The Dark Places

by R. S. Whitfield

  Part 2

  21

  1997, Town of North East, Cecil County, Maryland

  The early morning mist hung over the calm waters of the Chesapeake Bay like a warm blanket.

  The birds sang in tune with the waking forest as the rising sun sent a kaleidoscope of colour filtering through the dense brush.

  The boy stirred and lazily stretched out his legs, startling a nearby deer that quickly jumped back into the thicket.

  He knew he was going to be in trouble, staying out all night again, but when he finally opened his eyes, he didn’t care. This place was home to him. The tall Table Mountain pines felt like the safe walls of his room — the gentle whispering breeze was more comforting to him than any words ever spoken by his parents and the ever-present sound of water made him feel calm. Yes, this was where he belonged. He stood, his gangly knees releasing tension with a loud crack, and picked up his long coat, which had served as his blanket the night before. School started soon, and as much as he would rather stay and trap some more squirrels, he knew his mother would not let another day off school slide by without questions along the lines of the Spanish Inquisition. In truth, school didn’t bother him. It was merely an inconvenience, an interruption to his day. The teachers thought he was a lost cause and looked through him like he was transparent, made of thin, weak glass. The other kids weren’t mean, he wasn’t bullied or tormented, he was simply avoided. He existed like a shadow, walking along walls, hugging the tight corners of the buildings, sitting in the very back recesses of the classrooms, eating under the stadium stairs, listening to the constant banter of the cheerleaders who didn’t even know he was alive. School was OK, a formality to keep his mother off his back.

  The sudden thought of her incessant whiney voice thrust him back into reality. He wondered how long he had been standing there like that, staring at the patch of grass he had slept on. Time to go, he sighed, and began trudging back towards his house. After twenty minutes, he emerged from the scrub and re-joined the well-worn path that led from the main street of town through to North East High. Parents warned their kids not to take the shortcut, spouting stories akin to Little Red Riding Hood, but the seniors, of course, knowing better, ignored the urban legends and used it as their personal thoroughfare. He was always very careful not to be seen; he didn’t need or want any attention, so when he heard the unmistakable snap of twigs breaking underfoot, he immediately froze. Shutting down his eyes, he felt all of his senses stir. The sweetly fragrant blooms of the pink-white mountain laurel teased his nostrils, and the constant humming of insects created the familiar soundtrack that was his forest. No voices, no laughter, it must have been another deer. He quickened his pace anyway, and gradually the tree line receded, the path became cobblestone, and he could feel the pulse of the small town. The electrical cables buzzed in the early morning light and life began to stir. People were starting to wake and begin their day, collect the paper, switch on the kettle and gently nudge sleeping children. He hurried past the twenty-four-hour gas station, head down with his jacket pulled tightly around him, always aware of the security cameras and nosy neighbours. He slipped through a dilapidated wood paling fence which led through some overgrown grass into his backyard. He caught movement in the corner of his eye and looked up just in time to see his sister sneak back in through her bedroom window, one leg still dangling over the side. Slut, he thought and sneered. Margot, his older sister, was the golden child. Sixteen and oh so pretty for sure. Smart? Not so much, but what she lacked in brains she made up for in sheer venom. One of the most feared yet revered girls in her year, purely due to her ability to create and spread gossip. Margot never underestimated the power of peer pressure and the drama of innuendo. How’s this for a rumour, he thought as he spied Mr Westford, their history teacher, covertly pull away from the kerb. Margot, Margot, Margot, he smiled, shaking his head. That girl could get anything she wanted with her legs in the air. He almost admired her but thought better of it, knowing the poison she spat in his direction. He was a small glitch in her rise to queen of the school. The strange, weird brother, that’s a hard one to hide, especially from judgemental teenagers. He was comforted knowing that at least he could hurt her in some way, even if he didn’t have the guts to defend himself to her face. Sighing, he ran his big hands through his dark, tangled hair, watching dirt fall out of it like snow. I must look a real sight he thought and giggled quietly to himself, knowing his mother was going to pitch a fit when she saw the state he was in. He hesitated at the gate, not wanting to enter and deal with her ire, so, as always, he chanced a glance at the house next door.

  The tall white home stood like a giant in contrast to his mother’s modest three-bedroom. He often wondered what life was like in that house. There always seemed to be the smell of freshly baked bread mixed with the sweet aroma of chocolate cookies seeping out of the kitchen. The gardens were manicured, lawns were mowed, and the mother waved and talked to the postman each day like the perfect parents did on TV. Some nights, he would crouch outside their lounge room window just to hear the sounds of laughter and dream that he was laughing too. Finally, his attention shifted back to the drab, brown building that was his reality. There was no laughter in this house. Taking a deep breath, he walked up the steps, careful not to fall through the broken slat and pushed open the door.

