“Mom.” Simon stepped closer again, and he was a tall, menacing shadow. “Jordan’s not going home.”
“Fine,” said Lorelei. She backed up. “Fine. But you both need to go to bed. Jordan can sleep on the couch.”
“He can sleep in my room,” said Simon.
Lorelei licked her lips. “I don’t think Mia would like that very much.”
Jordan reached out for her. “Ms. Taylor, Simon said you were cool with this.”
Lorelei threw up her hands. “Okay, you can sleep in the same room. But to bed. Now.” She pointed at the house, her arm rigid.
And somehow, her voice seemed to carry authority, because the two both started walking for the apartment.
Lorelei watched them go. She let her hand drop. It was shaking.
Afraid of her own son? What was happening to her?
* * *
She went back into the apartment and had another glass of wine before she crawled into bed. She needed it to calm her nerves. But she had a nightmare anyway. In it, Simon and Jordan were standing over the body of Tiffany, who was mutilated and bleeding and twisted.
Jordan bent down at pulled Tiffany’s shirt off. “You going to go first, or am I?”
Simon unzipped his pants.
Lorelei awoke with a start, her heart pounding. Worst. Dream. Ever.
She sat up in bed, breathless from the horror of it. She couldn’t bear to think of Simon that way. Why had the dream twisted up her little boy into something he wasn’t? Now, the next time she looked at him, she’d remember that image. It was awful.
Her head was pounding in pain. She shuffled off to the bathroom and got a glass of water. She drank it, and then refilled it, and took a few ibuprofens. She refilled the glass again.
She could hear the sound of voices coming from Simon’s room.
She put her ear against the door.
The boys were laughing. That was what it sounded like. Two boys, laughing together. Maybe it was all innocent after all.
She went back to bed, wondering if she was a horrible friend to hide this from Mia.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Lorelei awoke to Simon shaking her.
“What?” she said, sitting up straight, panic going through her in a bright line. “What happened?”
“I need you,” said Simon. “Can you get up and get dressed?”
“Need me for what?”
“There’s this kid,” said Simon.
“What?”
“Just get dressed, Mom.” He left the room.
She got up. Her head wasn’t hurting as much as it usually did. It must be better because she’d taken the pills and drunk some water in the middle of the night. She also seemed to have slept a long time. She could tell it was late from the sunlight streaming in through the window.
But thinking of waking up made her think of the dream. She recoiled from its awfulness.
Simon needed her. She wouldn’t think of the dream. She put on a shirt and some jeans and pulled her hair into a ponytail. Then she left her bedroom.
She found Simon in the kitchen with a small little boy who couldn’t have been older than five years old.
“Who’s this?” she said to Simon.
“He says his name is Timmy,” said Simon. “He’s lost.”
“Oh,” said Lorelei, crouching down so that she was eye-level with Timmy. “I’m so sorry. You must be scared.”
Timmy, whose eyes were red rimmed, nodded. He was holding onto Simon’s hand, and he looked up at Simon.
Simon smiled down reassuringly at him. “It’s okay. We’re just waiting for your phone to get a charge.”
Lorelei looked up at Simon questioningly.
Simon gestured. “He has a cell phone. I guess for emergencies.”
“I’m supposed to call my mommy if I get lost,” piped up Timmy.
“Anyway, it’s dead,” said Simon. “No batteries.”
“Broken,” said Timmy, nodding. “Won’t turn on.”
Simon knelt down to talk to Timmy. “Not broken, I swear. It just needs charged. We plugged it in, and now we just wait a little bit. Actually, you can probably turn it on now, as long as you keep it plugged in.”
“Really?” said Timmy.
“Really,” said Simon. He stood up. “Come on.” He led the small boy over to the wall, where the phone was plugged in. He picked it up, pushed the on button, and then showed the glowing screen to Timmy. “There, see?”
Timmy held out his hand for the phone. “It works, it works. You fixed it.”
Simon just grinned. “Remember, you gotta stay over here and keep it plugged in.” He looked over Timmy’s head at Lorelei. “I thought he might be hungry. You remember those sandwiches you used to make me when I was a kid? You’d cut them up into shapes?”
She smiled, remembering. “Sure.” They were just peanut butter and jelly, but she’d cut them into stars and circles and other shapes.
“I don’t know if I could make the shapes,” said Simon. “But I think Timmy might like that.”
Timmy smiled up at Simon. “I’m going to call my mommy now.”
Simon ruffled the little boy’s hair. “Yeah, do that.”
Lorelei got the bread out of the refrigerator.
Her son was not a psychopath.
She was watching him with this little boy, and she knew it. Simon wasn’t a child who suffered from lack of empathy. If anything, maybe he felt it too much. Maybe he was overwhelmed by the feelings of too much sensation.
At any rate, Simon was a good boy.
Last night, her fears had been a product of an overactive imagination, and possibly the effects of too much alcohol. Sometimes, when she was drunk, she got in this place in which she felt like all hope was lost, and she was willing to believe the worst about everyone and everything. In the morning, though, when she looked back at it, she realized that things weren’t nearly as bleak as all that.
