by Grace, A. E.
*
There seems to be a connection between the people in this group. Sasha Monroe has referred to it unknowingly as instinct, a hunch, and the others seem unwilling to expound on it. But it is undeniably there. I have watched as they finish each other’s sentences sometimes. I have seen entire conversations take place in what I can only describe as advanced body language.
The following illustrates the foreign nature of this: intonation in eye-contact; inflexion in posture; modulation in gestures.
They seem able to communicate with each other on a level higher – or perhaps a more primal level, though I’m reluctant to use that particular word – than a normal person. They don’t seem wholly aware of it, either.
It is, however, a logical extension of Sasha’s instinct. I’m of the belief that it was something that they fully attained after the fact. While Sasha had the tendency toward it, it did not become fully realized until long after she had met Dylan.
The method of communication is not unlike the way in which information is quickly shared between a pack of wolves, or any other grouping of animal.
The implication is, of course, that to some extent, this group of people were meant to come together, and the pairings within them were meant to happen.
Fated, perhaps? It certainly helps to assuage the uneasiness that confronts my sense of belief as I listen to these wildly coincidental tales of how each of these people met.
What forces are at work here?
And do they act upon everybody, or simply a select, privileged few?
- Excerpt from Unlocking Within: Return to Animal by Circe Cole. Printed with expressed permission.
*
With the engine off, Sasha leaned toward Dylan, patted her gun. “This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to go inside, and I’m going to watch that security video. You’re going to stand against the wall where I can see you until I’m satisfied, okay?”
She found it annoying, then, that he grinned. “Okay,” he said.
“Argh!” Sasha got out of the car, and banged her fist against the dusty top. “Come on!”
She led the way, toward the motel, all the way her mind broiling with thoughts of what she’d like to do to Dylan. He was at once hot and cold; enticing and annoying; inviting yet shielded. She wondered what his deal was. His whole demeanor seemed so infused with a playfulness and cheek that left her asking if he ever took anything seriously.
No, she thought. That was not entirely true. He was taking the murder of Charlie Kinnear quite seriously. And this person he was looking for? Who had apparent answers? On the surface, that looked like a crap lie. So that made it all the more curious why he had seemed remarkably sincere about it. She knew he was hiding something; that much was for sure.
And all that talk about her being gorgeous… what the hell was he up to with that? The thought did cross her mind that he really was into her, and though that was flattering in and of itself, it was ridiculous that he was being so inappropriate, given their roles toward each other.
She was a cop, he was a suspect, or at best a person of interest. Why would he even think she’d be interested in something like that?
Of course, the truth was that physically, hell yes! Guy was hot, and if he was into her, then that was great. It’s not like she was a total prude. Sasha didn’t exactly have the kind of body that men fell over backward for, and so if he was into a big girl, that that would suit her very, very nicely…
If he wasn’t involved in a murder investigation.
Sasha shook her head. It had been an extremely long day, and she could feel her patience fraying at the edges. She wanted to go home, run a cool bath, and lie in it, gradually warming up the water as her temperature cooled.
She wanted to tuck into a good book, or maybe listen to some music. Or perhaps she could watch a movie on her tablet, propped up on a stool next to the tub.
Either way, it didn’t matter. She didn’t want to be working a murder. She definitely didn’t want to be spending any more time outside in what must have been a record setting day, temperature-wise.
No, she thought, again realizing that what she was trying to tell herself was not entirely true. And when she forced herself to come to terms with her own feelings, she knew that she actually wouldn’t mind going on a little pretend-date with Dylan. He was… compelling, somehow. Jaunty, reckless, and a confidence that couldn’t be due to his age. He looked younger than her by a few years, but something about the way he held himself lent him the gravity and presence of someone a decade her elder.
And there was also the case of her professional curiosity. She knew he was holding out on information. She expected that. But for the time being, he was her only lead. She could always bring him in later on the trespassing charge if she learned that his involvement was more than just circumstantial.
“Come on,” she hurried him, pushing open the door, and was instantly bathed in waves of cold, refreshing air.
“That feels good.” He walked in behind her, neck glistening and reddened.
“Wait over there,” she said, gesturing at the far corner of the small reception room. It was by a plant, a cactus in a pot. “And don’t move.”
“Yes, detective,” Dylan said, doing exactly as he was told. He did it all with a smirk on his face, and though Sasha wanted to scowl at him, she found that she couldn’t.
“Hey, Jake,” she said to the young clerk at the reception kiosk.
“You know him?” Dylan called from across the room.
“It’s a small town,” she said, turning to look at him and putting an arm on her hip. She shot him a look that she was fairly sure he’d be able to interpret: shut up.
“I hear congratulations are in order.” Jake did not looking up from his computer screen.
“Thanks,” she said. “Listen, I need the security footage from this morning.”
He paused his pecking at the keyboard then, narrowing his eyes at her. “Is this, uh, legal?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you need a warrant or something?”
