by Rebel Farris
I retrieved his drink and sat down on the sofa.
“I assume you have some news regarding my case?”
He dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. Flipping it open, he pulled out a small square of paper and slid it across the coffee table between us. It was a picture. A girl, probably a few years younger than me. Her hair was reddish brown like mine, and she had warm brown eyes. My face twisted in puzzlement as I looked back to the officer.
“That’s—” He cleared his throat. “That’s my sister. She’s been missing for a little over four years now.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, furrowing my brow. “But does this have something to do with my case?”
“They decided not to assign your case to a detective.”
“Can I ask why?” I asked. “I’m not making this up.”
“I believe you. There’s just not enough evidence, and even if there were, we’re still very limited in how we can handle stalking cases.”
“I’m not following.”
“We can’t just arrest people for being near you or giving your kids flowers. You can file a restraining order, once we find out who he is. But even then, we have to catch him in the vicinity or have evidence of breaking and entering before we can press charges.”
I cursed internally before asking, “And your sister?” I was failing to understand the connection.
“Before she disappeared, she said that weird stuff was happening to her. Things moved in her room like someone had been in there. She swore someone was after her. No one believed her. We thought she was being dramatic, just looking for attention. Then one day, she was gone. She wouldn’t have run away. She loved her family, and we loved her. There were other things, too. It never added up. That’s why I became a cop. They wouldn’t investigate. They wouldn’t look for her. She was eighteen, an adult, so they said she probably left. There was no evidence to suggest otherwise.” He sighed. “Look, I know this is probably just the consolation prize, but I believe you. The guys at the station, not so much. So I’m going to look into this for you when I can. They keep us pretty busy, but I’ll make time.”
“Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say. “I appreciate it.”
I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and found Blake standing there.
“I’ve gotta get some equipment from the van. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be right back. Is it okay if I let myself back in?”
“Yeah sure, that’s fine,” I answered and then turned back to the officer. “They didn’t find any fingerprints or DNA on the flowers?”
“No. The only thing we have is your statement and the vague description your daughters gave. That’s not enough to go on. But here—” He opened his wallet and slid another rectangle of paper across the coffee table. “That’s my card. If you have another incident or notice anything else suspicious, give me a call. That’s my cell listed.”
He stood, and I followed him to the door.
“Though I’d like to not hear from you again. You know?” He smiled. “I hope nothing else happens.”
“Yeah, one can hope that this is all over. Thank you again for your help. And for believing me.”
“Have a good rest of your day.” He smiled again and turned, then halted. “Are you installing a camera-capable system?”
“I have no clue. Jared set this all up.”
“Well, if you do, remember to save the recordings after any event. Those systems self-purge after a preset length of time. We’ll need all the evidence you can get.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks. You have a good day, too.” I waved and closed the door.
Now
“I need to call Diana and John,” I say, racing across the dining room to the kitchen.
“Who?” Dex asks.
“Cora and Cat’s grandparents,” I explain. “They’re retired. I’m going to send the girls with them, on vacation, somewhere far away. Out of the country or something. I can’t have them around this. This is too much. In all the years of stalking, whoever this is hasn’t made a threat like that before.”
I make it to my purse and pull out my phone, searching the contact list. My heart is racing, and I’m struggling for breath.
“Hey,” Dex says, placing his hand over the phone. “Slow down. Let’s think this through.”
“Think this through!” I yell and then struggle to drag in air. I brace my hands on my knees to control my breathing and calm down while I finish. “Listen, Dex. We don’t know each other that well. You asked me the other day why I was training. This. This is why I’ve been training. I’m not going to sit around like some delicate flower, waiting to see what the bad man will do to me.”
“That’s not what I—”
“I know, but what you don’t know is that I’ve plans in place. I’m not going to sit quietly by and let my life get torn apart again. I’m not going to wait and see if one of those dead birds symbolizes my girls. He made the mistake of leaving me alone for three years. I’ve had time to think about everything. Time to realize what I did wrong. Time to put plans in place to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” I don’t know if it’s the words or just the act of talking, but as I finish that spiel, I catch my breath, and the anxiety attack passes.
“I’m just saying that you need to calm down,” Dex says. “Just talk to me, Maddie. Tell me where your head’s at.”
“This is worse.” I start pacing the floor in front of the kitchen counter. “The last time he started escalating, it was nothing like this. And you were right in the car. Nothing he has ever said has seemed malicious, but this—that’s not caring. That’s…”
Dex takes a seat at one of the barstools. “It’s not good.”
“Yeah,” I say, still pacing. My hands are shaking, my words spilling out faster than normal. “First things first. I’m getting the girls out of here, and Hope, too. Audra can go with them. If you’re okay with sending her away? I mean, if you want to stay around for this. I don’t blame you if this is too much. But if you are, I think you should separate her from me.”
“You’ve gotta stop this, Maddie. I understand the impulse—believe me. Though I wish I handled things like you. You have this knack for pushing everyone else out of the way so you can face problems alone. I get it. But you need to understand that it’s not always what’s best for you or them. Your strength is the fact that you have all these people who love you and are willing to stand by you.”
