by Loretta Lost
“Oh, Sweetie. Cole never betrayed you. He was trying to take Benjamin down. But… obviously, he failed. And I think Benjamin might have found him out, and done something about it.”
My chest is heaving with rage. Serenity Towers. Seriously? That sicko. How dare he?
“I don’t understand,” the detective says as he takes a seat at the table. “Agent Shields? What is the deal with this senator? You two have history?”
I pause before speaking, because it is difficult to find the words. “It’s not important, Detective.”
“It sounds important to me. Please do share.”
Dammit. Exhaling, I remind myself that I am in a room filled with many people who already know, or almost know. Many of these people, I trust. Miranda and Ezra Bishop are like family. When Benjamin nearly found me thirteen years ago, Mr. Bishop was the one who gave me shelter. Zack—well, he cares about me, and I have lied to him. He has been there for me through all this, and he deserves to know.
Only the detective is really a stranger. As I stare at him, I remember the brief conversation we had earlier when I was locked up in the back of his police car. He’s a good man. He’s cautious. I glance down at the donuts. He’s also kind. Is it possible that he could genuinely want to help? I’ve spoken to detectives before, when I was young, and it left a bad taste in my mouth. But if I don’t tell him, Miranda will have to, and it’s probably better directly from me. I suppose even Miranda and Mr. Bishop don’t know all the details.
“Okay,” I say quietly, bracing myself by physically grasping the edges of the table. “Benjamin Powell was my father, for a time. He adopted me when I was nine years old. I lived with him for three years, during which he repeatedly molested me. Almost every day. His wife knew, and she did nothing.” I glare into the detective’s eyes, as if to deliver the story directly into his brain, like little daggers of data. “I spoke to law enforcement many times, but he had too much clout for them to take me seriously. He was powerful. I ran away when I was twelve, and lived on the streets, until I could take on the identity of Scarlett Smith. I met Cole shortly after that, in a foster home. Unfortunately, Benjamin found us—well, he found Cole after we were involved with a fire. Cole was trying to protect me, and he told a lie about how he had dated someone named Serena, so that Benjamin wouldn’t discover that it was actually me, in the hospital, just a few rooms away, with my hair dyed black…” I take a deep breath. “To make a long story short, Benjamin used his connections to get a judge to put Cole in prison for arson. He’s always been trying to ruin Cole’s life, and trying to find me. He nearly has, a few times.”
There is a little silence in the room after I finish speaking.
“Why didn’t you tell me all this sooner, Miranda?” the detective asks. “This helps a lot. Now we have our prime suspect.”
“I told you from the start that I believed it was the senator,” Miranda says in a shaky voice. “The rest of it wasn’t my story to tell. Cole was hell-bent on getting revenge for what Scarlett went through all those years ago. He only agreed to work with Benjamin because he thought it would allow him to get close enough to finally get the evidence to take him down, and put him behind bars for life.”
I grab a donut and take a very large bite, chewing viciously for comfort. The sugar on my tongue does nothing to soothe my inner turmoil. “I think I need a… smoke,” I mutter, remembering my bargain not to drink any coffee.
“You don’t smoke,” Zack tells me.
“Maybe I should start,” I say quietly.
“Why don’t you take a break, Agent Shields,” Detective Rodriguez suggests. “I didn’t realize how complicated this case would be for you. Maybe you should get some rest, and I’ll look into Benjamin Powell.”
“I already did,” I tell him. “I couldn’t find anything. If Benjamin did this… he’s going to get away with it. The way he gets away with everything. He’s smart.”
“Not this time,” Detective Rodriguez says. “I promise, Shields. I’ll send my whole department after him, and we’ll find something to nail him.”
“Good luck,” I say with a sick smile, and a sicker feeling in my stomach. “I’ve only tried for almost two decades.” Grabbing Cole’s note, I crumple it up in my hand before taking my purse from Zack and stuffing the note inside. “If you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to go get a smoke. Or a drink. Some fresh air. A brisk jog. I just need, like, five minutes. Please.”
