by Ravenna Tate
She didn’t know where she was, and she couldn’t find her way out of the corridor. It never ended. Every time she thought the stairs were close, the corridor lengthened and the stairwell disappeared. Those steps were her only escape and she knew that, in the weird way people know things in dreams that make no sense once you’re awake.
A loud noise began to sound over the boy’s shouting, but she couldn’t place it. Beeping, or buzzing perhaps. Where was it coming from?
Rosanna sat up in bed, gasping. She glanced around for the source of the noise because it hadn’t stopped. Her phone. It was Houston’s ringtone. The call went to voice mail before she could answer it, but that was fine with her. She’d call him back once she could breathe again.
Cool air blew across her body, and she realized that was because the sheets were damp. She wiped two fingers across her forehead to find them wet. How long had she been dreaming that horrible nightmare? And why couldn’t she recall it now?
She grabbed her phone, but not to call Houston back. Instead, she accessed the notes application and pushed the buttons to speak into it, firing off what few details of the dream she could remember. Long hallway, dark-haired boy, shouting. Something about a stairwell.
That’s it.
There had to be more, or she wouldn’t have woken up soaked in her own sweat. But it was gone. Just like the images and memories that tried to materialize. Why was this happening to her? What did it mean? Was she losing her damn mind? Maybe she should tell someone?
But each time she imagined relaying these odd occurrences to Houston, she also pictured him recoiling, or at least giving her a look that said he wanted no part of it. Intellectually, she knew the likelihood of him rejecting her for that reason was nil, but a fear she couldn’t explain held her back, regardless.
For at least a decade now she’d lived with the images and memories, but they’d never bothered her this frequently, and she’d never dreamed about them. What had changed? Why were they suddenly increasing and becoming clearer? What did they mean?
They hadn’t been around during most of high school. She knew that because the day they began was also the same day she researched the paralegal program she ended up choosing. Was there a connection? She’d asked herself that thousands of times, but couldn’t figure out why there would be one.
The recent escalation seemed tied to Houston mentioning his old case last weekend.
“This one really got to me. Classic case of parents who had no clue what their son was up to in college. Or did know and couldn’t face it. What little we were able to get out of anyone at the time indicated he wasn’t a very nice person. Typical rich kid away from home for the first time. Playing the field, partying too much, bullying boys and girls alike.”
“He was the victim or the perp?”
“Victim. As far as we could put together, he was killed the same night as a frat party we know he attended. Autopsy found alcohol and drugs on board. And a bruise on his cheek where someone struck him with a purse or a backpack sometime during the same night.”
“That’s what killed him?”
“No. He fell and hit his head on a very big rock. That’s what killed him, but not before he dragged himself through a field about a quarter of a mile. City workers found him four days later.”
How come she could recall a conversation she’d had nearly a week ago, after having sex, word-for-word, but she couldn’t remember a damn dream that had left her sheets damp from sweat?
As she picked up the phone to call Houston back, she also realized she’d overslept. If she didn’t get up and shower soon, she’d be late for work. He hadn’t left a message, so she texted him, telling him she needed to get ready, but also asking if he was all right. It was rare for him to call her so early in the morning.
When she got out of the shower she checked her phone. He’d texted back.
I’m fine, babe. Just wondered if you’d like to see a concert tonight? I know it’s short notice, but I scored tickets for The Delta Bombers. I know how much you like them.
After letting out a delighted squeal, she texted him back.
Oh… Oh, wow. Houston, that would be awesome. Of course I’d love to go.
By the time she finished dressing, she had another text from him.
Great. I’ll pick you up after work so you don’t have to rush after getting home. It’s in Collinwood at the Beachland Tavern, so I thought we could grab dinner there.
Yes. That’s a great idea.
Fabulous. See you at five, babe.
See you at five.
Rosanna sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the phone. She was in love with this man, and he loved her, too. Why in the name of all that’s holy shouldn’t she tell him what was going on inside her head? She’d barely told him anything about her life, even when he’d asked her a direct question. She was the same way with everyone, but he didn’t know that. And he didn’t know why, but she did.
It was time to tell Houston a lot of things, starting with Cheta’s death twenty-one years ago. Houston was a cop. He would understand why her brother’s death had affected her so much, and why she kept it buried. Once she told him about Cheta, she’d see how she felt about sharing the rest of what was going on.
For a woman who kept her life as tightly bottled up as she did, trusting anyone enough to tell them events from her past was a huge step. Houston would understand that, as well. Rosanna had no idea how she knew this, but she felt certain of it.
Chapter Six
As she stood in front of the Renaissance Cleveland Hotel, waiting for Houston, Rosanna went over in her mind how she’d approach the subject of her past. She didn’t want to simply spring it on him, and especially not when he’d planned such a perfect date for them. She usually cooked dinner and they stayed in because he was exhausted, so this was a wonderful treat.
When she spotted his nondescript gray sedan, she grinned like a schoolgirl and walked toward the curb. He was out and had her door open before she could touch the handle. “My lady, your chariot awaits.”