“They’re just kids, Dex,” I shout. “They aren’t going to help in this situation, and I won’t leave them in harm’s way.”
“I’m not asking you to,” he shouts back, matching my tone. “I’m just saying that we should wait until we know what this even is. What if it’s a prank? This doesn’t match your stalker’s MO. It could be anything. Flying off the handle and pulling the kids from their school could end up being an unnecessary disruption to their lives. So why don’t we call Martinez and get the investigation started on this, and then decide what we’re doing? Okay?”
Dammit. I don’t like it, but Dex’s right. We don’t know what this is.
“Okay.” I nod. “I’m calling Bridget, so she can get here before the police.” I check the time on my phone. It’s only one in the afternoon. “After that, I’m going to call the security guys and have them take the girls to the Mad House after school. I don’t want them coming home to this and a swarm of police in their home. Then we can call Martinez. You good with that?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Dex says and then tugs my elbow, standing and pulling me to him.
His arms come around me, and he kisses my forehead.
“You probably should get a shirt on,” I remind him when I become all too aware that he’s still shirtless.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says as he grins down at me. “I love it when you get bossy with me.”
I snort and shake my head. That’s exactly what makes me nervous about him. My phone rings. I ju
mp, and it falls out of my hands, tumbling to the ground. I move out of Dex’s arms, reaching down to pick it up but kick it across the room instead. What am I? One of the Three Stooges? I cross the kitchen and finally get a grip on the phone. Bridget’s face is on the screen.
“Bridget?” I answer, a little freaked out that she’s calling when I just decided to call her.
“Finally,” Bridget says. “I’ve been trying to call you. I have some news. Is Holly around?”
I walk over to the window in the kitchen that overlooks the driveway. “I don’t see her car, but Marcus’s Honda is parked in front of her garage door, so I assume she’s there. It’s only one. She doesn’t leave for work for another few hours.”
“Good, I’m coming over,” she replies. “I’ll get her and meet over at your place.”
“Okay? I was just fixin’ to call you anyway because I need to call the police. There’s something at my house that you gotta see.”
“Shit, another flower?”
“No, this is worse. You have to see it. I’m not sure what to make of it.”
“All right, I’m on my way,” she says, and the line cuts off.
I turn back, but Dex is already gone. I search through my contacts. One phone call down, two to go.
Then
It had been three months, and there were no break-ins, no strange men lurking around the corner. Life had returned to normal. All that meant, though, was I had time. Lots of time to sit around and think about what I’d lost. Aside from derby and work, which was something. But compared to my schedule for the last few years, it felt like I was sitting still. I sighed, missing the band more and more every day. Staring at the wall, I mindlessly stirred the pan filled with pasta sauce.
“What’s that about?” Jared asked over my shoulder.
I shrieked and spun around, flinging a trail of tomato sauce across the counters. “Holy crap, you scared me.”
“I wasn’t even quiet.” He grinned. “You were just off in your own little world, staring at the wall, making little noises.”
“I wasn’t making noises,” I grumped.
“You were, but the question is… what are you thinking about?”
“The band,” I confessed and turned away to clean up the mess.
“What about them?”
“I miss it. Being onstage. Performing. Even just sitting around and writing music, rearranging covers. I don’t get to spend a lot of time doing that. Don’t get me wrong—I love working at the studio, and I’m learning a lot. I just spend more time filing or getting coffee than I do working on actual music.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” I teased.
“I do. And I think I might have something that interests you.”
“I’m listening.”
“I know a guy—”
“You know a guy? You know that’s the way guys where I’m from tell you about some shady handyman who can fix just about anything. I’m not sure you want a handyman working on me,” I said with a playfully sinister expression.
He pulled the kitchen towel from my hands slowly, the smile on his face growing. “You’re going to get it for that.” He held opposing corners of the towel and started swinging it so it twisted up.
I yelped and tried to dodge him, but he blocked my exit. The first snap of the towel missed completely, but that didn’t stop me from yelling out and laughing. I grabbed the pot lid off the counter to use as a shield. We were apparently loud in our play because the girls dashed around the corner.
“We want to play, too,” Cat said.
The pasta water started boiling over. I dashed to the stove to stop the mess, turning down the flame and stirring the noodles.
“Sorry, baby. We can’t play anymore. Mommy’s gotta finish dinner.”
“Tell you what,” Jared said. “Why don’t you go pick out the movie for after dinner?”
“Cora, come on.” She grabbed her sister’s hand with a grin. “Daddy says we get to pick the movie.” They both ran from the room, giggling.
Jared leaned against the counter next to me, crossing his arms over his chest. He leaned back a bit until he caught my eye.
“I met this guy at work. He’s another instructor. Can play anything, but he prefers drums. We’ve been playing around on the instruments after hours a few times. He said he’s interested in joining a band. I told him about you. He wants to meet you. If you’re interested.”
“What kind of music?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Pretty much anything.”
“He any good?”
