Ruin

by Jette Harris

  Dr. Veal raised her brow. “It’s possible.” She reached down and unfolded the sheet with a series of quick, snappy movements. “Possible, but highly unlikely.”

  Remington shook his head and shifted with agitation. “There’s something she’s not tellin’ us.”

  ****

  The tap at the front door made Heather flinch, although it was neither loud nor sharp. Tech grunted as he pushed himself up from the couch. Steyer leaned so they could see him through the window by the door.

  “Good evening.”

  “Come on in.” Tech turned toward the kitchen.

  “Actually, I’d like to borrow Heather out here.”

  They turned to her. She peered at them inquisitively from under the thick blanket she had carried down to the couch.

  “Would you mind accompanying me for a walk?” Steyer asked.

  Heather jumped up a bit too enthusiastically, gritting her teeth against the pain in her torso. Steyer dropped his gaze and pretended he had not seen.

  “I’ll have her home before dark.” He smirked and clapped a hand on Tech’s shoulder.

  “Where to?” Heather stepped onto the porch and looked up and down the street. Steyer slipped his hands into his pockets and searched the sky. It was a perfect shade of blue, broken only by lazy wisps of cloud. A soft breeze swept Heather’s hair from her shoulders.

  “This is your stomping ground,” Steyer replied. “You choose.”

  Heather took a deep breath and held it. She looked up the street, leading toward the coffee shop, then down, leading toward the school. Finally, she trotted down the steps and headed toward the coffee shop. Steyer set a leisurely pace alongside her.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine.”

  “I’m not asking to be polite.”

  She held her breath a moment. “I feel like I’m in limbo. I’m afraid to move, but I just want to run. I want everything to go back to normal.”

  Steyer nodded. “That’s expected in a situation like this.” He eyed the way she held her left arm hugged to her body. “Aren’t you supposed to be wearing a sling?”

  “It restricts my movements too much. I feel useless when I’m wearing it… helpless.”

  Steyer took a deep breath, like he was about to dive into cold water. “Do you know what a medical examiner does, Heather?”

  She frowned and searched the sidewalk in front of her feet. “He studies when and how someone died.”

  “She, in this case,” Steyer said. “Are you comfortable speaking about this?”

  Heather nodded, but her eyes remained on the ground. Steyer cleared his throat and looked around to make sure no one was near.

  “She completed the autopsy on Miss Shatterthwaith.”

  Heather pursed her lips tighter, biting the insides of her cheeks.

  “The results raised more questions than answers.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “You know, the Phoenix… Avery Rhodes… is still out there.”

  “Mm.”

  “You know the more information we have, the easier it will be for us to find him and convict him of these crimes, get justice for your friends.”

  Heather cleared her throat now. “Mm-hm.”

  “The four of you were in very close quarters–when you weren’t with Rhodes. Did you… any of you… fraternize with one another?”

  Heather stumbled. Steyer placed a steadying hand on her back. She closed her eyes, throat tight. “We… would talk sometimes. Tell jokes. Until Avery caught us. He’d sneak in…”

  “You described all of that in your report. I need to know what you didn’t include; I need to know if any of you were… intimate.”

  Heather’s lips quivered. She lowered her head until her hair fell to hide her face. She had promised. Once the house went up in flames, she was sure she would be able to hide those moments, maybe even forget them.

  “We have evidence that suggests Monica had been intimate with both Chuck and Z.”

  A strangled whine escaped her throat.

  “Did Avery Rhodes orchestrate that?”

  She nodded from behind her hair.

  “Did he watch?”

  She took a deep breath. “Not… I don’t know. There were cameras. We called it the Camera Room.”

  “The second door on the left, correct? Next to the room he stayed in?”

  She nodded. “I only went in a few times. I think he liked watching Monica… more. He tr-tried to get Witt and Z together once, but they ended up getting into a fight.”

  Steyer raised his brow. “How did the Phoenix respond to that?”

