by Carol Roi
Keeping Secrets
By CarolROI
Rafe squirmed uncomfortably in the lecture hall seat. Why did he let Sandburg talk him into going back to school? Sighing, he took out his pen and a spiral-bound notebook, opening it to the pristine first page. Going back to college to finish his degree, who was he kidding? It had been nearly seven years since he'd last cracked open a textbook not related to police work. First time he'd gone to school, he'd concentrated on the courses he needed to finish his criminal justice major and ignored those pesky electives. Now he found himself trying to finish the last twelve credits he needed to graduate. That was the only reason he could justify taking this class, Ancient Myths and Their Relevance in Modern Society. He stifled a yawn. He was beginning to remember why he hated night classes.
The shrill ringing of the bell signaling the start of class startled him out of his irritated musings. The door at the back of the room opened and shut, and the instructor approached the blackboard, writing her name in bold script before turning to face the class. "Good evening, everyone. I'm Dr. Pallas and this is Ancient Myths. If it doesn't say that on your schedule card, you're in the wrong room." Her eyes roamed the auditorium, a pleasant smile on her face. A few students got up and left.
"Okay, now that everyone's sure they're in the right place, let's get started." Moving to the board, she began writing.
Rafe dutifully copied down the information, trying to contain his surprise. Diandra Pallas, that was the name of Blair's girlfriend, wasn't it? And she taught with him at Rainier, so this must be her. He paused in his writing to scope her out. Damn, she was good looking. He shook himself. Down, boy, she's taken. Still, there was no harm in scoring a few points with the teacher. He grinned and returned to his note taking.
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After class, Rafe had hoped to introduce himself to Dr. Pallas, but a small horde of students surrounded her, asking questions. After listening from the back of the crowd to a few of her answers, he wondered if maybe he wasn't in over his head after all. He decided to catch up with her some other time, and headed out of the building. Pausing on the steps of Hargrove Hall, he glanced across the commons to the Student Union. The bookstore was still open; he could pick up the required books and get a head start on the reading for next week.
Forty-five minutes later Rafe headed for his car, a bag of books in one hand and a cappuccino in the other. College sure had changed since the last time he'd been there. Starbucks in the cafeteria, the whole world was going corporate. Shaking his head and grinning to himself, he unlocked the car door and tossed the books on the passenger seat. He was about to climb in when a strange sound caught his ear.
Setting his coffee on the dashboard, he closed the door and listened. There it was again. Steel striking against steel. It seemed to be coming from back of the Union, where the river cut behind the campus. Investigative training taking over, Rafe headed toward the noise at a trot, hoping his instincts were wrong and the sound didn't mean trouble.
He followed the asphalt bike path through the small grove of trees lining the river. As he drew closer, the sound became louder and seemed to have a strange kind of rhythm to it. Coming to the intersection of the bike path and the trail that ran alongside the water, he hesitated, unsure of which way to go. The noise came again, and off to his left was a flash of light, like a spark.
Moving in that direction, he realized that about a hundred yards ahead of him a footbridge spanned the narrow part of the river, connecting the path with a parking lot on the other side. Street lamps illuminated the path and the bridge, but they were thirty yards apart and the light they provided was dim. It was enough, though, to make out two figures on the bridge, engaged in some kind of battle, with, of all things, swords. Each time the two blades met, sparks flew.
He moved to the end of the bridge, observing the duel for nearly a minute, trying to decide if they were just a pair of jokers fooling around, or if they were serious. The slightly smaller fighter brought their weapon down in a slashing motion causing the larger man to stagger back with a cry. That answered that question; they were serious. Drawing his weapon, Rafe stepped onto the end of the bridge. "Cascade PD! Freeze!"
The smaller person glanced over their shoulder in the detective's direction, her feminine features visible in the lamp light directly over the combatants. It was a fatal mistake. The other fighter plunged his sword into her midsection, impaling her. While Rafe watched in horror, her weapon dropped from numb fingers as her enemy pulled his blade from her body. She staggered back against the railing, then rolled backwards over it, her limp body silently swallowed by the cold water.
The victor glanced at Rafe for a brief moment, then he, too, leapt over the guardrail and into the river.
For several seconds, Rafe was too stunned by what he had witnessed to move. Then he was running for the center of the bridge, yanking his cell phone out of his pocket. As he waited for his call to be answered, he peered down into the murky liquid, straining for any sign of the two people. Unfortunately, the rains had been heavy that winter, and the water flowing under the span was a raging torrent. There was no way they could have survived.
Cascade PD dispatch came on the line, and the detective quickly gave a summary of the events and his location. Assured the police and the fire rescue squad were on their way, he closed the phone and put it away. Squatting on the wooden planking, he took his first good look at the sword the woman had dropped. He knew a little something about weapons, and recognized it as the sword of a samurai, a katana. An old one, too, by the looks of it. The carving on the ebony hilt was worn and shiny from many years of use.
