Rob leaned forward. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
"My mom always said everyone needs therapy. Everyone’s fucked in the head."
The lawyer opened his briefcase. "Interesting point. Probably some wisdom in that. Just don’t tell the anti-gun lobby that. They’d have a heyday with it."
I shifted in the bed. "So, what brings you up here?"
"Couple of things. First," He withdrew some papers, "Your wife filed for personal protection orders, and they were granted. Second, she filed a preliminary complaint for divorce. You will be served shortly with both, but I figured I’d give you a heads up first."
I felt like crying, but I had known it was coming, but Christ that was fast." I kind of figured that when Tim wouldn’t represent me. So my wife thinks I am guilty." I stared at my hands, trying to keep the tears from coming.
"Whole town thinks you are guilty."
"Well, now that I have had my psych eval, can you tell me what the fuck they said I did?"
He placed the papers in the briefcase. "Well, that’s the other reason I am here. You are going to be interviewed by the police shortly. Figured you would want me present. You ready?"
I looked at him. "Does it matter?"
"Not really." Rob walked towards the door, and rapped lightly. The door opened, and my favorite detective walked in along with the sheriff.
The sheriff looked at me, and handed me some papers. "You have been served." He stared at me coldly.
I nodded again. Christ, Trish. Why? I glanced through the papers, and tossed them on the bedside table. I couldn’t stop the tears. I missed her. I needed her. These papers said I had to stay the fuck away from her.
I glanced up at the sheriff. He was still staring at me coldly. "My daughter was friends with Sarah Winters."He walked out of the room.
Deputy Doofus sat down at the end of my bed, and placed a file and a tape recorder next to him.
He pressed record, and stated his name, and the date and time. "Could you state your name and address for the record?"
I nodded, and gave him the information.
The detective turned towards Rob. "And you are?"
"I’m Rob Stevens. I am his attorney."
The detective nodded, and then stared hard at me for several seconds before continuing. "I would like you to tell me what you were doing between around 5 PM Wednesday up until your arrest on Thursday."
I repeated the same story I told the lawyer, minus the backyard visitor. When I started talking about the arrest, the detective tried to stop me. "That’s enough."
Rob interrupted. "Let him finish."
"It’s not relevant."
Rob stood up. "Says who? You? He was arrested, and is currently in the hospital as the result of this arrest. He is being detained for resisting arrest. I would think this is highly relevant at the moment. You made this the charge, so deal with it."
I continued with my version of the arrest.
The detective handed me a picture of my car. "Could you identify this picture of a vehicle?"
"Yeah, it’s my car."
The detective nodded. He handed me a slip of paper. "This is a parking ticket. Is this a parking ticket for your car?"
I read the ticket. It had my license plate number on it, and a description that matched my car. The parking ticket was filled in for a violation on Fourth Street in the middle of the night. "The plate number matches mine, as does the description of the vehicle."
"Did you park your car on Fourth Street that night?"
"No, I did not." I waited to hear snide comments from the peanut gallery, but they were still keeping silent.
The detective handed me another picture. "This is what we found inside the trunk of the car you identified as yours. Do you recognize these items?"
I looked at the picture. I blinked hard. The trunk was open, and the photograph showed the canvas bag in the trunk. I recognized the bag as the one that I had tossed into the passenger seat of my car in my dream. I asked Joe Cool and SOB about the goddamned bag, but they were keeping silent. There was also a plastic shopping bag in the car. I didn’t want to know what was in it.
"No, I do not."
He handed me another picture. "So you don’t recognize the items in the bags, then?"
Movement caught my eye. I glanced down by the detective’s chair. A grey cat was twining itself around the chair legs. The cat glanced at me, and mewled.
The detective ignored the cat. I knew why. He couldn’t see the fucker. The great there/not there cat. I ignored the cat, too. They taste like chicken, ha-ha. I almost laughed out loud, but then I looked at the picture I had been handed, and the urge quickly passed.
