by Elle Gray
“Not at all,” I say and look up at Chief Munson. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any current missing persons reports, do you?”
He shakes his head. “First thing I checked. So far as I know, every soul is accounted for. Nobody’s been reported missing.”
“So it’s possibly somebody from outside Caribou Pass,” Astra says.
“Likely,” I reply. “Just another forensic countermeasure.”
“Whoever did this is smart,” Astra notes.
I nod. “Just once, it would be nice to have a really stupid killer.”
Astra laughs. “Tell me about it.”
“We’ll need to get the body transported back to the shop,” I announce. “Chief Munson. Can you make arrangements to have the victim sent to our field office? I’d like him to be autopsied by our crime lab.”
“You got it,” he replies. “Truth be told, I’ll be glad to get him out of here.”
We both stand up and pull the gloves off. I look over at Munson, who is still looking at the body, his expression aghast. He slowly raises his eyes to mine, swallowing hard.
“How do you do it?” he asks. “How do y’all cope with this kind of thing? How can y’all stand wading around in blood and bodies like this?”
I shrug. “It’s the job.”
“You get used to it,” Astra replies.
He grimaces. “I don’t know that I could.”
She laughs softly. “You’d be surprised at what a person can get used to.”
“Alright,” he says. “I hope I never have to get used to it.”
“I hear you,” I say. “I wish we hadn’t had to get used to it either. But it’s all part of the job.”
And I am nothing, if not the job. I mean, I don’t even know what I’d be without the job. It’s a thought that bothers me a lot. Makes me wonder how balanced I actually am. For all I preach it, I may be tipping the scale the wrong way; maybe I’m out of balance myself. I know I sometimes feel like I am.
But the question is, which way am I out of balance? Am I actually closer to being like Mo or Chief Munson, completely overwhelmed and lost in the gruesome details? Or am I like Astra, able to take it all in stride?
How would I even be able to tell?
Six
Wood Grain & Steel Beams; Downtown Seattle
“We’ll have this assembled and delivered to you by next Tuesday.”
I give the clerk a smile. “Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome. Please come again.”
I tuck my card back into my wallet, then drop it into my bag and turn away, looking at the items on display as I head for the door. Having hit the ground running once I got back into town, I’m having to play catch up with making my living space… livable. I figure that since I’m planning on being here for a good long while now, I should do something about that.
So far, I’ve got a bed, a nightstand, two bookcases, and a sofa. I can now add an entertainment credenza and dining room table to that list. Or at least, I will by next Tuesday when the entertainment credenza and dining room table arrive. Slowly but surely, I’ll make my place habitable.
“Imagine my surprise to hear the great Blake Wilder needs help assembling furniture. And here I thought there wasn’t anything you couldn’t do.”
I spin around from the familiar voice and find myself face to face with Dr. Mark Walton. Immediately, my heart turns a somersault in my chest. He and I dated briefly before I left for New York. It’s been a while, but with his sandy blonde hair, green eyes, and chiseled face, he’s as handsome as ever. Dr. Mark stands about six feet tall and has a lean, but toned body. He’s got high cheekbones women would kill for but has a smooth, unlined baby face. And already, butterflies rush through my stomach.
We met while Astra and I were getting patched up after a case we worked on together. He was the doctor who was doing the follow up with Astra, and we just sort of clicked straight away. Our romance was relatively brief. We definitely had chemistry, but we didn’t get to actually do much together. It was hard juggling my cases with his shifts at the hospital, and then I left for New York to advance my career. It was a little more difficult than I’d thought it would be to leave him behind, but my career came first. My career still comes first.
We ended things amicably enough and even exchanged text messages for a little while after I moved. Eventually, those tapered off and then stopped altogether. I assumed that he got busy with his own life and maybe even started dating somebody else, and just wanted to focus on his things.
I bore him no grudge for it. For my part, I was busy with my work and even started dating somebody new myself. And with him here in Seattle, and me in New York, it’s not like we were going anywhere anyway. There wasn’t any tension or bad blood about it. It’s just the way life goes.
“I never saw you sneaking up behind me. Apparently, my creep meter is slipping,” I chuckle.
“Creep meter? Ouch.”
We share a laugh, but it quickly fades and an awkward silence descends over us. I don’t really know what to say to him at this point.
“So… having furniture delivered,” he speaks up. “You back for good?”
I shrug. “That’s the plan.”
“What happened to New York?”
“Got promoted. I’m running my own team now.”
“Wow. That’s fantastic, Blake. Congratulations. I’m really happy for you.”
“Thanks,” I say awkwardly. “So, how are things at the hospital?”
“They’re great, thank you. Still just doing my thing. Loving life.”
“Good. I’m happy for you too.”
That strained silence washes over us again and we both look at each other, then laugh nervously.
“I have no idea why this all feels so strange,” I say.
“Yeah, me either,” he says. “Hey, want to go grab a cup of coffee? Catch up with each other a bit?”
