by Ronica Black
Everyone knew now that she cheated on Shawn. And it was like she’d killed the president or something. She couldn’t shake this one off. Everyone saw. What was she going to do? How could she recover?
Get back with Shawn. That’s what her team was telling her. Make nice. A public apology would be great for starters. But she wasn’t up to it. For once she needed to do something right. She needed to say it to Shawn. To her face. She needed to admit that she’d seduced her assistant. That she’d done it because she’d been upset over her and Shawn. That she’d been selfish and stupid. And what happened from there, she didn’t know. Would Shawn even believe her? Probably not.
Maybe she should mention the flirtation on her assistant’s part. How she’d nearly begged for it and straddled her lap in the trailer.
No. It wouldn’t matter. But wait a minute… Shawn no longer wanted her. She’d told her so. She’d filed for divorce, for fuck’s sake. So what had she done wrong? Really?
It was the FBI. Goddamned Starling and Agent What’s-his-name. Acting like saints. Turning Shawn against her. And the public? One minute they worshipped you and the next they were ready to hang you. Well, fuck them. She still had her hardcore fans. Hundreds of them. They were still writing and e-mailing and posting on her MySpace and Facebook. They still loved her. And wanted her.
Just lay low. That’s what her publicist said. Just fly below the radar for a while. Work hard, keep your head low and your mouth shut. It’ll all blow over.
And as for Shawn…well, nothing she ever did there was right. She was always in the wrong in Shawn’s eyes. She’d tried to call her an hour earlier but Monty had said she didn’t want to speak to her. A part of her couldn’t blame her, but it wouldn’t matter anyway.
She was bad. Bad, bad V.
She lay down and curled up on her side. Maybe Starling was right. Maybe she was selfish.
She’d hurt Shawn, she knew that much. But she wished Shawn could just understand that it wasn’t some big plot against her. It was just sex. Just attention. Straight-up seducing and fucking. A game. Just a fun little game. It didn’t mean anything. Not like Shawn and the girls. They meant something to her.
Why couldn’t anyone understand her?
The dial tone hummed in her ear as she reached for the receiver. She dialed the number to the beach house and listened as it went unanswered. She hung up and tried Shawn’s cell. It went straight to voicemail.
A tear fell. Then another.
She needed understanding. Love. Support. She needed somebody. Anybody. She couldn’t get through this alone. Was anyone out there?
*
Yonkers, New York
Evanescence played and she turned up the volume. Louder. Bigger. It had to work. It had to take her away. Dark mixed with light. The offspring of the two. Evanescence. Just like her.
His voice was coming more and more often. At first it had been soothing, comforting, reassuring. Like it had been in the beginning. When the tender love was happening every day. But lately, when his voice came, it had a hard edge to it. Sharp, demanding, degrading. Like it had been when the others had come.
She hated the others. Resented them. He loved them more.
The whiskey bottle was nearly empty. She’d have to buy more. It was the only thing that helped. The only thing that drowned out his voice.
She needed something. Veronica. She needed her.
Her eyes tried to close on her, heavy and burning. It hurt. She couldn’t hold them open. Couldn’t.
A smell came. Vinegar. She was back at the house, jarring cucumbers and beets. Canning green beans. The garden was singing under the sun. The air was thick and hot. The old boombox was playing. Metal bands. Ones she’d never heard of. Old ones. But she got to know them quickly and enjoyed them, working in the sun with them. Getting down on her knees in the warm soil, picking and digging and planting. She’d look up when the cassette tape was switched out. She’d smile for Faith No More. And she’d keep picking until her basket was full.
It made him happy. And she’d be happy. They’d grill then. Bunches of ground beef so thick they remained pink in the middle. And ears of corn. She loved that. The juicy meat, hot as it ran down her chin, the browned kernels of corn, tough but smoky. Summer was the best. So much better than winter, when the house was shut up and the heat barely ran. How she’d long for that summer sun. To be able to stand out in the garden in nothing but a pair of shorts, allowing the rays to massage her shoulders.
