by Bo Reid
I watch as his face calculates what I just said, the facts about my mother and Hades he could have found by looking me up. If he’d even bothered to do his own research he’d know this already. By the way his face contorts, I know he didn’t even bother.
The rape could be confirmed with a court order to view my hospital records. I see his face soften slightly and I know I’ve got him. Maybe he’s right, I am manipulative, comes with the trade.
“Do those facts coordinate with the brutal, cold, calculated, manipulative killer you’ve been told I am? Do those facts fit into the puzzle of a girl that killed her own father? If I told you that my father was a loving man, he never abused me, never did anything to harm me, I ask, why then, would I kill him? What would you say?”
“There’s no record of you being sexually assaulted.” I snort and roll my eyes. That’s all he can come up with to reply. Pathetic.
He turns to open the door, leading me over to the table in the middle of the room. He releases one handcuff and brings my arms in front of my body before he handcuffs me to the chains bolted to the floor. I guess they want me to stick around.
“No police record maybe, but if you bring me a waiver, I’ll sign over access to my most recent hospital stay,” I say as I lift the hem of my shirt where my scars are bright pink and still very fresh, the worst of which still have stitches. “You’ve been told I’m a monster, but even a monster has a past.”
I see him zero in on some of the worst gashes and swallow the lump in his throat. I should feel bad about manipulating one of the good guys. But I’m kind of over ‘good guys’ since the last one to walk into my life tortured and raped me. So yeah, my sympathy level is at an all-time low right now.
“I’ll get you some sweatpants,” agent Marks says quietly as he turns to leave the room.
I drop my shirt and sit in the chair, my chains clattering to the ground in front of me. “Get me that waver,” I say firmly turning to face the two-way mirror.
“I believe you,” he whispers as he grabs for the door handle, looking at me over his shoulder.
I tear my gaze away from my reflection and meet his eyes, allowing my pain to show in my eyes. “Get me that waiver.”
Marks turns to leave the room once more, leaving me alone in silence with nothing but the beeping of the camera in the corner and the internal sounds of my Monster as she rages inside me. Being cuffed, the bite of metal digging into my wrists as my shirt pulls at my stitches, are a constant reminder of what he did to me.
I used to love the silence, being alone was everything to me. It was the only time I could feel Hades; I could remember the laughs instead of the gunfire. Now when I’m alone all I hear is the way he called me Baby. All I can feel is his hands covering my body. All I can smell is him, blood, and that cabin. He took so much from me, including my silence, and my Hades all over again.
I hear the door click open, pulling me away from my mental war and the inability to properly process my thoughts. Agent Connors walks into the room with his nose bandaged and I try not to laugh.
“Sweetheart, why don’t you save us some time and confess? We both know this was your MO,” he says as he tosses a folder onto the table in front of me.
“Lawyer,” I say without removing my gaze from my own reflection in the mirror.
Instead of responding he stands on the other side of the table and opens the folder, but I don’t look down. And I don’t react when I can see the bloody crime scene images of my father in my peripheral vision. “Your father’s throat was slashed in his home office late last night.”
“Lawyer,” I repeat, emotionless.
When I see him look up into the camera I can see in the two-way mirror the recording light flick off, and I know I’m in trouble now. Alone with him, cuffed to the floor, without pants or a camera recording our interaction, is the last place I want to be.
He walks around the table, running his hand along my arm as I try not to flinch under his touch. “Why don’t we make a deal?”
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?” I quip.
He reaches under my arms, hauling me out of my chair, and pushes me face-first onto the table. He kicks my chair out from behind me as he steps between my legs. Still in nothing but a t-shirt, he reaches down and runs one hand up the back of my thigh while the other pins me to the table. He stops and squeezes my ass. Leaning over, he presses himself against me as I try to keep my breakfast down.
“Why don’t I just fuck you instead?” he whispers in my ear as the door handle to the room starts to turn. He quickly straightens up, pulling me up with him and producing a handcuff key.
“What’s going on, Agent Connors?” Agent Marks asks as he steps into the room with sweatpants and an FBI-issued hoodie.
“Just undoing her cuffs, there’s no need for them. She’s going to cooperate. Aren’t you, Miss Valdis?” he asks looking at me. I just return his stare, not saying a word.
I take the clothing offered to me and quickly get dressed as agent Marks sets down a sheet of paper and a pen. I’m tempted to pick the pen up and jam it into Connors’ neck, but I have a feeling that would be frowned upon. Instead, I pick up my turned-over chair and sit down. Looking over the sheet of paper, I see it’s the hospital waiver. Carefully I read it over, making sure it’s a standard document before I fill it out with the proper information and sign it. Setting the pen down I push the paper over to Agent Marks.
“What’s that?” Agent Connors asks, motioning to the paper.
“Waiver for access to hospital records,” Marks replies. Connors nods his head but doesn’t look pleased with the waiver. I’m guessing it’s because he knows it’ll mean one point on my scoreboard. This is a game after all, and I intend to win it.
“Morana, why don’t you start with where you were last night?”
