“Admit what? About me using coke?”
“That you’re not as certain about your innocence as you’ve been saying.”
“I didn’t start that fire,” Bo snapped. “I can’t remember shit about that night, but I remember how I feel about Brian Mack. I would never do anything to hurt him.”
“Yet, you said you honestly can’t remember if you’re guilty or not. Listen, I’m not asking you to spill your soul here. But if you remember something you’re not telling me, no matter how small or unimportant you think it may be, you need to tell me.”
Bo held his gaze on Nikkie. To Nikkie, he had the look of someone who needed to tell someone something, but had no idea how to tell it. He started to shake his head, then paused. He dropped his head and began looking at his folded hands on his lap. “I didn’t start that fire,” he began. “But I keep getting these flashes of memory about watching Mack’s house burn. But then I get the feeling that I wasn’t watching it burn but was outside his house before the fire got going. Like I was driving by in my car. One second, I see myself standing in the backyard as the fire starts to rip, the next second, I’m driving somewhere. I have no idea which memory is real, or if either one of them is real. But they both can’t be real. I couldn’t have been in Mack’s backyard and driving past his house at the same time.”
“That’s not the only memory you’ve been recalling, is it?”
Bo turned to face Nikkie and smiled. As he smiled, Nikkie began thinking that Bo’s smile was certainly the type that charmed plenty of women’s pants off. But she knew it wasn’t Bo’s normal smile. His normal smile would have his eyes adding their own bit of magic to the package. This smile was nothing but lips revealing very white teeth. “I like you, Nikkie. You’re obviously hot, but I think you have a good head on your shoulders, too.”
“Brains and boobs, right?” Nikkie said.
“You said it, not me. But, yeah.” Bo turned his body to face Nikkie.
“Let me give you a bit of advice,” Nikkie said as she unbelted her seatbelt. “Telling a woman she’s hot and has a good head on her shoulders is as much of a turn-on as saying she reminds you of your mother.” She opened her door, then paused, turned back towards Bo, and said, “You do that a lot, don’t you?”
“Do what? Test the waters with attractive women?”
“No. You jump into full flirt mode whenever you get nervous. You flirted with me in your home twice this morning, both times right during a stressful conversation.”
“Ever think I may actually be attracted to you?”
“Possible,” she said. “But that’s not it. You’re keeping something from me. Something besides your conflicting memories. Here’s my advice to you, do with it what you will. You and me, ain’t gonna happen. So, either drop the high school flirting act and tell me the truth, or keep up with the games, keep your secrets and probably end up someone’s plaything in the state pen. Your choice.”
Nikkie was at the front desk speaking with the receptionist when Bo walked into the office. She turned, pointed to an empty chair in the corner of the waiting room, then walked towards the door.
“I need your mother to do something for me,” she said. “You going to be okay with the procedure or do you need me to hold your hand?”
Bo’s first reaction was to suggest that Nikkie hold a different part of his anatomy, but caught himself and said he’d be fine without her.
After leaving a message for Crown, who hadn’t answered her cell phone, Nikkie walked back into the lab office and sat in an uncomfortable blue, molded plastic chair. In the waiting room with her was a correction officer sitting beside a shackled hispanic-looking man. The prisoner seemed intensely nervous about something. Nikkie wondered if the prisoner—who looked like he’d been behind bars a long time and had spent most of his imprisoned time lifting weights—was nervous about what the lab technician would find floating around his bloodstream or about having to face a needle. Nikkie’s father, whom she always believed was the strongest, bravest man in the world, would regress back to being a four-year old whenever his doctor ordered blood tests.
She waited until the nervous prisoner was called to the blood-letting room, returned after surviving his ordeal and left the building before she inquired about Bo with the receptionist.
“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said, “we won’t have the results back for several hours. We’ll call as soon as we are finished and have the results.”
“Actually,” Nikkie said, “I’m just wondering how much longer Mr. Randall will be?”
