by Dara Girard
“Yeah.”
“Well, what if we were? How would you tell this story?”
“Homeless preyed on by killer.”
Clay shook his head. “No. He’s not a killer in the traditional sense.”
“Cult leader recruits disenfranchised for new reign.”
Clay shook his head. “No, that won’t work either. How can we catch people’s interest?”
Mack went online to check the Web site again.
Clay rubbed the back of his neck. “There has to be something we can get him on.”
“Does he like women? I could arrange a prostitute to visit him.”
“No.”
“Drugs?”
“No.”
Mack frowned good-naturedly. “If you really wanted to get him, you would have said yes. You’re so damn ethical.”
“No, I just want something more.”
Mack clapped his hands together and pointed to the screen. “Great. This might interest you.”
“What?”
He turned the monitor to Clay. “He’s written a book.”
“So?”
“So, if you’ve written something, don’t you need to publicize it?”
“You’re suggesting we offer him some publicity?”
“Yes. Get the bastard out from under his rock.”
Clay thought for a moment. “TV or radio?”
“TV. I know this woman who’s eager to get some ratings on her local news show. It’s public television, but at least it’s some exposure. We could set it up as a debate. But do you think he’ll fall for it?”
Clay began to smile. “Yes, he will.”
That evening, Clay stared across the restaurant table at Jackie, amazed. “I thought you’d be happy.”
She nearly choked on her drink. “Happy? I can’t believe you’re going to help publicize his book. I want to see him behind bars.”
“He will be, but as I’ve said, he’s not easy to catch. This will make him visible—underground he’s more dangerous. He may expose himself and then people will see what he’s about and may stay away.”
She angrily bit into her sandwich. “Or be intrigued.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Yes, I trust you. I’ve told you I trust you. The problem is I don’t trust him You’ve admitted that he’s clever.” She rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward. “What will you do when you see him again?”
“Debate him.”
“What if he makes you lose your temper on TV?”
“I don’t lose my temper,” he said softly.
She set her sandwich down and folded her arms. “What was your sister’s name?”
“Rennie.”
“No, her real name.”
He frowned. “Does it matter?”
“Yes, the more you avoid it, the more power you give it. When Melanie did not say Emmerick’s name, she made it almost sacred.”
He squirted ketchup on his fries.
“What was her name?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now.”
She watched him for a moment, then said, “Cancel the show. You’re not ready.”
A flash of irritation crossed his face. “Of course I’m ready. I’ve always been ready to see him again.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is this about my case or your revenge?”
“You saw Melanie.”
“Yes, she killed herself.” She paused. “Rennie didn’t.”
He pushed his plate away. “You hired me to get him for you and I’m going to.”
“I hired you to get a name and address, not become a vigilante.”
“It’s just a TV show.”
No, it wasn’t, and he knew it, too. That worried her—he wasn’t prepared. When someone didn’t know their weakness, they were vulnerable because they didn’t know how to protect themselves. Clay wouldn’t even admit to any. Whether it was arrogance, conceit, or denial, he was in danger, but she knew she couldn’t stop him.
He grinned, trying to lessen her unease. “I can take care of myself. Don’t worry about me.”
“Fine.” She grabbed a handful of jelly packets. He gently covered her hand with his. “Take two.”
She smiled, chagrined. “Bad habit.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve been hungry, too.” His dark eyes showed a sensitivity she wouldn’t have expected from one made so cynical by life. It felt good to be with someone with whom she didn’t have to explain everything. But the shadows were still there. No matter how many times she was with him, a part of him was still a stranger. He had warned her that the relationship wouldn’t be enough. She would make it so.
Two days later, she knew she couldn’t. It wasn’t enough. Jackie pulled on her nightgown as Clay prepared to leave. The sex was always great, but somehow this time less fulfilling.
She sat on the bed and drew her knees to her chest. “Am I the only woman you’re seeing?”
He hesitated, then said, “Of course.”
She nodded. “Just curious.”
He sat beside her and sighed, resigned. “Go ahead and say it.”
“Say what?”
“Whatever’s on your mind.”
She bit her lip. “Why won’t you stay?”
His gaze sharpened. “You know why.”
“Yes, I do. But I don’t understand why. I can understand if someone doesn’t want you to stay, but what about when someone does?”
He pulled on his shoes. “You’re doing it again.”
“I’m not trying to manipulate you. I’m trying to figure you out.”
“You don’t need to figure me out.” He walked to the door.
