by Blake Pierce
Five minutes later he was toweling off as he walked back into his bedroom. He dressed quickly for the day, a black T-shirt and a faded pair of jeans, and walked into the kitchen. He saw that it was 5:27 and frowned. He was two minutes off. He lived his days by a very strict schedule and even two minutes off could make or break his mood.
And this morning, he was in a very good mood. He felt good—better than he had in quite some time. Maybe that was why he was in the kitchen two minutes early. After all, he’d been on a very busy schedule for the last week or so.
He sat down at his kitchen table with a bowl of cereal and scrolled through Facebook on his iPhone. As usual, he saw nothing of interest. Trump had said something dumb again. Some racist person said something racist. People were posting little videos of cats and cute kids and women in swimsuits that showed everything.
He smirked at it all as he ate his cereal. He cast his thoughts to later in the day—not when he was supposed to head into work, but to some task he had set for himself beyond his monotonous job. He worked at a small plastics factory on the far side of town, pushing buttons, snipping wire, and repeating it a trillion times. He loathed the job but it gave him ample time to think. It gave him the opportunity to think back on his past and figure out where everything had gone so terribly wrong.
Of course, other than his father killing his mother, he could come up with nothing. And he’d been so young when that happened…maybe there had been something else as he’d gotten older.
He spent some of his time at work trying to think of the first time the darkness had entered his mind—when he’d first had those violent and bloody thoughts. But nothing concrete ever came to him.
But he didn’t like to dwell there very often. It made him feel like there was something wrong with him. So he turned his thoughts back to all of the wonderful things he had been doing in his spare time lately. That always got him in a much better mood. He figured if he could keep it up and be done with it within a few more days he might actually be able to become a better person. He might finally be able to put the past behind him.
Done with his cereal, he placed the bowl in the sink and headed back to his room. He had fifteen more minutes before he needed to be at work. Usually he would read when he had down time but he had been too busy and distracted to read as of late. Instead of pulling one of his books from the stack along the side of his bed, he reached under his bed and pulled out the shoebox.
Up until recently, the lid of the shoebox had been coated with a layer of fine dust. But he had brushed the dust off two weeks ago and started to dwell on what was inside. As a matter of fact, the things that were inside the shoebox had been consuming his thoughts as of late.
He pried the lid from the box with deliberate care and smiled at what he saw inside.
He took out the stuffed animal, a little gray rabbit with one ear droopy and the other standing at attention. It smiled dumbly up at him with its little glass eyes. And even though he was now an adult, that goofy smile made him feel safe and secure—like there was someone or something in this fucked up world that actually cared for him.
He placed the rabbit on his bed and looked back into the box. There was one more thing in there, which he took out with the same loving care he had showed the rabbit.
He handled the blanket in a way that was childlike, as if he might lie back down on his bed with it and snuggle up to its tattered shape.
Instead, he held it up by its torn edge and started to tear it. It gave way easy, just as it had done the two other times he had torn a strip from it.
He looked at the new fragment of the blanket and smiled. He was tempted to do it now, to do the job in the morning. He could call in sick to work and just do it. But no…he liked having the day to wait, to build up the excitement.
He placed the box back under the bed with its contents returned. All except that one scrap of fabric which he laid in the center of his bed. He stared longingly at it for a moment before leaving the room to get his day started.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was beyond bizarre to wake up with someone on the opposite side of the bed. Kate took a moment to appreciate the feeling as she quietly got out of bed. She grabbed a pair of underwear and her robe and snuck out of the room while Allen still slept. It made her feel a little immature, but she could not get over how happy she was. She hadn’t had a man sleep over since Michael had died. There was something freeing about it—something that made her remember that it was okay to live a little selfishly from time to time.
She walked into the kitchen and started brewing a pot of coffee. She then cracked a few eggs and started making some omelets. As the coffee brewed and the eggs cooked, she impulsively went to the kitchen counter and opened her iPad, pulling up the files on the case in Roanoke. As was her usual approach, she knew she would not be able to stop thinking about the case until it was one hundred percent officially wrapped up.
She looked for any details she might have missed but there were none. She knew that as the coroners finished up their jobs and forensics had everything submitted, there would be more to go on. But for now, she felt that she and DeMarco had done just about everything they could. Still, that did nothing to eliminate the fact that she could not get over the feeling that they were missing something—something that was right in front of their faces.
Kate closed down the files and then opened up her email. She had several, all of which were related to the research assistance she had lined up later in the day. It seemed very cut-and-dried and, if the agents she was overseeing worked well together, they should be able to have their current case wrapped very quickly. She also saw that she was being asked to be in DC by three that afternoon. She read over the case brief that had been put together for her, reading it twice and committing it to memory. It really did seem like a case that was one good theory or lead away from being wrapped up.
