by J. E. Parker
“Alright,” I replied in an unsure voice, “sure.”
Why in the hell is my voice shaking?
I pointed at the two idiots eavesdropping behind me. “I don’t think I'll get anywhere with dumb and dumber back there, so at this point, I’m willing to give it a shot.”
With a quick nod, he pointed toward a door along the far wall. “Follow me. My office is through there.”
With a nod of my own, I turned to follow him as he headed for the door.
One of the two idiots still standing behind the desk snickered, but I wasn't sure which one it was. So being the mature young woman that I am, I crossed my arms behind my back and flipped them both off.
Fly, birdie, fly.
“That was unnecessary, Ms. Mason,” Officer Williams fussed in an angry tone. “Absolutely and completely unnecessary.”
I smiled at his outburst.
Detective Moretti opened the door and stepped to the side so I could pass through. “Ladies first.” His voice was smoother than the finest whiskey. Just the sound of it made chill bumps erupt along my skin.
Straightening my spine, I stepped past him and through the door.
“Last door on the right.”
I moved down the hall toward his office in silence. At that point, I don’t think I could have muttered a single syllable if my life had depended upon it.
His voice, his scent, his body heat, all three were screwing with my head.
Get a grip, Shelby, I chastised myself. You’re acting ridiculous.
The size of his office shocked me. I’d expected it to be small, cramped. But it wasn’t. I mean it wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t tiny either. In the middle of the room sat a medium-sized oak desk that held a black laptop, a half-filled cup of coffee, various pens and two or three legal pads. Behind the desk, two grey filing cabinets stood tall against the wall, and to the left of those was a black cabinet that held a large printer on top of it. On the far right side of the room sat a small, black sofa.
He walked by me, sat behind the desk, and pointed at one of the black, plastic chairs stationed across from him. “Have a seat, Ms. Mason.”
Ms. Mason… I hated him calling me that! The name reminded me of my mother, and she was one of the last people I wanted to think about.
“Shelby,” I snapped with more bite than necessary. Forcing a smile, I sat down. “Just call me Shelby. Ms. Mason makes me feel ancient, and at twenty-four I am far too young to feel old.”
Anthony smiled, and I damn near fell out of my chair.
Again, a smile that beautiful should be illegal.
Placing his elbows on the edge of his desk, he leaned forward in his chair. “So, what can I help you with, Shelby?”
“W-well,” I stuttered before snapping my mouth closed. Embarrassment ripped through me; my face began to burn. I didn’t need to peek in the mirror to know my cheeks were redder than a beefsteak tomato.
Get your shit together, girl.
After clearing my throat, I continued. “I work at the Battered Women’s Shelter over on Sycamore Street as a victim’s advocate.” He nodded in acknowledgment. “I realize you haven’t worked here long, but there has been a huge increase in crime over the last several months and, well, it’s gotten out of hand on the streets in front of and behind the shelter.”
He pulled his gaze from mine and picked up a pen and a legal pad from the desk. “What kind of crime?”
I watched with rapt attention as he scribbled unreadable words across the lined yellow paper. Completely mesmerized by the way his forearm flexed with each stroke of the pen, I didn’t answer him.
A few seconds ticked by and he looked up. I didn’t see him look up though because my eyes were still glued to his fricken arm.
“Shelby.” He spoke my name low and soft. “Sweetheart…”
Still staring, I didn’t answer him for a second and third time.
He cleared his throat, pulling my attention from his arm to his handsome face.
“Shelby”—the smile in his voice was clear—“can you tell me what kind of crime you’ve seen around the shelter?”
“Oh, uh…” Mortification set in as my voice trailed off. “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”
Jesus Christ, this is embarrassing!
“Well, we’ve seen…” I tried to think, but at that point, I was having a hard time remembering my damn name. “Drugs,” I blurted out. “Mostly drugs, meth in particular.” Pressure built in my chest when I thought about the lowlife scumbags hanging out within spitting distance of the shelter’s gate. “But we’ve also had trouble with a pimp named D-Boy.” I gritted my back teeth together in frustration and clenched my hands into fists in my lap. “The little jackass just keeps coming around no matter how many times me or Evan run him off.”
He lifted his chin in the air. “Who is Evan?”
Curious if I have a boyfriend perhaps?
I smiled at the thought.
“He’s our head of security. Good guy. Scary looking on account of the pissed off expression that’s constantly plastered on his face but he’s one of the best men I’ve ever met.”
I ran my palm across my forehead. My skin was damp with beads of sweat that had formed along my hairline. I was sure I looked like complete crap.
“Have any of these people given you or any of the other shelter employees direct trouble? Or is it just their proximity to the building that you have a problem with?”
I tried not to take personal offense at his question, but my skin still bristled.
“Anything that happens around the shelter directly affects us.”
Stay calm.
“Listen, Detective Moretti,” I said calmly, evenly, “the shelter is a haven for women and children who are going through dark times. The last thing they need is to go outside and see some dealer selling crank or a pimp loitering by the gate just itching for a chance to recruit one of them.” I took another breath. “But besides that, yes, we’ve had a few problems. Having people break into vehicles is a major one, but our shelter manager, Madelyn Davis, had her brand-new Jeep stolen right out of the parking lot. It was never recovered.” I shifted in my seat and continued my spiel. “But none of those things are my biggest concern.” I paused for emphasis and glanced down at my chipped nails.