I know I should be going home to do a little work to prepare for tomorrow, but I feel like I’ve been on the go from the moment I got back to Seattle. I can afford to take a night off. Right? Or maybe I’m just making excuses because I’m still attracted to Dr. Mark and wouldn’t mind hanging out with him for a bit.
I know I shouldn’t be even thinking about getting involved with anybody right now. There is a ton of pressure at work, what with having all the eyes on my team right now and everything. I should be putting all of my focus and attention on ensuring the success of my unit rather than what’s going on in my personal life. With so much going on, I can’t afford to have a personal life.
God, listen to myself. I can already hear Astra scolding me for not getting back out there when an opportunity like this falls into my lap. If I told her I ran into super hot Dr. Mark again and didn’t go out with him, she’d read me the riot act. And then probably go behind my back to try to hook up with him herself.
“Yeah, that sounds nice.” I silently kick myself for folding like a cheap suit, then as if I can mitigate my collapse, add, “But I can’t be out late on a school night. Got a big day at the office tomorrow.”
“Great. I promise to not keep you out too late,” he says.
We walk out of the furniture shop together and then stroll down Western Avenue. We’re not too far from Pike’s Place, and as if by some unspoken agreement, we head there. When we were dating, we spent a lot of time here, and as we pass by all of the old shops and restaurants that are so familiar to us, I feel a wave of nostalgia wash over me. Some old, fond memories come flashing back to me. I almost have to physically stop myself from lapsing back into those old, familiar feelings.
“How about here?” Mark asks, pointing to a new coffee house that wasn’t here a few years ago. “I’ve tried it before and it’s not too bad.”
Almost immediately, the thought that he brought another woman here flares in my mind and I feel a stabbing pain of jealousy. I want to slap myself silly for having such a stupid feeling. Instead, I give him a smile.
“Sure. Looks good,” I reply.
We walk in and go to the counter. Mark orders his drink immediately like he’s been here a thousand times already. But I take a moment to scroll the menu and opt for a white chocolate mocha. My favorite. We get our drinks, find a table off in the corner, and take a seat.
As I look into his green eyes in the dim lighting of the coffee house, I’m gripped by the old feelings I had for him. It’s not like I was in love with him or anything like that. But I definitely liked him quite a bit, and I like to think he felt the same way. We got on well, had a lot of fantastic conversations, a lot of laughs, and a ton of fun. When we were able to get together, we always had a great time with each other.
Spending time with Mark was always a nice distraction from the daily grind. And the best part was he understood that my job took precedence over everything. He never got upset when I had to break plans with him because of work. He simply seemed happy to spend time with me when I actually had time to spare. Ours was an easy relationship with no strings and no pressure.
My job is stressful as hell, and unfortunately, there are often more bad days than good. Spending time with him was nice and it let me blow off some steam when I needed to. It was nice being able to unplug from my world, my reality, and just enjoy myself with somebody who’s fun and makes me laugh.
And as we sit here over coffee, talking and catching up on each other’s lives, we fall back into that easy banter that always marked our conversations before. He has me laughing and sharing stories I haven’t told anybody before, and it feels like old times again. It’s almost disconcerting how quickly it happened and how easily that awkward tension from earlier vanished.
But things with Mark were always easy. Right from the start. And that doesn’t seem to have changed a bit. That old easy comfort is still there. In a way, it’s like a day hasn’t passed between us. I really like that, but it also scares me at the same time. The last thing I can afford right now is to get involved. Not when I have so much going on and so much on the line right now.
“Have dinner with me,” Mark smiles.
“I can’t tonight. I told－”
“If not tonight, then another night,” he presses. “Just say you’ll have dinner with me sometime.”
I take a drink of my coffee just to buy myself a little time. There’s a big part of me that wants to go out with him again. Having that outlet to get away from the horrors I see every single day would be nice. On the other hand, I hesitate only because I know that I don’t have the emotional energy to spare, given what’s on my plate.
“You’re not seeing anybody right now?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I’m not.”
“I’m surprised by that,” I note.
He shrugs. “I’ve dated a little since you left. Nothing ever stuck though.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I just haven’t found the right girl yet,” he says pointedly, holding my gaze.
It’s not very subtle, his meaning more than clear. And although I’m flattered and it makes my insides quiver, I know I need to pump the brakes here. I clear my throat, never breaking eye contact with him.
“I should probably be up front and honest from the jump,” I say.
“Uh oh,” he says, glancing at my hand. “I don’t see a ring－”
My laughter cuts him off and I shake my head. “No, I’m not married,” I say. “Unless you count being married to my job.”
“Hey, I’m married to my job, too.”
“I just… I can’t afford to lose focus. I’m going to be really busy with all the eyes on me while I’m getting this unit up and running,” I explain. “So I’m really not looking for anything serious, Mark. My job comes before everything right now.”
He chuckles softly. “So it’s no different than the last time we dated, huh?”
A rueful smile crosses my lips. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“Relax, it’s all right. Work is busy for me too,” he replies. “I’m fine with nothing serious right now. I just want to spend time with you.”
