by Ravenna Tate
After they each took care of business in the bathroom, Rosanna curled up under the covers with Houston, too sleepy to do much except kiss him gently. “Would it sound clichéd if I told you that was the best sex I’ve ever had?”
“Well, if it does sound that way, tough shit because I feel the same.”
“I love you, Houston.”
“Love you, too, Rosanna.”
As she drifted off to sleep, Rosanna realized that while she’d told Houston about Cheta, she’d hadn’t yet told him about the images or the dreams. It would have to wait. She was too tired, and he was already asleep next to her.
****
Four weeks after Annie found the tweet from Jessica, Houston suggested to her that they track down and re-interview everyone they knew had been at the party the night Brian Wayside was killed.
“That won’t be easy.”
“I know, but we’ve hit a dead end with the reported rapes from that time period. None of them, from Cleveland to Akron and everywhere in between, match the details we’re looking for. You’ve seen nothing further on social media that connects the dots. I don’t know what else we can do at this point.”
While he spoke, Annie nodded slowly. “You’re right. Even Jessica isn’t tweeting about it any longer. Either we talk to everyone again, or put it back in the inactive files.”
“I don’t want to do that.”
“They won’t be easy to track down, Houston. Some are probably dead. Their last names have changed. They’ve moved. And, they’re not kids anymore.”
“Even better. They might be more willing to talk now.”
“It’s worth a shot.” Annie clicked around her keyboard. “Here’s the list of those we spoke to twelve years ago. I’ll start tracking down where they are now.”
“Let’s split them up.”
After Annie printed off the list and they divided the names based on last known geographic locations, Houston ordered lunch for them on his phone. Plenty of places nearby delivered. He and Annie usually took turns going out to get lunch for them both when they were holed up in the precinct working together on a Saturday, but it was storming like crazy today and Houston wasn’t in the mood to go out.
As he worked, his mind drifted toward the night before, when he’d taken Rosanna to the Beerhead Bar and Eatery on the east bank of the flats. They’d enjoyed the best pizza either of them had ever tasted, plus some mighty fine beer, before returning to her apartment to fuck like monkeys.
Friday night was now date night with Rosanna, unless he had no choice but to work. Houston was determined not to fuck up this relationship. He’d hated leaving her so early this morning, but as usual, she completely understood.
About an hour after he began trying to locate people they’d spoken to twelve years ago, a loud noise from his phone interrupted his search, and he glanced toward it, annoyed. “Fuck.”
“Tornado warning?” asked Annie, frowning at her phone. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Houston stood, gathering up his laptop. “Better head for the basement before Ty calls in to make sure we’re hunkered down.”
“Fucking pain in the ass.” Annie took her sweet time rising from her chair and stacking paper files on top of her laptop.
The others in the precinct were already moving past them, and a few made remarks about them headed for Oz if they stayed up here, but Annie ignored them. Houston did, too, until he remembered he’d left Rosanna sleeping this morning. Did she know about the warning?
“Go on ahead,” he told Annie. “I have to check on Rosanna first.”
“Call her from the basement.” Annie swept past him.
Houston put his laptop back on the desk and was about to call Rosanna when his phone rang with an incoming call from her. “Babe, are you okay?”
“Yeah. The phone woke me up with the warning.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m fine, Houston. I’m on the ground floor in the hallway, outside the meeting room. Too many people in there. It’s not coming this way, anyway. And it looks like it’s going to pass south of you, so you’re in the clear as well.”
“Is it on the ground?”
“No, I don’t think so. Only showing on radar they said.”
It was rare for tornadoes to touch down in the city limits, but it did happen. “I’m glad you’re all right. I was just about to call you.”
“Houston, we need to talk.”
A cold sweat broke out along his hairline. Was she dumping him? “Oh?”
“I need to tell you something else.”
Thank God! “About your past?”
“No. At least I don’t think so.”
“All right.” What the fuck did that mean? She didn’t sound okay. He should go over there now, not later. He had a bad feeling in his gut, similar to the same ones he got just before they burst into a structure and found a dead body.
“Can you come over after work?”
“Sure, babe. You bet. I’ll call and let you know what time I’m leaving, okay?” As soon as this warning is lifted. Fuck it. His woman needed him.
“Thank you.” Hot fear sliced through him at the sound of relief in her voice. “I’ll see you later. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I am now.”
As soon as Houston disconnected the call, he sat down at his desk and went over every second of the conversation. What was wrong? What did she need to tell him? It could be anything, but at least he knew what it wasn’t. She wasn’t breaking up with him. Whatever it was she had to tell him, they’d deal with it together.
He hadn’t been there emotionally for any of his ex-wives, and he was not about to make that mistake with Rosanna. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life.
Chapter Nine
Rosanna stayed in the hallway because she couldn’t handle being in that room along with everyone else in the building, no matter how large it was. She didn’t want to be close to anyone right now except Houston. She had lied to him about what had woken her. It hadn’t been the weather alarm on her phone. It had been the nightmares.
