A Faint Cold Fear gc-3

by Karin Slaughter

  Thunder rolled again, and Lena was so startled that the knife slipped, slicing the side of her left index finger. She hissed a curse, untucking her shirt so she could wrap the excess material around the cut. Chuck promised every month to order her an extra-small uniform, but he never did. The baggy clothes were just another trick he had to make her feel like she did not belong.

  “Lena.”

  She did not look up. Even though Lena had only known him for less than a week, she recognized Ethan’s voice.

  She squeezed the shirt around her finger, trying to stop the bleeding. The wound ran deep, and blood quickly soaked the material. At least she had cut the same hand that was already injured. Maybe she could get a two-for-one if she went to the hospital.

  As if she had not heard him, Ethan repeated, “Lena.”

  “I told you I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “You don’t know me well enough to worry about me.” Lena refused the hand he offered as she stood. “Remember? It’s not like we’re gonna have to get married.”

  Ethan looked contrite. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Lena dropped her hand to the side, feeling blood rush to the cut. “I really don’t give a flying fuck what you said.”

  “You don’t have to be embarrassed about last night.”

  “You’re the one who grunts like a pig when he comes.” She grabbed his arm and pushed his sleeve up before he could stop her.

  He jerked away, sliding his sleeve back down, but she had seen a tattoo of barbed wire circling his wrist and something that looked like a soldier with a rifle on his arm.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “It’s just a tattoo.”

  “A tattoo of a soldier,” she clarified. “I know about you, Ethan. I know what you’re into.”

  He stood completely still, a deer caught in the headlights. “I’m not that person anymore.”

  “Yeah?” She pointed to her eye. “Which person did this?”

  “It was just a reaction, a gut reaction,” he said. “I don’t like being hit.”

  “Well, who the hell does?”

  “It’s not like that, Lena. I’m trying to straighten myself out here.”

  “How’s your parole working for you?”

  That threw him off. “Did you talk to Diane?”

  Lena did not answer, but a smile played at her lips. She knew Diane Sanders well. Finding out the rest of Ethan’s history would be a cinch.

  She asked, “What were you doing in Scooter’s room this morning?”

  “I wanted to see if he was okay.”

  “Yeah, you’re such a good pal.”

  “He had a lot of meth,” Ethan said. “He doesn’t know when to stop.”

  “He’s not in control like you are.”

  He did not take the bait. “You’ve got to believe me, Lena. I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “Well, you’d better find a convincing alibi, Ethan, because Andy Rosen and Ellen Schaffer were Jews, and Tessa Linton was screwing a black man—”

  “I didn’t know—”

  “Doesn’t matter, sport,” she told him. “You’ve got a bull’s-eye painted on your chest because of that shit you pulled with Jeffrey. I told you to stay out of it.”

  “I am out of it,” he said. “That’s why I moved here, to get away from it.”

  “You moved here because the friends you sent to jail were probably looking to settle some scores.”

  “I’m even with them,” he said, his tone bitter. “I told you I got out, Lena. You think that didn’t have a price?”

  “I guess your girlfriend was the price?” she said. “And now you’re sniffing around me, a spick. Is that what you and your buddies call it? Wetback?” She paused for effect. “Or is it my dyke sister you want to talk about? Or her lover, the bushwhacking school librarian?” She laughed at his reaction. “I wonder what the folks back home would think about all that, Ethan White.”

  “It’s Green,” he told her. “Zeek White is my stepdad. My real dad walked out on us.” His voice was firm, insistent. “I’m Ethan Green, Lena. Ethan Green.”

  “What you are is in my way,” she told him. “Move.”

  “Lena,” he said, and there was a desperation in his tone that made her look in his eyes. Since the attack she had made a habit of avoiding people. Lena realized she had never really looked into Ethan’s eyes, even when she was touching him last night. They were a startling clear blue, and she imagined that if she got close enough, she would be able to see the ocean in them.

  He said, “I’m not that person anymore. You have to believe me.”

  She stared at him, wanting to know why he cared.

  “Lena, we’ve got something going here.”

  “No we don’t,” she said, but not with as much conviction as she wanted.

  He tucked her hair behind her ear, then gently traced his finger over the cut under her eye. He said, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  She cleared her throat. “Well, you did.”

  “I promise you—promise—it’ll never happen again.”

  She wanted to tell him that he would never have the opportunity, but she could not look away from him, could not break the spell.

  He smiled, probably seeing the impact his words were having. “You know, I haven’t even kissed you,” he said, tracing her lips with his fingers. Parts of Lena she thought were dead reacted to his touch, and she felt tears come to her eyes. She had to stop this now before it got out of hand. She had to do something to get him out of her life.

  “Please,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s just start over.”

  She said the one thing she knew would stop him. “I want to be a cop again.”

  He jerked his hand away as if she had spit at him.

  She told him, “It’s who I am.”

  “It’s not,” he insisted. “I know who you are, Lena, and you’re not a cop.”

  Chuck came back, hitching his belt so that his keys rattled. She was so relieved to see him that she smiled.

  “What?” Chuck said, suspicious.

  Ethan told Lena, “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay,” she said, dismissing him.