She jumped to her feet. “What are you hiding?”
He turned to her and began to smile. It wasn’t a pretty expression. “What are you searching for? Whatever you need, I can assure you I don’t have it.”
“Why are you so certain?”
“Because I know you.”
She folded her arms. “A few weeks ago I would have believed you, but now I’m not so sure. You’re a quick talker with the eloquence of a hustler that convinces people to believe you. I know—I do it myself sometimes. I did it with Winstead. But there are a lot of things you don’t know, things you wouldn’t even admit to yourself.”
He opened the door. “I’d better go.”
“Don’t you mean run?”
He stopped and closed the door with a soft click. “What do you mean by that?”
“You’re used to running away.”
He stared at her with hard, dark eyes. “Are you calling me a coward?”
“Why? Because you’re scared?”
“I’m not scared of anything.”
She didn’t flinch under his intense gaze. Instead, she smiled softly. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not afraid of you.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t handle me. And I’m not going to change.”
“I don’t want to change you.”
“Why do you want me to stay when you know I always leave? Why do you want to figure me out when I don’t want you to? You’re spoiled and—”
“I’m spoiled?” Her voice cracked in disbelief. “You’re spoiled, too. We give to outsiders, but when it comes to relationships, people have to follow our rules. We like getting our own way. You get everyone to do exactly what you want. Heck, Cassie is afraid to ask you any questions because you’ve made it quite clear that if anyone gets too close, you’ll leave. That’s your control. And you’re always in control.”
“I---”
Jackie waved her finger. “Just listen, then you can reply.”
He rested against the wall and waited.
“I wanted you to stay because I foolishly thought it would be nice to wake up with you beside me. Simple as that. I wasn’t trying to put a lead around your neck.” She pointed when he opened his mouth. “I said listen.”
&nbs
p; Clay folded his arms.
“You were right in the beginning—I’m not your kind of woman. I care whether you’re safe or not, I care whether you’re tired or upset. I can’t help myself.” She rested her hands on her hips. “Let me tell you a few other things you won’t like. I worry about you. I know I’m not supposed to, but I do. I think about you at work, I think about calling you for no reason except to say hello or to hear your voice.” She walked up to him. “Oh, and guess what? You’re not going to like this, but I’m going to enjoy telling you this.” She grabbed his collar and pulled him down. “Sometimes I love you and sometimes I could kick the crap out of you.” She pushed him aside and stormed into the hallway.
She went into the kitchen and grabbed a box of crackers and spreadable cheese, slamming the cupboard and fridge as she did so. She sat and ate her way through the contents. Clay came into the room a few moments later.
She looked at him with mock surprise. “You haven’t left yet? You’d better leave before the sun rises. I’d hate to be accused of trying to change you, and there’s that distinct fear I may grow too attached to you. I know you wouldn’t want that.”
“Can I speak now?”
“I’m not sure. Do you need instructions?”
He sat and grabbed a cracker.
“Aren’t you going to leave?”
He spread cheese on the cracker. “You wanted me to stay a moment ago.”
“Who cares what I want?” she said. “You’ll do what you damn well please anyway.”
He placed another cracker on top.
“Not all women want a man to fight their battles for them,” she continued, “There are little battles that women fight alone. Sometimes a woman just wants a man to be there, be a strength she can draw from when her own begins to wane, be a comfort when she feels unsafe with the thoughts in her mind. But you wouldn’t understand that kind of battle because you fight yours alone.”
“If you need—”
“No, I don’t need you. There. Don’t you feel better? You’re free. She glanced at the stack of crackers and frowned. “Are you building a tower or a large cracker sandwich?”
He placed another cracker on top of the stack.
She took the cracker off and ate it. “At least the sex is good so we can still have an affair. I just had a brief lapse in judgment.”
“I disagree,” he said, in a voice so low it came out as a grumble. “I think you judged me very well.”
“I’m not judging you.”
“Unless I misunderstood you, I’m supposed to read your mind. I’m supposed to know when you’re scared or frightened or whatever, and act according to the invisible guidebook of handling women’s woes, right?”
“Don’t—”
“I’m not finished.”
She bit her lip.
“Wouldn’t it have been easier if you’d told me why you wanted me to stay? Do you think if you were scared that I would walk away?”
“No, but--”
“That if you were worried I’d ignore you?”
She shook her head.
“So you’re angry at me for something I wasn’t even aware of.” He shook his head, disgusted. “Just like a woman not to tell me the truth.”