The thunder and lightning were still going on outside, so she brought up the radar one more time. Definitely not coming this way. They would probably cancel the warning soon. She made her way to the stairs and walked up the three flights, hoping it might burn off some of the adrenaline racing through her.
Once she was inside her apartment, she tidied up the bed as best as she could. After Houston had left this morning she’d woken about an hour later, taken a shower, but had felt restless and off balance all day because of the nightmares. Normally, she loved thunderstorms and they helped her sleep, but this time when she’d lain back down to take a nap, the nightmares had been worse than ever before.
Now, she felt anxious all over again, despite her resolve to finally tell him what was going on. She had no idea how long he’d be, so she took another quick shower, hoping the water would help. It did, but only a little. When she emerged, there was a text message waiting, telling her he’d be there in less than an hour. He’d sent it thirty minutes earlier, which meant he was already on this way.
Now or never, Rosanna. She had no choice now but to follow through with this, no matter how uncertain she was of his reaction. Someone had to know, and who better than the man she loved? She had time to toss on yoga pants and a tank top before she heard his key in the door. Rosanna ran into Houston’s arms, inhaling the scent of rain and whatever he’d had for lunch. Roast beef and mustard, maybe?
“They lifted the warning,” he said, stroking her back. “You’re all right.”
“I’m not afraid of storms. I usually like them.”
“What happened today to make that different?”
“Are you hungry?” She pulled out of his embrace. “Would you like a drink?”
“We have both coming. I ordered takeout. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Why? I love to cook for you. I—”
Two strong hands grasped her face, silencing her. “Babe, not tonight.” His expression and tone of voice were so gentle that she had to blink back tears. “Tonight, I only want to hear what’s troubling you.”
After swallowing against the sudden lump in her throat, Rosanna took his hands. “All right. Let’s sit down. Should I put on some music?”
“No.” He took a seat next to her and squeezed her hands. “Talk to me, Rosanna. What’s going on?”
Mentally rehearsing how to verbalize everything hadn’t helped as much as she thought it would, now that the time to tell him had finally arrived. “I’m not sure where to start.”
“At the beginning is usually best.”
She resisted the urge to tell him he was using his cop voice because hearing it was actually helpful now. “This began while I was in high school. I know the exact date, because I had just chosen the school to pursue my paralegal training.”
“When what began?” He gave her a sheepish glance. “I know I’m using my cop voice. Let’s go with that, okay? It’s how I think.”
“It’s all right. What I’m talking about began as nothing more than fuzzy images, like when you have a dream you can’t quite recall once you’re awake.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I can now, but at the time, that’s all they were. Dark and scary images, with no shape or identifying characteristics. They’d pop into my head at odd times, especially when something made me anxious. There was no other pattern I could identify.”
“Did you tell anyone about them?”
“No.” She sighed out loud. “You have to understand, Houston. After Cheta was killed, my mother withdrew to the point she was down to teaching one class a semester. And I never could talk to my father about things like that. He’d tell me to will myself to stop feeling that way, or something along those lines. He was not a person who liked to hear about any kind of weakness.”
“What about a friend, or a teacher? Was there a guidance counselor at your school you could have talked to?”
“I suppose so, but I didn’t. I thought there was something really wrong with me, and I was afraid to bring it to anyone’s attention. Instead, I dug into my schoolwork, and put all my effort into my paralegal training after graduation.”
“So, you’re telling me these images have plagued you for … how many years?”
“Twelve.”
“And this is the first time you’ve told anyone?”
“Yes.” Her voice was small, like she was ashamed of the obvious point he’d just made. That was the last thing he wanted.
“Rosanna, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make you feel bad for keeping this to yourself, Only clarifying what you’re saying.”
“It’s all right. I know how odd it sounds, especially now, hearing myself say it out loud. I can’t give you a reason why I never told anyone other than fear. I grew used to them, even while admitting to myself it wasn’t normal. But as time went on, it became easier to convince myself that it was no big deal.”
“I can understand that. I really can. We’re each masters at denial and justification, especially when we can’t see any evidence that what we’re keeping locked inside is hurting ourselves or others.”
The way her face brightened sent a wave of guilt coursing through him. Who was he trying to convince? Rosanna, or himself?
“Yes, that’s it exactly.”
“You mentioned your paralegal training. Did the images get worse once you began working as one?”
“No. Until recently, they had pretty much stayed the same. Fuzzy images and wisps of memory, but nothing concrete.”
“And they are now? Concrete, that is?”
The downstairs buzzer saved her from having to answer.
“That’ll be the food. Hold that thought.” While Houston went down to answer the door, Rosanna blinked back tears again and collected her thoughts. You can do this.
