by J C Paulson
“I never forgave Melissa. She came to the funeral, and I screamed at her in front of everyone. Then I ran out of the church.”
Grace tried to collect herself, but failed.
“How could she do that to him? How could she not love Paul?”
Adam tried to hug Grace, but she pushed him away.
“While I was walking around the city,” she went on, “a man approached me. Asked for a cigarette. Of course, I didn’t have one; I told him so. I didn’t understand what was going on. I was fifteen, and pretty innocent even for that age.
“He followed me to the park near our house, then pushed me up against a tree and started to kiss me. If you could call it that. I tried to push him away, but he just closed in and tried to take off my dress. Put his hand over my mouth.”
Adam was white, his hands clutching the arms of his patio chair.
“I bit him. His hand. Just like I did Duane Sykes. He hit me, and I fell; but he couldn’t . . . you know, he couldn’t . . . couldn’t get it up. While he was dealing with that, I scrambled up and got away. It was a near thing. I blamed Melissa for that, too. But it wasn’t her fault. It was mine. And his.”
Adam had had enough of not touching Grace. He got out of his chair, took the step between them and pulled her up out of her chair and into his arms.
“I’m so sorry, Grace,” he said, holding and rocking her. “I’m so sorry.”
Even as he held her, and knowing the attack was bad enough, he thought: Thank God. At least she wasn’t raped. And she got away. Could the bastard have killed her?
Grace was naturally protective of her friends, and until now, Adam thought excessively so. But he began to understand how her experiences at the hands of men informed her feelings and her actions. There was more to learn about her previous boyfriend, too, he was sure; but that conversation was for another time.
And as Grace wept in Adam’s arms, she let Melissa go.
*****
Adam felt her shudder and quieten. She put her arms around him, and stood there, not moving, not speaking, for several minutes.
“I am in desperate need of a tissue,” she said, with a little hiccup of a laugh.
Adam let her go and regarded her face, smoothing the tears from her cheeks. “Come back, Grace.”
She nodded, went inside, blew her nose, washed her face and returned to the patio bearing the bottle of wine.
“How do you feel, Grace?”
“Better. Much better, actually,” said Grace. “Can I ask a question?” she asked.
Adam blanched. He was pretty sure he knew what was coming, too. He nodded.
“You said, once, after you had been shot, you behaved badly. I don’t want to open those wounds, Adam, if it’s not important. Is there anything I need to know?”
Adam did not want to tell Grace about the few months after he had recovered from being shot; how he lived in the bars when off shift, and sought solace in the arms of women who threw themselves at him. It was a drunken, manic, miserable period of his life. But Adam also knew he had to tell her. He wanted no secrets, and if Grace couldn’t love him because of his past, better to know now than later.
He held her gaze, and started in.
“I went a little insane, after I got out of the hospital and was healthy enough to get back to work. They had me on the desk for several months — just like James, after he was shot in the spring. It takes a while to come back, and they don’t need a cop out there on the streets limping around or blowing an artery.
“Being sidelined drove me nuts. I felt useless. Broken. So I started drinking, first at home and then out in the bars and clubs downtown. Going downtown allowed me to walk home, at least, and not drink and drive, which I might have done in the frame of mind I was in. I was picking fights and . . . hell.” He stopped.
“And picking up women, Adam?” asked Grace.
Adam looked down and ran his hand through his hair, his signal he was feeling something hard to bear.
“I still can’t believe that was me. It makes me sick to think about it. It was a few months of this drunken blur, meaningless sex, stupidity. I treated people badly, and I treated myself badly. I never spent more than one night with anyone. I was probably too drunk and definitely too angry to connect.
“One night, I woke up screaming, after one of my nightmares. Scared the hell out of a young woman, and she didn’t handle it very well. Neither did I. I yelled at her to get out of my condo.
