Which is what we had done. There was no getting around that. We had committed a violent act against another human being. A mother. A sister. A daughter. A child.
“We sinned against this woman,” I told my prison Bible study class. “Our only option is to repent and hope that God forgives us.”
Beside me, Kirk snorted, but otherwise kept his mouth shut.
“She was a prostitute,” I told the class. “She was a fallen woman. But that was because of the scourge of drugs. Her addiction gave her no choice. We—” and here I looked at Kirk—“had a choice. We could’ve done the right thing, but we chose not to.”
“Amen,” a few mumbled. Others just stared openly. They always stared. Even after six months, they still could not stop staring.
I always helped stack chairs after the meeting. It was a difficult task with one hand, but Kirk stubbornly refused to do anything to assist me, even if it was more expedient. That wasn’t all he’d given up on. Forget flossing. He’d stopped brushing his teeth. His beard had grown in. His eyebrows were dangerously close to meeting in the middle. I’d tried to shave them back just the other day, but he’d growled at me. We looked like we were auditioning for the Georgia prison system’s inaugural performance of Jekyll and Hyde.
There was usually a spring in my step after my Bible study class. Kirk, of course, quashed the spring with his woeful drag. So it was that we were scraping along like Lear when I finally stopped and turned my head to him.
“Kirk, we’re going to be in here the rest of our lives. We have to make the best of it.”
“Go screw yourself.” He scratched his beard, and I heard him mumble, “Not that you’ve got the equipment to do it.”
I gritted my teeth as I walked toward our cell. “We deserve what we got. We killed that girl.”
“Your bloody fingerprints were on her.”
“Your sperm was inside her.”
“I paid for that!”
His words echoed through the prison block. The other inmates eyed us curiously.
I lowered my voice. “She was an innocent.”
“I’ve heard your holy roller Jesus bullshit enough for today.” He stopped our progress. “Enough for the rest of my life, actually.”
“Well, I don’t know what you’re going to do about it.”
An inmate, Big Tiny, passed us. I don’t know why they called him that. I suppose it was ironic. He was around five-five, skin and bones. Still, he gave Kirk the angry eye.
Kirk eyeballed him back. “You got somethin’ to say?”
Big Tiny held up his hand, kept walking.
“This is stupid.” I started to leave, but Kirk stopped me.
“You hit her, too, Wayne. You were just as mad as I was.”
“You were jealous,” I shot back. “And for nothing. Nothing at all.”
“I know she touched you.”
I shook my head and started walking again.
He stopped me. “Just tell me the truth. She touched you.”
“What does it matter?”
He threw his hand into the air. “It matters!”
So, this was how he wanted it to be. I gritted my teeth, braced myself to finally say what had never been said. “You’ve always been so damn jealous of me.” Even as I said the words, I realized they were true. “You make such a big show about being the dominant one, having all the good equipment, making all the right moves, but I see it now, Kirk. I see it loud and clear.”
“What do you see?”
“That you need me more than I need you.”
“Bullshit,” he mumbled. “Freakin’ parasite. That’s all you’ll ever be.”
“You think you’d be running IBM by now? Shit, you’d be in the same place as we are now, except you’d be alone.”
“Shut your face.”
“Who helped you with your SATs?” I demanded. “Who made sure you passed Spanish so you could graduate?”
“I know Spanish.”
“¿Cómo se llama usted?”
He looked nervous. “I said shut up.”
“Who got us that job at Dixie?”
“I was top salesman for—”
“After I was!” I screamed. “You wouldn’t’ve even been able to drive there except for me! You would’ve been on the bus! You would’ve been—”
“Free!” he screamed. “I woulda been free, dammit!” Spittle flew from his mouth. “I should’ve let you die in that fire.”
My mouth opened in shock.
“I could’ve let you die, Wayne. Smoke inhalation. You were almost blue by the time I shook you awake. Ang lived for three hours after Chang died. They could’ve cut you off me like they were slicing off a wart. I have the heart. I have the intestines. You’re nothing but a colostomy bag with a bad attitude.”
