The Temptation of Silence

by V. J. Chambers

  “Don’t stop, Haysle.” His voice wasn’t strong. “You were clearly enjoying yourself.”

  She chewed more slowly, swallowing the food.

  “What do you like, hmm?” said Slater. “If I brought you something to eat next time, what would you prefer?”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t speak. She didn’t like the way his voice had dropped in pitch, how it sounded intimate now. She didn’t like that she felt vulnerable now somehow, because he’d seen her pleasure and she’d seen his. It was as though they’d shared something together, as though they were bonded.

  He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

  She shied away from his touch, and a whimper escaped her lips.

  “Shh,” said Slater in a husky voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promised, didn’t I?”

  Okay, okay, wasn’t this supposed to help her? He was vulnerable now because he was affected by her, and she should be able to use that. But how?

  Her gaze strayed across the room to the knife block.

  Slater’s fingers danced over her chin. He gently turned her back to face him. “Haysle,” he said hoarsely. “Eat the last nugget.”

  She swallowed.

  “Go on,” he urged.

  She picked it up and shoved it in her mouth.

  “Slower,” he said. “Chew slower. Savor it.”

  She clenched her hand into a fist, but for some reason, she obeyed him. She did as he asked, even though she didn’t want to.

  “Good,” he said softly. “Good girl.”

  She swallowed the nugget, and she glared at him.

  Slater leaned forward and pressed his lips into her forehead.

  She snatched her gun out of his waist band.

  He roared in rage, knocking her backwards.

  She flailed out her arms as she fell and then collided hard with the floor. Pain radiated out through her skull, through her back, through her hips.

  He was on his feet, darting toward the door.

  She debated going upstairs for more ammunition or going after him.

  What good was a gun without bullets? She ran for the ladder, hauling herself up even as her body throbbed in pain.

  He was already out of her front door.

  From the loft, she could see him clambering down her steps.

  She pressed her finger into the sensor on her safe. It popped open.

  The darkness swallowed Slater up.

  She snatched up the box of ammunition and shoved bullets into the spare magazine she kept. Note to self, Haysle, keep the spare loaded.

  Outside the window, it was dark and silent.

  She rushed down the ladder, through her kitchen, and out into the cold night air. She pounded down the steps, yelling for Slater as she reached the bottom.

  There was no answer.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dawson called it in, and uniforms came with flashing lights and sirens. They looked everywhere. They went through her entire apartment and prowled through the neighborhood, banging on doors, shining their flashlights down alleys and behind dumpsters.

  Nothing.

  No Slater.

  Anywhere.

  It was practically dawn by the time Dawson had a chance to sleep. She could have gone to a hotel, but she stayed in her apartment. He wouldn’t come back, not so soon, anyway.

  She was exhausted. She slept like a baby.

  The next morning, she thought about apartment hunting and it seemed overwhelming.

  Instead, she went to the station and decided to go looking for anything that might prove that Liam had been helping Finn for all these years. Maybe the reason that they couldn’t figure out where Finn’s freezer was where he’d been keeping bodies on ice was because Liam had it.

  But Liam didn’t own any property.

  His wife had owned the house when he’d been married, and he hadn’t even had any claim on that.

  Captain Moore asked her to come into his office, and he was almost fatherly as he looked her over. “We’ll have people watching your place from now on. If you’d rather go to a hotel, I can find funds to cover it.”

  “No hotel,” she said. “I don’t think he’ll come back, anyway, not for a while.”

  “Right, he knows how we operate. He used to work here, after all,” said Moore. “He won’t come back until it’s been so long that I’m getting push-back from the mayor for too many budget lines for surveillance. Taxpayers’ money can’t be wasted, after all.”

  “No, it can’t,” she said. “But a little extra help staking the place out would be good. I’d be grateful.”

  “You’ve got it,” said Moore. “What did he want?”

  “With me?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. To scare me?”