She hadn’t done that in years. He’d started making her wear a shirt. Started grimacing when he caught sight of her.
His voice came. Deep and demanding. The screams too. Horrible. Never ending. What could she do? She would help. Make it better. And she did. She helped. She knew what to do. Kept things quiet. Worked in the garden. Cleaned. Cooked. Washed herself. Scrubbed until she was red. Shaved. Every day. Everywhere. But the tender love stopped. The grimaces continued.
She could do no right. She thought about leaving but couldn’t. The house was home. All she knew. She was safe there. Protected. Comfortable. Where she saw God. The only place she could see God.
Her head felt heavy. The darkness was coming, brought by the whiskey. She wanted to go home. She would soon. And she would stand in the sun. Listen to the radio. To one of the cassettes. She would dig her hands in the soil, lie down in her space.
And she would see God.
She would see God with Veronica.
It was time to go home.
Chapter Eleven
Hilton Head, South Carolina
Shawn had been in her room for almost twenty-four hours. Kennedy and Monty had cared for the girls, who knew their mother didn’t feel well. They seemed to take it in stride, knowing her shoulder had been bothering her. They ate lunch upstairs and Kennedy heard Shawn reading them a story as they snuggled in with her for their afternoon nap. After that they returned to play, leaving Shawn alone in bed.
Her food went untouched. She refused all phone calls.
Now it was after eleven and Kennedy hadn’t heard any movement from her room in hours. No lights, no running water. She was worried and so she’d stayed at the Ryan house most of the day. Keri understood, insisting that she go.
Quietly, she headed up the stairs and then down the hallway. Shawn’s door was partway open but the room was dark. Kennedy peeked inside and saw no one. Concerned, she gave a soft knock. There was no answer.
Walking farther inside, she flipped on the light and noticed a slew of photos strewn across the large bed. The pictures were scattered everywhere and most of them, she noticed, had Veronica’s image cut out of them. A thick photo album lay on the floor, gutted.
Her gaze went to the night table. A bottle of whiskey was open and nearly empty. A glass tumbler was turned over next to it. So she’d been drinking. Drowning away her pain and then sleeping it off.
Her heart ached for her. She wished there was some way she could help her, could take away the pain. But there was nothing. She knew that. All she could do was help with the girls and lend a kind ear. Shawn had to work through the rest.
Movement came from the bathroom and Kennedy turned to find Shawn watching her.
“Hi.”
Kennedy swallowed hard, silenced by Shawn’s appearance. She still had on the clothes that had been soaked through the day before. She’d gone running on the beach after she’d heard the news from Allen. It had rained. She’d come home soaked to the core.
The clothes were dry now, but they looked stiff and were caked in sand. Her face was red and streaked with dirt and tears.
She looked beaten. And her gaze seemed…empty.
She walked unsteadily, obviously impaired. She wobbled slightly and reached out to steady herself, wincing in pain as her shoulder wound cried out for mercy.
“What are you doing in here?” she slurred.
“I was just checking on you.” She wanted to hold her, allow her to just fall into her embrace. But she knew Shawn would fight it. She could
sense it. This was a different Shawn. A difficult Shawn. A dying Shawn.
“I’m fine. Don’t I look fine?” She waved her arms dramatically.
“Please tell me you haven’t let the girls see you like this.”
Shawn blinked. Slowly.
“No, missy. I only drink after they’re gone. You think I’d do that?”
“No, no, I didn’t. I just had to be sure.”
“I love my kids.” She grew angry. “I love them. Don’t you tell me I don’t.”
“I didn’t. I’m not saying that.” She sighed. “You need to rest.” Kennedy tried to hold her gaze but Shawn wouldn’t look at her. She kept looking to the bed where the cut-up photos lay.
“I need a match.” She turned toward the fireplace. Searching.
“For what?”
“I need to burn those pictures.”