My lips moved wordlessly. I didn’t know what to say.
“That’s what I thought.” He pulled me down the hall. I followed him, my foot dragging as his words echoed in my ears. We went up the stairs, past the empty showers. Finally, I found my voice.
“You sanctimonious piece of shit.”
He reared around so sharply that I hit the wall. My head snapped back against the cinder block. For some reason, that was the last straw. I swung my fist, popping him in the nose. I felt like my face exploded. We both reeled, reaching out to brace ourselves. I tasted blood, but it was Kirk’s nose that was bleeding.
“’I didn’t kill her! It was my brother!’” I screeched Kirk’s famous words when Detective Jensen finally tackled him to the floor. “Remember that, Kirk? Remember you telling that cop that I was the one who killed her?”
“It was a strategy!”
“Strategy to get me convicted.”
He held out his arm, indicating the cellblock. “That worked out well, didn’t it?”
“Couldn’t play the conjoined card again, could you?”
“I should kick your—”
“Go ahead!” I yelled. “All these years, you’ve pretended like you were saving me, but it was you, Kirk. You were saving yourself. You always save yourself, because you’re an arrogant, self-centered, useless—” I searched for the word. I couldn’t find the word. And then I could. “Parasite! You’re the parasite. You’re the one who’s been sucking off me all these years. You think you’d be married with kids by now? You’d be working two jobs to pay child support and going to court-ordered anger management meetings! If you were lucky!”
“Hey.” Big Tiny was back. “Whatch’ all got goin’ on here?”
Kirk growled, “Shut up, Tiny. This is between me and my—”
Big Tiny’s fist slammed into Kirk’s face. My eyes rolled back. My knee buckled. A wave of nausea flooded over me.
“Over here,” Big Tiny said. I realized he wasn’t alone. There were two other men. Really big men. Angry-looking men. They dragged us back into the showers. I tried to struggle, but my head was on fire. Kirk was out of it. Neither one of us could stand.
Big Tiny slapped Kirk’s face. “Yo, you in there, dude?”
Fear took hold. Something bitter and chewy came into my mouth. It was the same taste I’d had that night when ABBA started playing.
“You there, freaky deaky?” Big Tiny was looking at me. I forced my eyes to stay open. My head didn’t nod so much as dip. “Hey.” Big Tiny leaned down to look at me. “Stay awake for me, now.”
He turned his attention back to Kirk. He slapped his face again. Hard. When that didn’t work, one of the men turned on the sink. Big Tiny cupped his hand under the faucet and beamed a jet of water into Kirk’s face.
“What the—” Kirk woke with a start. He instantly realized what was going on. We were in the shower. Three guys. Big Tiny standing in front of us.
“You know who I am?” Big Tiny asked. He rolled down the top of his pants, and I suddenly realized his name was not nearly as ironic as I’d previously thought.
“You know who I am, you murdering bastards?”
Kirk and I looked at each other. Was t
his a trick question?
“My name is Mark Connor,” he said. “Mindy was my sister.”
“Shit,” we both whispered.
“This here’s payback time,” Big Tiny said. He motioned for his boys to hold us down. Their hands were like clamps on my neck and shoulder. I felt my stomach lurch, my breath catch, my vision tunnel.
Kirk glanced over his shoulder at Big Tiny, then he looked at me. My brother didn’t seem scared. His eyes were full of hate, defiance. I felt a thrill in my heart. We were in this together. We would fight them off with our bare hands. Okay, we would more than likely lose and be defiled in unspeakable ways, but we were brothers again. Flesh and blood. Skin and bones. Heart to heart.
There is no friend who sticks closer than a brother.
Kirk smiled. I smiled back.
“You ready for this?” Big Tiny asked.
“Sure,” Kirk told him. “Do whatever you want to the asshole.”