“The next morning, I was seriously hungover. I went into the station anyway — no way I was missing work — and threw up the minute I got there. I looked like shit. Charlotte could see something was wrong, and she let me have it; wanted to know why I was ruining my life and career. I almost told her to get the fuck away from me, but I didn’t. What she said pierced the fog.
“I . . . collapsed. Literally. I was on the floor, on my knees. She comforted me, and helped me find counselling, and I quit the drinking and, well, womanizing. That’s what I was doing, if I’m honest with myself. I was looking for something. Not sure what — comfort? Some kind of reassurance I wasn’t completely busted?
“Charlotte helped me find a way out. I swear to you I had no conscious intention to hurt anyone. But it’s no excuse for what I did. And when we talked about sex and protection, Grace, I told you the complete truth,” Adam said, taking her hands and looking at her with the most intense expression Grace had ever seen on his face, which was saying something.
“It ended, the bad time, about five years ago. I had myself tested every which way I could. And I . . . I hadn’t been with anyone for a long time before I met you. I was still trying to be the superhero, staying away from anyone I might get close to or might hurt, either with my behaviour or because of my job. It got too hard to try relationships at all.
“And then you stood up in the middle of the cathedral next to the bishop’s body, and stopped my heart. So when I tell you this is all new to me, it’s true. I’ve never made love like this before. I’ve never felt like this before. And I hope you can forgive my past.”
Adam stopped talking, and waited for Grace to respond. He was determined not to say any more, to give her time to think and decide. The five seconds it took felt like forever.
Grace, processing this information, could see it all in her mind’s eye: the women watching Adam, a murmur and a tension in the air. And a dash for the most beautiful man in the room.
Adam never noticed it, but she was right. When he walked into a bar, the room went from deafening din to quiet hum as every female head turned in his direction. Then the lineup formed. And hell, yeah, she was jealous. Of all of them. Why did he choose her? Would he want to go back to that life in the future? Was she enough for him?
But it was one of the alluring, appealing things about Adam, that he really didn’t see, or understand, his own beauty. It drove Grace crazy; she was sure it drove other women mad, too.
“You have no idea, do you, Adam?”
“Of what?”
“Adam, you are heart-stopping. Do you not notice every eye following you?”
Adam swallowed, digested the compliment, felt it in his groin. His face, though, registered confusion. He just didn’t get it.
Grace slipped off her chair and knelt in front of Adam, her hands on his.
“There’s nothing to forgive. You were trying to deal with the post-trauma stress. You do know no other man in history would feel so badly about a few months’ madness, don’t you?”
“I don’t know,” said Adam. “I do know, though, that I want you.”
“Stay, Adam,” Grace whispered. “Stay with me tonight.”
Chapter Nineteen
Adam had blood on his hands. He was on his knees. A streetlight spread its thin beam over a dark-haired woman lying before him, whom he didn’t recognize; but he knew it was Suzanne.
Grace was behind him, screaming her friend’s name, then his. She turned in a blur of auburn hair and ran down the dark, wet street — Adam rea
lized it was raining — calling out for Mick to save her, to comfort her. Adam couldn’t move. He tried to rise to his feet, but he was glued to the pavement. He wanted to shout, don’t go, Grace. Don’t go, Babe . . . but no sound would come.
At the end of the street, Grace climbed into a black SUV, and Adam tried to call to her: No.
Then Suzanne sat up, and shape-shifted into Sherry Hilliard. She began to scream at Adam. I’m dead. I’m dead because of you.
The bed was shaking, Adam was crying out, and Grace awakened in shock. Oh, my God, Adam, my poor love, this is a bad one. On top of him in a second, she tried to rouse him from the nightmare, crooning and soothing.
“Wake up, Adam, wake up now,” she said, her body half covering his, her hand over his pounding heart. “Oh, Honey, wake up. It’s okay, it’s okay . . .” Grace couldn’t say it was just a dream. It was never just a dream.
