“Whatever you’ve got.”
“A sick fuck.” We both break out laughing at her sharp, no holds barred answer.
“Beyond that.” I calm down and ask her. She stands, walks toward the window and looks out at the city lights.
“Depends on a lot of things.” She crosses her arms, the slight hint of crow’s feet tell me the gears in her brain are spinning fast.
“Such as?”
“Manner of death. Time. Evidence.”
“One GSW slash stabbing, one snapped neck, one sliced throat. Victor’s working on locking down a timeframe. Minimal at best.”
“That’s not a lot to go on.”
“It’s all I’ve got at the moment.”
I watch as she inhales and exhales slowly a few times. It’s something she started doing when I was in the hospital. Maybe to center herself or her thoughts. Sometimes though, you know it’s to block her emotions from coming to the forefront. No matter how many times we talk, fight or do the normal things couples do - there are times when I find her watching me. She’ll just breathe like that for a few seconds, stare at me intently and walk away. The scraping of her heels against the carpet brings my focus back to Frankie. Her pacing, slow, deliberate. Each pace with her right hand swinging ever so slightly, as if she’s figuring out a difficult New York Times crossword. Who are we kidding, they dumbed that shit down years ago. Trust me, I can easily finish them now.
“He obviously had a plan.”
“Okay.”
“I know that seems obvious, but it’s important.”
“I know, but in this case how is the plan more important than normal?”
“The girl was the target. He systematically killed the mother, then son and then the father before taking the daughter.” Frankie stops her pacing and turns to face me. “Was she home during the attack?”
“Right now we’re not sure. Dumping phones and scouring over everything we have on the Johnson family. If we’re lucky Kaley’s phone is still on and we can find her.”
“What?”
“I know it’s the stupid wishful thinking of an optimistic fool.”
“You’re a perpetual pessimist so no, but you said Kaley Johnson?”
“Yeah why?”
“I need to see a warrant.”
I stand and walk to Frankie, somewhat lost as to her comment. She stands with her arms across her chest in a defiant stance, but her eyes are pleading for help. Behavior can be such an improper science or just a clusterfuck as my brother said.
“Why would I need a warrant?”
Frankie walks behind her desk and places her fingertips on the solid wood. She pushes a button on her phone and a voice echoes through the speaker, “Yes, Doc.”
“Brian can you please come in here?”
“Why do you need Brian, your muscle, to come in here? Frankie, what the hell is going on?”
The door opens and a six foot muscle man in a tiny suit walks in the door and looks at me. His confusion mirrors mine as he looks back and forth at the two of us.
“Doc?”
“Brian can you please show the detective out?”
“No Brian, you’re not touching me until someone tells me what the hell is going on.”
“I told you detective, I need to see a warrant before discussing a patient. It’s almost four in the evening, I suggest you get moving.”
Brian walks up to me and gently places his hand on my back.
“Detective, please?”
“Anyone tell you your suit’s too tight?”
He just smiles at me as I feel him push me towards the door. Giving Frankie a look over my shoulder, I see her looking down at her desk. Part of me understands her professionalism, but dammit warn a girl next time before flipping the bitch switch.
***
Walking across the grass field, I’m late. The lacrosse game has to be in the fourth quarter which means I am rather angry at myself. Seeing Frankie sitting at the row’s end on the bleachers cheering is a beautiful sight. Yet, I still want to yell about our conversation a few hours ago. She could have just told me to the truth about Kaley instead of all the pomp and circumstance. She has a lot of explaining to do. I stand next to the bleachers and wait for her to start the conversation. Looking across the field I see Chase’s number five running down the field towards the opposite goal. He takes a shot from a pretty decent distance and Frankie jumps up with her hopes high, only to sigh when the goalie stops it. Slowly, she lowers herself back to the bench.
“You can come up here you know?” She says without looking at me.
“I could, but the game’s almost over.”
“I told him where you were.”
“I figured.”
“He’s not upset.”