The receptionist’s face scrunched into the look a confused person wears. She raised a thin finger, and said, “Hold one sec.” Nikkie watched the receptionist disappear into the back office. She was gone less than a minute before returning. “There seems to be some confusion here,” the receptionist said. “You’re looking for Mr. Boregard Randall?”
“Yes. I checked him in no more than twenty minutes ago.”
“Thought so. Thought you dropped him off then left. I saw you walk outside and, honestly, didn’t notice that you had walked back inside.”
“Can you tell me where Mr. Randall is, please?” Nikkie said, sensing Bo had left the building.
“He chose not to have his blood drawn. Said he was feeling queasy. He practically ran out through the back door when the phlebotomist pulled the needle out of the cabinet.
“Show me the back door,” Nikkie said.
“I’m sorry, but HIPPA regulations prevent…”
Nikkie spun around, bolted out the front door. She ran around the small office building and found what she assumed to be the only back door to the lab. Bo was gone and nowhere to be seen.
“Son of a bitch.”
She pulled out her cell phone, dialed Crown’s number again.
“What the hell do you want?” Crown said. “I’m busy.”
“Glad you’re in such a good mood, Crown. Bo took off. Slipped out the back of the lab after pretending he’s afraid of needles. I have no idea where he went to.”
There was a long, pregnant pause on the line.
“Crown? You still there?”
Crown spoke in a low, quiet voice. Her tone sounded like that of someone facing a horrible truth, as if a possibility they had denied seeing was suddenly and forcefully shoved in front of their face. “Did you try his cell phone?”
“He told us he lost his cell phone the night of the fire. Not sure if he bought a replacement yet.” Nikkie said.
“I don’t like this, Nikkie,” Crown finally said. “Something is going on with my son that I don’t understand.”
Nikkie said, “Crown, don’t jump to any conclusions. We’ll figure this out, one way or another. We will get to the bottom of this mess.”
“He isn’t afraid of needles,” Crown said sullenly. “He’s afraid of what the blood test might tell us. He’s afraid that he might actually spend the rest of his life in jail. Nikkie, I think he ran and he’s not coming back unless he comes in the backseat of a cop car.”
“Listen, if he’s on foot, which he must be unless he arranged for someone to pick him up, he couldn’t have gotten far. I’m going to drive around this area for a while, see if I can find him. I’ll call you when I either find him or can’t locate him.” Nikkie paused, took a deep breath, then said, “Stay calm, Crown. There’s a lot we don’t know about this case. But we will figure it out. Trust Derek and me. We’re good at this shit.”
Crown ended the call without anything else said. Nikkie walked around the building after surveying the immediate area for any sign of Bo. Seeing nothing, she got into her rental car and pulled out into the street. She assumed that Bo had a twenty minute jump on her, and though Bo was in excellent physical condition, she didn’t think he would risk drawing any attention to himself by running to wherever he was headed.
“Twenty minutes at three and a half miles per hour means I have an area of just over four square miles to find someone who doesn’t want to be found. Wonderful,�
�� she thought to herself. Knowing that Ravenswood was south of her location, Nikkie headed that direction first. She kept on the main road till she drove just under two miles, then made a U-Turn, and headed north for four miles. Seeing no sign of Bo, she returned to the lab’s office, then headed west. She thought she caught sight of Bo sitting in a coffee shop but after spending the time to park her car and walk back to the coffee shop, she realized the only thing she had accomplished was giving Bo an additional five minutes to disappear.
Nikkie drove around town for close to an hour before deciding her chances of finding Bo were probably just as good if she was sitting in his kitchen as they were if she drove every street in town. She called Crown. Her call, after five rings, went to voicemail.
ˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇˇ
Crown stayed back at Bo’s house and was planning to remain there until Nikkie and Bo returned from the doctor’s office. When the two returned, she had decided, she would make a call to Louis Randall and demand a meeting. She thought it strange, after setting her mind to her agenda, that any time spent with her ex-husband was better referred to as a “meeting” as opposed to anything connoting less of a business endeavor. Better and safer to have a “meeting” than a “get-together” or to “spend some time together.” But that tone, that format was comfortable for both her and Louis. A meeting, and the expectations a meeting implied, would lessen the chances of any emotions, either fresh or old, from spilling out.
Louis and Victoria were married two days after she celebrated her twenty-second birthday. He was her only love to that point, and if pressed (and persuaded with enough alcohol), probably the only love of her life. Their marriage lasted just less than five years and while Victoria did remarry, she did so purely to fend off boredom, loneliness and debt collectors.
Louis was building his law firm, having made the decision to open his own firm after realizing the real money comes when your name appears first on the business cards. Louis had the drive and determination to start his own firm and Victoria was certain he would, someday, be successful. But while Louis had the emotional and mental traits needed for success, he lacked clients. One year after Louis quit his position as associate partner with a law firm in Cleveland, Ohio, answering their home phone became a stressful event, as debt collectors, angry bankers and collection agencies seemed to have their number on speed dial. Louis’s law firm took almost exactly two years before the incoming revenue exceeded the outgoing expenses. And once things turned in their favor, they really began to turn.
By the time the couple celebrated their third anniversary, they had moved from their one bedroom apartment to a palatial, three thousand five hundred square-foot house in the suburbs of Cleveland. Victoria was able to stop serving as the firm’s receptionist and spent her time in their home, preparing for the birth of their baby.
When Boregard Louis Randall was born, Louis’s firm had added two partners, opened new offices in Albany and Newburgh, and exceeded five million dollars in earned revenues.
Things were going better than expected for the couple. Louis’s firm continued to expand and the outside investments he’d made all seemed to have been made by a master investor or someone with inside information. Money poured into their accounts from sources Victoria never knew about and, after a short while, never cared about. She was content to have Louis building a secure future while she stayed at home and raised their son.
It wasn’t much after Bo’s birth that Crown began to suspect Louis was spending his time outside the home doing things besides growing his businesses. By the time Bo turned three, Crown had hired a private investigator to follow her husband and was soon after presented with glossy eight-by-ten-inch photos of Louis and another woman in compromising positions.
She kicked Louis out of the house when, after confronting him with the evidence, he only responded by pointing to the woman in the pictures, saying, “Those pictures can destroy her life.” She later found out that the woman was a US Senator’s wife, a discovery that happened well after the divorce papers were signed, filed and processed.
Though Louis fought for and was awarded partial custody, it was Crown who raised Bo. Louis spent his time growing his law firm, venturing into new ways to earn money and establishing his reputation and position with people of influence, both in the world of business and in politics. Crown was quick to give Louis credit for following through on two commitments he had made to her: Paying alimony and child support and paying an additional monthly sum in cash to Crown in exchange for her silence about his affair with the Senators’ wife.
After Bo went away to college and moved to Ravenswood, his and Crown’s relationship became strained. He was eager to get out from beneath Crown’s controlling ways and she was intent on doing whatever she could to keep her only child safe in a world filled with danger and tragedy. Despite the strain, Crown and Bo kept in contact and made a point of getting together a few times each year. But he was becoming his own person and, as painful as it was for Crown to accept, didn’t need Crown to watch over him as much and as severely as she wanted to.
As Nikkie and Bo left for the lab, Crown set her mind to cleaning Bo’s house. Maybe running out to the grocery store and filling Bo’s cupboards and fridge with food as well. She assumed that her cleaning and shopping would anger Bo, after all, he had been living on his own for several years and was doing just fine without his mommy taking care of him. But he’d get over his anger, Crown thought. His house was a mess and his refrigerator contained four times as much beer as food. Yes, she was going to clean his house, run out to the grocery store and buy some healthy, nutritious food for her son.
That was her intention.