Enjoy this Special Bonus Chapter from Karin Slaughter’s latest bestseller, FALLEN
Excerpted from Fallen by Karin Slaughter. Copyright © 2011 by Karin Slaughter. Excerpted by permission of Delacorte Press, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
CHAPTER ONE
Faith Mitchell dumped the contents of her purse onto the passenger seat of her Mini, trying to find something to eat. Except for a furry piece of gum and a peanut of dubious origin, there was nothing remotely edible. She thought about the box of nutrition bars in her kitchen pantry, and her stomach made a noise that sounded like a rusty hinge groaning open.
The computer seminar she’d attended this morning was supposed to last three hours, but that had stretched into four and a half thanks to the jackass in the front row who kept asking pointless questions. The Georgia Bureau of Investigation trained its agents more often than any other agency in the region. Statistics and data on criminal activities were constantly being drummed into their heads. They had to be up to date on all of the latest technology. They had to qualify at the range twice a year. They ran mock raids and active shooter simulations that were so intense that for weeks after, Faith couldn’t go to the bathroom in the middle of the night without checking shadows in doorways. Usually, she appreciated the agency’s thoroughness. Today, all she could think about was her four-month-old baby, and the promise Faith had made to her mother that she would be back no later than noon.
The clock on the dash read ten after one o’clock when she started the car. Faith mumbled a curse as she pulled out of the parking lot in front of the Panthersville Road headquarters. She used Bluetooth to dial her mother’s number. The car speakers gave back a static-y silence. Faith hung up and dialed again. This time, she got a busy signal.
Faith tapped her finger on the steering wheel as she listened to the bleating. Her mother had voicemail. Everybody had voicemail. Faith couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard a busy signal on the telephone. She had almost forgotten the sound. There was probably a crossed wire somewhere at the phone company. She hung up and tried the number a third time.
Still busy.
Faith steered with one hand as she checked her BlackBerry for an email from her mother. Before Evelyn Mitchell retired, she had been a cop for just shy of four decades. You could say a lot about the Atlanta force, but you couldn’t claim they were behind the times. Evelyn had carried a cell phone back when they were more like purses you strapped around your shoulder. She’d learned how to use email before her daughter had. She’d carried a BlackBerry for almost twelve years.
But she hadn’t sent a message today.
Faith checked her cell phone voicemail. She had a saved message from her dentist’s office about making an appointment to get her teeth cleaned, but there was nothing new. She tried her phone at home, thinking maybe her mother had gone there to pick up something for the baby. Faith’s house was just down the road from Evelyn’s. Maybe Emma had run out of diapers. Maybe she’d needed another bottle. Faith listened to the phone ring at her house, then heard her own voice answer, telling callers to leave a message.
She ended the call. Without thinking, she glanced into the back seat. Emma’s empty car seat was there. She could see the pink liner sticking out over the top of the plastic.
“Idiot,” Faith whispered to herself. She dialed her mother’s cell phone number. She held her breath as she counted through three rings. Evelyn’s voicemail picked up.
Faith had to clear her throat before she could speak. She was aware of a tremor in her tone. “Mom, I’m on my way home. I guess you took Em for a walk…” Faith looked up at the sky as she merged onto the interstate. She was about twenty minutes outside of Atlanta and could see fluffy white clouds draped like scarves around the skinny necks of skyscrapers. “Just call me,” Faith said, worry needling the edge of her brain.
Grocery store. Gas station. Pharmacy. Her mother had a car seat identical to the one in the back of Faith’s Mini. She was probably out running errands. Faith was over an hour late. Evelyn would’ve taken the baby and…Left Faith a message that she was going to be out. The woman had been on call for the majority of her adult life. She didn’t go to the toilet without letting someone know. Faith and her older brother, Zeke, had joked about it when they were kids. They always knew where their mother was, even when they didn’t want to. Especially when they didn’t want to.