  He did not move to leave. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “All right,” she agreed, thinking she would say anything to get him out of this room. “We’ll talk later. I promise. Go.”

  He finally left, and Lena looked down at the floor, trying to regain control of herself. She saw blood on the floor. The cut on her finger was dripping like a leaky spigot.

  Chuck crossed his fat arms over his chest. “What was that all about?”

  “None of your business,” she answered, smearing the blood on the floor with her shoe.

  “You’re on the clock, Adams. Don’t steal my time.”

  “I’m getting overtime now?” she asked, which was bullshit. The college made everyone take comp time, and Chuck conveniently forgot when Lena was owed.

  She showed him her finger. “I need to go back to the office and take care of this.”

  “Let me see it,” he said, like she might be faking.

  “It’s practically to the bone,” she told him, peeling off the shirt. Pinpricks of pain made her hand feel hot and cold at the same time. “It might need stitches.”

  “It doesn’t need stitches,” he said, like she was being a big baby. “Go back to the office. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Lena left the lab before he could change his mind or realize that the huge white box bolted to the wall that said FIRST AID might at least have a Band-Aid in it.

  The rain that had been threatening to fall all week broke as soon as Lena was halfway across the quad. Wind kicked up so hard that the rain blew sideways, slicing into her face like tiny slivers of glass. She kept her eyes closed to slits, her hand a few inches in front of her, trying to see her way to the security office.

  Af
ter she had spent five minutes looking for her key and trying to work it into the lock, the door finally opened, blowing back on its hinges. Lena grabbed the knob and braced her feet as she pulled the door closed.

  She flipped the light switch several times, but the power was out.

  Muttering a curse, Lena pulled out her flashlight and used it to find the first-aid box. When she did, the damn thing would not open, and she had to use the long side of her ankle knife to pry up the plastic lid. Her hand was so slippery that the knife popped out of her hand, and the contents of the kit clattered to the floor.

  She used her flashlight to find the things she needed, leaving the rest on the floor. Chuck could clean it up if it bothered him that much. Hell, he probably had enough cash coming through here every week to pay someone to clean the office himself.

  Lena hissed out a “Shit” between her teeth as she poured alcohol on the open cut. Blood pooled with the alcohol onto the desk. She tried to use her sleeve to wipe it off, but that only made things worse.

  “Fuck it,” she muttered.

  A poncho was in her locker, but Lena had never used it. The collar only had snaps on one side, a manufacturing defect that Chuck had not considered a problem when Lena had pointed it out to him. Of course, Chuck’s poncho was fine, and Lena decided she would borrow it to walk home in.

  Chuck’s locker jimmied open with a couple of tugs on the latch. The raincoat was still in its plastic pack on the top shelf, but Lena decided to take advantage of the situation and search his locker.

  Aside from a scuba-diving magazine, which seemed to be more about the half-naked models sporting the latest in thigh-baring rubber diving suits, and an unopened box of Powerbars, there was nothing of interest. She grabbed the poncho and was about to close the locker when the door blew open and Chuck walked in.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded, crossing the room more quickly than she thought him capable of. He slammed his locker closed so hard it popped back open.

  “I wanted to borrow your poncho.”

  “You’ve got your own,” he said, snatching it out of her hand and tossing it onto his desk.

  She said, “I told you there’s something wrong with mine.”

  “I think there’s something wrong with you, Adams.”

  Lena was aware that he was standing way too close to her. She took a step back just as the power came back on. The fluorescent light flickered, casting a shadowy gray light over them. Even in the partial light, she could see that Chuck was ready for a fight.

  Lena went to her locker. “I’ll use my own.”

  Chuck leaned his ass on the desk. “Fletcher called in sick. I need you to work the night shift.”

  “No way,” Lena protested. “I should’ve been off two hours ago.”

  “That’s the way it is, Adams,” he said. “Tough.”

  Lena opened her locker and stared at the contents, not recognizing anything.

  “What are you doing?” Chuck asked, slamming the locker closed.

  Lena jerked back her hand so it would not get smashed in the door. She had opened Fletcher’s locker by mistake. Two Baggies were on the top shelf, and Lena could guess what was in them. They were so sure they would not get caught that they were just leaving the shit lying around.

  “Adams?” Chuck repeated. “I asked you a question.”

  “Nothing,” she said, thinking there was a reason Fletcher never reported any incidents on his night log. He was too busy selling dope to kids.

  “All right,” Chuck said, probably thinking she had acquiesced. “I’ll see you in the morning. Call me if you need me.”

  “No,” Lena said, picking up his poncho. “I told you I’m not doing it, Chuck. You’re just going to have to work for a change.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  Lena snapped out the coat and wrapped it around her. The extra-large was enormous, but she did not care. The storm was still raging, but, knowing her luck, it would pass as soon as she got home. She would have to find some way to secure the door to her apartment. Jeffrey had busted the lock this morning when he barged in. God only knew if the hardware store would still be open.

  Chuck said, “Where are you going, Adams?”

  “I’m not working tonight,” she told him. “I need to go home.”

