by W. Winters
It didn’t take long before I realized no one would come. They came after me instead. They wouldn’t listen to what I was saying. I was a dirty, lost kid and all they wanted to know was my name. They didn’t listen to me. And I couldn’t bring myself to say my name. They couldn’t take me away. Not when I had so much work to do to make up for the bad things I’d allowed to happen.
I decided I had to be the one. I’d be the reason that bad man would lose.
It would be justice for the boy. All of the bad men need to pay and it started with him.
I hadn’t counted on her sneaking in, her hair in wild curls and the smile on her face so pure and full of hope. It had been so long since I’d seen a smile like that. Shock held me in place as the screwdriver in my hand, the longest one I could find in the abandoned place, slipped to the floor. He would have heard; she would have been my undoing if not for her shriek of laughter hiding the dull bang.
What was that sound doing in this place? It didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong here either.
She called him Daddy and ran to him while he cleaned his hands with the same towel that had blood on it not too long ago.
Through the broken wood slat I watched, the weapon at my feet in the hay that I was certain now smelled more like me than I reeked of it.
Conflict took ahold of me for the first time in a long time. I wasn’t sure what to do and the boy’s voice was quiet. I think he would have liked her too.
The man was a monster, but I watched him hold her hand.
I followed from a distance, safe enough to see it all.
The man was bad, that I knew. And he would lose; I knew that too.
My small child’s mind was uncertain where she fit in and where I fit in. Until I came up with another plan, one the boy loved even more.
He can teach me how to kill. He does it so well.
I’ll let the one bad man live for a while. After all, I needed someone to teach me. Who best to learn from than the monster himself? And I couldn’t be the reason the girl stopped smiling. I couldn’t take her father away, not when I knew how much pain it would cause.
Sitting back in the worn leather seat of the marked van, I watch the series of text messages on my laptop. They’re not to me, but they certainly hold my interest.
Everything about her holds my interest these days. I’ve been watching and waiting, not so differently than what I’ve done for years, but for far different reasons.
The dim light of the evening approaches and I’m aware that the residents of this friendly neighborhood will find their way back to their two-story homes on this quiet street. I’ll wave and smile as they pass by in their large SUVs and family vans with little stick figures of their children on the back windows. And they’ll do the same, smiling and waving back. I’ve been told I should have been a dentist because of my smile. Not the electrician I’m pretending to be.
Another message pings on my screen and a shred of jealousy seeps into my blood. I don’t recall experiencing the feeling as much as I have recently. Even back then, when she loved the monster and didn’t even know I existed.
Years passed and there was never a time that I was jealous. Even as I played with the strings bringing Delilah and Cody closer together. I couldn’t be with her, not when I had so much work to do to make up for the mess I allowed as I learned. I had so much to make amends for. But then he kissed her.
And she kissed him back.
I know she wanted him to for a long while. She wanted his lips on hers. She wanted more than that.
I imagine tonight he’ll lean in for a kiss but I’m uncertain if she’ll allow it. Since I kissed her last. I wonder which kiss she enjoys more.
Honk, honk, the man I saw just a moment ago waves me down from the other side of the street. He’s heading the other direction now, the front end of his car parallel to mine and his window rolled down.
With jet-black hair speckled white and wrinkles lining his eyes, he narrows his gaze at me, a harsh crease in his forehead emphasizing his wrinkles.
A smirk is my response as he motions for me to roll down my window. I do and immediately ask him, “You lost?”
“No, no, I thought you might be?” he says with a half grin but skepticism still lingering in his gaze. I’ve dealt with many men like him, so not an ounce of nervousness trickles through. They’re all the same.
I imagine he’s retired, the grandfather of one of the youths who play in these fenced-in backyards. I wonder if he thinks he knows everyone on this street. Maybe he does.
“Not lost,” I say as I shake my head and switch the tab on my screen to the work order scheduled at 47 Lewisville Drive. “I’m just waiting on the Jenkinses for their appointment.”
The Jenkins family has an appointment, but not with me. Before they arrive, I’ll be gone. I’m not interested in their home in the least. This street, however, is one of my favorites for the view I needed tonight. From this exact spot, I can easily see through the back windows of the Italian restaurant a mile down the road, using the camera in my dashboard. Technology has made what I do substantially easier to keep tabs on certain men.
This man is right to be suspicious, but this street will never be harmed. It’s far too valuable to me.
“I’m hoping they’ll be home soon although I’m early. I got done with my last appointment a little early and …” I don’t finish the statement; instead I hold up a half-eaten sandwich.
“Right, right,” he says and the grin on his face widens, acknowledging my lies with understanding. He seems to be a good man. One who’d fill me in if ever I needed to know anything about this street. I wouldn’t even have to pry for him to confide in me. Men like him are proud to keep an eye out and protect the neighborhood. They’re the ones who take it the hardest when something … unfortunate occurs.
I call men like him the birds. They watch, they swoop down to be heroes, but they are so limited when it comes to putting down the dogs.
It’s only once the man, who told me his name is Dave, has driven off do I click over to my tabs on the laptop. First checking the cameras and waiting for Ross Brass to make his entrance. He’s a no-show at the moment, but given who he’s meeting, I’m certain he’ll arrive any moment now.
