Possession

by Linda Mooney

  “Not us. You.” He dropped the rag onto the floorboard as he watched Kiel’s expression grow more tense. “You draw the Shredder to us. He leaves everyone else alone who goes over there, except for the people he feels is responsible for his death. And you, because you were his only mistake.” Shrugging, Sam added, “Maybe the spirit feels remorse for what he did.”

  They drove back to the station in silence to examine the information they had already gathered once more. Luck was on their side as they arrived. A fresh report was sitting on Sam’s chair seat. Picking it up, he glanced at it and smiled. “Bingo on our West Bend victim. Franklin Jesse Turner, six-one, Cauc, twenty-six years old, current address unknown.” He dropped into his chair so hard the seat creaked in protest. “Witnesses claimed Turner sold Possession from the alley on a once-a-week basis. Had a regular clientele.” He glanced up. “That would shore-up our theory in one aspect. He sold from there, so his remains were left there.”

  “How’d they manage to match the name to the remains?”

  Sam scanned the report, flipping to the second page. “Turner had a rape conviction.”

  “That explains it. He was busted on DNA evidence, right?”

  “Yeah. We got lucky with that one. But it still leaves us with a shitload of possibles and no definites. Because the other bodies were shredded so totally, we can’t get any tats, or fingerprints, or anything to give us any confirmation that the bodies are who we think they are.”

  “They’re Conader’s inner circle,” Kiel interrupted. “I would bet money on it.”

  Sam nodded. “I think so, too. Who else could get close enough and be able to find out Conader’s chemical formula? But we have to prove it. We need some way to get those names to fit the bodies.”

  “What about further DNA matches?”

  A weary shrug followed a loud sigh. “Maybe in a couple of cases. We can try, but the state’s so backlogged on profiling the prison population, it’s a shot in the dark that one of the other victims also has a DNA record.” Sam tried to rub away the tightness in his neck muscles and glanced at his wristwatch. “Crap, do you know what time it is?” He got a grunt in reply. “It’s nearly eleven.”

  Kiel glanced up from the other side of the desk. “Yeah? Do you want to knock off for a while? I can stay here.”

  Leaning over and lowering his voice, Sam redirected his attention by saying, “I was thinking about J.”

  Kiel blinked. Suddenly that feeling of warmth and happiness came flooding back to him. He could feel his body’s reaction, as if he continued to possess a living body. “Shit.”

  “She’s going to be mighty pissed at you.” Sam grinned, lacing his fingers behind his head and rearing back in his chair.

  “She was pissed when we dropped her off.” Kiel looked at the phone. “Think I should call her?”

  “No. I think you should go over there.”

  “Sam.”

  “No, listen to me, bro.” His voice had turned hard, but also sympathetic. “She was right, and you know it. You have no reason to rue the fact that you’re dead. In fact, you have no right to pass up this opportunity.”

  “I can’t give her anything but heartache,” Kiel began to argue. Sam cut him off with a wave of both hands.

  “Stop thinking negatively and look at it from my point of view. You have the chance to love her. Yeah, it won’t be forever, but she knows that. She accepts that. All she’s wanting from you is a few moments together, whatever time you can give her, so she can take it and keep it, and cherish it for the rest of her life. Don’t you understand, Kiel?” He made a rude noise. “God, what I wouldn’t give for a woman to love me that much.”

  Kiel gnawed on his lips and stared at the manila folders scattered across their desks. “Have I been an ass, Sam?” He wanted desperately to admit that his thoughts had not wavered. She was and always would remain a most precious part of him, even if a life together was out of the question.

  “Oh, yeah. And then some. Go to her, Kiel. Love her. Give her a memory to cherish. Give her something to remember you by.”

  “Sam.”

  “What’s holding you back? Don’t you love her?”

  The anger that washed over his brother’s face didn’t surprise him. “That’s a stupid-ass question.”

  “Then quit acting like one. What’s keeping you away from her? Because you’re afraid of hurting her? Hell, what do you think she’s probably thinking right now? Don’t you think she’s hurting right now because you’re not with her? For crissakes, Kiel! Take what you’ve been given and run with it!”

