To Genevieve, her brother in-law gave new definition to being truly a worthless wimp; he was a lot like a woman. He got upset if Amelia forgot their anniversaries and he expected, during these occasions, for Amelia to take on the role of the man and pay.
The whole relationship was truly twisted, but what could be done?
Amelia was her own worse enemy. She was trying to feed her overly bloated ego by lying to herself over how happy she was. When in all fairness, she really wasn't.
It was Malcolm's persisted presence, that finally ended up yanking Genevieve out of her thoughts. While Genevieve was still feeling that ever present headache, throbbing in her temples, and was far from in the mood to talk to her ex-douche bag partner, she decided to just let him have the full extent of her wrath. “What do you want, dickhead?” she growled.
It was on rare occasions, that Genevieve had ever seen her former partner get angry. Yet, when he did, it usually was like a grenade’s pin coming out – soon there would be a huge explosion.
This, just so happened, to be one of those rare occasions. If there were two things, that Malcolm absolutely hatted being called, it was dickhead and douche bag. Genevieve, on more than one occasion, had the sick gratification of being able to brag that she had called him both.
As brief as that angry, irritated, look in Malcolm's eyes was, Genevieve was gratified to know that she, again, had been responsible for that anger. Yet, no sooner had that flare been there, was it quickly replaced with a broad smile.
“Ah, Genevieve, baby, wont we ever be friends?”
“Not in this life time, douche bag.”
With his smile faltering somewhat, he said, “Really...Why not?”
It was a surprise to Malcolm, when Genevieve suddenly stood up from her chair. Yet, that surprise didn't last, when she sarcastically said, “Okay, Malcolm..., we can be friends...”
“Really...?”
“Yea...Of course, that is, after I become friends with a rattlesnake...” seeing that anger flare up in his eyes again, she said sweetly, “So, when that happens, you and I can become the best of friends...” doing her best stupid, ditzy, bitch impression, she said, “Like girlfriends.”
Picking up the file on her desk, she purposely pushed past him.
Before leaving, Genevieve, swiveling around, said, “By the way, the only butt-head known in this precinct; is the cop who stole those six kilos from the evidence locker.”
XXX
As Genevieve sat in Star Bucks, staring out the window at all the traffic, she tried to surf the internet with her useless laptop. The computer was so slow, that it took her thirty minutes just to get logged into Star Bucks' wifi and an extra twenty minutes just to get online.
Yet, once she had, she was able to look up Monica Summers.
Like most of the people in this day and age, Monica had a Facebook account. Yet, unlike most facebook addicts, Monica hadn't posted anything new since the day she had disappeared; which was July 7, 2013 – almost six months had past since her disappearance.
Her relationship and job status, was the only thing that had changed; she was currently single and starting her own little bakery.
So, here was a woman who was moving into a healthier beginning; out of an abusive relationship and into a more prominent career.
So the real question was:
Why would someone leave all that behind – work, family, friends, and so forth?
And the answer was, they wouldn't. At least not willingly.
There were upsides and downsides about being a cop. One upside, and, ironically, this was also, a downside, was that every good cop developed this keen intuition. It was that very intuition, that was telling Genevieve, the exact same thing that the North Carolina authorities were already saying; and that was that Monica was dead. Yet, while her cop intuition was saying this, her all too hopeful optimism, was hoping that Monica had just decided to run away from it all –get a new start somewhere else.
As Genevieve continued immersing herself in the profile picture of this once happy, vibrant, young woman on her computer screen, she felt a small smile creeping to her lips.
Monica had one of those infectious smiles.
She was a very appealing woman; with curly light brown hair, brown eyes, a slightly askew nose, a darkish European complexion, and a very pretty smile. It wasn't just Monica's appeal, though, she had looks that were very similar to her own sisters. If Genevieve hadn't known better, she would have sworn that she was staring at one of her sisters or at least someone that was related to her.
When she eventually pulled herself away from Monica's profile picture, Genevieve started surfing the rest of her facebook pages. As she skimmed through Monica's numerous pictures, Genevieve noticed a few with James Fording. And, again, she was blown away by how creepy the guy looked. While in certain pictures he had his arm possessively around Monica, he still, in all those pictures, had that same creepy, cold, expression plastered to his face.
Whatever Monica had seen in James Fording, must have been a deceiving mask that was quickly removed once he had his hooks in her.
As Genevieve continued to stare at this one picture, that had James possessively holding Monica in it, she found herself, again, utterly, hypnotized by his cold stare.
Time seemed to stand still. And while Genevieve stared at this picture, her imagination took a turn for the extreme; the picture appeared to have a mind of it's own; it came alive.
As the picture started moving, like an old movie, with James' frozen expression changing from that to a sinister smile, Genevieve found herself wanting desperately to pull her gaze away from his. Yet, in the end, she could only stare directly into his cold gray eyes. The penetrating way that his gaze went right through her, had her wondering how a person could stand being stared at in such a way?