His thoughts turned again to the woman, the only one of the two he'd gotten a good look at. Who was she? Closing his eyes he went back in his mind to the moment she had turned her face toward him, trying to come up with a description to give the other cops when they arrived. She'd been tall, only a few inches shorter than her opponent, and wearing a long, dark trenchcoat. Her hair was dark and had been pulled back in a ponytail. In fact, she looked a lot like& oh, god, like his instructor, Dr. Pallas.
The thought startled him so badly he lost his balance and sat back on his ass. But the more he thought about it, the more he believed it was her. Getting to his feet, he glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes had passed since he'd called it in. Where in the hell were they? He'd given good directions, hadn't he?
A bright flash of lightning lit up the night. Now what was going on? The sky was cloudless; he could see the stars clearly. Another bolt of electricity struck the ground, about a half-mile down river from the bridge. As he watched several more strikes hit the ground, and it looked like a small fire had been started. He hated to leave the area before the police arrived, but his gut was telling him the strange electrical storm was connected the people on the bridge.
He picked up the sword in his gloved hand, knowing he shouldn't, but not wanting to leave it where it was in case someone other than the police came along before he got back. Leaving the bridge, he began jogging down the trail. As he passed the place where the trail bisected the bike path, he heard his name being called. Pausing, he turned around to find Jim Ellison walking up to him.
"Rafe, I was driving by when I heard the call on the radio. What's up?" Jim looked him up and down, a puzzled expression on his face.
He realized he was still carrying the sword. "Uh, it's evidence." He pointed to the bridge. "There were two people fighting up there, a man and a woman, with swords. The man stabbed her and they both went over the railing. They just disappeared. The water is really rough there; I don't think they could have survived." He follo
wed Jim as he headed to the crime scene. "And there's something else, Jim. I got a pretty good look at the woman's face. I think it was Blair's girlfriend, Dr. Pallas."
Ellison pulled up so fast Rafe ran into his back. Turning around, he said, "Let me see that sword."
Holding it out for his inspection, Rafe asked, "Does it look familiar to you?"
A flicker of emotion crossed the big detective's face, then it was gone. "I know she owns several swords like this," he said carefully. "I don't know if this is one of them, though." He continued toward the bridge, walking out into the center of the span, inspecting the planking and the railing. Rafe stood back a bit, letting Jim work.
Jim looked up from examining the railing. "Is this where they went over?" Rafe nodded. "There's some blood here on the rail." He moved closer to the edge, looking down into the swirling, churning water. Finally, with a long sigh, he straightened. "I don't think we're going to find them, at least not here, maybe downstream." He looked back toward the campus. "I think the fire department's here. You want to go send them down?" He stretched his hand out. "Leave the sword here, though."
Handing it over to the senior detective, Rafe turned to go, when Jim spoke again. "While you're up there, can you check the parking lot for Dee's truck? It's a '77 Jeep Wagoneer, blue, with wood panels. Call me on my cell if you find it."
"I'm on it, Jim." He headed back toward the Student Union building, part of him a little irritated at the way Ellison had just taken over, but more relieved that he would be the one fielding the other emergency personnel's questions. It had been difficult enough relaying the strange story to Jim.
Meeting the rescue crew on the way, he pointed them in the right direction, then paused. He hadn't gotten a chance to investigate that weird lightning. It would just take a minute, he rationalized, and if Dr. Pallas' car was in the parking lot and she was in the river, it wouldn't be going anywhere, now would it? Instead of turning to go up the hill, he jogged along the river, slowing as the smell of ozone and burnt foliage reached his nose.
Pulling a small flashlight out of his pocket, he flicked it on, and began a slow inspection of the riverbank. There wasn't much to find, some burned bushes, a couple long scorch marks on some tree trunks, and to his surprise, some crushed long grass, like someone had walked on it. Nothing to connect the area with the fight on the bridge, except& . He ran his light over the area again. Blood. Not much of it, but it was fresh. There was no trail though; nothing to indicate that anyone injured had walked away from the area. He moved closer to the river's edge, shining his light out on the water. The slim beam didn't penetrate the darkness very far, and he quickly gave up. As he turned back to the trail, he shined the light over the ground again. This time he picked out what looked like some kind of drag marks in the mud. Whether they were from someone being hauled out of the river, he couldn't tell. All in all, there wasn't much to be found. Still, he should probably let Ellison know. Taking out his cell, Rafe hit the speed dial as he walked back toward the campus.
"Ellison."
"This is Rafe. I haven't made it to the parking lot yet, but there's something kind of strange about 800 yards down stream from the bridge. I found a spot with some scorch marks and what looks like blood. No sign of either person though."
"Thanks, Rafe. I'll send someone to check it out. And call me if you find the truck."
"Will do." He clicked the phone off. Crossing the commons, he headed for the faculty parking lot next to Hargrove Hall. One vehicle remained, an older model, light blue Jeep Wagoneer. Turning on his flashlight, he peered through the windows. There was a briefcase on the passenger seat, the initials DP embossed on the side. Damn it. Rafe glanced at the building. Maybe she was in her office. After trying all the doors and finding them locked, he gave up and called Ellison again.