  Heather shrugged. “More amused than angry. He seemed to enjoy it. ‘I like a good fight as much as I like a-a good fuck,’ he said.”

  Steyer nodded. “Who did he send you in with? Z?”

  Heather stopped. Telling him about the Camera Room would mean telling him… Steyer turned to face her. She rubbed the stitches on her wrists, and tears threatened to fall.

  “I won’t ask for details…”

  Heather hiccoughed. “I killed Witt.”

  Steyer’s face fell. “What?”

  “It’s my fault he died. I killed him.” She spoke so quickly, her words ran together: “Avery knew we didn’t like each other, so he put us together.”

  “And you killed him… Charles Witt?”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I wouldn’t sleep with him. I just couldn’t. I hated him. Monica was in love with him. I couldn’t do that t-to… to…”

  “Stop. Breathe.”

  Heather shook her head. “Avery came back. I said, What’s the worst he could do? Kill me?” She took a deep breath and pressed the heels of her palms over her mouth.

  “What did he do?”

  “He shot Witt! Shot him in the chest! Then I had to go and–and t-tell Monica… I just… I just…” She slid a fingernail under one of the stitches.

  “No, stop.”

  “What?”

  He took her hands. She hadn’t even known she was doing it.

  “Heather,” he said, holding her wrists. “Heather…” He waited until she met his eyes. “You were standing up for yourself. You had no idea—”

  Heather shook her head.

  “—no idea what he was going to do. Did you?”

  She sniffled. “No.”

  “Charles Witt’s death is not your fault. Not his fault. It was Avery Rhodes who killed him. It is Avery Rhodes’s fault, his fault alone.”

  She took a deep, shaking breath and nodded. He released her and held out an arm to invite her to continue walking. She walked quickly, passing him, then falling back when she felt too exposed. They walked in silence for a few minutes.

  “Did Tech… Did your grandfather tell you about Vietnam?”

  “He told me most… a lot… some of it. The bits that would give him nightmares.”

  “According to him, you are the efficient little shrink.”

  Heather scoffed. “Physician, heal thyself…” Then, “He said you were dead. Weren’t you the one he called Intel?”

  Steyer cringed and nodded. “I was captured, the last time I saw him. They led me to believe he had been killed. I was isolated, tortured—”

  “Assaulted?” The word escaped her before she could rein herself in.

  Steyer fixed her with a steady gaze and cleared his throat. “I would prefer you not share this information with your grandfather. He does not know I was a POW; I led him to believe we went home around the same time.”

  “You betcha.” She stopped in her tracks and clenched her teeth.

  “What?”

  She shook her head and continued. “Avery would say that, ‘You betcha.’”

  Steyer raised his brow. “That’s quite a regional phrase. Did he say other things like that?”

  Heather took a deep breath and racked her brain. “‘Don’t cha know’… ‘Hob… Hob your lip.’”

  “Hob your lip?”

  “Like… shut up, shut yo
ur mouth.”

  A man, shirt darkened with sweat, ran down the sidewalk toward them. Heather had to look twice to confirm it wasn’t Rhodes. As he approached, she recognized Agent Remington.

  “Hey!” he huffed, coming to a stop a few feet away. “This… heat!” He doubled over, shaking his head. “I don’t see how you do it. And you—” He gestured to Steyer. “How you’re comfortable is… I would have taken my jacket off by now.”

  Steyer ran a hand over his tie, his face not quite smug. Remington lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, revealing a tan torso of rippling muscle. Heather’s lips parted and eyes widened. She noticed Steyer studying her out of the corner of his eye. She snapped her mouth shut and swallowed, dropping her eyes to the sidewalk.

  Remington didn’t notice her discomfort. “Did you ask her about the bruises?”

  Heather jerked her head up. She caught the tail end of a grimace on Steyer’s face. “Bruises? What about bruises?”

  Steyer narrowed his eyes at Remington, who frowned.

  “Sorry,” Remington murmured. “I’ll be running along now.” He jogged around them.