“Sure thing, honey,” Miranda says gently, taking my hand and squeezing it. “Take your time.”
“I’m coming with you,” Zack tells me.
I’m about to protest, but I am too drained. “Sure.”
Standing outside the police station, I suck in several quick, shallow breaths of fresh air. Looking around, I search desperately for something, anything to take my mind off all this. I see a row of shops, all of them selling various things that I could put in my body to alter my state of mind. Coffee, booze, cigarettes, fast food. I am hyperventilating. Placing a hand on my chest, I stumble forward awkwardly, switching directions in midstep. I need something to help me. A shot of tequila, 5-hour energy, or a Big Mac. My eyes dart around the urban landscape erratically, until I see a man walking along the street without a shirt.
For a moment, I am startled by the sight of so much skin. Then I remember that I’m in California. He is walking away now, so I continue to stare. There are intricate tattoos covering his muscled back—a pair of angel wings, rippling with his every step. The detective’s words pop into my brain.
Most people who just lost a loved one are eager to talk about heaven and hell for comfort.
Is Cole with the angels now? Is he somewhere else? That thought does not bring me any comfort. Not in the slightest. But somehow, staring at the man’s tattooed body has a strangely hypnotic effect on my mind, and stirs some kind of sensation in my stomach.
When I feel a hand on my back, and I turn to see the concern in Zack’s eyes, I barely hear the words he’s speaking.
“Sophie? Hey. Are you doing okay?”
Reaching up to grab his face, I pull him down until his lips crash against mine. Stepping closer, I allow my body to press against his until I can feel the hardness of his muscled chest and abdomen against me. I kiss him hungrily, tasting and probing like an addict. It all swirls around in my brain. I can see it all, playing like a movie on fast forward. I can feel it all.
The textures, the sounds, the tastes. They hit me. Hard.
Benjamin’s expensive cologne. Smothering. Levi’s leather jacket. Freedom, danger, weightlessness. Cole’s soft lips, his impossible tenderness.
His rage.
Zack’s hands tighten around my waist, partially in surprise, partially for balance, and mostly in desire. I can feel the heat of his manhood pressing against my navel through the expensive but thin fabrics of our funeral clothes. I can smell his arousal, and feel a little perspiration beginning around his neck, beneath my fingertips. I am swept away in the sensations until finally, my fear and anxiety disappear, and I feel nothing. I feel calm.
My mind is clear. My mind is blank.
When I pull away, I can taste the heaviness on his breath and see the need in his half-lidded eyes. I feel better. I feel refreshed.
“What was that for?” he says in a husky voice, adjusting his pants and looking around to see if anyone was paying attention.
“Oxytocin.”
“Excuse me?”
“I didn’t think eating any more donuts would help.”
“So you decided to eat my face?”
“Basically.” I pause. “And also, I’m sorry for kicking your leg earlier, when you were trying to restrain me. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Soph,” he says quietly, tightening his grip on my hips. He slides his hands over my back and looks at me unhappily. “You only really hurt me by putting a gun to your head.”
“I know. Look, I’m really messed up. This is bringing a lot of bad stuff up for me. Just bear with me
while I get through this, okay?”
“And we’ll go back to our life in DC? Together?”
“Maybe.” I breathe out heavily. “Maybe.” Stepping away from Zack, I cross my arms and turn to look at the police station. “Okay. So I’ve been thinking that you were right. I should have read those letters. They could really help in all of this.”
“Do it as soon as we get back to the hotel,” Zack suggests.
“I will. Also, I’m going to have to talk to Annabelle. I’ll ask the detective to set up a meeting with her. They should already be following up on this Pakistan lead—but maybe I can privately talk to Levi and see if there’s anything that he can tell me. He should be open with me. We have history.”
“What kind of history?” Zack asks.
I turn to him with a smile. “He rode motorcycles.”
“Damn. That kind of history.”
