by Lisa Durkin
Nicole flipped through the pages. “They have a screw loose. This’ll never fly.”
“That’s why they needed me,” she said coolly. “The police chief’s daughter, poor little victim girl. But the server proposal is ballsy. I’ve never seen anything so…crazy.”
On its face the legislation had parts that were somewhat innocuous. There were tougher sentences for drugs, weapons, and human trafficking, including more funding for the Department of State. There was more funding for Homeland for already passed legislation like the Brady Bill. Most of it she actually supported.
But there were three main parts that were particularly troublesome. The first was a request for funding to double the field staff in Homeland and the CIA. That would raise some eyebrows.
The second dealt with civil rights. Reading between the lines, law enforcement would be given broader powers with which to decide probable cause. Scary broad powers, even in the mind of a cop’s daughter.
The third was just incredible. Fancy language aside, it boiled down to the fact that the NSA, CIA and Homeland wanted to pick and choose what cell phone and email information it could use. They were to accomplish this by not only giving private carriers money to replace and expand their storage servers, but the federal government would maintain ownership of those servers. No longer would a warrant be necessary for obtaining or using any phone conversations, texts and emails that were the property of any person on earth. They would be the property of the government. Warrants would never be necessary.
Rory breathed deeply, musing at how impressively written and well decorated the document was that forfeited so many rights of the citizens of this country. She knew she was looking at a steaming pile of horse shit.
And she could tell they intended to use her story to push this. Aidan had been able to do what he did because the FBI couldn’t get a warrant early enough for the information they needed to arrest him. They had needed her to tap her own phones and provide access to him. And she wasn’t properly protected because there weren’t enough agents…or that’s what they had told the media. She was the requirement necessary to limit the opposition on this bill because nobody would want to address her on the necessity of the measures. Not when they perceived her answer would be “so somebody else wouldn’t go through what I went through”. They wanted to peddle the pity.
They wanted her to talk about what had happened. Panic rose in her chest.
“Nicole, grab Jill, Michael and Liam and tell them we’re all working late tonight. We’re going to re-draft this piece of shit so that it has half a chance in hell at getting through the House. We’re also going to avoid the reputation-fucking that I would take, while getting exactly what I want.” She picked up the phone and dialed Jackson’s number.
“Uh-oh, she’s rapid-fire swearing; shit’s about to get interesting!”
“Order food, Prego!” she called after her.
“Hi, baby,” Jackson answered in a measured tone. “How are…things?” He knew she’d read the legislation.
“Hi, baby! Things are great. How are you?” she shouted enthusiastically with an edge in her voice. She was going to have to let go of the fact that his original game had been to saddle her with this.
“I’m okay,” he said warily.
“Well, I’m just calling to let you know that I’m going to have to work very late this evening. I’ll be rewriting legislation that I’m going to sponsor.”
“I see,” Jackson said. “Well, I’ll stay and we can go home together whenever you’re ready.”
“That works for me, baby!” she said.
“Rory…please,” Jackson moaned. “I’ve been anxious all morning waiting for your reaction to the legislation. My guts are tied in knots. I’ve been afraid you would leave me again.”
She breathed deeply and came down from her anger. “It’s okay, Jackson, I’ll get over it.”
“I just don’t want to lose you. I’m so sorry. I know it’s a terrible position that I put you in. I’ll help you however I can, anything you need.”
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel the hurt and anxiety for a moment. She was surprised when he read her mind.
“I’m not going to let them bully you into talking about anything you’re not comfortable with.” She remained quiet. “Rory?”
“I must really love you,” she whispered.
“I hope so because I love you so much.”
It was almost midnight when Rory and Jackson were dropped at their building. They dragged themselves through the front door and Rory stood aside as Jackson unlocked his condo. Agent Manus appeared behind them in Rory’s doorway.
“Congresswoman, Congressman, may I have a word with you in here?” The look on his face and his tone of voice immediately put her on alert. They followed him into her condo. There was an entire crew in attendance, including Tagg and four other men whose names Rory hadn’t bothered to learn.
“I’m sorry to delay you, but there’s been activity that we need to brief you on,” Manus started, then hesitated.
“What now?” Rory asked, irritated. She was tired of bullshit today.
“Today I was alone here for several hours while Tagg and the others were off-site. During a time when I was…in the master bathroom, someone entered the condo and left a box on the kitchen counter.”
Rory didn’t quite understand but Jackson beat her to it. “What do you mean, left a box?”
“Sir, the locked door was somehow breached without force, and a box was left. Its contents were meant to intimidate or scare the congresswoman. Unfortunately, at this time, we need her to view the box and contents to determine if there is any further significance to the investigation.”
“What’s in the box?” Rory blurted out. Her heart began to race.
“Ma’am, I’d like to warn you that the contents contain a bio-hazard, blood to be specific. We ask that you not touch it. Also, it is of an upsetting nature.”
Rory went pale and Jackson stepped in, his hand squeezing her arm.
“Blood?” Jackson asked.
“What’s in the box?” Rory demanded again, breathing hard and staring at the agent.
