Where the Truth Lives

by Mia Sheridan

  She allowed her lips to tip. Her entire body was buzzing with anticipation, with excitement, with . . . yes, happiness.

  “You mean, we’ll have sex . . . again,” she joked, the elbow of her outstretched arm bending as she took a small step closer.

  He smiled. “Among other things.”

  Liza bit her lip, nodded, hoped he could see her heart in her eyes. “Those other things . . . I want them too, Reed. I do.”

  She expected him to kiss her then, but he didn’t. Instead he flattened his hand over hers and used it to slide her palm upward so it was just below his heart. “One more thing . . .” He looked at her frankly, but paused. Liza watched his face and waited. She felt his heart beating, strong and steady. “I want you to be confident that I’ll stop anytime you want me to. And you set the pace, okay?” He waited for her to nod before he went on. “But I’m not going to hold back, Liza. That wouldn’t be enjoyable for either one of us. If you don’t like something, you let me know, and if you do like something, you can let me know that as well.”

  She understood what he was saying. He wasn’t going to use kid gloves with her in bed. The knowledge brought a surge of relief. It reassured her that he wouldn’t be thinking about all the ways she was damaged while he was touching her body. He would be thinking only of her, of him, of them, in the present moment as they navigated this new relationship together. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

  His lips tipped. He leaned in and kissed her. And it was sweet. God, it was sweet. It was just a boy kissing a girl who desperately wanted to be kissed. It was as simple and as earth-shattering as that. Liza stepped into him, her hands moving down his skin softly, gently. She felt as if she were floating and the only thing anchoring her to earth was him. This beautiful, honorable man who’d come into her life so unexpectedly and turned her world on end.

  He broke from her lips, and they walked together to the bedroom where Reed turned on the side lamp and tilted it toward the wall the same way he’d done that first night. He clicked off the overhead light and when he came back to her, he took her hand, leading her to the end of the bed. “Are you cold?” he asked.

  She shook her head. She felt warm, overly so. Flushed and tingly. I trust you, she thought with wild wonder. I trust every part of myself with you. Liza felt something weighty inside slide off like a chain falling free. She felt slightly giddy and a little afraid, she wasn’t sure, but whatever this was, she’d never experienced it before. It felt new. She felt new.

  “Can we . . . can we go slow?” she asked, not so much out of fear, but because he’d told her she could set the pace and she wanted it that way this first time. And she wanted to consider it just that—her first time—because she’d never really gotten one. It’d been viciously and violently stolen from her and she meant to reclaim it. Here. With Reed. Because he was right—monsters didn’t get the final say. She was going to make certain they didn’t.

  He smiled at her, so beautiful that it left her breathless. “Anything you want,” he told her.

  Reed took hold of the hem of her nightshirt and lifted it slowly, pulling it over her head and dropping it to the floor. For a moment he simply looked at her, his gaze moving over her naked skin and causing goosebumps in its wake. Funny that his gaze alone could do that. He hadn’t even touched her. He lowered himself to the edge of the bed and brought his hand up and traced each breast, his finger moving slowly around her nipples, and then brought his hands to her waist, gliding them slowly down her skin, over her hips, and down her thighs. She felt electrified, waiting for his hands to move to another part of her body, the anticipation nearly making her groan. And she watched in awe as the simple sight of her body caused him to swell and harden, his body outlined in the thin material of his shorts. Her breath caught, coming faster.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said, and his voice was low, gritty. She felt beautiful. Worshipped. She felt . . . clean. Pure, even. She was offering herself to the man in front of her, knowing that he looked at her and saw unmarred beauty. He was exploring her. Touching her with reverence as if he was in awe. And because of that, it felt like her first time. In every way that mattered, that’s exactly what it was.

  “So are you,” she said. He smiled up at her, boyish, sweet, and her heart flipped once and then squeezed tightly.

  “Do you know the very first thing I loved about you?” he asked.