“Yeah. Anyway, I think that as long as we stay—”
I am interrupted by the sound of a clearing throat. Turning to my left, I am surprised to see Detective Rodriguez standing near me. How did he get here so fast?
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says to us, “but you two should probably go.”
“Go?” I ask in confusion, a little worried that I might be off the case. “Why?”
The detective moves closer to Zack and speaks in a low whisper. “You need to take her back to the hotel.”
“What the hell! What’s going on, Rodriguez?” I ask in annoyance.
Turning back to me, he looks down uncomfortably. “Senator Benjamin Powell is on his way here for questioning. Right now.”
All the blood drains from my face.
I open my mouth and try to speak, but the words won’t leave my throat.
Zack nods briskly, taking my arm. “Okay. We’re going to get out of here.”
“No,” I manage to choke out. My whole body feels limp, and I am unable to fight against Zack. I try to force out more words. “Let me stay.”
“What? That’s not safe,” Zack says.
I clench my teeth as I turn to the detective. “Why,” I say haltingly, fighting down a bit of bile. “I told you I don’t think it’s him. Why did you…?”
“He argued with Cole shortly before the homicide. We need to talk to him. You don’t need to be here.”
“Detective. Can I try—try to help?”
Rodriguez hesitates. “I’ll put him in an interrogation room and you can watch from behind the glass. He won’t know that you’re there. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Yes,” I say in a robotic voice.
“Thank you. It could really make a difference. You know him, and you’ll be able to interpret his facial expressions and tell us if you think he’s lying.” The detective pauses. “Are you with me, Shields?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
When he begins moving to the station, I try to follow, but my feet feel like they are made of lead. My legs refuse to move, and an odd coldness is spreading through my body. I feel like I have been turned to stone, and fused into the concrete
No. Shit, shit, shit. No.
“He will be here any minute now,” Zack says.
I carefully study the empty chair in the interrogation room. “There must be others.”
“Sorry?”
“Other girls. Other children. It’s been so many years—I can’t be the only one.”
“No,” Zack responds. “It’s unlikely. For people like him, harming others is a habit. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t been caught already.”
“He has too many friends in high places. He has enough money to make people keep quiet.”
“Why didn’t you go after him harder, Sophie? With your skills, I’m sure you could have taken him down.”
A little shudder touches my shoulders. “I just wanted to run, Zack. I never wanted to see him again, or be near to him. I couldn’t deal with it. The idea of spending time with him in a courtroom…”
“Do you know how many despicable people are walking around for that reason?” Zack asks me. “These guys get away with everything because their victims can’t deal with the emotional strength it takes for a confrontation.”
“I don’t mind confrontation. But I didn’t want to look at his hideous face.”
“And you’re ready to look at him now?”
Inhaling deeply, I shrug. “I need to be. For Cole. Besides, he can’t see me, so that makes it slightly less sickening. I can be detached.”
“I’m right here, Soph. We’re in a police station, and everyone is armed. You’re totally safe.”
“No. I am not, nor have I ever been safe. The moment I forget that, and let myself relax…” I trail off, because the door to the interrogation room is opening.
A slender cane is the first thing to enter the room, its rubber tipped bottom colliding with the tiled floor. It makes no sound at all, but I flinch anyway, ever-so-slightly. Next, I see the tips of stylish leather shoes stepping into the room, along with sharp knees under a pair of grey slacks. My mind is registering every detail so carefully that it feels like the scene before me is happening in slow motion, although I logically know that everything is moving at a normal speed.
When I see the man’s hand gripping the top of the cane, I have to fight the urge to take a step back. So much time has passed. He was already so old before. I was expecting to see someone looking wizened and weak, but I can tell from the way he grips the cane that there is life and energy in his body.
