Protector

by Laurel Dewey

  I don’t know who to turn to right now and I sure as hell don’t know who the fuck to trust. You’re the only one I’ve told this to. You can’t tell Patricia. She’d go fucking nuts. I just figured after your offer of help, that if I got it in writing, you’d have proof if anything happens to me. Keep this letter like we talked about. If they kill me, maybe this’ll hold up in court and Yvonne and Amy will at least know that I tried to do the right thing. I’ve done the wrong thing for so long and fucked up my life and the lives of my family. If the mob does take me out, at least I’ll’die with some integrity.

  Please hide this letter in a safe place until everything blows over. And watch out for yourself and your family, okay? Knowing me isn’t safe right now.

  Your friend, Bill

  Jane handed the letter back to Weyler. “ ‘Nobody takes me out.’ That’s what Chris said up on the water tower. They threatened to kill him if he didn’t do the murders. Do we know any of the other players that Stover was going to give up?”

  “No.”

  “So, you’re telling me that every single one of those victims died for nothing?”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” Weyler said somberly as he placed the plastic bag with the letter into his briefcase.

  “How did we miss the connection between the Stovers and the Lawrences?”

  “Chris ran some pretty good diversion tactics. Hey, we checked computers, email, interviewed coworkers—”

  “There were photos of them together, boss!”

  “Yeah, I just saw them inside when I talked to Emily.”

  “They were stuck way in the back of Emily’s bedside table drawer. I had a helluva time prying them loose. But I never once thought to look through them!”

  “The ball got dropped on that one, but everything else we did was thorough. Look, it’s damn difficult to put two and two together when someone on the inside is constantly screwing with the equation.”

  “You know, every time I sat in this house and tried to piece the case together, I never once considered Chris in the mix. I thought . . . I thought it was you.”

  Weyler looked at Jane. “How did you reason that one out?”

  “You put me in a town with no backup. You make a point not to inform Sheriff George. I can only talk to you and no one else. And you’re always talking about your ‘connections’ and people who owe you favors. I mean, come on, boss. It all added up.”

  “Well, let’s see. I put you in a town with no backup because there was no viable reason to get others involved and we didn’t want to attract unnecessary attention. As far as I was concerned, you were just laying low until we caught a break in the case. I chose not to inform the sheriff because I was told that Sheriff George can’t keep his mouth shut. I only wanted you to talk to me because, once again, it simplifies everything. As for my ‘connections,’ well, what can I say? You hang around long enough, you have connections. It doesn’t mean they’re nefarious in nature. That was just the spin you decided to put on the word.”

  “Then tell me this: when I was going through the Lawrence file, the Property Report Form from the crime scene was missing. Why did you leave that one page out of my pack?”

  “One of the evidence techs must have forgotten to copy it and send it upstairs.”

  Jane wasn’t expecting that simple an answer. “They forgot to make a copy?”

  “Apparently so.” Jane shook her head in stunned silence. “So, Detective, if you don’t mind my asking, how are you doing?”

  Jane stared off into space. “Oh, shit, boss. I don’t know. When I woke up this morning, I thought I knew who I was.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I don’t know anything.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Jane knew she couldn’t share her odd, paranormal experiences with Weyler. “It’s been a weird six weeks, boss. And it all lead up to me . . .” Jane’s voice trailed off.

  “Did you think you could actually kill a man—even a man who deserved to die—and not feel something deep down in your gut?” Jane was surprised at Weyler’s candor. “Good God, Jane, you’re not a damn robot. When did you start thinking you weren’t allowed to feel like the rest of us?”

  Jane’s mind drifted back to that loathsome memory so many years ago. “A long time ago, boss.”

  Weyler observed Jane. “Because of what your father did to you?”

  Jane looked at Weyler in shock. “You know?”

  “I don’t have to know the details. All I know is that you’ve walked around your entire adult life talking yourself into a lie.”

  “You’re losing me, boss.”

  “You’ve told me that you’ve been dead for years. But you’re very much alive. You walk around with that cocksure swagger because you think you’re inadequate. I’ve told you many times, you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You believe that evil breeds evil. So, you think you’re evil. But your heart tells me differently. Your actions don’t equal your perceptions, no matter how hard you try to fit that mold. All these years, you’ve been living an illusion. You’re not dead. You’re not stupid. And you’re sure as hell not evil. Your father? That’s another story. As always, it comes down to that inevitable question of nature versus nurture. Your good nature triumphed over your nurturing. Jane, you’ve been waking up in someone else’s nightmare for a long time. Let it go.”

  Jane let his words sink in. She took a drag on her cigarette. “All the stories we tell ourselves. All the convictions we serve that don’t serve us. It’s like falling into the ocean and you’re hanging on to the towrope of a boat. And it’s dragging you under, and killing you. But you hold on because you think it’s your job to drown. We’re all just too afraid to let go of that towrope.”