She heard footsteps behind her. Before she could turn around, she felt Allen’s hands on her shoulders, gently massaging her. He kissed her on the back of the neck, sending a delightful chill through her.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning to you, too,” she said. She clicked the iPad to sleep as she turned to face him.
“You shut the iPad down right away,” he said. “Sensitive information?”
“Sort of,” she said. “You hungry?”
He looked to the bar where she had set their plates. She had slightly burned the omelets because she’d been distracted with the case files but she didn’t think Allen was the type who would complain about such a thing.
“Absolutely,” he said.
He walked to the barstool along the counter, dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing last night. He had a look on his face that mirrored Kate’s own feelings. She was starting to think that Allen very rarely found himself in these sorts of situations, either.
“Are you going back to it all because you miss it or just because retirement isn’t your thing?” Allen asked, nodding toward the iPad.
“I ask myself that almost every day,” she said. “It’s mostly because I miss it. It’s all I was ever good at.”
“After last night, I beg to differ,” he said with a sly little smile.
She turned away a bit as her cheeks flushed. “Anyway, I need to be in DC by three o’clock this afternoon. It’ll probably be a pretty quick trip if you want to try to make some plans for tomorrow.”
“Yeah, that sounds good to me,” he said, cutting into his breakfast.
“Sorry again that I made you wait so long last night.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” he said. “Really. Part of me is a little enamored with what you do. I’d like for you to not tell me any different, but I imagine you kicking in doors and wrestling perps to the ground. It’s sort of hot.”
She couldn’t contain her smile when she thought of tackling Davey Armstrong to the ground yesterday. “Yes, sure,” she said. “It’s like that for me just about every day. Lots of
running and tackling.”
“So,” he said, forking up the last bit of omelet, “if you’re supposed to be in DC at three, I guess you need to get a move on, huh?”
“Yeah, I probably should get ready.”
“Am I a terrible guest if I ask if I can use your shower before I head out?” Allen asked.
“Not at all,” she said. “Give me some time and maybe I’ll join you.”
Now it was his turn to hide a little redness in his cheeks. He placed his plate in the sink and took one last sip of his coffee before heading out of the kitchen. He placed a small kiss on the corner of her mouth and headed back toward the bedroom.
Kate did fully intend to join him, but her mind instantly went back to the case. She kept seeing those pieces of fabric, portions of a blanket that had been shoved into the mouths of the victims. She looked to the clock over the kitchen sink, saw that it was 8:37, and decided to call DeMarco.
She answered on the second ring and sounded pleased that Kate had called. “It’s feeling pretty lonesome down here in Roanoke,” DeMarco said.
“Nothing new?”
“Nothing. I’ve even gone so far as to check high school records for the Nashes and the Langleys, hoping to find some sort of connection. I also requested all of the forms and paperwork from the county that concern anything to do with the Langleys’ foster care process. I’ll be getting that today but based on what the Department of Social Services thinks, the Langleys are pretty much perfect. No criminal records or red flags of any kind. So I’m not expecting to find skeletons in their closet.”
“And the Nashes were never foster parents, right?”
“Not from what we have. There’s nothing that points there, anyway. That would be a pretty notable link, though, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, but if it’s not there, it’s not there.” She sighed and then added: “How about Davey Armstrong? Everyone down there still seem to think it’s him?”
“Yeah, and there’s at least some evidence to back it. It’s not as strong as I’d like, but it’s enough to keep him for a while. For instance, there’s a police record from when Davey was seventeen. He locked himself in the Langleys’ bathroom with a handgun and was threatening to kill himself. There are also some pretty bad G-chat messages that were just found last night on his computer. He was talking to some friend of his from the community college about his experiences with the Langleys. He talks about some pretty sick sex fantasies about Bethany Langley. He mentioned rape a few times.”
“You think you can send them to me?” Kate asked.
“Yeah, if you want.”
“Anything else?”
“No, that’s about it. I spoke with the college friend about those messages and he swears he doesn’t think Davey would have it in him to kill anyone. He did say that Davey seemed a little spacey at times, though. To tell you the truth, I can see Duran calling me back up to DC tomorrow if nothing else big breaks on this thing.”
“Well, keep me posted,” Kate said. “Let me know if you need anything.”
They ended the call and Kate instantly tried to think of Davey Armstrong as a teen, living in the Langleys’ house and harboring sexual fantasies about his aunt. That added item made the whole thing a little different. Maybe there was something Davey wasn’t telling them. Maybe he was ashamed not only about the drug use, but about the way he’d felt about his aunt as well.
The idea of it made her uncomfortable. And although she had told Allen she might join him in the shower, any thoughts of sexual activity were erased from her mind with this new update about Davey Armstrong. Instead of joining Allen, she remained at the counter, poring over the files once again and sipping from her coffee.