When he returned, he spread out pizza and wings on the coffee table. Rosanna rose to retrieve a bottle of wine, opened it, and took it to the living room along with two glasses. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do, after all the meals you’ve cooked for me in the past two months. I wolfed down a sandwich for lunch, in between trying to finish up my work in the basement during the tornado warning, and driving here as soon as I could get away from the precinct.”
After she’d had a slice of pizza and a few wings, she felt better. “I was hungrier than I thought.” Rosanna drank half her glass of wine. “Now I’m ready to continue. You asked if the images are concrete now. They never were, but recently I was able to see a blond-haired young man, and a dark-haired one. That was all, though, until the nightmares began.”
“You never had nightmares before?”
“No. And they’re getting worse all the time.”
“When did the images become clearer and the nightmares start?”
“Oddly enough, right after you told me about that old case of yours. The one where the nineteen-year-old was killed.”
****
The slice of pizza Houston was holding slipped from his hand, landing on the carpet face down. He swore loudly and snatched it off the floor, but the damage was done. “I’m so sorry, babe. I have no idea how that happened.”
“Don’t worry about it. I have carpet cleaner. But I’d better get some soda water on it for now.” She rose and headed for the kitchen. Houston took advantage of her brief absence to get his emotions under control. It was only a coincidence, nothing more. The case was a sad one. It had affected her, that’s all.
“Let me do that.” He took the can from her and poured soda water on the spot, watching as it bubbled up. Anything to keep from looking into her eyes for a few more seconds. “You said the nightmares began after I told you about that old case of mine. Are you comfortable telling me the details?”
Did he really want to know? No. But she needed to talk about them. That much he knew for certain.
“They’re so odd. I have no idea why I’d dream something like this. There are stairs at the end of a hallway, but I never reach them. The dark-haired man is chasing me as I run. I know I need to get away from him, but not why. He wants to hurt me, but I don’t know why, either.”
Holy fuck. Houston sat next to her again and forced himself to watch her eyes. “Can you see his face in the dream?”
“Not really, but I’m sure his eyes are dark. The expression in them is cruel, and he’s yelling at me about something. There’s a blond-haired boy, too, but I can’t see his face or hear his voice. That’s it. That’s all I remember. It’s not much, but I wake up drenched in sweat and shaking. In the dreams, I’m terrified.”
This has to be a coincidence. It has to be. “And you have no clue why you’d dream about these two men?”
“None.” Her expression was genuine. She wasn’t lying to him. What the fuck did this mean? Had he told her details about Brian’s or the boyfriend’s appearance? No, he hadn’t.
Jessica’s description of the exotic-looking girl who was gang raped at that party came back to him. How the fuck could it not? Houston forced his gaze away from Rosanna’s face one more time, and picked up another piece of pizza. “I’ll be more careful with this one.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
As if she hadn’t a care in the world, Rosanna began to eat again. His food now tasted like cardboard, but he forced it down. He had to keep her talking. For the first time in his career, he had no fucking idea what to ask next. She’s not a witness or a perp!
Not yet, anyway.
“Do you know where this hallway or the stairs are? Any sense of place in the dreams?”
“No. It’s no place I recognize.”
“Can you recall any words they said to you? You mentioned the dark-haired one was yelling at you.”
“Sorry, no. I can’t remember any specific words. Just a sense that he wanted to hurt
me.”
Jumbled thoughts plagued him while he finished his meal. He’d pay later for forcing down the food, but he didn’t want to rouse her suspicion. He couldn’t let her see how freaked out he was.
“I didn’t even have nightmares after Cheta was killed. You’d think if anything would cause them, that would.”
Cheta’s killers… God, please. Please let that be it. “Rosanna, do you remember the boys who killed your brother? I mean, did you know them, or ever see them?”
“Of course. I remember all of them. They were neighborhood kids.”
Thank you, Jesus. “What did they look like?”
Understanding dawned on her face as her eyes widened, along with the most intense relief in her expression. Watching it unfold made him feel guilty, but he couldn’t say why. It was entirely possible that’s all this stemmed from, not his old case.
“One had brown hair, two had dark hair, and three were blond. Do you really think that’s all this is?”
“Well, I don’t know for sure, but it does make sense. When I told you about that old case, it made you think of your brother. It wasn’t too long after that you told me about his murder.”
“You’re right. Oh my God. Houston, you have no idea how relieved I am.”
You have no idea how much I pray my own words turn out to be true.
To avoid that awestruck, you’re my hero gaze in her beautiful dark eyes, he pulled her close and held her tightly. If the nightmares went away, he would forget she told him about them in the first place. He would pretend the thought had never crossed his mind that the high school girl who was gang raped at that party, and the love of his life, were the same woman.
“This began while I was in high school.”
Was it possible for a person to live through an event so traumatic they simply blocked it out? He already knew the answer. He’d seen a few true cases of focal retrograde amnesia in his career, but far more cases of people who tried to fake it. It was rare, but not unheard of.