She even looked for cleaning supplies and jotted down a few grocery items she knew Bo needed.
But her intention was interrupted; prevented from being realized.
The shuffling thuds he heard coming from behind her—that she at first assumed was a distant delivery truck rumbling down Bo’s street— proceeded the intense, sharp, cracking pain in the back of her head. She collapsed to the floor as the pain in her head erupted, sending disturbing sensations that reminded her of electric shocks racing through her entire body. She fell straight down, legs folded beneath her, arms splayed to her sides. She felt herself falling forward and knew she should at least try to brace her fall. It was her face, after all, that would otherwise be rudely introduced to the cool, hard tile floor of Bo’s kitchen.
But her arms refused to respond to her urgent request and as her nose met the floor, flattening and spilling blood across the same floor she had just swept and mopped clean, and Crown began to slip into unconsciousness. She heard a strange humming sound and was unable to decide if the sound had its origins inside her skull or from some outer source. When the humming grew louder, it lost its monotone, vibrating characteristics, and morphed into something driven and birthed by intelligence. They were words she was hearing. Deep, scowling sounding words, repeated over and over. Perhaps the speaker needed to ensure she received the message before she completed the full slip into unconsciousness. Or maybe, the speaker suffered from obsessive compulsive disorder and felt compelled to repeat statements over and over again. She decided it didn’t matter once she understood the words. She didn’t have time to consider what the words, strung together into a phrase, meant and she certainly lacked enough interest in trying to understand what message the speaker was trying to convey or what personal demons he was battling with that would incite him to formulate the phrase.
It was just the words themselves she heard and, somehow, knew she needed to be able to recall when she returned to the waking world. If, of course, she did come back.
“Don’t go digging where you ain’t s’pose to dig.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
The town of Ravenswood was a sprawling suburb. Though the 2010 census put the population of Ravenswood at sixteen thousand three hundred and fifty, the town covered as many acres as would a city two or three times its size. There were sever
al farms scattered about the northern ends of the town; most of their fields being filled with corn or hay. Closer to the town’s center, fields of strawberries, blueberries and apple trees added their dashes of color to the upstate New York town. Ravenswood’s main street, appropriately and wholly unimaginatively named “Main Street,” had nearly completed its transformation from being lined with small shops, diners, locally owned restaurants and gift shops to brightly lighted chain restaurants, strip malls—anchored by major retail chains—big box electronic and home improvement stores, twenty-first century-style cinemas and a splattering of locally owned speciality shops which were somehow able to survive despite the constant need to reinvent themselves.
He drove around the town, trying to get a feel of it and to familiarize himself with specific locations he felt might be important in the case. He drove up Morris Road, past the cordoned off, burned-to-the-ground home of Brian Mack. He drove past Bo Randall’s home, taking notice of Nikkie’s rental car parked in the driveway. He then back to Main Street, and followed it south for a few miles till he saw a sign reading “Thanks for Visiting Ravenswood. Come Back Again, Soon.” He turned east, followed a sinuous, tree-lined road until he came upon an area of several new housing developments. Having no familiarity with the Town of Ravenswood, Derek, judging by the large homes with elaborate roofing designs, that there was plenty of money in the bank accounts of several Ravenswood residents.
He continued driving east till the houses—even larger and possessing greater curb appeal—thinned out. Soon, there were no more houses, only a large, old growth forest surrounding the road on each side. Up ahead, about one hundred yards from where the forest grew dense and dark, Derek saw a small parking area off to the right hand side of the road. He noticed two men tossing large, black, bulging garbage bags into the bed of the sole truck parked in the area. He slowed, wondering what the two men could have in the bags, and noticed that there were at least five other bags, each stuffed and bulging with the unknown contents, sitting in the bed of the truck. Upon seeing Derek slowly drive by, the two men glanced at each other, quickly tossed the final bags into the back of the truck, hopped in the cab and were soon speeding off in the opposite direction Derek was headed.
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