by J. E. Taylor
A sharp pain in Jennifer’s hand brought her back to the restaurant and she looked down. A shard of the broken wine glass stuck out of the meaty part of her palm near her thumb.
Steve took her hand and pulled the glass out. He grabbed his napkin, pouring ice water on it and wrapped it around her palm. Pressing gently to stop the flow of blood, he looked warily at her as the color returned to her face.
“Are you okay?” he asked. The restaurant staff hustled around to clean up the glass, issuing apologies.
No, I’m not okay. Instead of voicing her thought, she shrugged.
Steve allowed the manager to escort them to the office where he took a closer look at the cut. The blood was already clotting, but the manager pulled out a first aid kit just in case. Steve took over and cleaned the wound, putting a band-aid over it. He glanced into her clear and confused eyes. “Can you give us a minute?” Steve asked the manager as he stood. The manager nodded and said they would have another table ready in a moment. “Thank you,” Steve said. He watched the manager leave the office and then turned his attention back to Jennifer.
Jennifer stared at the bandage on her hand.
“You broke the glass.”
“I got that much,” Jennifer replied.
He waited.
“A… a little girl around ni… nine or ten, reddish blonde hair and a… a tie-dyed t-shirt… was there a child like that on the missing per… persons list?” Jennifer asked without looking at him.
“No, why?”
Jennifer lifted her eyes to his. “There will be,” she said.
* * * *
Her eyes tilted back in her head exposing just the whites. Steve quickly wrapped his arm around her. Jennifer slumped against him and he shuddered, reliving her transition at the table. The loss of color from both her cheeks and lips and the death-like quality that shrouded her eyes freaked him out. He shook off the shock and reached for the first aid kit and grabbed a smelling salt, broke it between his index finger and thumb and waved it under her nose.
Jennifer moved her head violently away from the foul smell and came around. “Dear god, what is that?” She pushed his hand away.
“Smelling salts.” Steve stepped away from her and ran a shaky hand through his hair. He closed the door before picking up the pen and pad on the desk and pulling the manager’s chair in front of where she sat. “Tell me what you saw.”
Each word, each description that fell from Jennifer’s lips brought a new wave of dread through Steve, tightening his chest. She described in detail the scene, right down to the little girl’s dirt-laden Keds. She jumped when the manager knocked on the door and called out to them in French.
“Un moment, s’il vous plait,” Steve replied, his eyes locked with Jennifer’s. He glanced at the notes and ripped the sheet off the pad, folding and stuffing it in his pocket. He put the pad and pen back on the desk and opened the door. “Sorry, she got a little shaky after the fact,” he explained to the manager.
“Do you want to eat here?” Steve asked turning his head toward Jennifer. “Or do you want me to get the food to go?”
“To go.” Her eyes filled with tears.
The manager nodded and stepped away. A few moments later, he came back with a bag of food packaged for them.
Steve reached for his wallet.
“No, monsieur, this is on us.” The manager offered Jennifer a slight smile and returned his attention to Steve.
Steve nodded. “Merci beaucoup.” He took the bag and put his arm around Jennifer’s waist, leading her to the car.
They drove in silence back to the cottage. He parked and grabbed the bag, heading inside, and stopping at the door to look back at her. He swung the door open and she walked into the dark room. Steve handed her the bag as he closed the door. “Wait here.”
Jennifer heard him shuffling around and then saw a flicker of light. The hurricane lamp he held let off a soft glow. He adjusted the height of the flame.
“There isn’t any electricity yet.” He offered an awkward shrug. “I never got around to turning the service back on.” He took the bag out of her hand and led her to the breakfast nook, helping her into a chair. He furrowed his brow in thought. “What really happened back there?” he asked, rummaging through the silverware drawer, sitting down and handing her a fork and a knife.
“I’m not really sure.” She picked at the food in the to-go container, taking a small bite despite her total lack of hunger. “This is delicious.” She pointed her fork at her dinner.
He pulled a bottle of wine out of the bag with a smile. “I guess they really didn’t want a lawsuit.” Leaning back in his chair, he opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle opener, proceeding to uncork the wine. He retrieved a pair of dusty glasses from the cabinet and un-tucked his shirt, wiping the dust off with the tail.
Jennifer watched him go through the motions of dinner. “I freaked you out,” she finally said after he poured the wine and downed his glass, reaching to refill it again.
Steve laughed and nodded. “And I’m not easily unnerved.”
“I’m sorry for ruining the evening,” Jennifer said. She returned her attention to the meal.
“I actually like this better than the restaurant.” He smiled at her. “But I have more questions for you.”
Jennifer looked sharply at him. He sat with one arm slung over the back of the chair, while the other held the wine glass, slowly swirling the liquid around. He tilted his head studying her.
“What happened at the restaurant, Jennifer?” He asked with a disarming smile.
* * * *
Realization set in and irritation crept over her skin. The calm smooth cadence of his voice was marred by the sharp suspicious interest in his eyes. He was drilling her for information—as if she was a suspect. What the fuck? “You’re interrogating me?” She pushed the chair back to leave.