Manus assumed his professional bad-news-bearing demeanor. “Ma’am, it’s a baby doll covered in blood.”
Rory swooned as Jackson’s arms went around her. He shot questions in rapid succession that Rory didn’t hear. Her eyes went beyond the agent, to the box she could see sitting on the counter. It was just a nondescript brown cardboard box. There was nothing special about it. Conversation went on around her but didn’t register. All she could focus on was that box.
She stepped forward and Jackson tried to pull her back. She lifted her hand to stop him, her gaze never leaving the box. Everybody fell silent as she approached it. She felt like she was in a dream. A feeling of dread mixed with fear and anxiety ran through her. But she had to look in the box. She had to know if this was any match to the terror she had been through three years prior. She could taste the same metallic adrenaline in her mouth.
She reached with shaking hands to lift the flaps. She hesitated for a moment but then bent the flaps back, and held them down tightly as the smell hit her. She peered into the gory blood-soaked interior at the baby doll. It was covered in blood, with a knife through its head.
All she remembered next was sitting on the couch, Jackson insisting she drink from the glass of water she held. She hadn’t passed out, but she had no memory of what had come next. It was as if her mind had fast-forwarded. Everyone was talking around her. She was shaky, but she took a drink and cleared her throat.
“It’s from my house,” she said hoarsely.
Everyone fell silent. “Pardon me, ma’am?” Agent Manus asked.
She stared at the glass in her hand. “The doll is from my house in Ohio. Maybe I brought it with me, I don’t know. My dad gave it to me when I was five.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Manus said quietly. “Anything else you can tell us?”
She looked up at him. “When I was home last, my neighbor told me he’d seen somebody looking around my house. Mr. Lucas, next door. He’ll tell you about it.”
“We’ll follow up. Anything else?” Nobody spoke or moved.
“Will you…check on my house?”
“Tagg has already called the Cleveland office. We’ve dispatched agents.”
She nodded and couldn’t think of anything else. She closed her eyes and saw the baby doll with the knife through its head, covered in blood. She knew what that symbolized. It was a warning. She could feel the panic threatening to overtake her.
“I want to go,” she whispered.
Jackson immediately stood and helped her up, placing his arm around her protectively. He thanked everyone as they left.
“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” Jackson asked gently.
She sat unmoving on the bed. The panic and fear were closing in. “No,” she whispered.
He knelt in front of her, his eyes searching her face, his hands massaging her thighs. “Are you okay? What can I do for you?” She could tell he needed to feel useful, to make it better. She had no ability to be forthcoming. She was too busy trying to keep it all at bay.
“I’m sorry,” she offered.
“Don’t be. I’m sorry this is happening to you. Do you want to go to bed? It’s late.”
“I want to shower.”
“Okay, I’ll start it.” He rose and Rory stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Jackson, I need to shower alone.” Tears rimmed her eyes.
He stood back. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. She made her way into the bathroom and closed the door.
She moved mechanically to the shower and turned it on, feeling tired and weak as she removed her clothes. As she turned to open the shower door, she caught her reflection in the mirror and froze. She could see her entire body. She was pale, white as a ghost. She was thinner than she had been even two weeks before.
As she looked down her body, her eyes stopped at the scarring on her lower abdomen near her left hip bone. It was lighter, faded over time, but in her mind it was still pronounced.
She sucked air as a wave of nausea and panic struck her. She lunged across the bathroom, smacking down on her knees in front of the toilet. She grabbed frantically to lift the lid before she began heaving and retching uncontrollably into the bowl. She threw up what little was in her stomach and when it was empty, threw up bile. She hunkered there, trying to stop gagging. When the heaving finally subsided, she sat back on her knees. She trembled and sobbed uncontrollably as she remembered the hell she had lived through and the sickness that was following her now.
She didn’t know how long it went on, but she couldn’t stop sobbing. At some point, Jackson had opened the door and turned off the shower. He wrapped his arms around her. She grabbed onto him tightly, an anchor in her storm. He picked her up and moved her to the bed, crawling in next to her and covering them both. He took her tightly into his arms and held her as she shook, tremor after tremor spreading through her body. He held her there for a long time, tethered to him, until finally exhaustion overtook her and she passed out into a deep sleep.
The shot of adrenaline that went through her body the moment she saw Aidan cut her father’s throat was painful. It was like a bolt of lightning. She was able to push herself off the floor, but as she pitched and weaved trying to get out of the room, it was hard to stay on her feet. She fell to her knees by the door, and Aidan reached out and pulled her hair back sharply. Bringing her face to his, he spat on her.
“Where are you going, bitch?” He dragged her back by the hair, dropping her again in the middle of the floor. She tried to fight but had no strength. She rolled over on her side and sobbed at the sight of her father’s blood rushing from his neck, his head lolling lifelessly. She tried to reach out to touch his boot.
Aidan screamed in her face. “You see why you shouldn’t fuck with me, bitch? What did you think? You were going to give me up to the feds and have that little bastard and live happily ever after with Daddy? You worthless piece of shit…” He stood above her and kicked her. She began to cough blood, although she wasn’t sure if it was her own or that of her father’s as it flowed over the floor. She was covered in it. She coughed continuously, her head ringing and her sight fading in and out.