“Yeah, the best I’ve seen in a while. I think you should meet him. Swing by the school after my class.”
“I don’t know. You know, that was the thing about punk; I may have loved it, but I don’t think I ever fit. Punk is born out of huge amounts of emotions that are hindered by limited technique.” I sighed, remembering all the times I frustrated the hell out of Spence. “When I joined them, I had more technique than necessary. Spence and I worked on finding a middle ground because I wanted a clean sound and complexity of notes; he wanted simplicity and raw sounds. I had the emotions…”
Realizing that my anger toward him was what fueled a lot of that passion, I shifted my focus away from him. He didn’t need to read that on my face. I turned off the flame underneath the pots. Tears pooled in my eyes as the enormity of what I lost sank in, but I refused to let them fall, squeezing my eyes shut.
“It wasn’t about getting famous or making money. We did it because we loved the process of transforming those emotions into sound. Punk isn’t just music. It’s a culture. Actually, it’s many cultures. Everything from the Aggro Hardcore to the Art-schooled. I’ve a hard time believing that I’ll ever find that again.”
“Then don’t. Find a new journey. Create a new sound that is all you. Merge your blues and punk roots, find your current emotions, and make music that comes from where you’re at right now.”
I pressed my hands into the counter and bit my lip, afraid to turn and look at him. I didn’t want him to see my heart breaking with the realization that I’d have to move on.
It wasn’t just the music. Law hadn’t called me back. I’d broken up with him, but I’d hoped that he would see reason. That he would come by to find Jared at his apartment, me in the house, and realize that things weren’t the way he imagined them. But with Jared living inside the house, due to the stalker, he might not see things that way. And maybe that was why he wasn’t calling. Maybe Sloane had told him, and he’d decided to move on. Either way, it was around the thirtieth unanswered message that I decided to stop calling him.
I just needed to wake up and accept that he’d moved on. The band was over. I needed to move on, too.
“Okay,” I agreed.
“Okay?” he asked skeptically.
“Yes, okay. Is there some reason why you never believe me when I say okay to you?”
“Nope,” he said with an innocent look on his face. “Just making sure.”
“Whatever. Drain the pasta, will ya,” I said, handing him the potholders.
Now
The doorbell rings. I check the clock on my phone and realize that it’s only been fifteen minutes since I hung up with Bridget—the downside to living close to work.
I round the corner into the foyer just as Dex is letting Bridget, Marcus, and Holly enter.
Bridget’s eyes meet mine before she nods to her right. “We should go into your office and talk about the news I have before the police get here and we move on to the rest of it.”
I nod in reply and follow them. Holly and Bridget sit in the chairs across from the desk. Dex and Marcus remain standing, and I take the seat in my office chair. Bridget looks to Holly. “Are you okay with them being in here?” She looks to Dex and Marcus. “Because I have news about Roz.”
That name has both Holly and me stiffening, but Holly’s eyes take on a faraway, lost look. Roz is Holly’s ex-boyfriend, a
nd to say they had a volatile relationship is putting it mildly. She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. Just say what you’ve gotta say,” she says, but her voice comes out rough and timid.
I can admit that hearing Holly like that puts me on edge, more than I already was.
“About thirty minutes after Chloe and Maddie left this morning, I got a call from the DA,” Bridget says to Holly. “Roz’s parole hearing was moved up. Due to good behavior, he’ll meet with the parole board in December.”
“How the fuck is that possible?” Holly asks, her brows drawing together as anger takes over her voice.
“I don’t know,” Bridget says. “But you’re going to need to speak before the parole board.”
I rise from my seat. Concerned for my friend, I kneel down in front of her.
“We’ll do it again,” I say, grasping her hands. “Together. Same way we did last time. He won’t get to you, and he sure as fuck won’t get to Hope. I promise.”
I look at Bridget to make sure I’m not talking out my ass. I want it to be true, but I’m not confident we can pull it off. Bridget nods, but the look on her face isn’t as reassuring as I hoped it would be. Holly shakes her head as tears streak down her freckled cheeks. She pulls her hands from mine and wipes her face. Standing awkwardly, I lean over to hug her. I hate seeing her like this. She’s always so strong.
“I’m gonna talk to Jerry,” Holly says, her voice muffled by my hair as she squeezes me back. “This is why I work for him. He promised to protect us, you know?”
I nod and lean back.
“That’s bullshit, Holls,” Marcus blurts. “You don’t fucking need him. I told you, you don’t need to be connected to that shit. Dex and I got your back.”
She told him. I’m floored as I watch them curiously. Guilt seeps in that I haven’t been around enough to know that they were becoming that close; Roz is a subject Holly keeps locked down.
“I already told you no,” Holly snaps. “The motherfucking cops’ idea of protection is a goddamn piece of paper. And that shit means nothing to him. You’ve gotta fight fire with fire.”
I lean back against the desk as Holly stands, her face turning red with anger. That’s the Holly I know. Her hands clench into fists as she faces down Marcus. They have a silent standoff as they stare at each other.