Sasha blinked at him. “What? Would you just give me the damn tape? You’re not a suspect, and anything I find on it I can’t use in court against you, anyway! In court for the crime you are not suspected of.”
“Oh.”
“I need to see this guy here.” She jerked her head at Dylan, and then looked at him. He was entirely at ease. And that meant that his alibi was probably airtight.
“Fine, fine,” Jake said, putting up his hands. “But I’m telling my Dad.”
That was the owner. Sasha tapped the desk impatiently. “Fine.”
“What time around?”
“Uh-”
“No, never mind, it doesn’t matter. We only change tapes every day. Come in the back, and I’ll rewind it for you.”
“Fine.” She turned to Dylan and beckoned him with a curled finger. “Come on.”
He walked toward her, an exaggerated swagger in his step that might have made her smile under different circumstances. “You’re about to lose your only suspect,” he said. “Bad day, eh?”
The two of them walked into the back office, and Sasha wrinkled her nose. The rancid pong of food left out for too long hung in the air like a damp fog.
“Smells in here.”
“Here,” Jake said, ignoring her. He pointed toward a small television, on which was the scene of the empty reception outside. He began to rewind the tape, and Sasha watched herself march backward out of the building. The small time display moved rapidly in reverse, and then she was looking at a video of Dylan, wearing the same clothes he was now, putting money down on the counter.
“Aren’t you supposed to get passport details?” she asked. Jack looked between her and Dylan, and she looked between them. “What?” she asked, turning to Dylan. “You pay more for privacy or something?”
“Yes,” Dylan admitted.
“Great. Okay, thanks, Jake.” She left the office, and ran her
hand through her hair.
Dylan joined her at the front desk, and leaned against it. “Not all is lost,” he said after a pause. “We still have a date tonight.”
“You’re not off the hook yet, Dylan,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “You know something, and you’re not telling me. I can tell.”
“Come on,” he said, jerking his head toward the hallway leading to where all the rooms were. “I’ve got a cold drink in my fridge.”
He walked off then, leaving Sasha behind him, and, a little reluctantly, she followed him down the gloomy corridor.
*
“Here!” Dylan shouted as soon as he saw Sasha in the doorway. He threw her a bottle of water he’d retrieved from the mini-fridge. She caught in both hands. “Nice catch.”
“I played water polo when I was in school. I can catch.”
“Indoor pool?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t imagine the kids get to do much outdoor sports in this climate.”
“In the winter months the boys play rugby, as it’s a bit cooler. Girls play hockey. But it’s only for a couple of months, and only for half the class period.”
“Ah,” Dylan said. He was surprised. Just moments ago she had been all barbed-wire, and right now they were having a pretty normal chat, if a little banal.
“Please,” he said, gesturing at the stool next to the coffee table he was also seated at. “I’d offer you a better seat, but this is a pretty shitty motel.”
“Right,” she said. She took a large sip of water. “I thought when you said drink, you were going to offer me alcohol.”
“Terrible idea. We’re dehydrated.”
“Yeah.”
Dylan leaned down toward the min-fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. “But after the water,” he said, placing each bottle carefully on the table.
“Dylan…”
“Just being a good host. There’s a chocolate bar in the fridge if you’re feeling a bit peckish. I’ve also got some peanuts, and um, well, I think that’s about it.”
“It’s fine.”
“Good. I’m not hungry, either.” Dylan said, and he drained his bottle of water, then opened his beer.
“Dylan, you’re wasting my time.”
“Well, you’re free to leave.”
She looked at him for a moment, as though studying him, contemplating him. He found it funny that she was trying so hard to work him out. He was much, much simpler than that.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked. Even though he was fairly certain that he wouldn’t care if she did, he still felt a pang of anticipation in his chest, as though bracing himself for disappointment. How long it had been since he felt that!
“Why?” she said, deflecting.
“Because I’m interested.”
She tilted her head to the side. “In me, right?”
Dylan took a sip from his beer. He did it slowly. “Who else? Why are you so resistant?”
“Come on, Dylan,” she said, gesturing around her as though the answer were hovering in the air surrounding them. “It’s pretty obvious.”
“So it’s not because you’re not interested, then.”
She paused, face drawn into a half-smile. “Truthfully, not entirely, no.” The confirmation of it made something bloom inside his chest.
“Not entirely?”
“It would be unprofessional. I’m on the clock.”
“You’re a cop,” he said casually. “You’re always on the clock.”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
“Got a family around here?”
“If you mean a husband, then-”
“No, I mean a family. Parents, siblings.”
“Yes, but they aren’t here anymore. My sister took my parents somewhere cooler.”
“But you stayed behind?” Dylan sipped again from his beer, and saw Sasha eying it. “Listen,” he said. “I’ve got some white wine as well if you’d prefer. It’s probably shitty, but-”
“Sure,” she chirped. From the way she had said it, it seemed to him that she had been wrestling with the idea for a few minutes already, and had just decided to fuck it.