“Lawyer,” I respond. With Agent Marks here to witness my request for my lawyer Connors will be forced to leave and follow the rules, funny how that works. They get up and walk out of the room. Connors shoots me a dirty glare over his shoulder, and I simply smirk at him. Good versus evil is always my favorite game. Evil wins because we don’t have to play fair.
Agent Talin Marks
I pull page after page out of the fax machine from the hospital just to get a brief overview of a single hospital stay of Morana Valdis. I walk over to my temporary desk, flipping through the notes from the doctors and nurses. Sitting, I begin to look over the first few pages, just trying to wrap my head around what she went through.
This is very clear manipulation on her part, trying to gain sympathy from me. But that doesn’t minimize what she went through, and just because it’s clear, doesn’t mean it isn’t working.
She was brought in late one night barely two weeks ago needing a transfusion of five units of blood. Roughly half the amount of blood in her body had been drained.
Someone had cut her and attempted to cauterize the worst of the cuts so she didn’t bleed out, but most had been ripped open again. She ended up with roughly six hundred and eighty stitches over her body, and in a morphine-induced coma for the first forty-eight hours.
There was evidence of sexual trauma including rape. There are photos included in the report of some of the worst lacerations that nearly make me lose my lunch. I don’t understand how she survived that; let alone how she’s up for murder charges ten days later.
I shake my head trying to clear my mind. She’s under arrest for murder, she isn’t the victim here. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t a victim.
Could someone that underwent this level of trauma even be capable of murder, or have the force and strength it would take to overpower a man more than twice her size? She still has stitches in her body for Christ sake.
“Talin, did you guys bring in the Valdis girl this morning?” I hear Agent Emma Holt ask as she approaches me.
“Yeah, she’s in interrogation one, requested her lawyer,” I say as I turn around to face her. My face must betray the gut-deep doubt I’m n
ow feeling over Morana’s charges because Holt’s face to instantly pinch in confusion.
“You good?” she asks, and I scrub a hand down my face, letting out a deep breath.
“Yeah I’m fine it’s just...” I trail off looking over the hospital records.
“What are those?” Holt asks, nodding to the papers in my hand.
“Her hospital records for her most recent stay. Someone did a number on her,” I say passing the file over to her. “She signed a waiver,” I tell her when she hesitates to take it.
I like Agent Holt. She’s the newest member of our team but she’s a good agent, and probably the only one besides me that isn’t dirty.
Maybe what’s getting to me is how dead-on Morana was about me. I do suspect agent Connors of breaking the rules but I don’t have any proof, and other than a few incidents I have nothing to go on. No proof, no way to make a difference.
I’m from a small town in Montana, my father was a local sheriff deputy and was killed in a shootout which remains unsolved to this day. He’s the reason I went into this field. She was right about everything, and it seems I might have been wrong about her. Well, maybe.
“Well shit,” Holt gasps. “And there was no investigation into this?” She looks up at me and I shake my head.
“No report was even filed, and as far as I can tell she was never even questioned about it.”
“Well, maybe she refused.”
“I’m sure she did, but it begs the question as to why? This was recent too; she still has stitches that haven’t been taken out.” I lean forward, lowering my voice. “Do we really think she could’ve killed her father so recently after this brutal attack?” I ask.
“I mean, who else could it be? Throat slitting is her M.O. and who else would be daring enough to take out a player as big as Aeron Valdis? Who could even get that close to him?”
“We’ve been told this is her M.O. and I’m not doubting that but we have no hard evidence, everything’s hearsay or circumstantial. Nothing we have could be taken to court, it’s a wonder we even got an arrest warrant this fast, with so little.”
“How did we get that anyways? We haven’t even been out to process the scene for ourselves, yet we already have a suspect under arrest?” she asks. “Not in custody for questions, but under arrest with a signed warrant.”
“Where’s my client?” a booming female voice sounds at the entryway to the police station. “Morana Valdis, where is she?”
Standing from my seat I turn to face the woman. “Ma’am I’ll take you back to her.”
We walk down the hallway to the back-interrogation rooms in silence. I open the door to let her inside and I catch Morana’s blank expression staring into the two-way mirror. It’s like she’s looking past it, void of any emotions.
Suspects normally act one of two ways. Someone guilty who holds remorse sleeps, it’s like a weight’s been lifted from their shoulders. Innocent people pace, they lose their minds, they can’t understand why they’re on the wrong side of the glass. Even sociopaths and psychopaths do something, try to reason, manipulate, or spill their tales, wanting the credit for their crimes. Rarely are people just blank, no emotions, devoid of any human qualities. Morana Valdis’ lack of life sends a shiver down my spine.
“That will be all Agent,” her lawyer says my title like it’s a curse.
Chapter 2: Tetrodotoxin
Morana
Maddison Bentley walks into my interrogation room looking fierce beyond measure. Maddison’s been our family lawyer for over a decade. She isn’t exactly the most law-abiding citizen herself so she’s a great asset to have. If the price is right she’s willing to get a little dirty for her clients, and our price is always right.
“Maddison,” I say curtly. Maddison isn’t much for pleasantries, just the way I like my business.
“Morana. Never thought I’d actually see you in here,” she says as she takes the seat across from me and I smile.