  22

  Baltimore, Maryland, Present day

  Lucy laid very still. Something was not right. He had been pacing the floor for nearly an hour, and it was two o’clock in the morning. He suddenly stopped as if he could hear her thoughts — she held her breath, waiting, then he moved quickly around to her side of the bed. She slammed her eyes shut, praying he hadn’t already seen that she was awake. He stood there, staring at her for what seemed like an eternity. She didn’t like how he was making her feel. She felt scared. Finally, he got back in bed, and after a while, she felt his body relax and his breathing become steady. Slipping out from under the sheets, she tiptoed to the bathroom and shut the door with a silent click. Flicking the light on, she sat on the edge of the bathtub wrapping her arms around her stomach. What the hell is happening, she said to herself, covering her mouth to stifle the sound of her sobs. He had been rough tonight, more so than normal. Halfway through, she had to ask him to stop and was worried for a terrifying second that he wouldn’t. Afterwards, he couldn’t even look at her, let alone speak to her. He exuded so much fury that she had considered leaving.

  Sitting alone in the bathroom, now she wished she had. Maybe I should talk to him about it, she thought to herself, immediately coming to his defence. You are overreacting Lucy! All men get excited. Yes, I love him, and we can totally work this out. She got up and looked at herself in the mirror. As she turned to leave, she spotted something from the corner of her eye and looked back gasping. There were large black bruises around the base of her neck. Her hand flew up to her mouth in horror. Turning her head slightly to one side, she suddenly realised what she was seeing — finger marks. A sharp knock pierced the silent night and made her squeal out loud.

  “Lucy?” he asked from the other side of the door. “What the hell are you doing in there?” His tone had turned dangerous. Tears fell in fat drops down her cheeks.

  “Nothing, sweetheart, just going to the toilet,” she replied, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. “You gave me a little fright, that’s all,” she added.

  He rattled the handle, trying to open the door, which thankfully she had locked.

  “Hurry up then,” he said.

  She put her ear to the door until she heard the rustling of the comforter as he got back in bed. Flushing the toilet, she quickly wiped the tears off her face and practised a fake smile in the mirror. I am in trouble here, she thought, trying to control her racing heart. What have I got myself into?

  ***

  After Madison had hung up from Surin, she was buzzing. This case will make my career, she thought to herself and let out a little squeal, still in utter disbelief that it was
happening.

  “Well, believe it!” she said out loud, “because not just anyone gets a phone call from Detective Surin Elliott.”

  The latest victim, Lana Beau, was alive and possibly the luckiest woman on the planet, she thought. Reaching for the paper, she searched for any word on the attempted abduction and found none. Even better, she thought, scoop, scoop, scoop. It felt good to be back doing what she loved.

  Walking over to her desk, she flipped the top of her laptop up and opened her story. She had started with the discovery of Isabelle Lacross and was working backwards in time from there to establish the serial angle. Once she had the interview from Surin, every paper in the country would be bidding to print it. She smiled, not only was she finally going to be recognised as a gifted crime reporter, but she was feeling better about herself than she had in years. She and Surin had finally put the past behind them, and if nothing else, maybe the trust between them could be slowly rebuilt. Sitting down, she clasped her fingers together and pressed them forward, allowing them to crack loudly.

  “Time to type,” she said, hoping Surin would call again soon. Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing phone. Speak of the devil, she thought, and picked it up immediately. “Detective Elliott, missing me?” She smiled into the phone.

  “Um, is this Madison Brooke?” asked a confused male voice.

  “Oh sorry, yes, who is this?” she asked briskly, annoyed at herself for not checking the caller ID before picking up.

  “It’s, um, it’s Grayson Withers.”

  Madison shook her head. “Grayson who?” she asked.

  “Thought you might say that.” He snorted into the phone, contempt lacing his voice. “We shared a night together that ended at gunpoint.”

  Madison’s fingers froze over the keyboard. Fuck, she thought. No, no, not now!

  “How did you get this number?” she asked, hearing the indifferent tone in her voice.

  “We all have sources,” he said quietly.

  “What is it exactly that you want?” she asked quickly, desperate to end the call.

  “To meet,” he stated.

  “No,” Madison said matter-of-factly. “I am still trying to rebuild my life after that night,” she stammered, her voice rising in anger. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.” She knew that what she was saying was harsh, but she didn’t care.

  “Well, I’m so happy you’re getting your life back together,” he replied bitterly. “I’m sure you lost the love of your life that night as well,” he spat back.

  Madison realised that there was a slight slur to his voice — he was drunk. Sighing, she sat back in her chair and rubbed her forehead.

  “I’m pretty sure I didn’t sign up to counsel the cheating fiancé,” she said, “but since you rang, and I’m sure it will be the only time you will ever ring, out with it.” She shook her head. “What do you want?”

  “Cheating fiancé?” he retorted. “You didn’t seem to mind at the time.”

  Madison laughed. “You probably should have mentioned that you were engaged to a detective, and not just any detective, but Surin Elliott.” She stood and walked over to the window. “I would have run out of that pub screaming. I certainly would not have jumped into your bed.” She heard him laugh quietly on the other end.

  “Yeah, she is something,” he said sadly.

  Madison heard the sorrow in his voice. “Grayson, what are you ringing me for?” she added gently, but his voice turned sour.

  “I want you to tell me about Parker Rhodes,” he said. “Her partner,” he continued, emphasising the word.