  “The investigation—”

  “…can wait until tomorrow. If Conader’s our Shredder, another night isn’t going to matter. If his victims are from his squad of dealers who turned on him, the better for us, I say. Now, get out of here. I’m starved. I’m going on home, too. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He watched as Kiel glanced around the nearly empty squad room and laid the folder he’d been holding onto the pile in front of him. Giving his brother a nod, he vanished.

  Kiel is right about one thing. Sam got to his feet and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair. He needed a little shuteye himself. Investigative work like they were doing was best tackled with a clear head and a fresh perspective.

  Kiel would never sleep again until he was finally gone from this realm, but Sam hoped that in the morning his brother would be blessed with a better frame of mind.

  She was worn out and more exhausted than she could ever remember being. The adrenalin high that had sustained her during their flight out of that apartment building was no longer in her bloodstream. It was only by sheer willpower that she managed to make her way into the parlor and collapse on the long divan. She was asleep before she could get comfortable.

  The grandfather clock was chiming, waking her up. J counted the strokes. Three. Four. The chiming stopped. Surely it wasn’t four in the afternoon? She felt groggy and listless. Sitting up was an effort. Maybe it was four in the morning.

  Could it be four the next day? By the way she felt, it was possible. But more than likely she hadn’t heard all of the strokes.

  Getting to her feet, she stumbled her way into the foyer and opened the door to the clock, lifting a questing hand to touch the face. Good grief, it was eight! Which meant it could either be morning or evening.

  Her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten in some time. J went into the kitchen and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table. Munching into it, she first checked the microwave to see if Miss Carrie had left anything in it that morning. The oven was empty. However, the fridge held a plastic-lidded plate she knew hadn’t been there yesterday. Taking off the top, she sniffed the contents. Meatloaf. Replacing the lid, she shoved the plate in the microwave to reheat.

  Next, the radio. That, unfortunately, didn’t give her a clue, either.

  “It’s eight fifteen at KLGM.”

  “Morning or evening, asshole?” she muttered, switching it off. Normally she didn’t have a problem with her days and nights. But after yesterday she needed to get her internal clock readjusted. Being irritable on top of everything else didn’t help matters, either.

  On a hunch she phoned Miss Carrie, but the answering machine picked up. She left a message briefly explaining her confusion and requested that the woman give her a ring back just to help get her back on track. Hanging up, J went back to the microwave to retrieve her hot meal.

  She ate in silence in the kitchen. Now that she had a little rest under her belt, her mind was free to reevaluate the day’s past events. It was also free to think about Kiel.

  A teasing sensation tickled her stomach whenever she thought about him. It was like the time her parents had promised her she could ride the rollercoaster at the amusement park, but at the end of the day their words had come up empty. They were always overprotective when it came to her, although Douggie got to do countless things she could only dream about.

  The thrill of preparation, followe
d by the hurt of refusal. Admit it. This is going to be your lot in life.

  J sniffed and blew her nose on her napkin. She had chided Kiel for being negative, but she understood his pain. She never allowed anyone to see how lonely she was. Or how bitter she could be because she was blind, and being blind was a greater handicap than anyone could imagine. All essence and reality of beauty and beautiful things was gone. She would never discover such a simple happiness. Never experience their honest perfection. Things like the Grand Canyon, rainbows, a flower, a lover’s face.

  J felt her face flame, then tears spilled onto her hand. Angrily she swiped at her eyes and cursed herself for her weakness.

  She had dealt with many men in her life, several of whom had expressed an interest in her. She had been on exactly three dates, each one with a different man. In the end, though, they had all bid her adieu and never called again. It was just too much trouble to deal with a blind woman.

  However, Kiel was different, and she knew why. His handicap was greater, and therefore his guilt at being “different” overshadowed hers. Together they were two souls reaching out for something to hold on to. For someone who would understand their torment. For a love that could transcend all that.