  “I hear he brought food.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She made a face. “He did make me eat for him.”

  “That’s what he does with the sex workers he kills,” said Moore.

  “I’m aware of that,” she said.

  “Sorry, just thinking out loud,” said Moore. “He might be targeting you. I might have to insist we move you somewhere more secure. You’re an asset, Dawson, and I’m not about to lose you.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  “Also, I like you,” said Moore.

  She smirked.

  “Tell me he said something that will help us find him,” said Moore.

  She sighed. “Oh, man, that’s what I should have been doing. I should have been asking him questions about where he was holing up, that kind of thing. Instead, I was just freaking the hell out.”

  “Understandable,” said Moore. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

  She groaned.

  “Hey, I mean it,” said Moore. “If he’d shown up at my house, I would have been rattled, too. You’re alive, and that’s what’s important. We will catch this guy.”

  “We’ve been canvassing area hotels,” she said, “flashing his picture around, that kind of thing.”

  “And nothing on that,” said Moore.

  “No,” she said. “But maybe if he checks in with a hat and dark glasses, or with a scarf… he’d be unrecognizable.”

  “The hotel room where Gina Florres was found?” said Moore. Gina Florres was Slater’s last victim, the one found only a few days ago.

  “She booked the room,” said Dawson. “But it was a by-the-hour kind of place. She booked rooms all the time there to meet with clients.”

  “So, what we’re saying is that we’ve got nothing, and he’s getting bolder.”

  “He’s got nothing to lose, sir,” said Dawson. “Eventually, we’re going to catch him, and he knows that.”

  “He’s going to slip up,” said Moore. “We’re going to find his mistake, and we’re going to bring him back into custody.”

  She hesitated, and then she nodded. “You’re right. We will.” There was no reason to be defeatist about it, after all.

  “Keep up the good work, Dawson,” said Moore, dismissing her.

  As she made her way back through the station to her cubicle, her phone beeped. She looked at it to see that it was a message from Catherine Wilson.

  I remembered the name of another girl in Harlow’s group, it read. I met her a few times. Her name was Trina Manning.

  Trina Manning sounded more promising than Lola Gem, Dawson had to admit.

  She texted back a thank-you to Catherine and sat down at her computer to try to find Trina Manning.

  * * *

  Liam got a text from Finn’s number that evening.

  Open your door, it said.

  Liam did, and there was a paper bag of takeout food sitting there. He glared at it. He didn’t want to bring it into his house, but he figured if he resisted, Finn would just get worse. Liam didn’t want a repeat of the last phone call.

  Food was better than being forced to remove his clothing, after all.

  So, he picked up the bag and brought it into his house. He took it to his desk and got the food out.
It was from a local Greek restaurant. It was actually probably his favorite restaurant. His last birthday, Belinda had taken him there to eat. There was spanokopita and moussaka plus an order of stuffed grape leaves.

  He set the containers out on the desk and thought wistfully about how his favorite restaurant had now been ruined.

  “Thanks, Finn,” he muttered, annoyed.

  The phone rang.

  It was Finn.

  Liam answered. “How’d you know I liked this place? How long have you been watching me?”

  “Pictures on Facebook,” said Finn. “I figured it was a good bet if your wife took you there for your birthday.”

  “Are we friends on Facebook?” said Liam.

  “Since 2006,” said Finn.

  “Why did I accept your friend request?” muttered Liam. He had known what Finn was, and he should have distanced himself from him. But he had to admit that back then, he’d still been using Myspace most of the time, and he’d only created his Facebook account on a whim. He didn’t fully switch over until Myspace became a ghost town several years later. Anyway, it was possible he’d accepted the friend request because he was simply accepting all his friend requests back then.

  In the early days of social media, it had been difficult to see how there could be problems with it, after all. Back then, you didn’t friend your employers or your co-workers—unless they were the kind of fun co-workers that you also partied with. Old people weren’t on social media.