“I am.” Those two words grab her attention and she turns to face me.
“I freelance with the police department. I had to keep everything above board. I did to you what I would have done to anyone else coming into my office asking questions about a patient.”
“You could have just been direct and told me she was a patient.”
“That’s never worked on you and you know it.” She turns her attention back to the game.
“I have your warrant.”
“I never doubted that.”
“How’s he doing?”
“One goal which will irritate him but he is great on defense. Just like someone else I know.”
“That was one time.” I laugh as I watch Chase running after an errant pass.
“Which is why you are no longer allowed to play in the annual basketball game anymore.”
“What can I say, I’m competitive.”
She says nothing as the two of us watch Chase get knocked over by a bigger kid. Frankie jumps to her feet and screams at the referee. Chase shakes it off and runs back to the play. He turns to see Frankie standing screaming. He’ll reprimand her for that later. My first instinct used to be to jump, but after one baseball game, he asked me to please stop. Granted those were not any of the words he used, but I got the point. He loves me enough to politely let me down. Of course that was when we would train together. Basketball, baseball, hockey-I could play it all. It was bonding time. Now he plays this game I never understood and have no understanding off. He has practice after school and on weekends without me. It’s a bitter pill to swallow losing that connection. I guess that is why my mom always insisted on going to the park with me. Even in high school, she’d help me sharpen my skills with a game of catch, fielding or batting practice. When I blew my knee out, that ended and with it our bonding time. I wonder if this is her way of cursing me. Might be my brother’s son, but she did wish I’d have a kid just like me. Now I do. I am so screwed.
“Aunt Jazz, what was Aunt Frankie screaming about? It was a clean hit.” My attention brought back by the youngster standing in front of me. Turning around I see Frankie a few steps ahead carrying his bag.
“She’s just protective of you.”
“Like you were?” He wraps his arm around my waist and we head towards the car.
“Still am little man. Just not as verbal about it.”
“Much appreciated. You were late.”
“Yeah, had to see a judge.”
“Don’t the lawyers do that?”
“Yup, but this lawyer insisted I come with.”
“Sounds like fun,” he says ironically. He looks up at me and smiles. He’s getting to the age where I am unsure if those are innocent or mischievous anymore. Either way, he’s more like my brother every waking moment. Just as quickly as his smile comes, it disappears as he turns and runs to catch up with Frankie. He jumps and knocks her hat off her head before running ahead of her. She drops his bag and takes off in a sprint. Watching the two of them brings meaning to my life. These moments of pure joy uninhibited by death or the negative around me, they are perfect.
“Aunt Jazz, first one home gets to control the remote!” I hear from him as the car engine roars to life. Picking up his
bag I know there is no way I can win this race. Besides, he hasn’t caught on that we like the same shows yet. I’ll let him think he has control. Eventually he’ll learn knowledge is power. Until then, I’ll let him be a kid.
Chapter Two
The flickering sound of a fluorescent light permeates my dreams. My eyes slowly open, fighting the light as it blinds me. My hands, unmoving, tied to something. My legs, numb. Mouth gagged. This can’t be real.
“Wakey, wakey!”
I hear as cold water slams against my face, instantly sobering me up from my half sleep. Spitting out and blinking away the water I take in my surroundings. The concrete walls are crumbling around me. The crunch of gravel under someone’s boots sounds just out of my line of vision.
“See this is how I told you it would end.”
Lifting my head I look down at my legs, blood pours from my right one from a rusty nail wound. I don’t feel it, but my mind registers I should feel pain, so I do. It’s excruciating. Screaming into my gag, I feel the skin under my wrists and ankles chafe and split with every jerk of my limbs. Everything in me tells me to stay calm, but nothing in my body in listening. I was trained to manage my emotions. Keep them at bay. Have a steady hand, aim but don’t fire unless you must. If you must, never miss. All the while having absolute control.