What the hell am I missing? she asked herself, sure that there was something there right in front of her that had somehow eluded her so far.
***
Allen didn’t comment on Kate deciding not to join him in the shower. He seemed to understand that her mind was usually never on one single track, but all over the place. Kate figured that if they were going to eventually explore a longer relationship later on, this might be something they’d have to tackle head on. But for now, she simply appreciated the fact that he was understanding.
She had started packing when he came out of the bathroom. His pants were on and he was toweling off his hair.
“You okay with this?” he asked.
“With what?” she asked.
He shrugged as he slid his shirt on. “Well, last night was amazing, don’t get me wrong. But now the coming and going and your busy life. I don’t know. I feel like maybe I used you or something. Maybe I took advantage of your busy schedule and situation. Is that stupid?”
“No,” she said, her heart warming for him. “If anything, it’s incredibly sweet. No, you did not use me. And I didn’t do it out of guilt from making you wait, either. So don’t bother going there.”
“Good to know,” he said. “You mind if I hang around until you leave?”
“Not at all.”
Within a few minutes, he was in the kitchen washing the dishes from breakfast. He helped himself to another cup of coffee and sat with her in the bedroom while she packed. They had a pleasant enough conversation about surface-level things: the week’s forecast, restaurants they’d like to try, movies they might see together in the theater in the coming weeks. As far as Kate was concerned, it was nice to have such innocent and mundane conversations.
She was packed up and heading for the door by 9:30. That would put her in DC at least two hours before she was due there, but that was fine with her. She figured she might try to catch up with Duran to discuss the case in Roanoke.
Allen carried her one bag out for her and placed it in the trunk of her car. He then reached out and took her hand.
“I like this,” he said. “This, of course, not having a definition. Whatever it is that’s going on between us…I like it.”
“I do, too,” she said. “I’ll call you when I’m on the way home.”
“You don’t have to. I promise I won’t wait sadly on your porch until you get back.”
“But I want to,” she said. She nearly voiced the reasoning behind it, but let it remain in her head instead. I like the idea that someone is waiting for me, someone who is looking forward to seeing me again.
With that thought in mind, she also realized that Melissa had yet to return her text. This pained her, but she could not focus on it right now.
Then when? she asked herself as Allen opened the car door for her. If you want that relationship to work, you need to face it sooner rather than later.
She got into the car with a heavy sigh, trying to ease the storm in her head.
“You okay?” Allen asked.
“Yeah. Just a lot on my mind. Work…Melissa…I really am just a big mess. You’ll figure it out pretty soon, I guess.”
He smiled at her, leaned into the car, and kissed her. The kiss carried some heat and it had her buzzing in all the right spots. When he pulled away, God help her, she was lightheaded.
“Be careful out there,” Allen said.
“I’ll try. See you soon.”
He closed her door and gave her a little wave as she started the car. When she pulled off, she looked back and saw him still watching from the sidewalk. She smiled at the sight of him and, for the first time in a very long time, wondered if maybe there was something to life other than the niche she had carved out for herself at work. Sure, there were Melissa and Michelle, but there was also this unnamable thing between her and Allen. Not love, not yet anyway, but some sort of tug that felt like being wanted.
That, in tandem with knowing that she would get to watch little Michelle grow up, made her feel an intense joy that caught her off guard. It was something she had not felt in a very long time—something other than her job that actually had her excited for the future.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kate had to admit…it felt good to be back around the mild chaos and business of DC. The
moment her eyes fell on the J. Edgar Hoover building, she felt a sense of well-being that she had rarely felt at home following her retirement. She had spent so much time there, had etched out a name and a legacy for herself in that building. It brought back more than memories; it brought back a feeling of purpose and accomplishment that she had been struggling to find back at home in Richmond.
She’d hit a snag in traffic so had not arrived as early as she had hoped. Therefore, she parked in the same parking garage she had parked in for nearly thirty years of her life (of course, it had been updated—modified and added to a lot in those three decades) and headed straight into the building. It was never truly empty, but it was the closest to vacant as it ever was on Sundays. She passed by only five people on her way to the second floor where one of the larger conference rooms had been reserved for the meeting.
When she stepped into the room twenty minutes early, she was pleased to see that a few members of the investigative unit were already there. A projector had been set up and the Keurig on the back table was purring as it filled a cup with coffee. She noticed right away that several of the members of the team looked tired, an indication that they had been putting countless extra hours into this case. She knew the look well; it meant that the case was either on the verge of being cracked or that they were throwing one last Hail Mary attempt at closing it.
“Agent Wise,” a tall-statured woman from the front of the room said. “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with us.”
Rather than letting this woman know that Duran had really not given her much of a choice, Kate simply said, “Of course,” and shook the woman’s hand when it was offered.