He relayed his information, and was told to go home, that the other detective would take care of it; he could write his report in the AM. Rafe went back to his car and climbed in, then dumped his ice-cold coffee out on the ground. He shut the door and stuck his keys in the ignition, but made no move to start the car.
What in the hell had she been doing? Why would a respected college professor be on a bridge in the middle of winter having a sword fight with some guy? Rafe shut his eyes, the battle playing out against his closed lids. Each lunge, each thrust perfectly parried until the moment he'd yelled. He could see it in slow motion, her head turning toward him, her ponytail swinging, her eyes widening as her opponent's blade slid through her, the point gleaming in the faint light as it emerged from her back.
He'd killed her as surely as if he'd been the one wielding the sword.
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Rafe exited the elevator and walked slowly down the hall. Never had the journey to the door of Jim and Blair's loft seemed so long. He'd started to drive home, then decided he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't tell Blair what had happened, tell him how sorry he was, not that that would make up for his loss, but& .God, he couldn't even put two thoughts together, he was so badly rattled by the whole night.
Reaching the door, he tried to compose himself then knocked. After a long wait, it was finally opened. Blair Sandburg stood in the doorway, dressed in a T-shirt and sweats, his hair rumpled and his eyes red. For a moment Rafe thought he'd gotten his friend out of bed; it was almost 1 AM. Then he noticed the tracks of dried tears on Blair's face. He already knew; Ellison must have called him. Maybe they found the body, maybe--
"Rafe? What are you doing here at this hour, man?" Blair asked, his voice husky.
"Jim called you, didn't he?"
The other man frowned. "Jim? Is something wrong, is he in trouble?"
If Ellison didn't break the news to him, then why had Sandburg been crying? This night was getting weirder and weirder. Taking a deep breath, Rafe opened his mouth to confess when movement behind Blair stopped him. A dark head of hair appeared over the back of the couch as the person rose, followed by the rest of a very feminine form clad only in a man's bathrobe. He felt the blood rush from his face.
"Rafe, you okay? You're scaring me here." Blair's fingers closed around the detective's elbow and gently tugged him into the loft.
He couldn't tear his eyes away from her. When he could finally speak, the only words Rafe could force past his lips were "You're dead."
Diandra Pallas walked around the sofa to stand beside Blair. She raised an eyebrow and inclined her head in Rafe's direction. Blair commenced with introductions. "Um, Dee, this is one of Jim's colleagues, Detective Brian Rafe. Rafe, this is my girlfriend, Dee Pallas."
Rafe couldn't get past the vision of the sword plunging into her. "I saw you die," he said aloud.
"Are you sure you feel okay, Rafe?" Blair asked, his tone slightly patronizing to Rafe's ears.
"I'm fine!" he snapped. "But I know what I saw!" He thrust a finger toward Dee. "You were fighting with some guy, on the bridge behind the student union. You both had swords. He killed you! I distracted you, and he just& he just shoved his blade right through you." His eyes dropped to where the robe was belted at her waist.
"Detective Rafe, I don't know what you thought you saw, but I am perfectly fine." Taking his hand in hers, she held it to her throat. "Feel that? That's my pulse. I'm as alive as you are."
Rafe snatched his hand away, shooting a glance at Blair, finding his expression to be one of amusement. "You think this is funny, Sandburg? I come over here all worried because I thought I'd witnessed your girlfriend being murdered and& ." He looked back at her, his anger highlighting what his shock had overlooked. Her eyes and cheeks showed traces of tears like Blair's did. What in the hell was going on?
Her hands tugged at the belt of the robe, loosening it, then flinging it casually open. Rafe stared; the first thought going through his mind was she must do hundreds of sit-ups to have abs like that. His second thought was there was no cut, no scratch, no gaping wound. In fact, there wasn't
a mark of any kind on her skin, of which there seemed to be quite a lot. And that was when Rafe realized he was staring at Blair's naked girlfriend. He shot his friend a glance, noticing that he was beet red, but there was no anger in his eyes, only mild embarrassment.
"I think he's done looking, Dee."
She closed her robe and tied the belt again. "Are you satisfied now, Detective?"
Rafe nodded. "I believe you. Only now I have to ask myself again, who was the woman on the bridge?"
Diandra shrugged. "I'm sorry I can't help you. I wasn't there."
"Why is your truck still in the university lot?" Despite his earlier words, Rafe was having a difficult time letting this go.
"It wouldn't start. I called a cab for a ride here."
Blair nodded. "She's been here a while."
Both of them seemed so calm, so self-assured, like two people fighting with swords was an everyday occurrence in their lives. Rafe sighed. They weren't going to tell him anything else. "I'm sorry to have bothered the two of you. Glad it was just a case of mistaken identity." He was turning to leave when he spotted the black trenchcoat hanging on a hook by the door. There was a small puddle of water underneath it.