“No, no, no. You don’t need to do that. I’ll get rid of the photos. Right now you just need to rest.”
Shawn looked at her square in the eye for the first time.
“What I need is a good woman.” She laughed. She tried to take a step but then thought better of it. “I just want to love and be loved. Is that so much to ask?” Her normally blue-green eyes were more of a gray from the storm brewing within.
“No, not at all,” Kennedy said. “Everyone wants that.”
“What about you, Special Agent Scott? Do you want that?”
Shawn was staring her down and Kennedy felt the weight of it. It was hot and thick and tainted with lust.
She’d been in many precarious positions in her life, but never one like this. She had no idea what to say. But she knew she couldn’t think about herself and her own feelings.
“I-I don’t know…”
“Of course not!” Shawn threw up her hands and then grimaced at the pain in her shoulder. “That’s why you don’t have anyone.” She swayed and her face hardened. Her voice took on an edgy tone and she glared at Kennedy as she spoke. “You’re just like Veronica. You think you don’t need anyone. You think you can just do what you want, and no one else matters.”
“That’s not true.” The words were out before she could stop them. Her voice rang with hurt and surprise. She resented being paired with Veronica, someone, who in her opinion, valued other people’s feelings very lightly in comparison to her own needs, wants, and desires.
“Do you cheat on your lovers, Special Agent Scott?”
“No, I never…”
“Oh, that’s right. You’ve never had a lover. Never?”
“I… There’s been no one.” She shook her head, unable to understand why she kept answering. Why she didn’t just walk away and allow Shawn to sleep it off.
Shawn scoffed and then staggered to the bed where she plopped herself down. “You expect me to believe that?” She winced again as she tried to move her arm.
“You can believe what you want.” She’s hurting. She’s hurting so bad.
“Never had a lover?” The questions were becoming louder and meaner, Shawn’s face a twisted expression of hurt and anger.
Kennedy moved toward the door. “No.” It was time to go.
Shawn looked at her with wounded eyes. The depth of the pain was breathtaking. “I—you’re. Don’t go.”
Kennedy stopped. The anger was gone from Shawn’s face.
“You need to rest.” Kennedy approached the bed and took her hand. Tears slid down Shawn’s face.
“Come on,” Kennedy said softly. “Let’s get you tucked in.”
With a gentleness and a patience she’d only ever used with her nephews, Kennedy slowly and carefully helped Shawn from her clothes. The jeans could nearly stand on their own and she tossed them, along with her long-sleeved shirt, to the floor. Then she watched as Shawn stood and peeled off her underwear. Then she hugged herself, cold, embarrassed, exposed. Kennedy saw the red slash on her shoulder. It looked harsh and painful.
She reached out for it, but Shawn took her hand.
“No.”
“It looks bad.”
“Not now. Let it fall off. I don’t care.”
Kennedy stared into her eyes, too moved to look anywhere else. Though she thought her beautiful, her attraction had to give way to the concern and caring brimming just underneath. She had to focus on that now.
She led her into the bathroom and turned on the shower. After helping her inside, she returned to the bedroom and pulled the sandy sheets from the bed. As she tucked in the fresh sheets, she thought of how small and almost atrophied Shawn’s body looked. It pained her to think of Shawn sleeping in dirty clothes and sheets. Not to mention the girls, napping with her.
She finished with the bed and then rummaged through the dresser drawers. She found a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. She also grabbed a pair of panties and some socks. She laid the pile neatly on the bed.
The water stopped and Kennedy went to make sure she had a towel. As Shawn dried, Kennedy found some Tylenol in the medicine cabinet and filled a glass with water. When Shawn had wrapped herself in her robe, Kennedy handed them to her. Her hand still trembled as she took them.
Kennedy encouraged her to finish off the water.
They went back to the bed. Kennedy helped her dress. Her synapses fired rapidly as she inhaled the fresh soapy scent of her. She tried to fight them off but knew it was useless.