  Heather had to fight the urge to watch him run away. She forced herself to begin walking again.

  “Bruises?” She prompted again when Steyer did not volunteer.

  He took a deep breath. “The autopsy results—Monica’s results—revealed something… inconsistent with the narrative you gave.”

  Heather swallowed. “She had bruises?”

  “She did not have bruises.”

  Heather sighed. Oh, thank God.

  “Dr. Veal reported Monica did not have any damage, bruising, or… otherwise, from the last several days of your captivity.”

  Elation, something akin or gratitude, rose in Heather’s throat. “Not… not anything?”

  “Not that they could see.”

  Heather couldn’t keep it down. She smiled.

  “Did you make some kind of deal with the Phoenix?”

  “What?” She pulled the smile back down.

  “We know you once had feelings for Monica. Did you manipulate the situation somehow?”

  “Yes…” Heather’s mind raced. She couldn’t think of a way out of this one. “I mean, no. He just became very… distracted.”

  “Distracted?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You have injuries more recent than that, though.”

  Heather found it difficult to breathe. “I mean, focused. Distracted from Monica, focused on… me.”

  “Did he explain why?”

  Heather gulped air to answer. “He liked the fight. He said I was witty.”

  “And that was enough to distract the Phoenix for several days?”

  She tried to shrug, but her shoulder didn’t agree. She turned, looking for an escape. Remington had circled back and was approaching from behind. Town was before them.

  “Heather, we need to know…”

  Whimpering, Heather jumped off the sidewalk into a ditch, and shot into the woods that ran along the street.

  “Heather!” Steyer shouted after her. “Come back–it’s not safe!”

  As she crashed through the underbrush, his voice faded. She came to a clearing and was able to orient herself. She hadn’t been in the woods for a year or so, but the familiar paths were still discernible. She found one that would carry her homeward. Her breathing slowed, but her chest was still tight.

  How could she possibly explain this to him? Rhodes is insane and thinks he’s in love with me? He used Monica to manipulate me to keep me from misbehaving?

  Look how well that had worked out.

  “Heather!” It wasn’t Steyer’s voice. Someone was moving through the woods–fast. Heather regretted her wish to be alone.

  “… Avery?” she asked in a strangled whimper.

  The crashing came closer. Heather turned and ran off the path.

  “Heather!”

  Hot tears streamed down her face. Panic tightened her throat and chest. Sliding on slick leaves, she fell into some brambles. Shrieking as the briars bit into her skin, she fought to pull herself loose.

  Remington burst out from between some bushes. Her face burned hotter. Of course, it was Remington. He had been right there. She groaned.

  “Heather, be still!”

  She obeyed.

  “What have you gotten yourself into?” He pulled out a knife and lopped through a few of the vines. The force broke them more efficiently than the blade. Itchy, burning welts and bright red lines rose on her skin as the briars tore at her.

  Not born and bred in a briar patch, are we, Little Rabbit? The voice was so clear, Heather jerked her head around.

  “Come on,” Remington offered her his hand. She had to pull several briars from her palm before she accepted. He pulled her to her feet and attempted to brush away the brambles clinging to her clothes.

  “Don’t, I’ll do it.” She stepped away and picked the briars from her skin and clothes. She could feel Remington’s eyes on her. “What?”

  “Why’d you run?” He reached out to pluck a vine from her back.

  “I got sick of being asked questions.” She began to move back toward the path, but paused to extract a thorn from her legs.

  “Questions are necessary to an investigation.”

  “I know, I just—!” She stopped and buried her face in her hands. Remington placed a hand on her shoulder. She jerked away and made herself as small as possible. Her body burned and itched. Her mind swirled so violently, she couldn’t clutch at any of the half-assed explanations she wanted to offer.

  “Heather…”

  “Hesaidhelovedme.”

  “What?”

  “He said… The Phoenix. Avery Rhodes. He said he loved me.” She pulled her hands down to cover her mouth. Remington gaped.