In the meantime, I read the texts between Cody and Delilah.
I need to see you. Cody’s been relentless. I can’t blame him. He’s worried and for good reason. I haven’t responded to the messages he’s sent me. I’m sure that’s caused some unfortunate thoughts to enter his mind.
I never thought I’d hear you say that. I can practically hear her voice hum the somewhat flirtatious response.
Please, tonight.
It must be more than jealousy that I feel when she gives in. Perhaps … it’s obsession. Although from what I know of that shortcoming, it often comes with anger. And there’s not a bit of it at the thought of her loving Cody. She has such a big heart. I’ve seen her love a monster before. She could love me too. I know she can. But it would be so much easier to love Cody.
The faint sounds of chairs scraping and men with thick accents greeting each other force me to click over to the other screen. It’s already recording but still, I watch and wait. These strings are more important to pull than the ones of lovers.
Delilah
It’s easier to pretend like it didn’t happen than to face the reality. Every other minute, those piercing blue eyes penetrate my every thought and remind me that I saw him again, kissed him again, and was dying for it like I had before. Not only that, but so much more transpired.
And I enjoyed it. I wanted more.
I could lie like an expert witness on the stand and tell myself it was for answers, but the crackle I felt between us, the dose of lust and shot of heat can’t be ignored. There’s something fucked up in my head. It’s wrong and I’m aware, but I can’t change it, no matter how much I lie to myself.
Shutting off the blinker puts an end to the clicking as I park my car in the parking lot. My moti
ons are automatic as I reach for both the umbrella and my purse before stepping out onto the wet asphalt. There’s only a bit of rain spitting from the skies, but with my hair newly done, I’m not risking a drop landing anywhere near me.
The whoosh and click of the umbrella opening amid the staccato of my heels is followed by my car door shutting as I search for Cody’s car.
A coffee date with my FBI agent lover two days after I came apart in my bed at the hands of a serial killer, I would imagine, is unique for the patrons of this diner.
It’s a cute place with cozy seating, located at the corner of a quaint street on the far end of town. Even the pastel blue sign that reads Pick Me Ups in a flowing script is adorable. It doesn’t fit the man I’m meeting or the relationship we have. Coffee is coffee, though, and this is far more casual than the dinner date he preferred and I turned down.
The second I spot Cody’s car, I know I should quicken my pace to get to him. I already told him I was running late, and I hate to keep him waiting. My limbs betrays me, though, and the thumping in my chest refuses to support my body’s need to move.
It’s almost like this moment is the same as the other night. I’m participating, but not really here. There’s space between and I’m merely observing.
The flesh and bones of my body are present and yet I’m only the shadow. Oh how easy it would be, if one could slink away and hide from reality that easily. But as I approach the black glass front doors and shake out the umbrella on the thick black welcome mat out front, I know all too well that I did what I did.
I just don’t know what Cody’s done, what he knows, or what I’m willing to tell him.
There’s more than what he’s willing to tell. Between coffee and small talk about scandal and murderers threatening me, I have to decide where Cody fits into all of this with far too limited information.
The door swings open and warmth hits my face while the delectable scent of coffee and citrus pastries swarms my lungs.
Black and white checkered floors, subway tiles and a long coffee bar with black leather stools give the place charm and a ’50s flair.
I didn’t even want to see his handsome face. I didn’t want those steely blue eyes to see right through me, but in this moment, when Cody’s gaze locks onto mine from a booth in the back corner, I feel weak. Drawn to him and eager to tell him everything. Literally, I’m desperate to tell him everything.
To expose every little detail. The desire passes as quickly as it came.
“Would you like me to take that for you?” a waitress with coral pink lipstick asks and smiles at me. As I hand over the umbrella and my coat, my pulse quickens. Cody’s gaze is still on me, but I can’t look back at him.
I’m second-guessing everything. Every move. Every piece of the puzzle. With a heavy exhale I take the seat across from Cody and offer him a simper.
“Still in one piece,” he comments and with it I broaden my smile, which makes him smile in return. It’s always struck me as such a charming smile. “You had me worried,” he says.
Although I part my lips as if I have an easy response to give him, which I don’t, I’m saved by the waitress. The same one who took my coat in her poofy dress with puffed sleeves and a black apron tied at her waist.
“A hot cup of coffee is exactly what I need, please.”
“Flavor of the day is blueberry.”
“Just regular, please.” She nods and turns to Cody.
“Black for me.” The waitress blushes at Cody’s response, as if he’s just hit on her by ordering coffee.
“Not sleeping well?” he asks when she slips off.
I shake my head no, although that’s not quite true. I’m sleeping better now than I was at his place. It seems unnecessary to tell him that, though.
“You could always come back,” Cody says and the guilt weighs down on me at the offer. When did the tables turn between us? With him pining for me while I keep my distance?
The truth nearly slips out from between my lips as my heart aches inside my chest, moaning something to my lungs about how much we need him. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to him. That’s the one truth that hasn’t faltered. That and the fact that I’m certain something bad is going to happen.