As I feel my body twitching, fighting, twisting against my restraints-my mind soars out of sorts. My mind tries to fight the impulses, but memories begin flashing through it and all hope is lost. Fear is reigning over me and there is nothing I can do.
“Now, now, fighting never helped. Look what happened to me?”
Garrison walks into the light, blood trickling down between his eyes. His smile bright and bold as ever. My body stops shaking and my eyes stay on him.
“If you had just let things go. Let me handle the case, none of this would have happened.” He walks closer, the edge of a hunting knife catching my eye. He notices.
“It was my father’s. Used to take me hunting all the time as a kid, but you know that already. It’s in my file.” He slides the blade up my right leg, pausing at my open wound. Looking up at me he smiles viciously and I try to voice my pleas through the gag. Tipping the knife up, I watch it enter my skin, slowly. Once again my brain lets me feel pain my legs are going through and I scream until I’m out of breath. As he pulls out the knife, the blood on the blade is black as night. He looks at it, pleased.
“You and I aren’t very different. You read my file, you know how fucked-up I am. Hell I killed your brother and his wife for a few shots of Patron and a couple of beers. That is how much their lives meant to me, but you…” his eyes slowly turn and lock with mine. “You’re doing this all on your own. Just like I did.”
He leans over my body, so close I can smell the stale cigarettes on his breath. Placing the knife above my heart, I feel it slightly breaking my skin.
“Maybe I should have let you live and watch it take you over, eat you alive. This shouldn’t hurt, but it will.”
He slams the blade into my chest and it feels like my heart is exploding like a water filled balloon. Shaking violently, he holds my head and sings a lullaby to calm me.
***
Shooting up in bed, my hand frantically run over my chest on its own accord. These dreams are coming more frequently now. Every one of them is the same as the last. Each time the pain feels more real, no matter how much I try to deny it. Rubbing my chest, I feel as if I’ve been stabbed. I swear it takes several breaths and my eyes darting around the room before my heart stops slamming in my chest. Looking over to Frankie, she’s still sleeping. That’s a first.
Slipping out of from under the covers as quietly as possible, I slink out of the bedroom and close the door behind me. Mindlessly following the low light at the end of the hall, I see Chase sitting up in bed with his game controller in his hand.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping.” My voice causes him to jump and almost fall out of bed. Normally I would laugh at his movement, but not after that nightmare.
“I should say the same thing to you Aunt Jazz.” He whispers as he finds his controller, pausing his game.
“Online?”
“No, just leveling up.”
“You have school in the morning so turn it off, okay?” I turn to leave him alone.
“You’re not gonna tell Aunt Frankie, are you?” The childlike innocence comes back in his voice and I turn back around, shaking my head. He knows she would remove that system in a heartbeat. Unlike myself who has a system in the basement so he and I can play online together. The days of him sitting on my lap as we would play the newest Lego games are long gone. He also knows how to play me like a cheap fiddle. Frankie disciplines better than I can when he looks at me with those big eyes of his.
“No buddy, you’re fine.” He looks at me as if I’m some math equation he’s trying to decipher. If Aunt Jazz answers a question talking five miles per hour and Aunt Frankie is snoring at three miles per hour, how long does it take to annoy you with stupid improbable questions? The question makes me smile internally at least.
“You remember when I first moved in with you?”
“How could I forge?”
“You let me sleep with you to make the monsters go away. You always said the bed was too big anyway.”
“Well, who knew there were so many hiding in your room? Had I known I would have Hadley come in and sage the place or something.” I try to lighten the conversation even though my body still feels the pain of my dream.
“Nah, that would have made my room smell horrible.” He smiles brightly at me.
“Goodnight buddy.”
“My bed is too big.” It’s a simple phrase, but it makes my heart melt. I want to walk into his room and climb into bed with him, make the monsters go away, but I can’t. This isn’t a battle he needs to win, nor should he have to deal with it. This is mine and mine alone. Not trusting my voice I just smile at him and close the door behind me.