Benjamin has always reminded me of a skeleton. He is very thin and gaunt, but this is part of the deception. He comes across as kind and meek, but he is actually very strong and muscled beneath his baggy clothing. I can tell that he has been staying active and taking care of himself, even though he is presenting the image of being tired and acting his age. No. Benjamin is still strong. It requires a lot of strength to restrain another human being, and I have no doubt that he is still capable of this.
When he steps fully into the room, I notice the unevenness of his gait. Back when I knew him, he never walked with a limp. It was only when I caught a brief glimpse of him a few years later, that I noticed he was using a cane. My eyebrows draw together and grow tense. I feel like I should know how he got injured, but my memory is fuzzy. I know that on the last day I lived with him, his leg was in a cast. There is an entire three day period where my memories are incomplete.
I remember using makeup to cover the bruises on my neck and wrists.
I remember sitting on the floor of a tiny, filthy gas station restroom as I read the instructions for a pregnancy test.
I remember stealing Benjamin’s credit card to buy myself an airline ticket to get away.
I remember Benjamin finding me. I remember him screaming at me. I remember a hotel.
I remember a balcony. I remember climbing up onto the railing, and feeling the wind in my hair.
I remember a flash of Benjamin’s white bone sticking out of his pant leg.
I remember walking away. Running away.
“Sophie,” Zack says, and my head snaps toward the sound of his voice. “They’re starting.”
Blinking in confusion, I realize that I’ve been completely zoned out. I also realize that Zack’s missing leg is on the same side of his body as the leg that Benjamin injured. I stare at Zack’s leg thoughtfully, wondering if that had something to do with why I was first attracted to him. Why I got close to him.
Guilt.
“Thanks for taking the time to come in for questioning, Senator,” says the detective.
I turn back to the room, and see that Detective Rodriguez is seated across from Benjamin Powell. I realize that I have been holding my breath, and I force myself to exhale so that I can refresh my oxygen supply. Concentrate, Sophie. You are not that weak little girl you used to be.
“It’s no problem at all, Detective,” Benjamin says in his deep, somehow harmonious voice. Every syllable is filled with warmth, and there is a mild, peaceful look in his eye
s that makes you want to trust him. He has an honest presence about him, like your favorite uncle or teacher, who regularly offers solid and life-changing advice. It is no wonder that people hang on his every word. “Cole was an incredible architect, and an amazing young man. I will be happy to do anything I can to help.” His thin lips pull together tightly in something akin to a smile. A carefully rehearsed sympathetic smile. “In fact, I’ve already asked my people to set up a scholarship fund in his name for the best and brightest young people who are interested in architecture.”
“Bastard,” I whisper under my breath.
“That’s very generous of you, Senator. You seem like a very charitable man. I believe I read about another scholarship program that you started?”
Benjamin hesitates. “Yes. In honor of my daughter, Serena.”
I feel my face twitch at the sound of my name on his thin, ghostlike lips.
“Oh! I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
“I adopted her when she was a young girl. My wife was not capable of having children, you see. Serena was particularly gifted in the computer sciences, and I know that she would have had a bright future if her life hadn’t ended prematurely.”
“I see. How did she die, Senator?”
Benjamin leans in closer, as though it is difficult to speak about this. “She took her own life, Detective. I am afraid to say that my Serena was a very disturbed girl. I tried my best to make her happy, and to provide her with all the luxuries that a little princess deserves. But in the end, there was something dark and damaged in her soul that I simply couldn’t heal.” The senator touches his temple and combs away a few wisps of white hair shakily. “I loved her, though. God, I loved that sweet little girl.”
I lift both of my hands to my face, pressing them firmly against my eyes and cheeks. I force my face into my hands so hard that I am sure there will be a permanent imprint of them on my face forever. I suck in deep breaths, trying to fight against the urge to scream.
The scream has been sitting inside my chest for years. It’s a loud, shrill, piercing sound that I feel inside my chest, reverberating in my ribcage, begging to be released. I am sure that if I screamed at the top of my lungs, as loud and long as I want to scream, Benjamin would hear me through the soundproof booth. All of Los Angeles would hear me.