Adam’s eyes opened as his body gave a massive start, and Grace moved up to kiss his face, feeling his pain in the moment her lips met his tears.
Suddenly, he sat up, pushing her away, and Grace flew over the bed, landing hard on the floor below. Stunned and wide-eyed, she looked up at Adam. He was crouched on the bed like an animal ready to spring, staring at her. Finally, awake.
“Grace,” he gasped, as he realized what had happened. “Grace. Oh my God. What have I done?”
He leapt off the bed and put his arms around her, so tightly she had trouble drawing a breath.
“Are you all right? Did I hurt you? Grace, talk to me.”
“I’m . . . I think I’m all right, Adam,” she said, touching a sore spot on her hip. Just a bruise, she thought.
“Grace, don’t leave me,” he said, arms still around her. “I finally found you. Don’t leave me.”
Oh God, thought Grace. This is awful. What happened in this dream?
“I am here, Adam. I am not leaving. I am here, with you.” Grace said every word firmly, slowly, deliberately, hoping he was hearing her. Wild horses, Adam.
His eyes changed expression. Narrowed.
“Hell,” he said, abruptly disentangling himself from Grace’s embrace and heading for the bathroom.
This is not supposed to go this way, thought Grace. She gave him a few minutes, but was damned if she was going to leave him to suffer alone. What the hell was that dream about?
She stood up somewhat gingerly, put on a robe and then stood uncertain in the dark room. She had been very concerned that this might happen one night. How worried should she be about Adam right now?
Very worried, Grace decided. She had heard water running, but now, as she crept to the bathroom door, she heard nothing.
“Adam,” she said through the door. “Adam, please, can you tell me you’re all right? Can you come out and be with me? Talk to me. Adam?”
Another moment passed, Grace aware of nothing but her heart thumping and aching in her chest. Then Adam opened the door.
Thank God.
She backed up a couple of paces, looked into his beautiful, sad face with her frightened eyes.
“Adam?”
He stood there for a moment, seemingly uncertain about what to do after powerfully ejecting Grace from her own bed. Grace opened her robe, opened her arms, and he came to her. No words yet, but at least she was holding him.
Adam’s arms tightened around Grace. She could feel him shaking, breathing heavily, trying to regain control, and she swallowed her own emotion. He lost the fight.
“I have to go, Grace,” he said hoarsely. “This can’t happen. I have to go.”
“No, Adam. Don’t. Please. We can figure this out. I don’t want you to be alone, especially right now.”
“No. I have to go.”
Adam threw on his jeans, grabbed his shirt and wallet, jammed his feet into his shoes and flung himself out the door.
Grace slumped to the floor, and wept in huge, gulping sobs.
*****
Sunbeams scattered weak morning light as Adam stared out his window. The beautiful dawn was utterly incongruous with the darkness enveloping him.
All he could see in his mind’s eye, all his body memory would register, was Grace asleep in his arms, her backside cuddled into his groin, in their usual sleeping position. The sun setting the reddest threads of her hair alight, painting her creamy skin with shadows. Her breasts, so soft and full, rising and falling with each breath. Just a few hours later, he already missed her with every atom of his being.
Oh, God. How could he expect her to put up with his darkness, his deep plunges into this hell of nightmares? He couldn’t bear it. He was dangerous to her, this woman he loved. He had to let her go.
The intercom buzzed, but he couldn’t answer it. He didn’t know what to say, or what to do. Five minutes later, there was a knock at the door.
“Adam. Let me in please.”
Someone had let her through the main door.
“I’m not leaving,” she said. “I will stand here until you let me in. If I have to wait all day.”
“Grace. I can’t.”
“You can. You must, Adam. I have to see you.”
Adam stood at the door, hands spread widely across it, as if bracing himself.
“I’m begging you, Adam. Please.”
He couldn’t resist her. He opened the door; Grace slipped in and took him in her arms.