***
Passing through my game room area, I find the hidden key and open the door to my dungeon. The plush carpet turns to cold tile under my feet. The walls littered with memories, dead ends and stunted dreams. I wish I could make sense of it all, but sometimes the mind is so overcome with information we can barely process it. Just like out cell phones where we hide behind the mask of technology that we almost always miss what is right in front of our faces. I feel that way now. This history, these strings, clippings, and images are all in front of my face, yet I see nothing. It is where I hide.
Sitting down in my chair, it is easy to get lost in the mass of information. Strings from case to case, image to image. Red, green and black string. Simple colors with such meaning behind them simply by what they connect. Looking at the photo directly above my desk, my hand wanders to rub my chest again. My mind making me feel pain long gone, yet still in my memory.
Victor stands above my worn out and tired body. His hands covered in my blood, his mouth opened screaming orders. It’s from the hospital when the crime photographer thought I would die. He chose to document as much as possible. It’s such a weird thing to see all of that blood come out of your body and not remember any of it.
“Keep it simple stupid,” I mumble to myself. I have a tendency to overlook things, but seeing beyond what is right there. Sure there is always a bigger picture, but we can be so overwhelmed by how big it really is that we can’t see the tree for the forest. At least my mother always said that.
“She also called you her peanut when you towered over her by seven inches,” I laugh to myself. I know what she meant, but it still made me smile every time I think about it. It was better than when she would scream “tall person” or better yet, “moose”. No idea how that nickname came about, but once again I digress.
If she was alive, what would she do? How would she handle this? I wonder that sometimes. Maybe because I find solace in the idea of her still being here, as a guide who I could trust. Looking over the photos of hospit
al stay, I know that would have killed her had she not been dead already. She never had to deal with my brother dying. If she lived through that and then my brush with death, I doubt she would leave me alone. What is it called? Helicopter parenting. She would have hovered over me, making sure I was okay. Of course I would have been in support, but also her fear. I’m the only girl on both sides of the family. Beyond that, I’m her baby girl.
“A son’s your son until he takes a wife, a daughter’s your daughter for the rest of your life,” once again mumbling the line I knew by heart.
“I wish you were here to make this go away. Maybe make the dots clearer, my mind calmer. I want to climb into your leather chair like I was a kid and smell your perfume.” A lone tear falls from my right eye and I quickly wipe it away. I am an adult, I have said goodbye. I wish this hole would go away.
“But it doesn’t, does it? Never goes away, just changes in size or dominance. You told me what when grandma died. You said your heart was broken, but life heals it. We healed it for you. Watching your children live, have children, fulfill dreams, and you never once complained about being left behind.” Opening the top desk drawer on my right, I pull out an old photo of my mother holding me in full catcher’s gear. A huge trophy in one hand, the other wrapped around her neck. The colors faded and worn from being handled so much. I could scan it and restore it, but it wouldn’t feel the same.
“Frankie says talking helps, but when you can’t answer it hurts, you know? There are so many things I want to ask you about dealing with Chase. What to do when he hits high school? How do I give him the sex talk? What do I do when he answers me back? Well, okay I know what to do with that last one. I just send him to Frankie,” I laugh at myself for my comment.
“It’s funny how much I grew up and became nothing this big tough exterior detective, but I still want my mommy.” Placing the picture back into the drawer, I close it. The sound harsh and final.
Looking back up to the board, I stand and take the black string in between my fingers, following it from point to point. Stopping at a family photo. Garrison stands proudly in his uniform after graduating from the police academy. His father Irving and mother Patricia wrap their arms around his shoulders. A clipping next to the photo reads, “Real Estate Developer’s wife dies in apparent suicide.” He’s lost everything with only his company and connections to hold him up at night. He’s not the head, I know that. His money was new, no schooling, not smart enough or powerful enough to make the moves in city hall. He’s a player on the chess board, and unbeknownst to them… it’s my turn to move.
Melting Steele Page 3