“Cool. I mean, it’s been a long day, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’ve got to get off work sometime, right?” He opened the mini bottle of chardonnay, peering around the cupboard that held the mini-fridge, and on which sat the television. He was pleasantly surprised to find a pair of wine glasses, though they were both fairly chipped, and definitely cheap-looking.
“Sorry,” he said. “Best I can do.” She shrugged at him, and he poured her a glass, sat it down on the table in front of her. “Watch out, there’s a small chip.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Actually, I’ll be off in an hour. Technically. But knowing my boss… he’ll make me overtime this thing until it’s solved.”
Dylan leaned his back against the wall. “Why now? Why are you talking to me all of a sudden?”
She took a deep breath, and let it out gradually. She took her first sip of wine, a small one, but followed it immediately with a second, larger one. “Actually, it’s not that terrible. Quite crisp.”
“You know wine?” he asked. He was enjoying the conversation they were having far more than he would ever let on.
“A little.”
“So why now?”
“I think you’re connected. I don’t think you’re the murderer, and I don’t get the impression that you’re a danger to me. I do, however, get the impression that you’re involved in something potentially dangerous. After all, a man is dead. I believe that you’re looking for the same person I’m looking for, but I don’t believe that it is only for answers. I don’t trust you, but I see the investigative value of getting to know you. I believe there is more going on here than meets the eye, but that’s just a gut feeling. I think you think you’re smarter than you really are, and since I’ve got nothing else to do because the lab won’t be done on the fur, and no prints match anything in the database, and there are no witnesses outside of a drunk lady’s shaky testimony, I may as well spend some time getting to know the only lead I have, which is only based on a hunch, and a description that you match, even though you have an alibi.”
She took a deep breath. “Satisfied?”
Dylan scratched his chin, but didn’t break eye-contact. “Yup.”
“Damn!” Sasha said, putting her hands on either side of her face, thumb beneath her jaw and fingers by her temple. “What the hell am I doing here?”
“Investigating.”
“No,” she said, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “No, it’s more than that.”
“You’re interested in me,” Dylan chanced then. “And more than just in terms of the case.”
She looked at him, apparently unhappy with the truth. “Yes.”
“I’m not a bad guy.”
“I don’t really believe that,” she said.
“Okay, I’ve done some bad things. But I’m not an evil guy. I wouldn’t kill.”
“Tell me more about this person you’re looking for. Probably the same one I am.”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know much. All I know is that they are here, in this town.”
“How do you even get to a position where you’re looking for someone who knows something about you, but you know nothing about them? Where do you even begin to look?”
Dylan was starting to realize that he was getting into some slippery territory. Deflecting now would be too obvious. But he couldn’t tell her the truth.
Could he?
*
Sasha sipped at her wine frequently. It was cool, refreshing, and was sanding down the rough edges of her day that were beginning to seriously grate on her. She knew she shouldn’t be even having a single drop while she was still working, but given the circumstances, it seemed the best way to lubricate Dylan into telling her something.
Also, it didn’t hurt that she was felt pretty rotten. Her energy and enthusi
asm and patience were all draining away. One of her university roommates had told her that alcohol was the best medicine for a hangover. She wasn’t sure that she believed it, but right now it was definitely helping to smooth out the creases. And there were too many creases.
“Come on,” she said, taking another sip from the glass. The wine had a little too much body for her tastes, but it wasn’t half-bad for crappy motel stuff. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s really going on? I mean, you’re innocent, right?”
She watched him, wondering if she was making any headway. He seemed at a point of conflict, the proverbial fork in the road. Maybe this was it.
“Why are you looking for this person?” she pushed. She saw in his face the rocks tumbling, the pillar crumbling. She couldn’t believe it. He was relenting.
“I have a condition,” he said. “Genetic. Not contagious, not communicable, and not bad, so don’t worry. It’s extremely rare. I don’t know the specifics – nobody seems to – but the gist of it is that my blood cells will sometimes merge.”
Sasha blinked. “Merge?”
“Yes. Two blood cells sometimes become one.”
She peered at him. She definitely felt like she was missing something. “That’s all?”
He shrugged. “Pretty much. One cell will swallow the other up. My red blood cells show activity thought only to exist in white blood cells, because, you know, whites will eat up bacteria and things like that. But my red blood cells don’t do it as an immune response like white cells do. They just sometimes do it for no reason, it seems. It was first observed by my pediatrician when he took a blood sample. I was tested for anemia when I was a child.”
“And it’s harmless?”
He shrugged again, smiling. “As far as I can tell.”
“So, what, you come to Salty Springs after somebody else who has the same condition?”
He tapped his finger on the table. “Bingo.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know if he or she has had any children,” he said. Sasha saw his eyes leave hers for a moment, and she was wondering if he was telling the truth. It was plausible, she guessed, though stretching believability. The sheer coincidence of it, two people with a rare condition, and one of them ends up committing a gruesome murder. On top of all of that, what motive was there for the murder of Charlie Kinnear?