He turned her over with his foot after lodging it in her abdomen one last time. She stared up at the light while he rattled on about her betrayals. Her hearing had mostly failed, but she could make out the cadence of his Irish brogue, a sound she used to love. She did hear him clearly when he laughed at her.
He grabbed her by the hair again and wrenched her head up so she could face her dead father. “You look at him, bitch, and you remember this was your fault. You killed him.”
He dropped her again and stood over her, drawing his knife. She stared up at him in horror. “We’re going to take care of the rest of your fuck-ups now, wife.”
It registered quickly and her strength returned in a great wave. She turned on her side and began to scoot away, pinwheeling her arms and legs to gain purchase on the bloody floor. She couldn’t move her left arm, her ears and head were ringing loudly and it felt as if every rib was broken. But she focused on saving herself and her baby.
He mounted her and pinned her in place. “I didn’t say you could go anywhere.” His blue eyes looked into hers. She noticed an odd dullness there. “Did you think I was going to let you have my kid?”
As if she were watching it happen to someone else in slow motion, his arm came down and buried the knife in her abdomen. Her body arched tightly and her mouth fell open as she gasped for air. The ringing in her ears grew until she could hear nothing else.
He brought the knife up and struck her again. She could feel it move inside her and she could feel the cold hardness as it tugged and pulled at her innards. She looked at his face and saw hatred and cruelty in his eyes as he moved the knife around slowly, decimating everything in its path. She felt the resistance her flesh put forth to the blade, and the pain and heat of the loosening and parting as her skin and organs gave way in its wake. She sucked in air, knowing there was no way she would live through this devastation, hoping it would be over soon. She could hear nothing but the loud ringing and her own breath, and felt the burning pain of the knife moving through her.
Aidan knelt over her and lowered his face to within an inch of hers. “How dare you, stupid bitch, how dare you.” She looked into his eyes as she lay dying, his hand still holding the knife steady within her abdomen. “How dare you think you could do this to me…stupid whore.”
He watched her eyes. “I’ll watch you die, bitch.” Her body began to tremble and her right hand moved of its own volition toward the knife protruding from her gut. It didn’t reach its destination but instead fell heavily onto the floor.
It was then that she felt the pen. Throughout the course of the day, through the abuse and rape, ripping of clothes, and breaking of bones, her coat had never been removed. She shoved her hand into the pocket, feeling the pen she had taken from the car. She looked into Aidan’s eyes and took a deep breath. As she labored to inhale, she gathered every ounce of strength she could summon. She reared her arm back, spearing the pen deeply into his eye.
Aidan surged backward, grasping the protruding pen, screaming and cursing her. Blood spurted from the wound. She breathed frantically, trying to gain strength from the oxygen, and started dragging herself to the door. She made it, and summoning inhuman strength, pulled herself up and lurched forward down the hall, bumping and staggering until she was in the living room entryway.
She fell over the back of the recliner and screamed in pain as the knife dug farther into her body. She fell to her back on the floor, kicking and pushing off with her feet, desperate to reach the front door.
Aidan shuffled into the living room, his appearance gruesome as blood gushed from his eye. She screamed as he weav
ed in and lurched at her, falling on top of her and grabbing her neck with both hands, squeezing with superhuman strength.
She fought back, punching into his head and back with all her might, clawing him with her nails—until her hand fell upon the gun in the back of his pants. In one swift motion, she pulled the gun out, pressed it to the side of his head and pulled the trigger.
She felt the enormous blast more than she could hear it, and after it went off, everything went still. She didn’t move. The pressure he had exerted on her neck had immediately stopped, but she didn’t move, not knowing what exactly had happened. A humid stillness and scent of gunpowder lingered in the air.
Slowly she opened her eyes. She found Aidan lying beside her, the side of his head blown open. She closed her eyes again, trying to breathe, and found she had little feeling left in her body. She lay there, eyes closed, waiting to die.
When she opened her eyes again, she saw the moon. It was dark, but the moon was shining in the window. She could feel nothing. Her body felt heavier than lead. She couldn’t move. She remembered that her father was gone. Her baby too, no doubt. Was she still alive? She slowly turned her head and saw Aidan’s bloody body next to her. Maybe she was dead too. His eyes stared at her.
Calmly, preternaturally, she lifted her hand. It responded and she reached her shaking, blood-covered fingers over and felt for the phone on his belt. After several painful pulls, it came off. She held it in front of her face. She looked at the phone, curiously feeling no urgency or instinct to dial and attempt to save herself, if it was even possible. She wondered if life would be worth the effort.
She lowered her hand and looked out the window at the moon again. Why was she still here? She wondered how long it would take for her heart to stop beating. She thought of her mother and father and of the baby she had already loved. So much was gone. She considered her life. She thought of her father again, and his love for her. Tears fell down her temples and onto the floor. After several minutes, she lifted the phone and dialed 9-1-1. After that, her world went completely black.