She pulled the covers back and helped her into bed. Shawn held her hand as she tucked in the duvet around her.
“Thank you.”
Kennedy smiled. “You’re welcome.”
“Please—don’t go.”
Kennedy hesitated. Shawn’s look was pleading.
“Okay.” She switched off the light and settled into bed next to her. Shawn turned into her and held her. Then, as the black of night enveloped them, Shawn cried herself to sleep.
*
“The mother is hysterical,” Allen said, hands on the wheel. The night engulfed them, dawn close. She’d heard something somewhere, that the darkest part of the night came right before dawn. She could feel that now as she breathed it in, felt that blackness flow through her body and seep into her bones.
“How long now?” she asked, glancing at her watch.
“Four hours.”
“What do we know?” She adjusted the vehicle’s a/c and cracked her window. The scent of jet fuel still lingered.
“Same M.O. as the previous two. He waited until the house was asleep, then approached and slit the screen to the boy’s bedroom. He slipped inside, probably used a Taser on the boy, picked him up, and carried him out the front door. The mother rose to check on the kids around midnight. We got the call soon after.”
Taser.
Taze-er.
It played around in her mind. The previous two had marks on them. Taser marks.
“The footprint outside the window matches,” she said, knowing it was their same UNSUB.
“Yes.”
They pulled into a lower-class neighborhood on the outskirts of Cleveland. The houses were small but spaced well apart. Cop cars surrounded the house on the end, floodlights illuminated the front and back of the house. Allen pulled the car to a screeching stop and they seemed to float through the crime scene tape.
Officers stared. Someone greeted them. Took them inside away from the humid night. The house was lit up but felt dark. The lamps were too small, they didn’t produce enough light. Yelling was coming from the living room. It was the mother. When she saw them she stopped. Someone introduced them. Her eyes were wild, her face drooping in pain and torment.
“You have to find him,” she said. “You have to find my baby. He’s only seven—”
A boy sat hunched on the couch. He looked young. He hugged his knees and covered his ears. He rocked.
“You have to find him—”
Another agent entered the room.
Gale.
She sat next to the boy. He wouldn’t talk.
“You have to find my baby. He—”
“We’ll do all we
can,” Allen said.
“All you can? You mean like the other cases?” She started to cry and then yell. “Is it true he keeps them alive for a week?”
No one spoke.
“Is it true he does things to them? Sexual things. That he hurts them and keeps them tied up? That he starves them until the last day, when he feeds them—is all of that true? That you’ll find my boy but it will be too late? You’ll find his body. His naked, hurt body—” Her yelling ceased, overcome by sobs.
Family comforted her.
They turned away.
Allen led her down the dim hall to the bedroom. Police were still taking photos. The floor was wooden and bare. A rug had rested there but they had bagged it for evidence. The bunk beds were also bare, the mattresses old and thin. The room was covered in fingerprint dust and smelled of bananas. The boy and his brother always ate one before bed. The peels were still on the dresser.
She looked to the window. It was open, the screen slit vertically and then horizontally. Like a gaping L.
She walked to it and stared out.
“He watched from over there,” she said, pointing to the treeline of the neighboring property. “He watched.”
Watcher, watcher, watcher.
She saw a stuffed dinosaur on the floor. It was near the bed in a toy bin. She scooped it up and smelled it. It smelled like crayons and cookies and Play-Doh. All things kid. They went back to the living room.
The mother started in again.
“My baby. My baby.”
She handed the dinosaur to the little boy curled on the sofa. He looked at her for a long moment, then took it. Snuggling up with it, he turned away from his mother and closed his eyes.
“My baby. My boy. You better find him. Go find him. God help you if you don’t. God help you.”
Kennedy awoke, heart thundering. Next to her, Shawn mumbled in her sleep. Shook up, Kennedy crawled from the bed and headed back downstairs. Shawn’s words still played over and over in her mind. The sharpness of them, the pain. The god-awful look upon her face when she compared her to Veronica.