“Sit down!” Steve slammed the wine glass on the table. Fury blazed in his eyes, transforming his rugged features into a frightening mask of anger.
Jennifer stood and headed toward the door, hell-bent on getting away from him and his enraged glare.
Steve grabbed her shoulder and spun her around; she reacted, her black-belt training taking over with his sudden, less than gentle maneuver. But he easily sidestepped her attempt at another Osoto Gari and she found herself face down on the floor with her hands clasped behind her back. Cold metal ensnared her wrist followed by the click of the handcuffs and panic set in. “What are you doing?”
Steve hauled her onto the kitchen chair, threading the cuffs through the back spindles and fastening them around the free wrist he held. He stormed out of the room and came back a few seconds later with two photographs, slamming them on the table in front of her. “She wasn’t among the missing—she was one of the ones we found. Her name was Amy and she disappeared a month ago. She wandered away from her parents’ campsite and was found a few days later.”
Jennifer’s wide shocked eyes gaped at the photographs, twitching from the picture of the smiling girl to the second of something torn to pieces, bloody and mangled. She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand at all until her eyes landed on the bloody discarded sneaker. Her gaze shot up to Steve in horror. “Oh god, oh god, oh god,” Jennifer repeated over and over. Trembling, all the heat in her face drained and she pushed the chair away from the table with her feet.
“How could you know so much detail, Jennifer?”
Jennifer stared at him and the tears flowed down her cheeks. He thinks I did this. “I wasn’t in Brooksfield last month. I was in New York.”
Steve stepped back, blinking rapidly, his gaze bouncing between her and pictures on the table.
The tears continued. “How could you possibly think I could do that?” she sobbed, hanging her head.
He pulled open his cell phone and made a call. “I need you to verify the whereabouts of someone from July fifteenth to August fifteenth. Jennifer Curtis, date of birth July 16, 1986. Permanent address, 174 Evergr
een Lane, Norwalk, Connecticut. Call me back when you have the information.” His eyes, narrow and questioning, never left her. She continued to sob.
“How could you think that?” She raised her tear-stained face to meet his suspicious glare.
* * * *
Doubt as strong as an arrow to his heart knocked him back another step.
The phone rang and he flipped it open. “That was quick,” he said, and listened. Steve stepped forward, took the pictures off the table, and left the room. He tucked them away in his briefcase in the bedroom and closed his eyes. “What about Tracy Sheehan or her father?” he asked softly. “I asked Jack to check into them for me. Were they in Brooksfield during that time?” He waited on the line this time. He got an answer, although it wasn’t what he anticipated. He closed the phone slowly. They were in New York at the same time as Jennifer.
He hung his head. “Shit.” Putting the phone back in his pocket, he glanced toward the kitchen and pondered what this really meant.
Steve crossed to the kitchen and pulled a chair over near Jennifer. He didn’t want to un-cuff her just yet. He studied his hands and when he raised his eyes, she returned his gaze, the tears still slowly trailing down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.
“Un-cuff me. I want to go.”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Now!” The anger kicked in full force, stopping the flow of tears.
“You described her in detail, Jen, what the hell was I supposed to think?” His eyes pleaded for forgiveness.
Jennifer started to say something; then closed her mouth. She took a deep breath and exhaled, her gaze softening. “I see things,” she said. “I told you that earlier.”
Steve closed his eyes and lowered his head, trying to comprehend what she was saying. He opened his eyes with a deep breath. “I am at a loss here,” he admitted. “Things are black and white for me and this… this is a shade of gray I have never run into before. It’s not tangible, so it’s hard for me to accept.” He leaned back, glancing at her. “You have visions of what happened?”
“Glimpses.”
“Can you describe who did this?”
Jennifer thought a moment and slowly shook her head. “I don’t know what I saw.” The beast she saw in the vision couldn’t possibly exist. It had to be a manifestation of her imagination, a personification of evil. “But it’s evil.” She looked at him. “And the same thing I saw in my nightmare earlier.”
Steve sighed. “Tell me about the nightmare.” He put his hands on his knees.
“It was hurting you,” Jennifer said bluntly.
Steve sat back, blinking and digesting what she said. “You keep referring to the killer as it.”
Jennifer nodded.
“Why?”
“What I saw wasn’t human,” she answered.
“There were no animal tracks. We checked,” He refrained from telling her there were no tracks at all.
It was Jennifer’s turn to sigh. “I don’t know what it is,” she answered, her eyebrows creased with uncertainty. She shook her head, closing her eyes. “How could you think it was me?” She opened her eyes, the pain shining through.
“It’s my job to think that way.”
“Your job sucks,” Jennifer replied.
Steve smiled. “Sometimes it does.” He stood and went behind her, releasing the handcuffs. He stepped around and took the seat again, putting the cuffs on the corner of the table.
Jennifer rubbed her wrists but didn’t move. “How can you think you love me and at the same time think I am capable of murder?”
He leaned back. It was a contradiction he couldn’t explain to her. His job demanded he look at all possibilities, however remote and unlikely. The facts she presented him with at the restaurant warranted his actions. He shrugged.
Jennifer swallowed hard. “Are you really falling in love with me?”