  She knew that neither she nor Kiel had been looking for a relationship with each other. But the moment she had seen his aura blazing like the last dying gasps of a star, her heart had gone out to him. She had reached out to him and touched him—she had touched him—and her heart had melted into his mold. She had fit him. She had filled all those cold and blank spaces inside him, then found his arms holding her more tightly to keep her there. Instead of keeping her away from him, Kiel had shared his emptiness with her. Behind that hollow space she had found a love that had beckoned so brightly and fiercely, it stunned her.

  Yet he tried to keep her away. He tried to convince himself it was an impossible relationship. She agreed. It was impossible. Impossible that it could happen, impossible to think there was any future to be had, and impossible to believe it could go past a single kiss. Or a single night.

  Something twisted in her heart. The pain made her clutch her chest as another tear rolled down her cheek. Unable to finish her meal, J got up from the table and was heading for the sink when the phone rang. Hope blossomed like a dozen roses.

  “Hello?”

  “J? This is Cassie. What was it you wanted to know?”

  Hope withered and hung its head.

  “Thanks for calling back. I laid down for a while and now I can’t seem to figure out if it’s day or night.” It was hard trying to keep her disappointment from coloring her voice.

  “It’s…let’s see. My clock says it’s eight thirty-three at night, J.”

  “What day of the week?”

  “Wednesday. By the way, you didn’t come home yesterday. Anything wrong, dear?”

  “No, no. It’s this case I’m helping the police with,” J answered, offering that as an explanation. Miss Carrie knew about her occasional episodes to help the law. Her recent visit to the hospital was one thing she didn’t want to alarm the woman about. Not right now.

  “My goodness. You must be dragging if you were out all night. No wonder you came home and fell asleep. Are you going to be okay? I left you a plate in the fridge.”

  “I’ve already eaten it,” J assured her. “Thank you.”

  “Are you through with the case? Or will you be going out again?” the woman inquired.

  “I don’t know. I know it’s not over yet, but I won’t know if I have to go out again until they call.”

  “Well, if you need me for anything you know how to reach me. Meanwhile I suggest a hot bath and back to bed. Sounds like you need it.”

  “Thanks. That sounds like a fabulous idea. Talk to you later.”

  They said their goodbyes and J hung up. It was after eight in the evening. That same evening. Which meant there was a very strong possibility Kiel might come by.

  Tonight.

  A shiver ran through her. Tentatively she fingered the tie around her hand. The cut would need cleansing and proper bandaging. She could handle that upstairs after her bath. A nice long soak would be nice, indeed.

  Upstairs she filled the claw-footed tub with bubble bath, stripped, and lowered herself into the hot water. A few minutes soaking, then she’d get up and get dressed. A few minutes. Before she knew it, her eyelids were drooping.

  The water was sensuous, swirling around her thighs and breasts. If she allowed herself, she could imagine it was Kiel’s hands touching her. Tentatively she let her fingertips circle one full breast, circling in smaller and smaller whorls until they reached one stiffened peak. If she tried hard enough, she could imagine it was his fingers running like satin over her skin. It would be his mouth branding her with his kisses. If Kiel came over, would he bring her upstairs and make love to her on the bed? J tried to think of other places where they could have sex but her tired mind was too fuzzy to think.

  She raised her head from the edge of the tub. Would he come over at all? Something had happened back in that apartment building. It had affected him, made him morose and more despondent than normal. When they had parted company they had not been on good terms.

  How could she have snapped at him like that? There was no excuse for her chewing him out. None. He had been right when he reminded her about his condition.

  Another thought zipped through her like lightning, and her hand flew to her mouth to cover the sob that caught in her throat. What if that was the last time she would see him? What if he was gone, permanently gone, before she had a chance to apologize for her behavior? Before she had the chance to say goodbye? Before she…

  A tiny moan escaped, and a tear rolled down her cheek. What if he disappeared before she had the chance to truly love him?

  Bending over the water, J beat her fists against the rim of the tub and let her sobs echo in the room. No one would hear her. No one would care. Tears fell onto the bubbles like raindrops as her body shook.