  Loved. The word electrified her, and yet brought a trill of fear close on its heels.

  “My impeccable taste in men?” she asked breathlessly. Nervously. This was so . . . it was so new and so she used humor to deflect.

  He laughed softly. “Well that, yes, obviously. But mostly it was the way you laughed. The way it lit up your whole face. The way it made me feel.”

  Oh, Reed.

  Her insides melted, that old part of herself that was still figuring out how to let go. He was helping her do that, every breath, every touch, every sweet word he uttered was a stitch she was using to adhere that badge of courage to her heart.

  He pulled her forward as he scooted back and they lay next to each other on the bed as he continued to run his hands over her, his fingers trailing around the band of her underwear, down her hips, and then up the tender insides of her arms. Each time he got close to one of the places she needed him so desperately to touch, he moved away, teasing her until she was practically squirming with need. “Reed,” she breathed, and it sounded like a whine, so she laughed, taking his hand herself and bringing it to the damp material between her thighs.

  He smiled, leaning in, and kissing her as he brought her underwear down and tossed them aside, not breaking from her mouth as he maneuvered his own shorts off. Warm skin met warm skin and they both sighed. He kissed the corner of her mouth, softly, gently, and though the kiss was almost chaste, with their naked skin pressed together, every part of her felt so incredibly sensitive.

  She let out a small gasp of pleasure when he slid his finger inside her and she felt his heart kick up and his erection give an answering jolt. Sensation unraveled within, waves of pleasure that licked at her spine, through her core, and down the backs of her legs as he stroked her slowly. “Oh,” she moaned. “I like that.”

  “Good,” he said, his voice strained. “I like that too.”

  He brought his mouth to hers and they kissed and touched, Liza learning his body as well, glorying in the slow exploration. He was lean but muscled, athletic, his skin both rough and velvety. A wonder. She took over, his finger slipping from her as she turned her attention to him and he watched her explore and taste, his expression both drunk and pained, fingers flexing beside him as if he was barely containing his need to touch her.

  After several long minutes, he let out a raw growl, turning her suddenly. She laughed as her back hit the mattress and he hovered over her, his lips tipping sweetly, though his eyes were hooded with desire. He reached for a condom and she recognized the brand. It was one of the ones she’d left behind that night that now seemed a million miles away. She watched as he slid it on and then he hooked his hand beneath her thigh, the muscle of his bicep curving as her leg slid up his hip and she cradled him between her thighs. He pushed slowly inside her, their gazes locked. Liza didn’t even blink.

  His head fell forward slightly as if it was suddenly too heavy for his neck. “Oh God, Liza,” he breathed, moving inside her, his lips parting and his eyes drooping with pleasure. She felt alive with joy—every nerve ending humming—watching with awe the pure bliss on his face. She’d always turned her face away because she didn’t want to be seen, but in doing so, she’d never watched. She’d never enjoyed the way a man looked in the throes of ecstasy.

  It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

  She raised her hand and brought it to his face, her thumb stroking over his cheekbone, along one dark eyebrow, over his half-parted lips. He took her thumb between his teeth, sucking on it, his eyes locked on hers as his rhythm increased. A sound escaped her, half gasp, half groan—a noise o
f encouragement—as a jolt of hot arousal shot straight to her core.

  When they came, they came together, their eyes wide open, hearts beating in sync. As they both drifted back to earth, Reed laid his forehead on hers. “Did you hear that big boom?” he asked breathlessly, his mouth close to hers.

  Liza blinked up at him, smiling in dazed confusion.

  “The sound of another one biting the dust.” He kissed her once, softly, quickly. “Me,” he whispered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Reed pushed open the door to the small shop, a bell ringing overhead, the scent of dust and old paper meeting his nose. He looked around at the cases of comic books that created rows in the center of the large room, shelves along the walls overstuffed with plastic-sleeved titles, and a counter near the back where a young man stood, bent over something in front of him. The guy glanced over his shoulder at Reed, laying down whatever was in his hands that he’d been working on and pushing his glasses up on his nose.