  Now, of course, he was an old person.

  And Facebook was for old people.

  “Well, let’s just be glad that you did,” said Finn. “What do you think? You hungry?”

  “So, I’m eating for you again?” Liam took a deep breath.

  “Well,” said Finn, “last time, you didn’t really eat for me. I don’t think toast counts.”

  “Okay,” said Liam. This was better. He could do this. “What do you want me to eat first?”

  “I think the grape leaves are the appetizer,” said Finn. “Have one of those.”

  Liam took another deep breath. He surveyed the plastic container with the grape leaves inside. He licked his lips. Then, he seized it and pulled off the clear lid. He picked up one of the stuffed leaves with his forefinger and thumb and popped the entire thing in his mouth.

  “Mmm,” said Finn in an affected voice. “I can hear you chewing.”

  Liam swallowed.

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Was it good?”

  It was delicious, full of seasoned rice and the tangy sort of flavor that he liked about Greek food. It could almost be termed unpleasant if it were pushed just a little further, but it rode an edge in a way that he found pleasing and exciting. “Yeah,” he said in a gravelly voice.

  “Good,” said Finn. “Eat another one.”

  Liam did as he was told.

  “When we were in that bunker in Delaware? When Detective Dawson joined us?”

  “Yeah,” said Liam around the food he was chewing.

  “You said before that you wanted me to kill you. Is that still true?”

  Liam fought to swallow the food.

  “Liam?” Finn’s voice was gentle. “Are you tired of life?”

  Liam ate another grape leaf, even though he hadn’t been ordered to do so. Defiantly, he chewed.

  “I could see why, I guess,” said Finn. “You’re nearly forty years old, and you’re living in a ratty apartment, drinking yourself to sleep every night.”

  “Shut up,” muttered Liam.

  “I think about killing you,” said Finn. “I fantasize about it.”

  Liam tossed the container of grape leaves on the desk. “I don’t want to die.”

  “If I did it, it would be quick,” said Finn. “I’m good with my knife, and I just slide it in and back out easily. It takes seconds, and no one ever even makes a noise. I don’t think you’d feel it.”

  “Stop.”

  “Then I’d have your body to do whatever I wanted with,” said Finn.

  “God damn it, Finn, I don’t want to listen to this.”

  “I haven’t been inside you except that one time,” said Finn. “Well, not inside your ass, anyway. There was that time when we—”

  “You’re not going to kill me,” Liam snapped. “And if you think this is the way to make me ready to kill with you, you’re insane. How could I ever trust you if I knew it was all about lusting over my fucking corpse?”

  Finn was quiet.

  Liam was breathing hard.

  “I’d miss you, is the thing,” said Finn. “It would be glorious to have you like that, Liam, but then… it’s sort of a one-shot deal. Bodies don’t last. They decay. It would be a big sacrifice for a few orgasms, and it would be a gamble. Would the release live up to the hype?”

  Liam was shaking all over, but he was afraid to hang up. Afraid because of Madison and afraid because Finn was so obviously insane.

  “And then, of course, that would be it. I could never talk to you again. I could never fuck you again.”

  “The only way you’ll ever fuck me again is if I’m dead,” Liam said, and his voice was trembling with rage or fear or disgust—maybe all three.

  “Oh, please, tiger, you know you want me.”

  “I don’t,” said Liam, and it was true. “I hate you.”

  “No,” said Finn, sounding truly wounded. “We have something, Liam.”

  “You torture me for fun, and I can’t get away from you,” said Liam. “Maybe that is something, but it’s not something I like.”

  Finn was quiet on the other end of the phone.

  Liam cursed himself. Now, Finn was going to be angry, and he was going to retaliate in some way.

  But the line went dead.

  Finn had hung up.

  Liam took the phone away from his ear and scrutinized the screen, not quite able to believe this had happened. He turned the phone over, looking at the back, as if this was going to give him answers.