  All she had to remember him by were his kisses and the way he had touched her. Not just her skin, but her heart and mind. He was a man turned spirit, and he had been drowning in loneliness as much as she.

  She had heard that cops had the highest divorce rate in the country. It was understandable, given their dedication to their job, and the hours it kept them away from home. Especially detectives like Kiel and Sam. Theirs would never be an easy nine-to-five job that they could leave on Fridays for a relaxing weekend. It was a stress-filled, dangerous occupation that they chose to pursue because they wanted to do good. They wanted to make a difference while they were on this earth.

  In a way, it was very much the same reason why she had offered her services to the police. If for no other reason, she hoped that maybe she could make a difference.

  The crying helped. Venting her sadness through tears was her escape valve, just short of screaming her head off. Frustration was debilitating. She was a survivor. This loneliness would never defeat her. Take what you’ve been given and accept it. You were given more than you expected. Be content and keep going.

  J washed her face and hair, then bathed. After drying off, she found the gauze in the first aid kit in the linen closet and wrapped her wound. She started to dress in an old cotton gown she loved when she hesitated. What if Kiel did come over? It was still possible, but would it be fair to her heart to build her hopes up?

  Okay. Just in case he does come over, what should she wear? Should she have on something nice anyway? Just in case? Fingering the gown, she knew it was probably too old and ratty to be attractive. Did she have anything nicer?

  Another flush colored her cheeks. Would it be too forward to meet him at the door wearing a nightgown? But if she put on another dress, would he think she wasn’t interested in a romantic liaison and hold back? What was it he had told her this morning?

  Promise me that tonight you’ll wear something beautiful. I don’t care if it’s that sexy little t-shirt and shorts you had on Mond
ay night. Just as long as you don’t look like someone’s aging grandmother.

  Pulling off the gown, she reached for the sleeveless t-shirt and running shorts she’d left hanging behind the bedroom door. With that problem now solved, J went back downstairs and into the parlor.

  The Count of Monte Cristo still lay on the seat where she’d left it. Miss Cassie never moved anything she found lying about. It was the first rule of the blind—leave it where the owner left it. J picked up the book and sat down, prepared to resume where she’d left off. Her concentration refused to cooperate.

  She strained her ears, listening for a sound outside that would tell her he was at the door. He moved too quietly for her to catch, but she wanted to be prepared when the doorbell rang.

  “Where are you, Kiel?” she whispered. The grandfather clock chimed the half hour. Nine-thirty. She rubbed her arms. Her body was cooling down; it felt chilly in the parlor. Getting up from the chair, she stretched out on the divan and covered herself with Grandmama’s throw. She debated whether to start a fire but decided she was too tired to clean out the old ashes.

  Huddled beneath the afghan, she was asleep almost immediately.

  Once again the clock awoke her as it sounded the hour. This time she managed to catch the end of its song before it began chiming. Eleven o’clock. Her heart felt like it was shriveling inside her chest.

  Kiel wasn’t coming

  Nine thirty. Eleven. Finally two in the wee hours of the next day. How long was she going to keep hoping before she got the message that he wasn’t coming? Or that he couldn’t come. Ever again.

  She curled up into a little ball on the divan. She hurt. No, not hurt. Someone was digging his hand inside her chest and squeezing. Squeezing out the blood and air she needed to survive. Squeezing her lungs empty, forcing her to gasp for every breath. Squeezing out the tears until she could no longer control them. Squeezing her heart until every movement was painful.

  “Kiel.” It came out as a squeak. Her face contorted in grief as she struggled for breath. “Kiel. I only wanted to love you.” She could finally let it out, all the years of loneliness. Of a life stretched before her without the touch of a loved one or a lover. The fruitless wishes and dreams she had tried to deny herself because her grandmama needed her support and care. Then after the old woman had died, the months she had lain awake throughout the night listening to the sounds of the empty old house. Wondering why anyone would care to love her when there were so many beautiful women out there. Women who could see. Women who were independent.