Rosanna kissed him, oblivious to the crowd around them until someone blew their horn.
“Hey! You’re in a no-parking zone, Mack! Move it!”
Houston ignored the guy, instead giving her a wink while she took her time sliding into the front seat. He sauntered around the car, leading to the man blowing his horn a second time. When Houston entered the driver’s side, he leaned over and kissed her again before he put the car into gear and eased out into traffic.
A glance in the side-view mirror forced a chuckle from her. The man stood next to his car, still yelling, and also flipping them off with both hands. “He needs a hug.”
“Probably needs to get laid.”
“Is that why you’re always so cheerful?’
“Oh … low blow.”
She shifted as close to him as the console allowed and placed a hand high on his right thigh. “I’ll give you a low blow.”
“While I’m driving?” He grinned like an idiot, and she half expected to see drool appear in the corner of his mouth.
“Right. ‘Cause that would be so safe.”
“God, you’re sexy.” His gaze roamed over her outfit. “And you look great today.”
“The outfit is new.” She’d bought the tunic, tights, and boots online last Sunday while he took a nap in the afternoon.
“I love it. Women are so lucky. You have more choices when it comes to what to wear.”
“That’s because most of us care more about what we wear than guys do.”
“True. Good point.”
Being with him was so easy. They could talk about nothing, but he still put meaning into those words, and he made her heart soar when he looked at her. But the same things she loved about him also made it easier to forget everything she wanted to say today.
A dark blue Caddy cut him off, barely missing his front bumper. Houston swore under his breath. “This rush hour traffic sucks, but I love the food at Beachland. It�
��ll be worth the wait.”
“I don’t mind. It gives us time to talk.” Subtle, Rosanna. So subtle.
“What would you like to talk about?”
For a few seconds she watched the traffic, only so she had time to build up her courage again. “I can’t stop thinking about that old case you mentioned last weekend. It reminded me of something.”
“Oh yeah? What?”
“You used your detective voice.”
“Did I? I’m sorry, babe. Force of habit.”
“It’s all right. I’m stalling.”
When he cut his gaze toward her, concern filled his eyes. “Is something wrong, Rosanna?”
“No. Not at all.” You can do this. “I haven’t told you much about my life, even though you’ve asked. There’s something I want to tell you now.” His gaze was on the traffic, but that made it easier. “I had a brother.”
“Really?”
“Yes. His name was Akecheta, but we called him Cheta. Akecheta means ‘fighter’ in Sioux, and my parents sure named him right.”
“Was he older or younger?”
“Seven years older. My mom had one miscarriage before and one after him. After she had me, she had to have a hysterectomy.”
This was going to be much harder than she’d anticipated. Rosanna took a couple of deep breaths.
“Cheta was fierce. He looked more Native American than I do, and he looked older than he was. He was tall and had muscles already at fourteen. Plus, he had a nasty temper. He got into fights all the time. Most of my memories of him involved his fighting. We grew up in Kent, and you’d think with all the diversity at the university where my parents taught, we wouldn’t have had to deal with name calling, but it wasn’t so.”
A non-committal grunt escaped his throat. “People are idiots.”
“Yes, they are. Once they discovered it wasn’t only Native American blood in Cheta, but Turkish as well, the rednecks wouldn’t let it go. It didn’t help that Cheta had a short fuse.”
“I didn’t realize your parents taught at Kent State.”
“Your cop voice is back.”
The corners of his mouth turned up. “All right. I’ll try to stop.”
“They taught history for very specific periods and cultures. Most of their students were upper classmen or graduate students.”
“You’re using past tense. Have they retired?”
She closed her eyes for a second. “They were killed in a car accident when I was nineteen.”
A red light stopped him anyway, but judging by the look on his face, he would have braked even if the light had been green. “Rosanna, I am so sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“Cheta isn’t still alive either, is he? You keep referring to him in the past tense, too.”
Tears spilled over her lashes as she shook her head. Houston pulled her close and held her, not letting go when the traffic light turned green again. It wasn’t until several people blew their horns that he released her and began to move again.
“How did he die?”
“He was stabbed multiple times during a fight when he was fourteen. One week later, he died in the hospital from kidney failure. The kids who attacked him went to jail, but they were all under fifteen, so they were out in a few years.”
“They weren’t tried as adults?”
“No.”
“That blows. I can’t imagine how horrible that was for you.”
“I really withdrew after he died, and so did my mother. Cheta was my rock. When some of the kids called me stupid names like ‘half breed’ or ‘turban head’, Cheta would put them in their place for me.”
They weren’t even close to their destination, but Houston pulled off onto a side street and parked the car. He pulled her into his arms again and stroked her hair. “Now you listen to me, babe. You are gorgeous. You hear me? Your heritage makes you special and unique. Don’t you ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“I know that, Houston. It never happens now. But you know how it is when you’re a kid. Those things stay with you forever.”
When he released the embrace, the pain on his face nearly broke her heart. “Yeah, I do understand that. May I tell you why I became a cop?”