I really need a manicure. Like STAT.
“What terrifies me down to the marrow of my bones is the thought that one of those scumbags will find a way past the gate. We’ve already had that happen once, and Madelyn was—”
I stopped speaking as an unwelcome memory bombarded me.
“Never mind. I don’t want to talk about that. Just know that the last time a known criminal got inside the gate, something awful happened, and it almost cost us someone very important.” I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “And I’d appreciate it if y'all would take action before something like that happens again.”
Anthony continued to scribble on the pad in front of him. “About what time of day does most of the activity occur?”
I crossed my legs and sat up a little straighter. Anthony’s scorching gaze moved to my bare thighs where it lingered for a few seconds before bouncing back to my face.
I smirked.
Well would ya look at that? It seems I’m not the only one affected.
“Usually at night. After seven. I mean, there’s always one dealer out there but more appear when the sun sets.” Gathering my hair in my hands, I draped the long waves over my right shoulder and crossed my arms over my belly. “But that little asshat, D-Boy, comes at various times. Sometimes its morning; sometimes it’s evening. He’s unpredictable.”
Anthony dropped his pen and leaned back in his chair. His eyes never wavered from mine as he placed his hands behind his head, no doubt entwining his long fingers together. “Tell you what”—my belly warmed at the way he was watching me—“I’ll talk to patrol and have them make a few extra rounds over that way.” Dropping his arms, he laid his fisted hands on the desk and tapped his k
nuckles on the solid wood.
Tap, tap, tap.
“I’ll also talk to Narcotics and see what we can do to curtail the drug problem on that side of town.”
With that, he smiled again.
Lord have mercy… that smile!
“That sound good to you?”
Utterly fascinated by him, I bit my lower lip and nodded in return. If I'd tried to speak a flood of gibberish would have spilled out. God knows I’d embarrassed myself enough for one day. And this was so unlike me it wasn’t funny. I never stuttered, and I sure as shit never embarrassed myself in front of a man.
I am way out of my element here.
Moments passed, and we both sat there, silently staring at each other.
It was awkward, but I could have done it all day. For a brief second, I wondered who would be the first to break our mutual stare down, him or me.
I got my answer seconds later.
“Alright, Shelby, if you don’t need anything else, I won’t keep you.” My stomach sank in disappointment when he pulled his gaze from mine and stood up.
Call me crazy, but I didn't want to leave. Not yet anyway.
I stood up and ran my hands down my dress, smoothing out a few wrinkles.
“Thanks for listening to what I have to say, and double thanks for offering to do something about it. The good Lord knows those two knuckleheads out front haven’t lifted a finger to help me the last twenty times I’ve come in here.”
Anthony’s face darkened a smidgen. “They’re both worthless.” His words were fierce, scathing. “They’re part of the good ol’ boy system I was brought in to help get rid of.”
Whoa! Wait a minute.
“Are you telling me they may get fired?” A smile tilted my lips heavenward. “Because if so, I may just crack open a bottle of cheap red wine to celebrate.”
Anthony blinked, but he didn’t grin.
My face dropped in return.
He looked upset.
Like, may have to hide a body kind of upset.
“I’ve got a special brand of hate for men who don’t protect the most vulnerable citizens. And those two”—he pointed towards his office door—“do nothing to help anybody, much less those who need them the most.”
At his words, my heart softened a little, and before I could stop myself, I opened my mouth and asked a question that would either make me respect him or hate him, depending upon how he answered. “That special brand of hate you mentioned, does that include men who hurt women?”
He placed his palms flat on the desk and leaned towards me. “Far as I’m concerned, any man that causes harm to a woman or child should have his nuts cut off with a dull knife and be publicly hung.”
I mirrored his stance and placed my palms on the cool, wooden desk before leaning towards him. Six inches separated his perfectly sculpted face from mine. “Want to know something, Detective Moretti?” My voice was low and husky sounding.
He nodded in reply and licked his lower lip.
A chill raced down my spine.
I tipped one side of my mouth up in a wonky smile and whispered, “You just became one of my favorite people.”
Removing my hands from the desk, I turned around and headed for the door. Glancing over my shoulder one last time, I said, “Thanks for all your help.” Adding a little pep to my step, I tossed a flirty wink in his direction. “See you around, sugar.”
I walked out the door without looking back.
2
Shelby
I woke up in a cold sweat.
My heart pounded as I jerked upright in bed and kicked off the blue quilt that had wound its way around my legs. In a frenzy, I jumped off the mattress and ran full speed towards the small bathroom that sat next to my bedroom. With each step I took, my stomach convulsed, and I was sure it would only be a matter of seconds before the acid burning the length of my esophagus made its way into my throat.
Crossing into the bathroom, I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet. Splinters of pain ricocheted through my thighs and hips as I landed on the cold, vinyl floor with a bone-jarring thud.
An agonized yelp slipped past my lips.