Faith stared at the phone in her hand as if it could tell her what was going on. She was aware that she might be letting herself get worked up over nothing. The landline could be out. Her mother wouldn’t know this unless she tried to make a call. Her cell phone could be switched off, or charging, or both. Her BlackBerry could be in her car or her purse or somewhere she couldn’t hear the telltale vibration. Faith glanced back and forth between the road and her BlackBerry as she typed an email to her mother. She spoke the words aloud as she typed—
“On-my-way. Sorry-I’m-late. Call-me.”
She sent the email, then tossed the phone onto the seat along with the spilled items from her purse. After a moment’s hesitation, Faith popped the gum into her mouth. She chewed as she drove, ignoring the purse lint clinging to her tongue. She turned on the radio, then snapped it back off. The traffic thinned as she got closer to the city. The clouds moved apart, sending down bright rays of sunshine. The inside of the car began to bake.
Ten minutes out, Faith’s nerves were still on edge, and she was sweating from the heat in the car. She cracked the sunroof to let in some air. This was probably a simple case of separation anxiety. She’d been back at work for a little over two months, but still, every morning when Faith left Emma at her mother’s, she felt something akin to a seizure take hold. Her vision blurred. Her heart shook in her chest. Her head buzzed as if a million bees had flown into her ears. She was more irritable than usual at work, especially with her partner, Will Trent, who either had the patience of Job or was setting up a believable alibi for when he finally snapped and strangled her.
Faith couldn’t recall if she had felt this same anxiety with Jeremy, her son, who was now a freshman in college. Faith had been eighteen when she entered the police academy. Jeremy was three years old by then. She had grabbed onto the idea of joining the force as if it was the only life preserver left on the Titanic. Thanks to two minutes of poor judgment in the back of a movie theater and what foreshadowed a lifetime of breathtakingly bad taste in men, Faith had gone straight from puberty to motherhood without any of the usual stops in between. At eighteen, she had relished the idea of earning a steady paycheck so that she could move out of her parents’ house and raise Jeremy the way that she wanted. Going to work every day had been a step toward independence. Leaving him in day care had seemed like a small price to pay.
Now that Faith was thirty-four, with a mortgage, a car payment, and another baby to raise on her own, she wanted nothing more than to move back into her mother’s house so that Evelyn could take ca
re of everything. She wanted to open the refrigerator and see food that she didn’t have to buy. She wanted to turn on the air conditioner in the summer without worrying about having to pay the bill. She wanted to sleep until noon, then watch TV all day. Hell, while she was at it, she might as well resurrect her father, who’d died eleven years ago, so that he could make her pancakes at breakfast and tell her how pretty she was.
No chance of that now. Evelyn seemed happy to play the role of nanny in her retirement, but Faith was under no illusion that her life was going to get any easier. Her own retirement was almost twenty years away. The Mini had another three years of payments and would be out of warranty well before that. Emma would expect food and clothing for at least the next eighteen years, if not more. And it wasn’t like when Jeremy was a baby and Faith could dress him in mismatched socks and yard sale hand-me-downs. Babies today had to coordinate. They needed BPA-free bottles and certified organic applesauce from kindly Amish farmers. If Jeremy got into the architectural program at Georgia Tech, Faith was looking at six more years of buying books and doing his laundry. Most worryingly, her son had found a serious girlfriend. An older girlfriend with curvy hips and a ticking biological clock. Faith could be a grandmother before she turned thirty-five.
An unwelcome heat rushed through her body as she tried to push this last thought from her mind. She checked the contents of her purse again as she drove. The gum hadn’t made a dent. Her stomach was still growling. She reached over and felt around inside the glovebox. Nothing. She should stop at a fast-food place and at least get a Coke, but she was wearing her regs—tan khakis and a blue shirt with the letters GBI emblazoned in bright yellow on the back. This wasn’t the best part of town to be in if you were law enforcement. People tended to run, and then you had to chase them, which wasn’t conducive to getting home at a reasonable hour. Besides, something was telling her—urging her—to see her mother.
Thorn in My Side Page 4
