by Anna Rainn
“Was the attacker armed?” officer Day asked.
“No.” Except for his teeth. I thought of the blood on the horrid lips, and I shivered.
“And this happened at the parking lot in the back,” the officer asked, taking notes.
“Yes. I can show you.”
The two officers followed me to the back door. It was still locked, but there was only darkness behind the glass exterior. Not a single street lamp was working. The light from the café was enough to show the bloodstain on the glass door, though, the bright red now drying into a darker shade. It was enough for them to call for back up.
Four minutes later, two other officers walked in through the front door. Flashlights in hand, the party of four ventured outside the safe confines of Black and Foam. I stayed behind as instructed, standing behind the back door (closed, but not locked) and waiting. I couldn’t see anything except the four rays of flashlight dancing in the dark. For a moment, a nightmare scenario played in my head: the four officers will be attacked in the dark by the man I saw earlier, and I would be left here alone as the two eyes floated towards me. Where was my phone? My hands went to my pocket. It wasn’t there. Did I lock the front door? I turned and looked behind me, panic starting to sink its teeth into me. I couldn’t leave this spot without locking the backdoor; for all I know, he was still lurking outside. But what would it look like to the officers if I locked the door behind them? Worse, what if they needed to run to safety only to find that there was no way in.
My eyes were still doing their dance between the backdoor and the area behind me when the scouting party returned.
“Have you found her? Have you found him?” My heart was pounding, and I couldn’t make it stop.
Three of the four detectives exchanged looks. The fourth was on his walkie talkie.
More vehicles started joining the first two patrol cars now. Some parked at the back, their flashing lights illuminating the darkened zone where I was almost murdered ten minutes ago.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Someone will be here soon and explain everything,” officer Fleming said.
It wasn’t long before more units showed up. Outside, dozens of flashlights danced across what was becoming an official crime scene, as yellow tape was being stretched to mark the horrors of the night.
“Is she dead?” I whispered.
A new figure answered. “Hello, I am detective Owen Chase from homicide,” he offered me his hand. I managed to shake it, cold sweat and frozen fingers in a firm, sure handshake. “Now, let’s go over what happened again.”
Chapter 4
The homicide detective looked even younger than the first two detectives and their backup colleagues. He was much more attractive too. His eyes were a light shade of brown, the kind that takes a golden honey tinge in sunlight, and they were framed by fans of thick black eyelashes. The nearly feminine beauty of his eyes was balanced by a strong pronounced jawline, closely shaved and lightly cologned. I’d date him if I still dated, I thought, looking back into his eyes.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes.” I hadn’t been listening.
“How did you see him approach you in the dark?” Detective Chase was sitting across me on one of the round wooden tables at Black and Foam, a small notepad in hand. All the other officers were outside in what had now become a circus, securing the crime scene. It was just the two of us in here.
“This will sound crazy,” I started, probably not the best approach, but it was going to sound crazy. Detective Chase kept looking at me.
“His eyes were glowing in the dark.” There. I said it.
To his credit, the detective didn’t seem surprised, only interested.
“The attacker’s eyes?” he confirmed. I nodded.
“I know how it sounds,” I said.
He scribbled something in his notepad. “And the lights were fully functional when you first left the café?”
“Yes, I told you.” We had gone over everything leading up to the glowing eyes several times already. “I closed shop, dropped my keys, turned to pick them up, and when I turned around, the van was there. And no, it hadn’t been there before, it arrived in these seconds.”
“And you haven’t seen anything alarming by this point?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you just walk to your car?”
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. It felt dangerous.” I knew he was asking about this very point for the third time because it didn’t make sense; it was a loophole. I tried to pinpoint where the unease came from, to figure out why someone who had been on her own for almost seven years like me was too scared to walk to her car. The best thing I could come up with was instinct. Had I been brave enough to walk into that parking lot, I wouldn’t be here now, telling a bizarre story to a painfully attractive police detective.
“Then what happened?”
“She started screaming, and the lights started first flickering, then going out.”
I was biting my nails. I tried to keep from doing it; I knew the detective was watching me like a hawk, but I couldn’t stop. “You saw the lights weren’t working when you got here. You saw it!”
“I’m not implying that you’re lying; I’m just double-checking the facts, okay?” His look was reassuring, but it did nothing to help my nerves. The story was looking more feeble every time I recited it. Glowing eyes, exploding lamps, and a magic van.
“Are sure it was a man?”
This question was new. I looked up from my colorful running shoes and back at detective Chase.
“What do you mean am I sure it was a man? What else could he have been?” A monster.
“An animal perhaps. You say the lights were going on and off, and then you saw red eyes in the dark.”
I shook my head vigorously. “He left blood on the window at the back. With his lips. Can’t you test this for his DNA or something?”
“We will.”
I was going to have to call Caleb and let him know about everything, but I hated to wake him up this close to dawn. He was going to be awake at 4 am anyway. I will catch him then and tell him not to show up to work today, then explain everything. God knows I needed someone to talk to. Fuck it, I was going to call him now.