  “Bottle calling you, huh?” Chuck asked, a nasty smile twisting his lips.

  She realized he was blocking the door. “Get out of my way.”

  “I could stick around for a while if you want,” Chuck told her, and there was a glint in his eyes that put Lena on alert.

  “I’ve got a bottle in my desk drawer,” he said. “Maybe we could sit down and get to know each other a little better.”

  “You have got to be kidding.”

  “You know,” Chuck began, “you’d be kind of pretty if you put some makeup on and did something with your hair.”

  He reached out to touch her, and she moved her head away. “Get the fuck away from me,” she ordered.

  “I guess you don’t need this job as bad as you say,” he said, that same nasty look on his face.

  Lena bit her bottom lip, feeling the sting of his threat.

  “I read about what that guy did to you,” he said. “In the paper.”

  Her heart thumped over in her chest. “So did everyone else.”

  “Yeah, but I read it more than once.”

  “Your lips must’ve gotten really tired.”

  “Let’s see if yours can,” he said, and before she knew what was happening, he had wrapped his big hand around the back of her head and jerked her down toward his crotch.

  Lena balled her hand into a fist and punched him between the legs with all her strength. He groaned and fell to the floor.

  Lena’s door opened before she reached her room.

  “Where have you been?” Ethan demanded.

  Her teeth were chattering. She was so wet that her clothes were chafing her as she walked. She did not care how Ethan had gotten into her apartment or what he was doing here. She walked straight to the kitchen to get herself a drink.

  “What happened?” Ethan asked. “Lena, what happened?”

  Her hands were shaking too much to pour the drink, and he took over for her, filling up the shot glass to the rim. He held the glass to her mouth the same way she had done for him the night before. She drank it all down in one gulp.

  Ethan’s tone was soft. “Are you okay?”

  She shook her head, trying to pour another drink even as her stomach clenched. Chuck had touched her. He had put his hand on her.

  “Lena?” Ethan asked, taking the glass from her. He poured another drink, this one a little less generous, and handed it to her.

  Lena swallowed it down, her throat clenching. She put her hands on the edge of the kitchen sink, trying to control the emotions that were welling up.

  “Baby,” Ethan said. “Talk to me.”

  He stroked her hair back from her face, and Lena felt the same revulsion Chuck had inspired earlier.

  “No,” she said, swatting him away. The effort from speaking made her start coughing, her airway seizing up as if she were being strangled.

  “Come on,” Ethan said, rubbing her back with the palm of his hand.

  “How many times,” Lena began, her voice straining in her chest, “do I have to tell you not to touch me?” On this last part she jerked away from him.

  “What is wrong with you?” Ethan demanded.

  “Why are you here?” she shot back, feeling violated all over again. “What the fuck makes you think you have a right to be here?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “About what?” she asked. “About that girl you beat to death?”

  He stood completely still, but she could see every muscle in his body tense. Lena wanted to make him feel the way Chuck had made her feel, like he was trapped. Like he had nowhere to go.

  He said, “I explained what—”

  “You just stayed in the
truck, huh?” she asked, walking around him. He was like a statue in the middle of the room. “Did that give you a good view?” she asked. “Could you see them fucking her, beating the shit out of her?”

  “Don’t do this,” he warned, his voice as cold as steel.

  “Or what?” she asked, managing to laugh. “Or you’re gonna do the same thing to me?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” His muscles were still tensed, his jaw clenched tight like it was taking every ounce of his self-control to remain calm.

  “You didn’t rape that girl?” Lena asked. “You stayed in the truck, all innocent, while your buddies got a nut off?”

  She pushed his shoulder, but it was like pushing a mountain; he did not move.

  “You get hard watching them?” she asked. “Huh, Ethan? Did it turn you on watching her suffer, watching her realize there was nothing she could do but get screwed?”

  “No.”

  She asked, “What was it like sitting there, knowing she was gonna die? Did you like that, Ethan?” She pushed his shoulder again. “Did you get out of your truck and join in? Did you hold her arms still while they fucked her? Did you fuck her? Were you the one who ripped her open? Did the blood turn you on?”

  He warned her again. “You don’t want to do this, Lena.”

  “Let’s see what you’ve got under here,” she said, snatching at his shirt. He did it himself, ripping off the black T-shirt. Lena’s mouth dropped open when she saw the large tattoos covering his torso.

  He roared, “Is this what you wanted? Is this what you wanted to see, you bitch?”

  She slapped him, and when he did not respond, she slapped him again, then again. She slapped him until he threw her into the wall and they both fell onto the floor.

  They struggled, but he was stronger, pushing himself on top of her, yanking down her pants, his fingernails digging into her stomach. Lena screamed, but he put his mouth over hers, jamming his tongue so far down her throat that she gagged. She tried to knee him in the groin, but he was too fast, pushing her thighs apart with his knees. With one hand he kept both of her arms pinned over her head, nailing her wrists to the floor, trapping her.

  “Is this what you want?” he screamed, spit flying out of his mouth.

  Ethan reached down and unzipped his pants. She felt dizzy and sick, and everything she saw was washed in red. She gasped, tensing when he entered her, tightening herself against him.