  “You let go of that towrope, Jane, and you might find freedom.”

  Jane took another drag on her cigarette. “That’s a frightening proposition.”

  “Fear is a brilliant weapon, my dear.” Weyler stood up.

  Jane turned away from Weyler. “When you finally come face-to-face with the thing you fear the most, the thing that’s been dogging you for your entire life . . . when you really look at it for what it truly is . . . it’s not that it’s easy . . . but . . .” She looked at Weyler. “I killed a man today in order to save another person’s life. And I don’t regret it. But there’s no satisfaction in it.”

  Weyler rested his hand on Jane’s shoulder. “I want you to take some time off.”

  Jane nodded. “Yeah. I think I will.” She stood up and faced Weyler. “I got to do some thinking. I gotta figure out where I fit in and what I’m good at.”

  “I already know the answer to that one.”

  “I gotta know it, boss. I’ve got to be able to picture where I’m supposed to be.”

  “Well, how about this: Picture yourself sitting at Sergeant Hank Weiting’s desk down the hall from me. He retired last week so that office of his is real empty and just begging for a competent individual to occupy that swivel chair.”

  “Boss, I don’t know . . .”

  “I hear you.” Weyler started off down the front pathway. “Sergeant Jane Perry. That’s got a damn good ring to it.” Weyler glanced back at Jane, who returned his look with a skeptical expression.

  The nurse exited the front door. “She’s asking for you,” she said to Jane.

  Jane tossed her cigarette and jumped to attention. “Good. I need to talk to her.”

  “She needs to be unconscious for a while. I gave her a sedative five minutes ago.” Jane winced at the thought. The nurse handed her a prescription bottle. “When she wakes up, if she’s the least bit fretful, give her two more. That should even things out.”

  “Even things out?” Jane’s said in a mocking tone. “That’s a tired euphemism, don’t you think? Be honest. You want to keep her numb.”

  “That’s the kindest thing you can do for that child right now. I’ll check in tomorrow morning.” The nurse strode down the path and out the front gat
e.

  Jane stared at the bottle of pills. “And so it begins,” she said to herself.

  She entered Emily’s bedroom, quietly closing the door behind her. Emily lay under the covers with her back toward Jane. Jane set the bottle of pills on the dresser and started out the door when Emily spoke up. “I’m not asleep.”

  Jane walked to the bed. “You’re gonna be out of it in a few minutes.”

  “No, I won’t.” Emily turned around to make sure nobody else was in the room before letting two pills slide out from her pajama sleeve.

  Jane smiled at Emily’s slight of hand. She sat on the bed. “You know, the nurse wants you to take those so you’ll sleep.”

  Emily rolled on her side facing Jane, resting her head in her hand. “Maybe I don’t want to sleep.” A sporadic “boom-boom-bang” sound erupted outside the house. Emily turned, startled for a second. “What’s that?”

  “They’re setting off fireworks in the park across the street.”

  Emily rolled the little white pills between her thumb and first finger. “The nurse said these would help me forget my problems. But I think she was lying.”

  “Why?”

  “She looked down and to the left when she talked to me. She kept covering her mouth with her hand. But it was more than that. It was the sound of her voice when she said, ‘Here, take these and you’ll feel so much better when you wake up.’” Emily pitched the pills across the room. “I’m never gonna forget it, am I?”

  “No. It’ll always be with you. Sometimes the memory will stand next to you; sometimes it’ll fall into the background. But it’ll never completely leave you. You can take all the pills and drink all the booze but it’ll always be there when you wake up.”

  Emily considered Jane’s words. “Were you and A.J. good friends?”

  “I didn’t really know her well enough to be her friend. Our job was to sit in the car and do night watch on the house. I went inside the house once to introduce myself. She smiled at me from across the room. She seemed like a real nice kid.”

  “You tried to save her life, didn’t you? That’s how you burned your hand.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You know, I knew A.J. better than anybody else. We were like twins. We’d think the same thoughts. We were connected.” Emily paused. “Just like you and I?” Jane was taken aback by Emily’s statement. “And you know what I know?”

  “What’s that?”

  “She doesn’t hate you because you couldn’t save her.” Jane was silent. “Okay?”

  “Okay,” Jane whispered.

  Emily held Jane’s hand. “I’m sorry I ran away from the house. I’m sorry I trusted Heather and her mom. But more than anything, I’m really sorry that you got kicked.” Tears welled up in Emily’s eyes. “That must have hurt you a whole lot.”

  Jane felt a tear stream down her cheek. “Yeah. It did.” Outside, several pop-pop-pop explosions signaled a gigantic display of color and light. A mushroom of green, blue and red quickly flared into the night sky, followed by a breathtaking gold and silver fountain of cascading fireworks.

  Emily took in the glowing spectacle, then turned back to Jane. “Happy Independence Day.”