"Jesus Christ." The first bag had been emptied. The picture contained images of a hammer, a pair of vise grips, a saw, duct tape and a utility knife, with little cards identifying the items. Disturbing as this combination could be, the grocery bag also had been emptied, and its contents photographed. There were cards identifying these two items as well. "Left Hand, Adult. Right Hand, Adult."
I shuddered, thinking of the girl trying to buck the left hand off her lap. I could still hear the rhythmic, wet, ropy splatter of blood raining on the linoleum floor from the stump of Jessica’s wrist.
I tossed the picture onto the bedspread, face down. "No, I do not recognize them."
The cat walked across the room, and hopped onto the counter with a sink. He sat, and stared at me balefully. I glared at the cat. I saw Rob glance at the counter, and looked back at me curiously. That little bastard wasn’t really there. Neither Rob nor the detective could see him. I sighed.
I fidgeted, glancing at the damned cat. This can’t be good. Last time I saw the little fuck, everything went to hell in a hand basket. I vaguely wondered if my dead grandpa/father/whoever the fuck he was going to join our little interview. A real cozy get together.
The detective glanced at the counter, and then stared at me. "You don’t know what those pictures were of?"
I sighed again. "I recognize what the picture was, but no, I do not claim ownership of those items." The cat lay down, and stared at me. I glanced at it. I felt dawning unease. No one else could see the cat. I knew this for certain, because no one else had ever seen him before. Why would he be here now?
He nodded. "Describe what the picture showed, please."
I listed the items. Rob glanced at the picture, and frowned. He handed it back to the detective.
He handed me a picture of a house. "Describe this picture please."
I frowned. "A house."
It was the house from the dream. Exactly. The cat mewled softly. I glanced sharply at him. Rob and the detective both glanced at the counter again.
The detective looked back at me, frowning. "Whose house?"
The Winter’s house, I knew. I didn’t say that, though. My lawyer and old Joe Cool would have a few comments, both now and later if I were to say that. "I don’t know."
He handed me another picture. It was a professional photograph of Jessica and Sarah, smiling. I couldn’t say that though. Instead, I said, "Two people. A woman and a young girl."
He still smiled patiently. "Can you identify them for me?"
"No, I cannot." The cat hopped on the bed. I thought about kicking it off the bed, but I’d get some strange looks from the detective and my lawyer. I ignored it.
He handed me another picture. "Does this help?"
I glanced at the picture, and gasped. It was a picture of Jessica, naked and mangled, sprawled out on her bed again. The sheets were soaked in blood. I handed the picture over to Rob. "I didn’t need to fucking see that, detective. However, no, it does not help."
Rob muttered, "Fuck." He handed the picture back to the detective.
"That doesn’t jog your memory?" He was still smiling pleasantly, almost wolf-like.
SOB told me that the detective was enjoying this.
My stomach rolled over lazily. I wanted to hit the detective. The pictures were sickening. However, he was
sitting there, convinced I had done that to Jessica. I knew that I hadn’t, despite the dream. I couldn’t have. There’s no way. I could not have done that, though I knew exactly what had happened there. I felt enraged and upset about those pictures. "No, they do not jog my memory. Those pictures are disgusting."
"So, you don’t want to change the story that you told me about that night?"
That damned grey cat was on the foot of my bed, staring at me. I glared at it before answering. "No, I do not."
"Ryan, can you tell me where to find Sarah Winters?"
I clenched my fist, and quickly forced myself to relax. "I can’t tell you what I don’t know."
The detective glanced up sharply. "I say you do, and you’re going to tell us, eventually."
Rob stood up, uncrossing his arms. "Detective, asked and answered. Move on."
He sneered at Rob for several moments, but Rob held his gaze, unwavering.
"Fine. Ryan, can you tell me where you were two weeks ago, on a Tuesday night?"
The questions came for hours. We went one by one through each crime scene. I stared at the pictures, horrified by the tales they told, and afraid that one of the pictures would trigger a flood of memories. As pitiful as they were, I only recognized the faces of the missing children from the news. The interrogation ground on, and always the question: where were the children?