“Can I make a phone call?” I asked the detective.
“No, I’m sorry. Actually, can I have your phone?” He opened his palm.
What was that? When did the police start confiscating witnesses’ phones, or even criminals’?
“Why?”
“Please, Ms. Cooper.” His hand was still extended.
Miss, I wanted to correct him, but I didn’t. What did it matter?
“I need to call my employee and tell them not to come tomorrow, and I need to update social media so at least some of the customers would know we’ll be closed for the day,” I explained patiently. And I needed to call my best friend and tell him everything. Caleb would believe me.
“And you shall. Later.” The detective actually pulled the phone from my hand.
This move would prove bad, not just because I couldn’t reach out to Caleb, or find a way to update my customers about Black and Foam’s current state. It was also a bad move because when Nick arrived, I wasn’t even granted a second of preparation while I pretended to be busy with my phone. One second, I was on a chair opposite detective Chase. The next, Nick’s cold voice echoed behind me.
He only said hello… That’s all he said. But I knew right away who it is that was standing behind me. It had been a year since I last heard that voice, a whole year. One fucking year; twelve months; 52 weeks; 365 days, yet my insides did a little dance at the sound of the cold low hum of his voice.
To say that Nick was the one who got away would be deeply stretching it; he wasn’t. For one thing, we only met once. An effortlessly chic well-built charmer with words as enchanting as his chiseled face at the bar, and a broad-shouldered animal with a potty mouth as filthy as his shameless hands in the bedroom
, Nick was the best night of my life.
Would you trade chocolate for a guy? Honestly, and without pretense, would you trade a life time’s worth of chocolate in exchange for one night with a guy? That night, I would have given all the chocolate in the world, worse, all the coffee in the world for Nick. But it wasn’t just that, was it?
Something else drove me to Nick that night at a bar on one of the few nights I ventured outside my comfort zone. It was the early days of Black and Foam, and instead of going home straight after closing, I decided to pick up a drink. Instead, I picked up a guy.
Nick’s lips were full, his teeth perfect, and his touch excruciatingly possessive. When his hand slithered under my dress and up my thigh, I didn’t stop him, and when he pulled me to him, I licked the whiskey of his lips and demanded more. And he had plenty more to give.
We didn’t talk much; he touched my legs, my arms, my chin, my breasts. He squeezed. And I laid myself out for him. Soon, we were home at my place, and he was on the floor, behind me, large hands colliding with my butt as he pounded into me. No kisses, no words, no pretense, just me on four moaning like an animal in heat and demanding a fuck. He more than delivered. And when I was spent, he rolled me on my back, pressed his hand on my neck, locked his pale blue eyes onto mine, and then he started on me again. I still remember his words, his husky voice, full of need, and the flash of danger in his narrow blue eyes. “I wonder how you taste,” he had said with real hunger on his face, then he went down.
Nick was intense. Nick was an animal. And that night, in front of him, I was helpless.
It’s been one year; twelve months; 52 weeks; 365 days, and I still haven’t told a living soul that I picked up a stranger from a bar and took him home, nor did I tell anyone what happened the next morning.
After two hours on the floor, on the sofa, in the shower, Nick and I finally settled in bed, cuddling, my pale blond locks spread across his light olive skin. We talked till I fell asleep on his chest. In the morning, he was gone. He left without as much as a see you later, a goodbye, a phone number, a peck on the cheek.
To this day, Nick remains the highest point of my sex life and the lowest. I don’t know what came over me that night. Me, who only got intimate with serious boyfriends; me, the missionary girl who switched off the lights before undressing. It was a night I wanted both replayed and erased. And the star of this night was standing right in front of me now, all tall, ripped body, exotic blue eyes on olive skin, and dark cropped hair.
Chapter 5
I looked at Nick, blinked, then looked at detective Chase.
“Who is that?” I asked, painting a baffled expression on my face.
I knew who it was, but I was buying some time to recuperate from the shock, and okay, maybe I was trying to get under his skin.
Unlike everybody else on the scene save for detective Chase, Nick was wearing civilian clothes. A basic white T-shirt stretched across his broad chest, topped with a black blazer - an attempt at formality. His dirty shave and black jeans were more criminal than cop. Okay, maybe not criminal, that’s probably just my anger talking, but he definitely didn’t look like a cop, so what the hell was he doing in an active crime scene?
“That’s special consultant Nicholas Hayes,” detective Chase announced.
“Nick,” the towering figure in front of me said, a flash of anger igniting his blue eyes. “I’m Nick.”
Did he really expect me to remember a one night stand from a whole year ago? Okay, yes I remember, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Nice to meet you, special consultant Nicholas.” I smiled innocently.
One of his eyebrows shot up as he looked at me, trying to decide whether I really didn’t recognize him. It must have stabbed at his ego how I didn’t seem to make the connection. Was our night together so forgettable? I basked in satisfaction. If there was a silver lining to this night, this was it — this doubt-anger mixture across the infuriatingly handsome face.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” I offered the two policemen sweetly.