He stood against her woodenly, then buried his face in her neck, preparing to ask her to go . . . but Grace began to move her hips against him. Her body stretched in arousal; she kissed him deeply, moaning from her throat. Like a wave, the full length of her body flowed along his. He felt her hands slip down his back and over his buttocks, pulling him closer.
Adam almost couldn’t stop, a pulsing desire for this fiery ribbon of woman blocking all other thought. Every nerve in his body registered her soft skin, touching his.
He mustered all of his self-control, and drew away.
“Please go, Grace. Please. I can’t . . . I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”
Grace stared at him for a moment, desperately; but she saw the determination in his eyes. Left with little option, she nodded, turned and walked out the door.
*****
Saturday or no Saturday, dreams or no dreams, Adam dragged himself into work and met James at the station.
“Where the hell is Dunlop, right now?” Adam asked James, his temper simmering.
“In jail. There was a snafu with his lawyer, and he got stuck in remand. I’m not sure why yet. We’ll find out on Monday. Oh, and the baby’s DNA has been sent for testing,” added James, “and we’ve asked for a sample from Don Dunlop, but I highly doubt he’s going to provide one willingly. But, Adam, I think I’ve found another connection.”
“Tell me,” said Adam. “What?”
“Emily Martin. She’s the youngest and tiniest of the women on our list. She was attending business school, you’ll recall, and went missing after an end-of-term party. We determined she had no connection to the dental clinic, and so far, we haven’t found any other connections to the other women.
“The school she attended was Hartz School of Business, owned by that Shawn Hartz guy. I’m sure you’ve seen him on TV, and he’s perpetually in newspaper ads announcing donations to things.
“Adam, Emily Martin was not a patient at the clinic. But Shawn Hartz is.”
“Holy hell, James. How did you make the connection?”
“Well, I’m working my way through the patient list. It’s taking longer than I thought, because you can’t just look at a name and hope it rings a bell, right? In this case, I recognized his name, and remembered Emily Martin was a business school student.”
“Wow, James. Good work. When can we get him in? We have to find out if he knew Sherry Hilliard. But even if he didn’t have her as a hygienist, he had likely seen her there.”
“He’s apparently at the lake. I’m working on getting him in as soon as possible.”
“Thanks, James. Can you please take the rest of
the day off?”
“Yeah, I’ll try, as soon as I reach this dude and persuade him to show up at our shop. You too? Take the rest of the day off?”
“Yes. Me too.”
Adam had no idea what he was going to do with himself at home, so he stayed at the station and tried to focus on paperwork. All he could think about was Grace. What the hell was he going to do?
Chapter Twenty
In the north part of Saskatoon, on a sandy bank of the South Saskatchewan River, a woman was walking her dog. She normally didn’t go down so close to the water, but it was a beautiful day and her dog loved to splash along the shore.
The dog began to behave strangely. He sniffed, and pulled at the leash, very much like Bruno had two weeks before. He dragged his person along the shoreline, where she almost tripped over an extremely decomposed body. A tiny body, for a woman, who still had some of her long, black hair.
The desk constable put the call through. Adam was silent, listening to the woman describe the scene. She was dead, then. He had been clinging to a faint hope she was only missing.
“It could, of course, be someone else,” Adam said to James. “But this woman fits Emily Martin’s basic description.”
“Could it be Alexis Ironstand?” asked James.
“I don’t think so. She had a couple of inches on Emily, right? Meet you at the car. I’ll call McDougall. I’ll be there in two minutes.”
Adam called McDougall on his cell. Despite it being Saturday, he answered, and Adam quickly explained the situation.
“Can you meet us down at the sandbar, Jack? We need to find out how she was killed as fast as possible. If she was drowned, this is a different killer. The rest can wait. Even her identity.”
McDougall drew a heavy sigh, but it was an act, Adam was sure.
“Fine. I’ll be there,” said the pathologist. “Speed limits being what they are, of course.”