He left her paralyzed.
She wondered if Monica had felt the same about James. Possibly that was why it had taken her so long to leave him.
Had he threatened her with his piercing stares?
Who's to say.
Just when she thought her eyes couldn't get any more deceiving, Genevieve became convinced that James' stare had went from penetrating to actually winking at her.
As she leaned closer to the picture, to get a better look. It was, then, that she noticed these horrible fangs protruding from beneath James' gum line.
What the hell was going on?
She had wanted to blink, before, but, again, it was like her eyes were fixated on his face.
When she thought that she was going to lose her mind, if she didn't pull her gaze away from his, it was then that her cell phone rang—jolting her out of her hypnotic state. Finally able to break the trance, she looked away from the picture to her cell phone; she was relieved and, at the same time, disappointed to see that it was Kyle.
Letting her finger linger over the green pick-up button, she finally decided on the red one and quickly ended the call.
She was in no mood to talk to either Cirpian or Kyle.
Both men had her confused...and upset.
One minute she had been convinced that Cirpian had messed with her car on not one, but two occasions. And the next minute she found herself leaning more toward her own partner.
If Kyle had been outside her apartment and had seen Cirpian show up, he could have gotten really jealous over the idea of what her and Cirpian were doing upstairs in her bedroom. So jealous, that that jealousy had then turned to this overwhelming anger that resulted in him vandalizing her car.
Yet, the only problem with this theory, was that he had sounded truly surprised when she had told him what happened.
Then again, he could have been faking it.
For close to seven years, Genevieve had been a homicide detective; and since that time, she had developed in the sense that she now had more experience with people, that could fake such emotions as: sadness, empathy, sympathy, love, and etc.
If that wasn't enough experience, she also had
the experience that came from knowing her own mother's side of the family. With the exception of her own mother, everyone on that side of the family was a perfect example of a sociopath.
Her cousin, Sandra, had been one of the best actresses that Genevieve had ever met – she truly missed her calling. Yet, the only difference between Sandra and these actors, was that, they were just pretending. Sandra on the other hand, was a true blue sociopath and, if that wasn't bad enough, she was a pathological liar. The girl had an inability to tell the truth or, even, feel remorse and sympathy. She could lie right to your face, without even blinking an eye.
On more than one occasion, Sandra had boldly looked Genevieve in the eye and lied to her. And Genevieve had believed her, up until she had gotten old enough to know better.
Along with maturity, Genevieve had also developed in the sense that she could no longer feel anything for Sandra or even Sandra's family.
It hadn't even affected her, when she found out, from flipping through the newspaper and stumbling across the obituaries, that her cousin had passed away.
At first she hadn't been sure what to feel for Sandra.
It was like reading a complete stranger's obituary. Except, she had felt more for the strangers in the obituaries than her own cousin. As much as she tried to feel something, either by remembering good times or just trying to feel that empathy for her Aunt and Uncle, her brain kept telling her that those good times had not been shared by her cousin nor the rest of that side of the family.
In the end she had closed her newspaper and went about her day as if nothing traumatic had happened.
She supposed what was saddest about the situation, was that even her own sisters didn't seem fazed about Sandra's passing. At first they had asked, who was that and, then after awhile of thinking about it, it had dawned on them who it was. Yet, they had shown the same or possibly less emotion than herself.
As Genevieve stared down at the missed call, she wondered if it was possible for Kyle to be as vindictive as her own cousin.
Could he hurt her in such away?
He claimed to love her. Yet, her cousin had on numerous occasions had said the exact same thing and not meant one damn word.
Sighing she looked back at the picture of James Fording and Monica.
It shouldn't have been such a surprise, to see that the picture was nothing but that.
Yet, it was.
The two people in the picture, were in the same motionless position; frozen in time, unable to move – especially James Fording.
For those few brief moments, that Genevieve stared at James' face, she looked for all those changes that her imagination had concocted in front of her eyes; and she saw...
Nothing.
The picture was just that—a picture. Not a demonic picture of a man's face, that could move and smilingly wink at her.
When finally she pulled her gaze away from James', to look over at the smiling Monica, Genevieve noticed then, from closer examination, how Monica's eyes betrayed her true emotions.
Monica, to the untrained eye, appeared happy, but really her eyes showed how warily frightened she was.
It took only one guess for Genevieve to know who it was that Monica was leery of, and with this guess came that dutiful emotion to protect the beautiful young woman in the picture.
The only problem was that while Genevieve felt this protective obligation for Monica, she knew that there really was nothing she could do for her.
How could you help someone, that had not only disappeared, but was most likely dead?
Without even thinking about it, she leaned out to touch Monica's face.
As her fingers skimmed over the screen, she whispered, “I'll help you, by finding where he hide you.”
XXX
It was surprising how one person could end up in places, that they really hated being. Yet, that was the case with Detective Genevieve Freemen.