  “Detective Davies?”

  “Yeah. That obvious, huh?”

  “Let’s just say you don’t look like my average customer.” He pointed to the firearm obscured by Reed’s coat. “Plus, there’s that. My name’s Kaiden.”

  Reed stepped up to the waist-high counter. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I pulled those Tribulation titles you asked about.” He reached around behind him and plucked a short pile of comics off a table against the wall. A strange stillness settled inside Reed, even while his heart kicked up. The cover featured three men walking in a triangular formation wearing business suits and holding briefcases, their expressions lax and zombie-like, their eyes black holes with tar-like streaks rolling out of the empty sockets. Hollowed-out sockets. Off to the side a woman was begging for their help as a man dragged her by her hair, tears pouring down her cheeks, and in the corner a group of children were screaming as fire lapped at their feet.

  “Jesus,” Reed breathed. “I’ll take them,” he said and his voice sounded distant.

  “You want them all? They’re collector’s items, and they’re not cheap.”

  “Yeah. All of them, please.”

  The guy shrugged, and placed them on the counter, picking up the first one and punching a price into the cash register.

  The punch of the old-fashioned keys brought Reed out of the semi-fog he’d been in. “You mentioned you don’t have all the editions. Do you have any idea where I can find the rest?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Kaiden pulled a pad toward him and jotted down two websites. “If you go on those forums, someone should have the rest for sale. You might have to find multiple sellers, but you’ll be able to locate all of them. By my count, you’re only missing three. I could order them for you myself, but I don’t have time to get to it until tonight, and I’d upcharge them.” He gave Reed a gummy smile.

  “That’s all right. I think I can handle it.”

  “Make sure to haggle,” Kaiden said, continuing to ring up the comics, all of which were encased in thick plastic sleeves. “Those guys’ll try to get as much out of you as they can.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  Kaiden reached for a paper bag and put the pile of comics inside, placing it on the counter. “Eight hundred, fifty-two dollars and nineteen cents.”

  Reed stared. “For comics?”

  “Like I said, collector’s editions. Near mint condition.”

  Wow. Reed blew out a breath. He’d been a kid once. He could appreciate a good comic as much as the next guy. But what was that? A hundred dollars a pop? People paid that? Reed placed his credit card on the counter. It didn’t matter. He needed them.

  Outside the shop, he walked quickly to his car, parked just a block up the street. He got in, rolled down the window and tore the bag open, pulling out the comic on top and slipping it from the plastic sleeve.

  His eyes moved over the beginning of the story, his heart hammering more and more quickly.

  Holy shit.

  **********

  Reed held the comic book up in front of the room, moving it slowly from left to right so everyone could see it. The whole team was there, including detectives working other cases that happened to be in the office. This was big. And something they’d never seen before. Everyone wanted a front-row seat to this break. “Tribulation,” he said, his blood seeming to course faster as he voiced the name. This was it. The break they’d needed to understand this killer who had the whole city on edge. “It’s a lesser-known title, although a collector’s series among real comic aficionados.” He handed it to Ransom to begin passing around the room. “And it’s our killer’s playbook.”

  There was a general murmuring around the room and Sergeant Valenti raised his hand, urging them to be quiet. “There’ll be time for questions afterward,” he told the group. “First, let Detective Davies give you the rundown.”

  Reed hitched one hip up, half sitting, half leaning on the corner of the desk. “I’m going to tell you the overall plot. The general concept goes like this.” He leaned forward slightly, “There is no separate Heaven, and there is no separate Hell. At least not apart from the earthly sphere. When the Earth was created it was split into two halves, Heaven and Hell, though both coexist simultaneously, and each interacts with the other.”

  “They’re both here,” Ransom added. “Right here. Commingling.”