  He waited.

  Finn was going to call back.

  But the phone didn’t ring.

  And eventually, Liam dialed another number instead.

  “Haysle Dawson, CCPD,” came Dawson’s voice through the phone.

  “Hi, it’s Liam,” he said. “I’m wondering if there’s any way we can get some eyes on my stepdaughter, Madison?”

  “Madison?” said Dawson. “Why?”

  “I, uh, I’m worried about her,” said Liam.

  “That’s all?” said Dawson. “What do you think is going to happen? Something with Slater? Why would you think that? Did he say something to you before, about your family?”

  “Yeah,” Liam seized on that. “Yeah, I just remembered it, and I don’t know. I guess I’m paranoid, but if someone could go and check on her?”

  “Well, Slater is escalating,” said Dawson. “Last night, he came to my house.”

  “What?” Liam straightened. “What did he do to you?” He was surprised at the venom in his voice.

  “Nothing. I’m fine,” said Dawson. “I’ll send someone to check on your stepdaughter.”

  “Good,” said Liam. “You call me if she’s okay? I’d go myself, but I’m… I’m too drunk to drive.” He said this in defeat.

  “Yeah,” she said, as if she didn’t find that surprising.

  He felt hot shame rising in his gut. No wonder this woman didn’t want him to kiss her again.

  “I’ll call you back once we know she’s safe?”

  “Thank you,” he said quietly.

  * * *

  As Liam waited for the call back from Dawson, he began to wonder why it was that he was keeping the information about Finn’s calling him to himself. If Madison were safe, and they could keep a police force watching her, then that made Finn’s leverage evaporate.

  It was stupid, protecting Finn.

  He did hate him, and whatever hold the man had on Liam, Liam had to find a way to break it.

  So, when th
e phone rang, and Dawson said that Madison was fine and that there was a car who would be doing the rounds in her neighborhood for the rest of the night, Liam said, “I want to tell you something.”

  “Okay,” said Dawson, sounding wary.

  “Finn’s been calling me.”

  Nothing from Dawson.

  “He threatened Madison,” said Liam. “He said he would hurt her if I didn’t keep quiet about it, and maybe it was stupid to think the entire police department couldn’t stop him, but you don’t understand, Dawson, sometimes he doesn’t seem like a man, he seems… more, bigger, scarier, like a…” The bottom dropped out of his voice. “A monster.”

  “You’ve got a number he’s been calling from?”

  “Yeah,” said Liam.

  “Okay,” said Dawson. “Okay, that’s good. The guys at the station will need to see your phone.”

  “You can have it,” he said. “I’m thinking I want a new number. I’m thinking I’m just going to get an entirely new phone.”

  She laughed a little. “I get that. He, uh, he gets in your head.”

  “Yes.” Liam bit down on his bottom lip, and he felt bereft. Then he furrowed his brow. “God, what did he do to you, Haysle?”

  “Nothing,” she said, but her voice was soft.

  “Did he touch you? I don’t want him to touch you.”

  “Liam,” she admonished.

  “Sorry.”

  She cleared her throat. “Since you’re too drunk to drive, I’ll come by and pick up your phone?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Sure, fine.”

  * * *

  Dawson felt nervous when she knocked on Liam’s door, and she wasn’t sure why. She had good reason to think that Liam was working with Slater, that he was in on all of this, and that he’d assisted a murderer, even participated.

  But, well, turning over the phone didn’t really fit with that narrative, did it?

  And if that were true, why did Slater seem so obsessed with the idea of convincing Liam to kill?

  Maybe it wasn’t some vast conspiracy. Maybe Liam was as he seemed.

  Even if so, he was still so very, very screwed up.

  And she couldn’t be sure, not of anything.

  So, there was no reason to be nervous to be in his presence. There was no reason for the stupid butterflies in her stomach. She couldn’t even make sense of it. What was it with this stupid, damaged man?