We were at a café after all. And after my little moment, I needed an excuse to escape this table for a few minutes and catch my breath.
“Yes, please,” detective Chase answered before Nick, sorry Nicholas, could say anything.
Behind the bar, I turned my back to the two men, and I finally allowed my smile to appear. There, you deserve this, Nick.
I started pulling the espresso shots, letting the sound of the coffee machine soothe me the way it always does. The milk frothed. I contemplated letting it scald just because, but then I couldn’t. It wasn’t in me to serve subpar coffee under any circumstances. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t do a little something to annoy special consultant Nicholas. I pounded the pitcher on the counter, swirled and started pouring: for detective Chase, a heart, and for Nick, an intricate rosetta.
The two men were talking in hushed voices, with a file resting in front of them. I was too busy pouring I didn’t pay attention to what they were saying. Now that I was approaching them, their voices fell into silence.
“There you go,” I put detective Chase’s latte in front of him, then Nick’s. I didn’t miss the look he shot me, too. Two, nil. Okay, maybe that’s not the overall score. In our night together, it was four, two. But what was I doing thinking about that? I mentally slapped myself back into my current situation.
I went back to the counter, pulled a single shot for myself, and then I walked back to the table.
“So Miss Cooper, Marissa,” Nick started, then maintaining eye contact he poured two packs of sugar into the perfect rosetta and stirred his latte. Dick! Nick the dick! That’s his new nickname.
“Yes,” I answered, trying not to slap him, and taking a sip of my espresso instead.
His eyes were still the same shade of blue, too light they could almost be transparent. Incredibly magnetic on his olive skin. His body looked the same, too, although closer inspection was needed to ascertain the fact. Another mental slap. I moved my eyes from the stretched T-shirt back to the intense eyes. My heart was beating fast again god damn it, and it wasn’t because I had just witnessed an assault, or because I was chased by a crazed killer.
“What happened tonight?” Nick asked.
“Again?!” How many times did they expect me to recount the same story? And why did I have to tell him anything?
I looked to detective Chase, the third on our table. “I already told you everything, and is this person even a cop?”
I heard Nick’s intake of breath. I went on anyway. “I already told you everything. It’s almost four. I am calling my staff.” I snatched my iPhone from in front of detective Chase and left my seat.
Nick’s hand was on my arm in no time, turning me around. “Marissa, get back to your seat.”
“You have no right taking my phone.”
“I know. I’ll give your phone back, but we need to discuss a few things before you can make any calls,” he said gently, tactfully retrieving the thin iPhone. My body was already heating up under his fingers, and I was thankful for the full-zip I had on. He would’ve probably been able to sense my body’s reaction to his touch if not for the protection of the thin fabric.
I sat down. This time, Nick sat next to me. Chase was across the table, watching attentively.
“Tell me everything. I need to hear everything for myself. Please,” Nick asked politely.
So I told my story again. This time, I left no detail out, no matter how crazy it seemed. I was too tired, I had told the story too many times, and I just wanted to get this over with.
“And did you recognize the victim?” Nick asked when I was finished.
“No. She was blond, and she was wearing a white dress. That’s all I could see before the lights started going on and off.”
“Do you recognize this picture?” he asked, slipping me a bad shot of a blond woman smiling. Everything stopped making sense for a moment. My eye shot from the photo to Nick, then back to the picture aga
in.
“Why do you ask? What does this mean?” The words fell out of my mouth, shocked, as I tried to make the connection.
“Do you know who this is, Ms. Cooper?” Detective Chase repeated Nick’s question, patiently but firmly.
“This is Bianca. We used to work together.” The eyes staring back at me from the picture were flat above the fake dutiful smile plastered on the painted lips. It wasn’t a spontaneously taken photo. The poor quality said it also wasn’t a studio headshot — a driving license photo. The two men were looking at each other over their cups of coffee. Detective Chase’s cup was almost drained, and he was showing the first sign of humanity I have seen on him all day; he was tapping the wooden table with his fingers.
“Why are you showing me a picture of her?” But I already knew the answer to that question, didn’t I? Something about that blond outside looked familiar. I didn’t recognize the feeling back then, because I was busy with more important things - namely saving my life, but looking back now, I know the familiarity was there. And the two policemen sliding a picture of my old work colleague now had only one meaning.
“Was it Bianca back there? Is she okay?” I was getting out of my chair on instinct. Guilt was surging through me. I had to check on her, make sure she was getting the help she needed. Had the paramedics already taken her away? They must have; the detectives and I have been sitting here for over an hour now. They couldn’t have possibly left her lying on the floor out there bleeding all that time.
“Sit down, please,” Nick asked, for the second time now. “She is not outback.”
I didn’t sit. “What hospital is she at? I have to go see her!” Bianca had been attacked in my parking lot. It could hardly be a coincidence that she was there right outside my café; she must’ve been coming to see me. After everything I have done to her, this stabbed at me.