  Reed gave him a small tilt of his chin. Ransom and Pagett had been reading through the comics following Reed, so they were well acquainted with the material and could talk it through. “Some humans are living in Hell, some in Heaven. Those who live in Hell realize where they are, but not all those living in Heaven do. Some wander, unseeing, blind to the demons all around, and blind to the suffering of others.” He paused so they could take that in. “They serve only their own selfish interests. When one is recognized as such—a person who shows proof of his or her blindness by disregarding the pain of those in hell, or furthering it—they must be destroyed.”

  Reed twisted his upper body, tapping the board with the three enucleated victims and then picking up another edition of Tribulation and holding the cover up that featured the three men walking in a triangular formation, those begging for help to the sides of them, being ignored. “Holy shit,” someone breathed near the back.

  My thoughts exactly.

  “And then there are the demons themselves,” Reed continued, “the ones who must fall from power if Heaven is going to reign supreme.” Reed twisted his torso in the opposite direction and pointed at the list of falling victims on the board. “We believe our killer is taking it as a literal command.”

  He pointed back at the eyeless victims. “Those are the blind. Selfish. Greedy. Exploitative. According to this killer.” And according to Reed, frankly, though that wasn’t really relevant. He pointed in the other direction at the falling victims. “Those are the demons. The true victimizers. He’s playing the whole story out.”

  A low buzz started near the back of the room and again the sergeant held up his hand. “Detectives Carlyle and Pagett and I are reading through the editions, and I’ve ordered the ones not locally available. There’s a lot to go through, and there’s a plotline that follows the fates of five angels who were mistakenly sent to the realm of Hell. They each have an individual story, but they share that common bond.”

  Reed turned to the sergeant and the sergeant nodded. Reed looked back at the group. “Again, we’re still reading through the material so something more may become obvious. If it does, we’ll share it.” He glanced around. “Does anyone have questions?”

  A newer detective near the back raised his hand. “Those angels born in Hell? Who are they to him? If anyone?”

  “We don’t know for sure,” Reed said. “They might be specific, they might just be indicative of a type of person, for instance, abuse victims.” And if so, that would include Liza.

  “Does that mean he’s one?” the same detective asked. “An abuse victim? Who is he in the story?”

  �
��Again, we don’t have the answer to that yet. He might not be anyone. He might just be using the story to exact justice for those he believes have been wronged.”

  “Is this biblical?”

  “No. It basically contends that the Bible got it wrong. That this scenario”—he tapped the comic book—“is more accurate.”

  “Have you talked about what the goal to acting this all out might be?” Detective Duffy asked, looking between Reed, Ransom, and Jennifer.

  Reed shook his head. “We don’t know other than the satisfaction he would get from following this script he takes as gospel. He believes he has the power to make Heaven reign supreme, whatever that might mean to him. Righteousness, perhaps. What is clear is that he believes it to be true. He believes in this world order.”

  “It’s just a story,” Duffy said.

  “Not to him,” Reed answered. “To him it’s real.”

  “So he’s a nutjob,” Duffy said.

  “But we already knew that,” Jennifer answered.

  Nutjob. Sure. But it’s more than that. It’s giving this guy meaning and purpose. Control. “It’s actually not that he’s a nutjob—”

  “Oh, come on, Davies. This guy’s a psycho, lording heaven and hell over victims for sport,” Duffy stated.

  “To us that’s what it is,” Reed said, recalling what he’d spoken with Liza about, the things she’d encouraged him to consider. “But we have to remember that this guy doesn’t think like us. To him this makes perfect sense. To him, this is justice.”

  “Fuck. As if our job wasn’t hard enough. We have a guy believing he’s God,” Duffy muttered.

  “See, Davies? Nutjob,” Ransom said, winking.

  Reed gave him a wry smile. “All right. For now, nutjob works just fine,” Reed conceded, looking around.

  “Any other questions?” Sergeant Valenti asked. There was a general murmur but no one else raised their hands.