goofy grin was replaced by grim-set lips. His jaw muscle ticked.

  “What’s wrong?” My head started praying. Please let him have come to his senses. Let him see what a bad idea this pregnancy nonsense really is.

  “Oh, it’s nothing really,” he said. “I don’t want you worrying –”

  “For God’s sake, Johnny. I’m pregnant, not brain dead.” Not yet anyway. Wasn’t that one of the delightful experiences I had to look forward too? Difficulty concentrating. Easy distraction. “Where are the files?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me. Where are the files that Charlie pulled? Is this more sin to lay at Jerry Lowe’s feet?”

  “Not sure,” he muttered. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “We will talk about it now. I’m not kidding, Johnny. I will not allow you to treat me like some fragile –”

  “Fine,” he rasped, “but yo
u have to give me your word that you won’t say anything to Crevan until I figure out how to handle this information.”

  “Crevan?” the echo sort of hung in the air between us, bouncing around the walls of the SUV, slamming into molecules that couldn’t possibly absorb the shock. “What on earth does any of this have to do with Crevan?”

  “Promise me first.”

  “Fine,” I rolled my eyes in a huff. “I promise I won’t say one word about whatever it is you’re not telling me to Crevan.”

  “That missing infant from the early seventies?”

  I nodded. No way did I see where he was going. In retrospect, I would blame my blind stupidity on pregnant brain cells.

  “The infant was a twin.”

  “So? What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “The child’s last name was Conall.”

  The echo that would not be absorbed slammed through me and stuck. “Oh my God. His father said that his twin brother died, not that he was… was… stolen! What the hell is wrong with that man?”

  Johnny shook his head. “Apparently the commandment about lying means very little to Aidan Conall.”

  “Jesus, Johnny.”

  “That isn’t the half of it, Helen.”

  “There’s more?”

  He nodded. “The similarities in that missing infant were remarkably close to those of Sofia Datello. Only the nurse they suspected of stealing Crevan’s twin disappeared along with the baby.”

  My lips rolled inward. “Anything else?”

  “The nurse’s name was Martha. Martha Henderson.”

  “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”

  “Of course not,” Johnny said. “And why should it? It was the one aspect of this case that the police solved.”

  “So who is she? What did she do with the baby?”

  “They learned that the name was an alias. Obviously the child was never recovered. Martha Henderson or whoever she was, was never apprehended, never seen or heard from again.”