When the detective started to go over it again from the beginning, Rob told him we were through answering questions for now.
The detective frowned, and stared at Rob. Again, Rob refused to back down. The detective sighed, recited the date and time, shut off the recorder, and left.
I looked at Rob after the door closed. "They think I did all of that. Oh. My. God."
He nodded thoughtfully, and stared out the window towards downtown. "You’ll be indicted this afternoon by a grand jury, I am sure."
"What’s that mean?"
"You are going to be put on trial."
"I didn’t do it."
"It sure looks like you did."
"Based on a parking ticket near one house? I never parked my car near that house."
He turned and looked at me. "That’s part of it. Along with what they found inside your car. And your wife said you got up in the middle of the night. History of psychological problems. They’re going to try you one homicide and abduction at a time. If they don’t convict you on one, they’ll convict you on another, or another, or another. They’ll start with what happened in the Winter’s house. From where they sit, a conviction appears to be a slam-dunk. Especially if the physical evidence matches. DNA, prints, etc."
"What do you mean, if? Don’t they already have that stuff matched up?"
He shook his head, smiling vaguely. "No. Prints take a few days sometimes. DNA takes months. Unlike TV, it’s not instant results. Even fingerprinting isn’t an exact science. It’s only probabilities. Meaning even if it is your prints, they may only be 95% sure. Same with DNA. They can only determine that it’s probably yours."
"What do you mean?" The cat hopped down off the bed, and leaped up onto the windowsill. It sat in a patch of sun, pointedly ignoring me.
"Say it’s ninety-nine point nine percent match, right? Take ten thousand people, and it could be any one of ten people."
"Huh. I thought it was more precise than that."
Rob turned and looked out the window, resting his hands next to the cat. The cat ignored him, and stared at me. "Nothing’s exact. Even at ninety-nine point nine-nine percent sure, given fifty thousand people, it means five possible suspects. Across five million? Five hundred possible suspects."
"I didn’t do it." The cat cocked his ears towards me. I flipped off the cat with my good hand.
"We’ll see what the physical evidence says." Rob turned back towards me, and I quickly dropped my hand.
I struggled to sit up. "What if the physical evidence contradicts me? Are you going to quit this case?"
He stared at me thoughtfully. "I told you yesterday, even the guilty need representation." He shrugged.
He left. The cat stayed.
~~~~~~ *LP* ~~~~~~
On our first night together, I talked, and Trish listened at the restaurant as I told her about my mental problems. Trish never condemned me for being who I was.
I told her about the loony bin, and the problems I had. She sympathized, which I couldn’t understand. I kept expecting her to decide it was time to go, thanks for dinner, don’t call me, I’ll call you. This would never happen, of course. She’d run. I was convinced of it. Hell, if I could have gotten the fuck away from myself, I would have. I had no idea what she saw in me.
In retrospect, I wanted her to accept me for who I was. I just didn’t expect her to. She accepted me, though.
She took a cab home. I walked home.
She called me the next day.
We became friends. Then we became lovers. Still, I waited for the bombshell to drop. The day that she would tell me that I was fucked in the head, and to get lost, loser.
I’d have been happy for the time we had together. I would not have been surprised. I also would have been devastated, but when life keeps running your ass down in the middle of the road, surprisingly, you get used to it.
She married me. I had my rough times. I even ended up in the hospital. Still, she stayed by me, never condemning me. Sometimes, I wondered if she was more nuts than I was just for staying by me through it all.
All my life, I had become intimately familiar with hatred, fear, and self-loathing. I knew what manipulation and control was. I never had a sense of belonging. I knew what existence was, I knew what survival was. I could have lived the rest of my life this way.
Home became wherever she was. She accepted me, with all my faults. I accepted her in return. I learned what happiness was.
Now it was gone. My reason for being was gone. I wanted her back. I wanted to go home.
She no longer wanted me. It was no big surprise. I had been waiting for this for years.