Well, she couldn’t afford to feel that way anymore, not when something as important as her son’s freedom was on the line. He was innocent of these crimes, and she had to make sure that she proved it. The best way to do that was to find the real killer of those girls.
And she could only do that with a clear head.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“I heard you helped a lost little boy this morning,” said Everett Michaels. He was leaning up against the bar, bottle of beer in hand. Everett worked in the hotel at the concierge desk, and he often came by the bar after hours for a drink or two before heading home to his wife and twin daughters. He was a nice enough guy, and one of Lorelei’s few regulars.
“Who told you that?” Lorelei said, pouring him a shot of vodka.
“Mia might have mentioned it,” said Everett. “She said your son was quite the hero, calming the kid down and fixing his phone.”
“Yeah,” said Lorelei. “Little guy was named Timmy. His parents are staying here, and he’d wandered off on his own. They were looking everywhere, out of their minds with worry. We were able to get them reunited. Happy ending for everyone.”
“Good for you,” said Everett. “Why don’t you pour yourself a shot on me, huh? You deserve it.” It wasn’t uncommon for Everett to buy her drinks. He did it to be friendly, especially when he was the only person in the bar besides her. He liked to have someone to drink with. She never charged him for the drinks, though, because she drank for free at the bar anyway, part of her salary. But she never overtly told Everett she didn’t charge him, and he never scrutinized his bill enough to figure it out.
“Thanks,” she said, getting out another shot glass. She put it down on the bar next to Everett’s full one.
She hesitated.
Clear head, she thought. I need a clear head.
She took a deep breath. “Actually, thanks, but I think I’ll pass tonight.”
“Oh, Lorelei, really? Going to make me drink alone?” But he was grinning.
She shrugged. “Sorry.”
He clutched his chest.
“How will I survive this?”
She laughed, handing him his shot.
He cocked his head at her. “All right. You’re really not going to take the shot with me?”
“Nope.”
“Have to say, I didn’t see that coming.” He downed the vodka.
* * *
She made it through the entire night, somehow. When she got home after her shift, for the first time in years, she was stone cold sober. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d fallen asleep without the aid of alcohol. It had been a very, very long time since she had.
She checked on Simon, and he was asleep in his bed. Jordan wasn’t there tonight, and Lorelei was glad. Not because she didn’t want to see Jordan, but simply because it was easier not to have to deal with all of that weirdness right now. She still wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing the night before, letting the two of them sleep in the same room. Jordan might think she was a boy, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have girl parts, and kids were curious and—
But, hell, if it came to all that, it wasn’t as if enterprising teenagers couldn’t find time to get up to all manner of mischief during the daytime. Being in a room together at night didn’t really make a difference.
However, she was confused by all of it. Where did Mia think Jordan was last night? Why had Simon been so adamant that Jordan couldn’t go home? She really should call Mia, talk to her about it, but that would involve going into this whole rigmarole about Jordan, and Lorelei really didn’t think she was up for that.
She didn’t want to think about any of that, but she clung to the thoughts anyway as she undressed and got into bed. Because the alternative to worrying about Jordan and Mia was to think about the kinds of things that caused her nightmares.
The pictures.
The dead girls.
And dead boys.
She shook herself. No, she didn’t want to let it in. She’d rather focus on the fact that she was lying to her best friend about her daughter.
She had to tell Mia. She just did. It was the right thing to do. Mia deserved to know.
Inwardly, Lorelei groaned. She didn’t want to talk to Mia about this at all. Sometimes, she wondered if she had such uncharitable thoughts about the woman if they could really be best friends.
Lorelei’d had a best friend in high school, but they’d drifted apart. She knew that keeping secrets from a best friend in high school was pretty much the worst thing a person could do. But now she was a grown up.
And Mia was….
Okay, the problem was that Mia was not a grown up. She was a stunted individual, a poor little rich girl who’d never been paid attention to. She was damaged, and she was damaging her daughter in turn.
Or maybe she shouldn’t think that. Oprah wouldn’t approve. Maybe there was nothing wrong with Jordan at all. Maybe she really was a man stuck in a woman’s body who just needed some support.
Even so, that still led Lorelei back to the idea that she needed to tell Mia. Mia would have to be convinced to be supportive.
Ugh. Lorelei really didn’t have time for that right now. She needed to focus on Simon for now, not the emotional fallout with her best friend and her stringent vision of what her daughter should be. Once Simon’s name was cleared, she would talk to Mia, and she’d deal with everything going nuclear then. But for now, she was not going to think about it.
That decided, Lorelei turned onto her side and pulled the covers tight over her shoulders.
And there was a small body lying next to her, head caved in, clotted blood and hair over the forehead, bloodshot eyes wide and staring.
She opened her eyes. Nothing there.
She let out a muffled cry. She remembered that case. James Molar, the pedophile who didn’t just kill his victims once he was done with them, but seemed to want to destroy them. He would bludgeon the little boys to death. Seven and eight-year-old little boys, raped and killed in the worst, most painful way that she could—
She sat up in bed, her breath harsh.
I need a drink.