One minute she had been in line at Home Depot, waiting to ask the cashier where or if they had wire cutters. And the next minute she was outside that horror complex, that Kyle had made her promise she would never go into alone.
Yet, since he didn't want to be her friend anymore, she didn't feel obligated to keep that promise.
As she looked at the flimsy chain around the gate, her conscience made one last ditch effort to talk her out of doing this; this time it tried to tell her, that, this was not just illegal, but she could lose her job.
Yet, it was the discouraging way that Monica had looked in that picture, that had Genevieve ultimately making up her mind. This woman needed a champion and since no man wanted to step forward to be her champion, Genevieve had decided to step up to the plate and try to help her.
It wasn't just this dutiful obligation, though, but Genevieve couldn't stand the idea that Monica's family was suffering over not knowing whether Monica was alive or dead; they needed closure and answers.
As she leaned out, to cut the chain, it was just her touching it, with the wire cutters, that had it falling away from the gate; making this loud clinking sound as it hit the pavement—at least it sounded loud, on the mostly deserted block.
It was strange, from the moment she had driven up, she had noticed that nobody – not even an animal – was present.
It was like everyone had just up and left. Of course, since this was a bad side of town, there was probably a reasonable explanation.
Decent people would try hard not to live on a bad side of town, with their family. If they had the money, they would try to live some where that was safer and not such an eye sore.
Yet, not all the time was this the case. While the undesirables preferred such areas, as the one she was standing in, some times, good people, who were just barely getting by, had to, also, live in such areas. Yet, still, she had noticed during those more recent occasions of her coming out this way, how many people, mostly undesirables, had been out on the street. Either there were the common criminals, trying to make a living by selling their bodies or drugs. Or there was the homeless, who were left either scrummaging around for food or trying to find shelter from the heat.
Now, though, there wasn't a soul in sight.
Genevieve would have expected a homeless person to have already approached her about money. Yet, she didn't see anyone.
That in itself made the situation a whole lot more creepier than it was.
Had it been like this, the night Kyle and her had been out here?
She couldn't say.
After she had again given her surroundings that once over, she finally pushed the gate open. The moment the gate swung open, making this eery screeching sound as it did, she felt these cold fingernails start to work their way down her spine.
It was that typical fear that all humans felt when afraid of something. And of course, this fear had her close to turning around and running back to her car. Yet, while it was her human instinct to high tail it out of there, the cop in her was quick to stump the fear boiling up inside her.
Not even bothering to spare her surroundings one last look, she hastily entered the fenced in area.
She needed to search James Fording's apartment again.
She had this strange eery feeling that all the answers, regarding Monica, was in that apartment. Where he had hidden Monica's body, might just be under her nose.
XXX
Kyle had tried five times to get a hold of Genevieve, he felt like such an ass for the way he had treated her; leaving her there at O'Reilly's, after calling her an inconsiderate bitch. He should have been happy that Genevieve trusted and depended upon him so much.
Instead of her sisters, she had called him.
It wasn't that she didn't love her sisters, she did. It was just that her thoughts had been more focused on him than them at that time – she had wanted him to help her.
Yet, like a selfish cad, he had acted horribly toward her by calling her an inconsiderate bitch and then telling her that he was going to push her out of his car if she didn't get out.
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He would be lucky if she ever forgave him.
He hadn't been entirely truthful, when telling Genevieve that he had a lot of friends. To be honest he didn't have that many. At least not that many that he liked or trusted that much.
Genevieve was the only close friend, that he actually had.
He had felt so guilt ridden over the way he had treated Genevieve, that the moment he arrived at the precinct, he had, already, made up his mind to beg her for her forgiveness. Yet, before he had even made it through the door, he was informed by a fellow detective that his partner had already been and gone. From what he gathered, from that detective, Genevieve had briefly looked at this file upon her desk and then before leaving she had exchanged words with Detective Malcolm, who, in a foul mood, had left shortly after Genevieve had.
Briefly Kyle wondered what Genevieve had actually said to that scumbag Malcolm to make him angry. Most likely it was the typical Genevieve response:
“Either get the hell out of my way or I'll shove my gun up your ass.”
That was his partner. She was a foul mouth little sailor.
Yet, he wouldn't have changed anything about her; her mouth was what made her—her.
Leaning across to her desk, he saw that the file she had been reading was either not there or was stacked neatly with the other folders on the left side of her desk. Yet, when he went through those folders, he didn't see anything new. They were all cases that him and her had worked on.
It was possible, that she had taken that file with her.
As he sat back in his chair, he couldn't help wondering what his partner could be doing; at that moment, without him. He had this unsettling feeling, that Genevieve was up to something bad. Yet, because she was temperamental, and mad at him, she wouldn't confide to him what it was that she was up to.
The Alexandru Chronicles: The Beginning Page 22