Holding myself steady, I pressed my fingers against the porcelain commode and held on tight as the first heave racked my body, making me throw up what little dinner I’d forced down the night before. Chilled to the bone, goose bumps broke out along my arms. My body shook uncontrollably, and my teeth were close to chattering. Hot tears streamed down my face as fear, a byproduct of the nightmare I’d just awoken from, surged through my veins.
I tried to fight it, but the darkness that lived in the back of my head crept forward, bringing with it a torrent of painful memories. I tried to push it all back but, as always, the past, along with the monster that still haunted me, refused to relinquish its iron-like hold.
Even with an entire state, along with hundreds of miles, separating him from me, I still couldn’t free myself of the mental chains he’d inflicted on me so long ago. All it took was one bad dream for everything, including the sound of his voice, the feel of his touch, and the smell of his skin, to come rushing back.
It all felt so real; almost like he was in the room with me, whispering his cruel taunts directly into my ear. “There isn’t a place you can hide where I won’t find you,” he’d say, menace bleeding into his dark voice. “Doesn’t matter where you go, I’ll come after you. You’ll always belong to me, Shelby Ray.”
Push it back, I told myself. Push him back!
“Go away,” I shrieked to the empty room in between gasps for breath. “GO. AWAY!”
Mentally, I knew that he wasn’t there, that he wasn’t seconds away from harming me, but that did little to ease the panic or quell the adrenaline raging through my veins. Try as I might, I couldn’t block out the visual flashes that streamed before my eyes like a horror movie on an old projection screen.
A horror movie in which I starred as the leading actress.
I closed my eyes, trying to block out the scene playing out before me. I knew it wouldn’t help, but I still had to try. Moments later, my body jerked as it all came rushing back.
The lines of reality suddenly began to blur.
My eyes popped open, and I saw the glint of silver from the knife that he held fisted in his hand. I felt the bite of its blade as he dug it into my sensitive flesh, ripping my tissue and marking my skin forever. I heard his evil laugh and smelled his atrocious, alcohol-laden breath as he leaned over me, his hardened face mere inches from mine.
“You’ve been a bad girl, Shelby Ray. Now you need to be punished.”
Bile rose in my throat.
My mind went into free fall; spinning out of control, there was no way for me to stop it.
“Damn it, leave me alone!” I shouted. “Just leave me ALONE!”
I tried to fight the fear, tried to gain control, but it was to no avail.
The scars he’d inflicted were too strong; the pain too great.
Kneeling on my bathroom floor, my face hovering above the toilet, I realized I might never be free. Despair sliced at my heart like a hot scalpel at the thought. I hated being so scared, hated feeling so weak, and I damn sure hated that my mind wouldn’t allow me to forget.
Done throwing my guts up, I removed my hands from the toilet, plopped onto my butt and slid backward until my back slammed into the bathroom wall. The darkness of the bathroom surrounded me, increasing my fear and agony tenfold.
Pulling my legs into me, I wrapped my arms around my knees. “Calm the hell down,” I whispered to myself, willing both my body and mind to listen. “He’s not here.” I closed my eyes and pressed my face into my knees. “He’ll never be here again.”
Yes, he will, my mind whispered. Remember his promise.
“No!” I shouted again. “I won’t let him come back!” A lump formed at the base of my throat and a fire ignited in the pit of my belly. “I won’t let him near us again!”
I slammed my palms against my ears and shook m
y head back and forth in a desperate attempt to fight off the memories and bring myself out of the mental hell I found myself trapped in.
No matter how many times I tried to pretend otherwise, I was living a nightmare I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to wake up from.
The thought alone terrified me.
I dropped to the floor and lay on my side. Wrapping my arms around my torso, I begged the monster from my past to stop torturing me night after night. Praying to a God I wasn’t sure I believed in, I pleaded with him for the pain to cease, to end.
But it didn’t end.
Second after second, minute after minute, I continued to relive it all.
Until, suddenly, it became too much to bear. My eyelids grew heavy; my limbs became fatigued. Unable to fight the memories any longer, I closed my eyes and allowed the blackness to take me.
I woke up on my back.
I was drained. Exhausted.
I can’t keep doing this.
Feeling my erratic heart rate slow, I tossed an arm over my eyes and exhaled. The terror I’d felt that fateful night—terror for myself and for the innocent child I carried inside of me—still lingered, threatening to emerge at any moment.
Knowing I needed to get up, I pushed myself to a sitting position.
I was so tired. My entire body ached as if I’d just completed a triathlon.
Looking around the dark room, I tried to figure out what I was going to do; how I would get past this. Counseling didn’t help, medication made me feel crazier than I already was, and there was only so much I could block out.
If I’d only—
Suddenly, a high-pitched squeal ripped through the silence of the apartment. My body stilled. “Ma-ma!” It was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.
Lucca.
I jumped to my feet and ran down the hallway that led to his nursery on shaky legs. My stomach was still rolling, and I worried I might get sick again, but it was a risk I was willing to take. At that moment, I just wanted to hold my son. He was the only thing that could cut through the panic-laced fog surrounding me and bring me back to Earth.