She shook her head. She needed a clear head. For Simon. For her little boy.
She lay back on the bed. She could do this. She could handle this. She had to handle this.
She rolled onto her other side, gazing out at the expanse of her sheets and bedspread. Then, she closed her eyes.
Another body. This was a young woman hanging spread eagle in a dirty barn. Her arms and legs were tied to support beams, her head fell lifelessly against her chest. She was naked, and she’d been disemboweled. Her entrails hung out of a glistening, ragged hole in her belly—
Nonono. She sat up again, and she started to sob. She remembered that case too. They never did catch that bastard. They found five bodies and she worked up a profile, and then… he stopped. He was still out there, though, as far she knew. Maybe he was still doing it, but he wasn’t leaving the bodies where anyone could find them.
She lay back down. “Or maybe he choked on a chicken bone and died,” she told the ceiling. “Maybe karma got him.”
She closed her eyes again, and she was assailed by more images of death and blood and broken skin.
“They’re just pictures,” she whispered fiercely, keeping her eyes closed. “Just pictures. They can’t hurt me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Despite the fact it had taken hours to fall asleep the night before, she awoke feeling more fresh and rested than she had in years. Drunk sleep wasn’t good sleep, and she hadn’t had any sleep that wasn’t drunk sleep in years.
She got up and made breakfast for Simon—pancakes and sausage with syrup. She hummed as she cooked, feeling an incredible burst of optimism rushing through her. It was amazing how good it felt not to have a headache and an extreme case of dehydration.
“This going to be a habit, Mom?” said Simon. “You going to make breakfast all the time?”
She turned to see him standing at the table. She smiled at him. “Hey there, you.” She set down her spatula and went over and gave him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Mom.” Annoyed, he pushed her away.
She didn’t care. She kissed him again. “I love you.”
Simon rolled his eyes. “What’s up with you?”
She lifted her chin. “I’ve quit drinking.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Really,” she nodded. “And I’m going to devote all my free time to figuring out who really killed those girls.”
Simon furrowed his brow. “Uh… okay?”
“I know it wasn’t you,” she said. “I’m sorry if I came across as not trusting you or doubting you before. That’s over. But the only way we’re going to convince everyone else, including law enforcement, is to make sure that we find the real killer.”
“I thought if Jeremy was off the case—”
“It buys us time,” she said, “but I don’t think it means we’re in the clear.” She went over to the stove and swept the pancakes on the griddle onto a plate. She set the plate down on the table. “Now, sit down and eat and stop worrying about this. Mom’s going to fix everything.”
Simon swallowed, and then he gave her a hopeful look, a vulnerable look, the kind he used to give her when he had skinned his knee and was crying in pain. “Okay, Mom.” He bobbed his head. “Thanks.”
She kissed him again, on his forehead. Now, she had to deliver on that promise.
* * *
“Jesus, Lorelei, I called you five times asking about the meeting with Barker,” said Isaac. “I’d given up on you.”
“Sorry,” she said. “Weird things have been going on around here.”
“Weird things like what?”
Like girls being boys and boys being girls, she thought. And then the song about Lola and cherry cola started playing in her head. “Nothing important. I’m not calling about the Barker thing.”
“What did he say to you?”
“Oh, he was the same,” she said, waving it away. “I don’t want to
waste anymore of my time thinking about him.”
“The same?”
She sighed. “Glib and sure of himself and underestimating me. He’s not special, Isaac. I thought that maybe because he’d manipulated me, he was some kind of super criminal. But he’s just like all the other psychopaths. In the end, he’s common. I’m done with thinking about him.”
“That’s good,” said Isaac. “I guess. I still don’t understand why you needed to see him in the first place.”
Should she talk about it? She was a little ashamed of herself, but it wasn’t as if Isaac didn’t know about her doubts. He’d chided her on them in the first place. “I wasn’t sure about Simon for a while. I kept second-guessing myself about whether I even knew my own son. I guess it’s because I’ve been fooled before, I don’t know. So, I wanted to go and talk to Barker about his family. I wanted to know if maybe his mental issues were… genetic in some way.”
“Lorelei, even if so, upbringing plays a much larger role.”
“We don’t know that,” she said. “We can’t really do double-blind studies in which we abuse children to find out, nor should we. We can only go from what we observe, and there are too many variables in that to make any conclusive statements. We know that people who were abused often grow up to abuse. Is that because they learned it, or because of some wiring somewhere in the brain?”
“I guess Barker told you that his family was loving and supportive and that’s why you dropped this line of thought?”
“Oh, he didn’t tell me anything. He’s not capable of telling the truth anyway. What he said to me was more about his trying to feel me out so that he could start playing me again than it was about the truth. Like I said, he’s not worth my while.”
“Good for you,” said Isaac.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Simon’s biological father may be a wacko, but Simon is a good kid. By doubting Simon, I was simply giving Barker power over me again. I’m not going to do that anymore.”
“And you shouldn’t,” said Isaac, and he sounded impressed.
Lorelei felt good. “Listen, I want to try to work up a profile on this killer.”
Child of Mine: a psychological thriller Page 17