“This is going to sound cliché as fuck, but I didn’t do it.” We both laugh, cause it’s just that stupid.
“Yeah, I know. Which begs the question, who did? I’ve already set to dismiss the charges; they don’t actually have any evidence against you. They really jumped the gun on the whole investigation,” she says while jotting down notes on a legal pad. “You’ll be out of here by dinner time, but I suggest you figure out who has a big enough grudge to set you up like this.”
I snort. “Who has a grudge? Well shit, I have no idea,” I sarcastically say as I roll my eyes.
“Well, I suggest you get started on a list, babe, ‘cause shit like this doesn’t go away. If someone’s trying to set you up for something big, taking out your father in the process, they won’t just stop when it falls through.”
I blow out a deep breath. “Yeah, I know. What about Nash?”
“He’s another story. He broke a federal agent's nose. I can get him released on bail, and we’ll have to get the charges dealt with. But we’ll get him off with a fine and maybe some community service.”
I chuckle. “Well, he always did want a more impressive rap sheet.”
“Assaulting a federal agent will make for a hell of a story over beers,” she agrees.
And just like Maddison promised, we’re on our way home by dinner time. She gives us a lift back to the apartment after getting a judge to drop all charges against me and Nash gets released on bail.
I should be happy but I’m just pissed off. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy I’m no longer sitting at the sheriff station. I’m happy to not have to deal with Agent Connors at the moment. What has me pissed off is that someone thought they could not only murder my father, but that they could set me up in the process.
Someone doesn’t understand who they’re messing with, but I intend to make sure they find out the hard way. The bloodier the lesson the better.
“We’re going to figure it out, okay Darlin'?” Nash says as we climb the four flights of stairs to our apartment.
“Yeah,” I grit out, my hands shaking as the heat washes over my skin and anger closes in.
I shake my head to clear the flashbacks of Maverick and Agent Connors, willing the panic constricting the air from my lungs to leave. I’ve been fine for the last two weeks, but now? Now I’m not fine.
Nash opens our apartment door, letting us inside and we walk into the living room. All I see is flashes of blood, but the blood isn’t actually here anymore. I know it’s not and yet it’s all I see.
“Morana!” My name’s called and large arms are wrapped around my body, bringing me in for a hug.
I take a deep breath and inhale Ranger’s familiar scent. I try to shake my head, try to tell myself it's Ranger, but I can't. All I smell is Maverick, and blood, and that dirty cabin.
I scream and push away from Ranger’s chest. Putting my hands up and taking steps towards the window. “Don’t. Touch. Me,” I seethe. My hands are shaking and I can’t stop.
“Morana? Love, it’s okay.” Ranger starts to take a step towards me, hurt and confusion evident in his features. I don’t want to hurt him, but I just can’t right now.
“Don’t,” I say, taking more steps back until I reach the far wall in the living room. Bracing my hands behind me, I slowly sink down to the ground, fighting back the tears I didn’t realize I had.
Is this what it feels like to be out of control? To fear something? I’ve never been scared before, never been out of control before.
Since this morning I’ve been fighting this, fighting my urge to scream, fight, or puke, but I can't fight it anymore.
“Love, what happened?” Ranger asks, but I can’t speak. If I open my mouth I’ll start crying, and if I cry I might just break.
Why today? I was fine, everything was fine.
Somewhere in the background of my mind, I hear doors opening and closing. I hear voices, but I just sit shaking.
“Darlin'?” I hear a voice call from in front of me. When a hand is pressed lightly against my wrist
I flinch, pulling back. I know he isn’t here; I know he can’t touch me. But if I know that, then why am I shaking?
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, Darlin'. I won’t touch you okay? But I need you to come back to me, okay? Can you do that, can I get my girl back?” It’s Nash, he’s right in front of me. I want to come back, but I don’t know how, where did I even go?
“What’s wrong with her?” I hear another voice laced with concern asking. Hunter, my sweet Hunter.
“Can you guys just give me a minute with her?” Nash asks.
“No! What the hell did they do to her?” Ranger growls.
“It wasn’t them,” Nash says softly. “Please, Ranger, you guys have to give me a minute here.”
I’m rocking back and forth with my face buried in my hands as I hear heavy retreating footsteps.
“Okay, Darlin', they’re gone. It’s just us. Can you come back now?” Nash asks gently. I try to speak, but the words stick in my throat.
After a few calming breaths and a mental tug at my fog, I bring the cold back around me and push out the fire. I finally get ahold of myself enough to look up. Nash is sitting on the ground, cross-legged in front of me. He puts a hand out, offering it to me. I gently place my hand in his.
“There’s my girl,” he whispers and a sad smile tugs at his lips.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Don’t. We talked about this,” he whispers. “You’re going to have to tell them now, it’s only fair. I’ve given you almost two weeks. I don’t want to rush you, Darlin', but they’re worried now. And if this happens again and I’m not here, they’re going to need to know how to help you. They need to know what you need.”
“I don’t know what I need.”
“Come on,” he says, standing and pulling me up with him.
“Can you tell them?” I ask.
“Darlin'…” Nash starts to say no, but I grip his shirt in my hands, burying my face in his chest.