“Please do.”
“I had a brother, too. Hugo. He was two years younger than me, and I adored him. When he was nineteen and I was twenty-one, a drunk driver crossed the center line and hit him head on. He died at the scene.”
Rosanna gasped. She’d always assumed he was an only child because he never mentioned siblings.
“That’s not the worst of it. The fucking driver got away with a lesser charge because he took meds for high blood pressure, and his damn attorney convinced the jury that because he hadn’t been taking his meds, the rise in pressure made him do things he normally wouldn’t have done. Like drive drunk.”
“That’s a crazy stretch.”
“I agree, but the jury bought it.”
“No wonder you hate defense attorneys.”
“I don’t hate them. I don’t understand them. My brother, who hadn’t been drinking, was dead. And the man who killed him hadn’t been taking his meds because he was a fucking idiot who chose to drive drunk.”
“I am so sorry.” She pulled him close and held him as tightly as possible.
“I changed my major after Hugo died, to Criminal Justice and Psychology. I stopped partying, and dived head first into my studies. I knew I wanted to be a detective one day. I wanted to help find justice for kids like Hugo.”
“I know Cheta’s death is why I became so fascinated with the law, only my reaction was the opposite of yours.”
“That is odd, you know.” He pulled away to look into her eyes. “I’d have thought living through a group of juvenile rednecks killing your brother for no other reason than he didn’t look like them would make you want to see criminals behind bars.”
“The prosecutor wouldn’t file charges against the kids as adults, although he could have done so. On top of that they each took plea bargains. None of them went to trial. And you know why? Because no one in Portage County cared about one dead teen with a Sioux mother and a Turkish father. They cared more about ruining the lives of the home boys who stabbed that teen.”
The look he gave her was filled with incredulity. “But that’s exactly my point. Why didn’t that make you angry?”
“It did make me angry. I was only seven years old when those kids went to jail. I could barely understand the things my parents told me about the plea bargains, or why none of those kids would spend their lives in prison.”
“So how the hell did you get to the place you are today?”
“As I grew older, I couldn’t see the point in staying angry because that wasn’t going to bring Cheta back. And I heard my parents talking late at night. Those boys were brutalized in jail. I didn’t understand all the words they said back then, but I do now. It sounded totally horrible to me, and I remember thinking that it made no sense to put people in a place meant to rehabilitate them, when they were beaten up or raped every day. How would that teach them not to commit crimes?”
Empathy filled his beautiful blue eyes. “I understand what you’re saying. Prisons don’t rehabilitate anyone. All they do is teach them new ways to hurt people.”
“So how would my staying angry at them have helped? Those boys were already ruined for life. They had to have been, or they never would have murdered my brother because of their hatred and fear of anyone not like them. Going to prison for several years didn’t do anything except make them worse criminals than they were to begin with.”
“What should we do with criminals instead?”
“I honestly don’t know. While I think our prison system is deplorable, I don’t have a solution to it. I’m merely saying I don’t hold hate in my heart for those boys who killed Cheta, or for anyone else who commits a crime.”
“Do you pity them?”
“No, not really, because they had a choice not to do the cr
ime as well. But it does makes me sad when people think there is no other way to solve a problem than to break the law or to hurt someone. My father taught me there is always a way to solve a problem that doesn’t harm anyone or yourself. Always. He used to make me think things through out loud when I believed I had an insurmountable issue to face. He’d talk it out with me until I found a solution.”
He gazed into her eyes for a long time with an expression she couldn’t read. “You’re a good person, Rosanna Selim. Deep inside, where it counts.”
“So are you.”
“No, I’m really not. I’m hard and rough. You have a tender heart, and I never will.”
“I disagree. You set up this awesome date. That proves you have a tender heart.”
“I should be taking you out every weekend. That was one of the reasons my marriages failed. I never took my wives out on dates. We rarely went anywhere. I worked too much and was exhausted when I did have a day off.”
“I don’t need to go out every weekend. I’m happy being with you, even when all we do is hang out and watch TV.”
“And that makes you the rarest of creatures, babe.” He pulled her close again.
When her stomach growled, they both laughed. “I’m also the hungriest of creatures right now, I’m afraid.”
“So am I. Let’s go have some dinner and enjoy a kick-ass concert.”
Chapter Seven
As Houston watched Rosanna dance to the band, his dick grew so hard it was painful. It was impossible not to get up and move to this music, although he wasn’t much of a dancer. She, on the other hand, moved with the grace of a woman who not only had natural rhythm, but was totally at ease with her own body. Certainly he’d seen her like this when they were alone together, but had pictured her shy in a crowd. He’d been wrong, and Houston was so glad of that.
After they had each confessed secrets in their past earlier, he’d been afraid the evening was ruined. He’d been wrong about that, too. It was as if the revelation of Cheta and his murder had freed something inside her. He couldn’t recall seeing her this happy when they’d been out together, until he realized the reason for that was likely because he had rarely taken her anywhere.