  “You mean… Is this something he told all four of you?”

  She shook her head.

  “OK… I… We…” Remington looked around, turning in a circle. “Do you know where we are? How do we get back to the road?”

  Heather glanced around. She didn’t know where they were, but she knew where to go. Arms held close to her body, she turned east and began to walk. Remington followed her in silence, but she could hear him open his mouth and inhale as if he were about to speak. They emerged from the woods about a quarter of a mile from where Steyer was pacing the sidewalk. His face was impassive as he noted the scratches covering her exposed skin.

  “Would you like to go back home?”

  She turned and looked back toward her grandfather’s house, but did not move.

  “We need to go somewhere we can talk alone,” Remington said.

  Heather’s chest was tight and heavy. She had to struggle to breathe. Her face burned.

  Steyer studied her, then nodded to Remington. “Go get dressed and meet us back at the house.”

  ****

  Heather told them about the Camera Room. She told them about Witt’s death and Monica’s earnest request. How the Phoenix serenaded her as his stability crumbled. She didn’t want to go through the stress of writing it down, but she allowed Steyer to record the statement on his phone.

  Steyer couldn’t explain exactly why this information made him so uneasy. It clashed with the impression he had originally formed of the Phoenix and his motivations.

  Or he’s changing…

  The thought struck Steyer with a deep sense of dread, the same he had experienced when he saw the expression on Remington’s face as he informed him the Phoenix had returned.

  I’m supposed to be off with Johnny right now, enjoying my retirement.

  The buzz of a phone vibrating drew his eyes to his partner, who reached into his jacket pocket to pull out his cell phone.

  “Wickes,” Remington said. He answered the phone on his way out to the porch.

  Then Remi would be dealing with some inexperienced greenhorn… What a mess.

  Heather said something, pulling him from his thoughts.

  �
�Excuse me?”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “The Phoenix?” He laced his fingers together and glanced over his notes. “I’m not quite sure what to make of it. Remember, you’re his only surviving victim; We only have a vague concept of his behavior toward the others. I can posit, however, based on our interactions with him and other witnesses that he is an intensely expressive character. Whether that’s an act or a… phase… remains to be seen.

  “What leads me to suspect he might be acting in an uncharacteristic fashion is that his behavior was unique to each of you, and he appeared to revere you.” He spread his hands. “He stopped assaulting Miss Shatterthwaith for you. All his past victims show trauma up to the time of death, while the Phoenix appears to refrain from violence after breaking your clavicle. He may have experienced a… a shift—a change of heart, if you will—while tending to your injuries.”

  Heather rubbed her arms and nodded. “He was always acting weird, hot and cold… friendly then violent… but that is when… it’s like he started to unravel. He would, like, check himself. He never did that before. Before, if he started saying something, he would finish it, even if afterward he would laugh at himself and say, ‘Well, that’s not right,’ or he’d stop himself and say, ‘Oh, I shouldn’t tell you that.’ He would just follow his whims, even if he had to correct himself afterward.”

  “Follow his whims.” Steyer nodded. That sounded like a perfect description of the Phoenix he had been chasing.

  If he’s unraveling, he could be even more dangerous… Steyer studied Heather, the object of Rhodes’s obsession. Already, her color had returned. She was still far too skinny, but didn’t look so hollow. Twenty-four hours on an IV drip had benefited her well. But, although he could determine she was keenly intelligent, he didn’t see what could make someone like the Phoenix uproot such a long-held MO.

  Maybe a head injury—

  The front door opened and Remington stepped into the kitchen with a dark expression.

  I’m not going to like this.

  “We need to talk.” He nodded toward the porch.

  Heather’s eyes went wide—more with curiosity than fear. “Is this about me?”

  “Not…” Remington searched for the words. “Nothing you should be concerned with.”

  Steyer straightened his tie and followed Remington onto the porch. The younger agent tapped the edge of his phone to his lips as he waited for Steyer to close the door behind them.