My cheeks flush and I look down into my cup. That he’s so all right with me not wanting to be serious, should be a good thing. And I suppose it is. But there’s still a small part of me that thinks I shouldn’t even be sparing that small bit of energy into anything social, let alone anything romantic.
But the key to maintaining one’s sanity and effectiveness is finding that balance, right? It’s about figuring out where that sweet spot between work and life is and settling down into it.
“All right then. I’ll have dinner with you,” I tell him.
“Excellent.”
His smile melts my heart and warms other parts of my anatomy. And all I can do is hope this is what balance feels like.
Seven
Criminal Data Analysis Unit; Seattle Field Office
“Okay, so what do we have?” I ask.
“Not much,” Astra replies.
“That’s encouraging.”
I walk over to the white board I had brought in and reach for the markers, then pause. Frowning, I pick up the red one and look at it, doing my best to stuff down all of the emotion churning within me. I told them to throw out this marker. Is that so hard a direction to follow? To say I don’t like the color red would be an understatement. I don’t allow it in my life at all. Clothes, home decorations, jewelry, nothing. I won’t even eat red apples or cherries.
Red is the color I associate with my parents and all of the horror inducing memories of my childhood. I was twelve, almost thirteen when I came home from school one day to find them both savagely murdered. Executed is probably the better word for it. Their hands had been bound behind their backs, and they each had two bullet holes in the back of their heads.
And what I remember most, the thing that’s the most vivid in my mind is the giant pool of viscous red blood that had spread out on the floor around them. After that, I purged anything and everything red from my life－a practice that holds true even to this day.
My counselor has been encouraging me lately to try incorporating something red into my life. Start small, she said. A pin. A hair clip. Nail polish. Start with something small, but start with something. Dr. Reinhart says it’s important to the healing process and moving forward with my life.
Intellectually, I understand what she’s saying. I get the emotionally symbolic impact of allowing that color back into my life. And yes, I understand how irrational my erythrophobia is. But I just can’t quite turn that corner yet. And it’s always struck me as particularly pathetic that there is a name for my phobia of the color red. But in a strange way, it also makes me feel a bit better. Like maybe I’m not so alone in my hatred for that color. Like there are others out there who have maybe endured the same tragedy I did and are coping the same way.
One part of me feels like a complete and utter failure. I’ve been seeing Dr. Reinhart for so many years now, and I haven’t been able to conquer that fear. I haven’t been able to move on from the murder of my parents and the abduction of my kid sister, Katherine. Kit, I called her. I miss her so much. I miss them all every single day and even after years of therapy, I can’t seem to let go of them.
The reason for that is simple though: their cases have never officially been closed. It was judged to be a home invasion robbery gone wrong but was never officially closed. It’s just been pushed to a back burner and left to rot. Personally speaking, I have questions about how hard the Staties, or the Baltimore County PD, have actually tried to close it.
Actually, I have questions in general. It seems very odd to me that two NSA analysts were literally executed in their home and their daughter kidnapped. They never really talked about their work with me, but I’m intuitive enough to know they were working on some pretty high-level stuff. I’ve also snooped around a bit over the years, and although I never found anything specific, I’ve found some tantalizing breadcrumbs.
Part of me wants to believe Kit just found h
erself in the wrong place at the wrong time and they snatched her up. But it’s the one thing I can’t fit into my theory and has kept me from leveling any accusations. If their work was the reason for their execution, and the men who killed them were from either our government or somebody else’s, then why would they take Kit? Why wouldn’t they just execute her with my folks?
Her abduction is the loose thread in the tapestry of conspiracy I’ve woven over the years, and I know if I pull it hard enough, the whole thing will unravel. I’m sure she’s dead, of course. I can only hope she’s not spent her life being trafficked and sold into some sex slavery ring. I pray every night that’s not true. But her abduction is the one thing that doesn’t make sense with all of this.
It’s why I can’t go in with both guns blazing and accusations of a cover-up until I have specific proof. I won’t. Because when I go in, I’m going to have my ducks in a row, and I’m going to take people down. More than that, it’s going to stick. There will be no possible way they can cover it up.
That’s why I can’t let it go: the lack of finality. Not closure, as Dr. Reinhart is always saying, but finality. An outcome. I need answers before I can close the case in my own mind. It’s why I continue to investigate it when I have free time. It’s why every so often, I still obsessively comb through the evidence, case files, and even their own work that I can get access to. I’ve even been known to employ some less than ethical people to crack into places they shouldn’t be going into, to get information that I’m looking for. Not that the Bureau knows about this, of course.
Sometimes it pays off, and sometimes it doesn’t. That need to follow the evidence and really delve into the case comes in waves; sometimes it burns brighter inside of me and then fades. I can sometimes go a year or so without opening a single file. But I always circle back to it at some point. And that’s because the questions continue to linger. And until that case is closed in my mind, regardless of whether it’s closed by the official investigators, those questions will always linger.