When you play with fire, you’re bound to be burned. I refuse to let him be a bystander in the wreckage I’m headed toward. Thankfully I don’t have to answer, since the waitress is back in no time with our coffee.
We’re quiet, neither of us speaking until she asks us if there’s anything we’d like to eat.
“Cinnamon buns,” we answer simultaneously. The smile I wear on my face at that is a sad one and Cody sees it.
“So … about my place versus yours?”
Swallowing thickly, I carefully pick up the simple mug of coffee and take a sip before giving him an answer he should accept.
“I’m not sure if you remember, but I wasn’t sleeping well at your place either and I like being on my own.”
Images blur together in my mind. The memory of Cody’s broad chest above mine as he thrust himself inside of me, mixes with the sharp intake I took as Marcus pressed himself against me.
The sudden onslaught of detailed debauchery has me nearly dropping the white ceramic mug on the saucer. It clanks in protest and with trembling hands, I cover my eyes. Vaguely, Cody’s apology is little more than white noise.
“Sorry,” he says but I’m quick to object to it.
“No, I’m sorry. You don’t need to apologize.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks and all I can think of saying in response is a lie.
“I told you. I’m tired.” I’m not, though. I cling to my coffee cup. This is how cheaters must feel. This wretched twisting in my gut roils and churns. We didn’t have a label, we didn’t have rules or boundaries. Nevertheless, we have secrets.
It was odd before, between us. But caught in Cody’s gaze, it’s almost torturous now. I sit across from a man whose only personal possessions are those of a boy he lost long ago. And I know Marcus knew his brother. What I don’t know is if Cody knows it too.
Without trust, the tension is palpable as I pick up the bun the waitress sets down, the one I’m certain I won’t be able to stomach.
“Thank you for coming. I know after the other night …” he doesn’t finish his trailing thought.
“I’m sorry.” The apologies don’t quit and for once, I don’t mind it. Because I am so damn sorry. Truly to the pit of my stomach. Every definition of the word.
“You don’t need to be sorry; I just need to know what’s going on,” he says, emphasizing the last bit.
“What do you mean?
“It’s been days, Delilah.”
“Very uneventful days,” I say but stare at the pastry. “You aren’t my keeper, Cody. You don’t have any responsibility to protect me.”
“What if I want to?” he asks.
With a slow inhale, I stare back at him and note the darkness under his eyes and the way his right hand rests palm up on the table. As if it’s waiting to be held.
“Any more letters?” he asks and I shake my head easily.
“No letters.” I decide to give him all of the truth from yesterday, but none from the night before. “I kept the monitor and the gun right beside me all day and didn’t leave my place.”
“And nothing?” he questions further, his brow knitting.
“My ass is flat and sore from the way I sat in bed, but no, nothing to report.” I hate the way the lie comes so easily.
“Do you remember the letter from the cases we were on in the beginning?” I ask him, treading into the murky waters with so many unanswered questions. “The ones the article mentioned from that bitch reporter who first got me suspended?”
Cody’s posture changes instantly. He remembers. We both know he does and unlike what I’ve been doing, he doesn’t lie to me. “Yeah. I remember.”
“One of the last FBI task force meetings … do you remember how
I had to walk away for a moment?”
“The crime scene photos were awful,” he says and I nod, remembering how the graphic pictures of the victims nearly made me vomit on the spot and I walked off to be alone.
“Right, but it wasn’t because I got sick … I was crying. It was too much, the way the bodies …”
I can’t even begin to think of how he’d left them like that. Cody agrees, “It was brutal.”
“I swore I felt someone watching me back there when I stepped outside to get away from it all.” I dare to confess something I haven’t before when I add, “I thought it was you. I thought you followed me out … but now I wonder if it was him.”
An anonymous tip was left at the station later that night. “He said he’d stop and he did.”
“Yeah.” Cody nods in agreement and remembrance. “They couldn’t find anything on the note. No prints or residue. But they matched the handwriting.”
“After that the case went cold.”
“I remember. It was like he vanished. We knew he hadn’t, though.”
“So many cases went cold,” I say, recalling them all. All the faces of the deceased. It helps that Jill Tucker from the local eleven o’clock news happened to list them all not too long ago.
“We didn’t have the evidence we needed.” Cody gives the same excuse the DA gave. Evidence. It doesn’t matter what happened. All that matters is what we can prove.
“We knew, though,” he says.
“Yeah … we knew.”
When did he start keeping secrets for Marcus? The question echoes in my mind. I wonder if it was then. I swear I felt someone watching me then. It had to have been Marcus.
“I know I asked you before …” I trail off as nerves creep up, weakening my voice and I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. Instead I clear my throat and reach for the dewy glass for a quick sip of water instead of coffee. The cold beads of condensation on the side of the glass make it slip in my unsteady grasp.
“I asked you if there was anything you knew about Marcus that I didn’t,” I remind him and my nails press into the pads of my fingers as I anxiously fidget under the table. Marcus said Cody keeps his secrets. What secrets would he keep from me? Are they about the case? Cases that may get me disbarred if that reporter has her way. Or is it all about his brother. “If there was anything at all that you knew.”