I was stubborn. This would not kill me. I knew how to exist. Existence was enough. I could learn to live with anything, couldn’t I? I would survive. Endurance was the key, wasn’t it? Wasn't it?
~~~~~~ *LP* ~~~~~~
"Well, well. So here you are. Wow."
I felt my eyes fluttering open, and I felt the start of a deep-seated headache. It had been awhile since the pain pills, and I could feel the pain settling into me from my face, my wrist, and my ribs.
I blinked, and struggled to sit upright in the darkness of the hospital room.
The cat yowled and hissed at my visitor, and leapt from the bed to the windowsill.
I blinked rapidly, and my heart was pounding. I was still trying to get my brain up to speed. "Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you doing in my room?"
He smiled, and clapped his hands. The sound was loud and flat in the dark hospital room. "Well now. I’m so disappointed that you don’t remember me. Tsk, tsk. Such an unforgettable meeting we had, right there with your mom in the dining room. None of this rings a bell? No? But, then again, maybe that’s a good thing that you don’t remember. That was a bit gruesome."
He stood, and walked over towards the bed. He smiled graciously at me. "You know, you could have been a real pain in my neck again. You really could have fucked things up royally again. I think we’ll manage to open Hell’s Gate this time. We’d been worried about you, and here you are! Under lock and key, doped up to hell and gone. We were stressing over nothing. You’re half in and half out of the Shadow Lands, and confused as fuck. Otherwise unprotected, unknowing, and soon to be unknown."
The cat hissed from the windowsill. The man turned, and frowned. "And you, you little pest. Our friend here doesn’t like you much. Neither do I, for that matter, but that’s irrelevant. Not that it wouldn’t stop me from torturing you, you little fuck, if I could." He glanced up at me. "Whaddaya think? Torture the cat? Sound like fun? A little entertainment to pass the time?"
I blinked. Nobody ever saw that goddamned cat. The cat was my little personal demon. I was somewhat annoyed and jealous he could see it. "Leave the fucker alone."
He laughed, and lunged towards the cat. The cat didn’t flinch. The cat didn’t even blink.
"Eh, little fucker knows I can’t touch him. Spoil sport. You, you on the other hand…"
He spun around, clapping his hands, and then pointed at me.
He smiled down at me again. "It is almost finished. As are you, my pathetic little friend." He patted me gently, and I tried to squirm away.
"Don’t suppose Justin found you yet."
I stared at him blankly. He fawned dramatically. "Ah, you spoil sport. Not gonna be helpful. You realize how amusing this is? You could just waltz right on out of here, if you really wanted to, and no one could stop you. Instead, you’re sitting in here moping. My god. How melodramatic and blasé. But no matter. So no Justin?" He winked conspiratorially. "Hiding him under the bed, maybe?"
He crouched down, and then stood back up. "Nope, no Justin. Just as well. Too bad. Might have been worth the challenge."
He sat on the edge of the bed again.
"Get off my bed, Tanner."
He glanced at me sharply. "Has it come back to you?" He stared at me for several moments and then shook his head judiciously. "No, it hasn’t. No matter, though. You have no idea what that name means. You’re just grasping at straws. Well, you are deep into the end game, you whiny ass little worthless fuck, and you didn’t even know it started. You could have been so much more."
"What do you mean?"
Tanner smirked. "Angels and demons."
I smirked, and waved my hand dismissively. "Fairy tales to inspire and scare children and ignorant little old ladies."
He laughed. "They’re as real as you and I are, and you would not believe how true that statement actually is, half-breed. Well, technically you’re actually quarter-breed. Let’s just say an angel falls in love with a human. Any child of that union is a half-breed, a Nephilim. Not quite human, and not quite supernatural, either. If a Nephilim has a child, that child is called an Elioud. You are an Elioud. Which means you are also part Angel, and part human. Some have divine gifts. Some are able to heal. Some can see into the future. Others, like you, have a psychic touch. There are other gifts as well."
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