  “No,” she stated simply. “I will not betray her a second time.” She placed her free hand on her hip. “If you want to know about Surin and her life, you will need to call her.” She nodded to her reflection in the window. “Please don’t ever call this number again.” With that, she hung up the phone. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Conundrum number one for the evening, she thought, do I tell Surin he rang. She took a long sip and sighed. Right now, we both need to focus on the case, she thought. If the topic of her ex-fiancé ever came up in polite conversation, she could drop it in that he had rung her drunk one evening wanting dirt on her new partner. That should go over well. Madison shook her head, shit. “I have to tell her,” she said aloud, “but not today.” Walking back over to her desk, she sat down and continued where she had left off, the disappearance of Emma Silverman.

  23

  Surin nursed a hot cup of coffee and stared out from the ninth floor of the Baltimore Police Department. She felt numb. Her head ached liked it was being beaten constantly by an internal drummer. Parker walked into the room and closed the door quietly. She could see his reflection in the window as he hesitated to approach her. She turned around.

  “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth. There was nothing she despised more than being seen as weak.

  Parker nodded and stuffed his hands into his pockets. She turned back to the Baltimore skyline and sighed. “For God’s sake,” she added, “I’m not made of glass, you can speak.”

  “Sorry,” he replied, “I’m at a loss, Elliott.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I have no idea what the fuck is going on.”

  She looked at her feet, embarrassed.

  “You have an emotional breakdown and then stand up and make a cup of coffee?” he said exasperated. “I can’t keep up!”

  She did feel bad. Looking at him, seeing his frustration, she walked over and placed her hand on his arm.

  “I’m sorry,” she said honestly, feeling the lump in her throat rise again. “I’m OK, and I promise, if the time comes, you will be the first and probably only person I will come to.”

  He looked at her. “Are you really OK?” he said gently, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face. “I’ve never seen you like that.” Surin felt her cheeks flush and looked away, his touch still lingering on her skin. “You were scared,” he whispered.

  She drained the last of her cup and placed it on the conference room table.

  “So,” she said smiling, hoping to lighten the mood, “how many witnessed the humiliation of Surin Elliott?”

  Parker laughed quietly, shaking his head. “No one,” he said, looking her in the eyes. “I shut the blinds and told everyone you were in the zone.”

  She nodded appreciatively.

  “No one wanted to interrupt you, afraid of what you would do to them.” He grinned.

  “Thank you,” she replied quietly. “I owe you one.”

  Parker walked over and re-opened the door, motioning for her to exit. “You owe me more than that, Surin,” he said as she walked past him. “You owe me an explanation.”

  They walked together over to their desks, Surin sat down and rolled over on her chair to sit beside him. “We need to go back,” she said.

  Parker got his notebook out and replied without looking at her. “Go back to what?”

  She grabbed the book out of his hands. “The beginning.”

  He turned to face her, waiting for more.

  “We need to see Vector.” She slid back across to her desk and picked up the phone. “We have to see every autopsy report, and most importantly, we need to go through every single set of personal belongings starting from Emma.” Parker shook his head and watched her talk on the phone. She hung up and stood. “Right, Vector can see us now.” Grabbing her tote, she started leaving, then noticed Parker wasn’t following. “Rhodes?” she said questionably, turning to face him. “Are you coming?”

  He looked at her, not knowing what to say. “Surin, I don’t even know what we’re doing.” He stood up slowly, she sighed.

  “I promise to tell you everything,” she said, avoiding his gaze, “but I need you to trust me for the moment.”

  He bent over, opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out his Glock 22, slipping it into his shoulder holster. “I do trust you,” he replied.

  She nodd
ed her thanks and they turned and walked out together.

  The car trip to the morgue was a quiet one. Surin could feel Parker’s uncertainty, and she felt terrible that she was keeping him in the dark, but more than anything, she did not want any of this to be true. For the whole drive, she repeated the mantra: this can’t be happening; this can’t be happening. Anytime she actually let herself think for a moment that it might be a reality, bile started to rise in her throat. I need to snap out of this, she told herself.

  An old Michael Jackson favourite came on the radio, and she smiled to herself. “My brother and I, crazy MJ fans,” she said to Parker with a grin.

  He looked at her quickly, then continued to watch the road without saying anything.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she went on, ‘Surin Elliott, a Michael Jackson fan?’ But it’s true. I cried my eyes out the day he died.”

  She glanced at him again.

  “I had a picture of him from his Bad album cover on my wall for years.”

  She waited, but he still didn’t reply.

  “My brother and I would watch Moonwalker over and over again.”

  Still nothing.

  “I have to tell you, I have a pretty impressive moonwalk myself.”

  Parker shook his head with a chuckle.

  Finally! She thought.

  “I know what you’re doing, Surin,” he said after a long sigh.

  Surin looked over at him. “You mean trying to apologise by telling you embarrassing tales of my childhood?” she asked.

  “No,” Parker replied. “You’re finding another way to avoid the issue altogether,” he added, looking at her again.

  “Parker,” she said, suddenly feeling defeated, “once I understand what the hell is going on, I will have no choice but to tell you.” She ran her fingers through her hair, loosening the French braid and letting the long locks freefall over her shoulders. “When you do know everything, you will know why I’m doing this,” she added.