Her breathy question broke through the barricade surrounding his heart and he slowly nodded. “Yes, but I don’t want to.”
A wave of emotion caught her breath in her throat. “Why not?”
“Because I just fucked up any chance I had with you.” He stood and left the cottage crossing to the dock steps. Sitting, he scanned the water and the mountains beyond. “Stupid idiot,” he muttered.
Jennifer found him on the steps a few minutes later and took a seat next to him.
Neither of them spoke. Time passed and they looked out at the lake, each lost in their own struggle of thought.
Steve finally looked at her. “Why are you still here?”
She sighed, keeping her gaze on the water. “Because I’m in the same boat you are.”
He gently took her hand but didn’t dare look at her. He could feel the electricity flowing between them and if he looked, he would act. “It’s only been two days.” He was going to say they could cut their losses, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Yeah.” Her reply was barely a whisper and cutting to the chase, she said, “But I can’t leave now.”
His grip on her hand tightened and he turned his head, ripping his gaze away from the lake to look in hers. The same need sweeping through every fiber of his being reflected in her eyes and he reached for her. His mouth found hers and all else was forgotten. The lake watched neutrally as he carried her back to the cottage.
Chapter 11
Steve heard the thunder rumble in the distance as they lay, spent, next to each other. He began to close his eyes and suddenly sat up in the bed, startling Jennifer.
“What’s wrong?”
“Rain,” he answered as he pulled his pants on. “Where are your keys? I’ll put your windows up.”
“In the kitchen in my bag.”
“Be right back.” He bolted out of the house feeling the first raindrop as he started his car, pushing the button to retract the convertible top back in place. He secured it and rolled the windows up. He trotted over to her car and slid the keys in the ignition, putting the windows up just as the sky opened, dumping buckets on him as he fled for cover. Steve laughed, walking back inside, soaked to the bone.
“I’m okay; I just got caught in the rain. The movie was good. I’ll head out just as soon as this downpour stops. Don’t wait up for me.” Jennifer closed the phone, smiling at his dripping form. “You got there just in time.”
She had dressed in the shorts and t-shirt she arrived in, much to his chagrin. “Yeah.” He shook his head, spraying water everywhere. “Who was that?” He ran his fingers through his hair, approaching her.
“Tracy called. She was worried. I told her I went to grab some food and ended up going to a movie.”
Steve pulled her to him, getting her clothing wet in the process. “Stay.” He kissed her.
“I should go.” She tried to push away, but he was insistent.
“Stay long enough to watch the storm with me,” he clarified, not letting go, his blue eyes sparkling in the light of the hurricane lamp.
His heart thumped under the hand she placed on his wet bare chest. She looked into his eyes, his wet hair dangling, sending droplets of misplaced rain onto her upturned face.
“Stay,” he implored and slowly bent down. His lips grazed hers lightly. “Please,” he said against them. He pulled away just as slowly.
The effect on Jennifer was complete. He owned her, as much as she didn’t want to admit to it, he owned every fiber of her being and there wasn’t a thing she wouldn’t do for him. She nodded, because words were not enough.
He stepped away and headed into the bedroom, grabbing his shirt and slipping it on, returning with it unbuttoned. Steve took her hand, leading her to the bench under the picture window. When he settled on the bench, she scooted between his legs, leaning against him, safe in his arms. They watched the lightning storm brew over the lake.
“I love thunderstorms,” he whispered, and kissed the back of her head.
“Me, too.” Lightning danced on the lake.
The thunder cracked overhead and Jen
nifer jumped. Steve chuckled and squeezed a little tighter. He felt her relax again.
“What are we going to do about your roommate?”
“I can’t pretend anymore,” Jennifer replied under the rumble.
Steve nodded. “Do we just tell them outright?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Steve looked at her reflection in the window and smiled. She was looking at him, not the storm. He shifted his gaze back outside, his smile faltering as a lightning bolt split a big oak in the yard. The half facing the lake slowly bent into the water, like an elegant ballet. The other side of the oak stood fast. “I’ll have to cut that down eventually,” he said.
“Mhm.” She closed her eyes, listening to the rain and the thunder rock the little cottage, drifting to sleep on his chest.
Steve alternated between watching the storm and watching her face in the reflection of the window. What am I going to do with you? He sighed, kissing the back of her head and watching the storm. She began to snore lightly and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall.
Chapter 12
The ringing of a cell phone brought both of them out of a sound sleep. Steve groaned. His leg had fallen asleep and he almost crumpled to the floor when he stood. Jennifer, on her feet, alert but confused, looked around the cottage, her eyes landing on the bright scene outside the window. The sun was out.
“Shit.” She bolted to answer her phone and Tracy’s voice rang through the small cottage.
“Where are you?” Tracy asked.
Steve clamped his mouth shut, hopping around the tiny cottage trying to wake up his useless leg. He bit his lip at the amused expression on Jennifer’s face, turning away as she answered her roommate.
“I headed out early.”
“I didn’t hear you come in last night,” Tracy replied.
“I’m sorry. It was very late and I assumed you were with Billy. I’ll talk to you after classes,” Jennifer said.