  Late Monday morning, July 5, Weyler drove Jane and Emily back to Denver. Once back at Headquarters, paperwork was signed, reports were taken, and logistics were arranged for transporting Emily into the custody of her aunt and uncle in Cheyenne. Weeks earlier, the child’s possessions had been collected from her home, packed into boxes and set aside for later shipment until her situation was determined. While it broke department protocol, Jane insisted upon driving Emily to Cheyenne. To expedite matters, Mike had driven Jane’s Mustang to DH. The family was expecting Emily at their Wyoming house by 8 p.m. The last official document was signed and sealed at 6:15 p.m., prompting Jane and Emily’s frenetic exodus out of DH five minutes later.

  The ninety minute drive to Cheyenne was somber and filled with few words. Emily spent most of the trip clutching her Starlight Starbright navy blue vinyl case and tiny travel bag as she stared out the window. A wide, lonely expanse of dusty land lay in front of them as they crossed the Wyoming state line. At 7:45 p.m., Jane rolled her Mustang in front of the narrow, one hundred and fifty foot, dirt and gravel driveway that led to Emily’s new country home. The modest one-story, rural house stood against the stark summer sky as the setting sun draped a warm orange glow over the melancholy scene. Jane turned off the engine and looked around the area, noting the stone cold silence that painfully lingered in the air.

  “Well,” Jane eventually said, “here we are.”

  Emily stared straight ahead, almost afraid to look at the house. “Can’t we drive around some more? It’s not eight o’clock yet.”

  “You’ll feel the same way in fifteen minutes. Why stretch it out?”

  Emily looked down at the floor mat. “How come I can’t live with you?”

  “Emily, you know why—”

  “No, I don’t!” Emily replied, somewhat defiantly.

  “There’s a lot of reasons. The top one being I’m not a blood relative.”

  “Blood?”

  “People you’re related to by blood ties. Like your aunt and uncle.”

  Emily turned and eyed the long driveway and unpretentious house. A look of scorn came over her. “I only see them once or twice a year. I’ve slept in that house three times in my entire life. I’ve spent more time with you in the last month and a half than I’ve spent with them in my whole life. They don’t know how I like my eggs cooked. They don’t know what music I like. They don’t know my favorite candy. They don’t know anything about me.” Emily started to softly cry.

  “When we first met, I didn’t know anything about you.”

  Emily turned and looked Jane in the eye. “Yes, you did.” It felt like a loaded reply to Jane. “You knew everything about me. You knew what I was thinking. And what I felt inside.” Emily knew it was time to finally say it. “You knew me before you knew me.”

  Jane was stunned. She felt her mouth go dry. “What are you talking about?”

  Emily stared out the front window. She’d practiced this in her head many times but she still wasn’t sure how it would sound. “When I was in my bedroom closet . . . before I remembered what happened to my mom and dad . . . I fell asleep. At least, I think I fell asleep. I had a dream . . . even though it didn’t feel like a dream.” Jane felt the hair on her arms tingle. “I saw you.” Emily’s breathing became more rapid. “You were standing across from me on this . . . hot . . . metal . . . round thing. I didn’t know what it was then. But the light was blinding. And I was scared because you were pointing a gun toward me. And I could feel . . . his arm around my neck and I could smell the heat off the metal. I looked down . . . and I saw the face of a wolf staring back at me.” The fear of that moment gripped Emily. “And then I looked back up at you and I . . . I heard your voice in your head and it was saying that you didn’t think you could save me. But I knew you could! I knew you were the only one who could do it.” Tears welled in Emily’s eyes as she turned to Jane. “It wasn’t a dream because it came true.” Jane’s heart raced. She kept telling herself that this couldn’t be happening—that it was too bizarre. Emily reached out to Jane. “When I saw you in the stairwell that day, I couldn’t believe it. You were in my dream and now you are real. I’d found you. Just like you found me, but you didn’t know it yet.” She turned to the house. “They’ll never know me like that. They’ll never feel what I feel or think what I think. They’ll never know what I’ve seen. You’re the only person in the whole world who will ever really know me.”

  Jane swallowed hard and tried to get hold of herself. “There’s no way you could live with me. I don’t know what my future holds. But whatever I decide to do, there’s always going to be a lot of grit in my life. That’s no environment for a kid to grow up in. Anyway, I’m nobody’s mother.”

  “You were mine for awhile and you were good at it!”

  Jane looked
outside the window, desperately trying not to lose it. “The last six weeks were like a controlled game. Living the real, day-to-day with me is completely different.”

  “Is what we had been broken?” Emily asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was a moment in time that opened up . . . Maybe it was . . .” Jane realized that intellectualizing was futile. Jane reached out and stroked Emily’s long brown hair. “Emily, all I know for sure is this: there will not be a day that goes by when I don’t think about you.”

  “For true?”

  “For true.”

  “I want to know how to picture you so I can feel like you’re still with me.”

  “Why don’t you just picture me standing beside you.”

  “How are you gonna picture me?”