“Just like a man to be totally blind to it,” she countered.
“And what would that be? Being the dumb male that I am, I can’t figure it out on my own.”
Jackie raised a brow.
Clay waved a dismissive hand. “Besides love.”
“You can’t just brush that aside.” She paused. “Wait, I’m wrong. Yes, you can.”
He twirled the knife between his fingers. “I didn’t ask you to love me.”
“No, that was my misfortune.”
He set the knife down.
“I wanted you to stay because you wanted to, not because I needed you to.”
He stood, restless. “Exactly. You wanted me to be someone I’m not.”
“I wanted to give you an excuse to stay.”
He took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice level. He would not lose his temper. “I don’t need an excuse. When I want to I’ll stay.”
“No, you won’t. You wouldn’t dare risk being that vulnerable.”
“I need to leave.” He walked to the door.
Jackie jumped to her feet. “Yes, run. Run away from what you’re afraid of.”
Clay spun around, his temper ignited. “I’m only afraid of one thing and that is—” He abruptly stopped. “I think we’ve both had enough of this.”
Jackie sat back down and grabbed another cracker. “You’re right. Bye.”
Clay stared at her. He hadn’t expected it to end like this. He’d expected it to end clean, swift. This felt as though some bodily organ had been ripped from him, leaving its veins and ligaments dangling. A part of him whispered that he should fight for this, another told him to let go. She didn’t give him a chance to decide; she stood. “It’s been fun. Good night.” She went to her bedroom and slammed the door.
Clay stared at the cracker crumbs on the table and the cheese hardening on the knife blade, then grabbed his jacket and left.
In her room, Jackie didn’t wait to hear the front door close before she began pulling the sheets off the bed. She didn’t want his scent on anything. She wanted to wash him out of her life. She wanted to forget him. She pulled off the duvet, the pillowcases, the sheets, tossing them on the floor with more force than necessary. Once finished, she stared at the bare bed. She’d stripped it clean, but she knew it was not enough. Nothing would ever be enough to erase the memories. She fell on her bed, face forward, determined not to cry.
Clay walked out into the still night and headed to his car. It was over. He and Jackie were through. He was fine with that. Everything eventually came to an end, he was old enough to know that. However, it was the first time he’d ended a relationship and felt as though he’d been dumped. Funny how she’d wanted to know what he was afraid of. He shook his head at the irony. His biggest fear was being kicked out. It amazed him how often he was.
Chapter Sixteen
Clay stepped into the Channel 23 TV station and walked through the plain building as though heading to his past. He was about to face the man he’d demonized and killed in his dreams. Once he reached the studio, he saw the camera operators working on the equipment and setting up the lighting. He spotted the makeup artist powdering the host’s face, then glanced at the three chairs on the stage. His eyes traveled to the far side of the studio. Then he saw him.
The years hadn’t altered him much. Emmerick was still a slim man with skin the color of crushed coffee beans. He had refined features that seemed to crowd in the middle of his face. The Afro was gone, replaced by gray braids that hung down his back. His brown eyes had become more watchful than arrogant—they would have to be to keep him out of an asylum this long. The problem with Emmerick was that he wasn’t crazy. That was what made him dangerous.
Emmerick turned and saw him. Clay nearly grinned at the shock of recognition that flew across the older man’s face. He waited as Emmerick came toward him, stealing himself against the anger that had begun to rise. Age had slowed his gait, but not rid it of its strength, its purpose. Whatever that purpose was.
Emmerick held out his hand. “It’s been a long time.”
Clay ignored the friendly gesture and folded his arms. “Yes.”
“A part of me is not surprised to see you here.”
“We were destined to meet again, you’d say,” Clay said in an ironic tone.
“Yes, destiny—”
“Save your breath, old man. Your tune hasn’t changed and I’m not in the mood to listen to you sing.”
Emmerick nodded and backed away. Clay allowed the makeup artist to powder the shine off his face, and nothing else. Soon the host approached them with the requisite plastic smile, her hair effectively pulled back to give her attractive blond features a professional appearance. She explained how the show would progress as they were fit
ted with microphones. Then they were directed to their seats. Clay sat across from Emmerick, ordering himself to be still. He knew the camera would exaggerate any telling signs of unease and he would not allow Emmerick that advantage.
“And five, four, three, two...”
“Hello, I’m Amy Brennan, thanks for joining us at Just Talk. Today we are going to discuss the growing trend of alternative religions in the District. Our two guests are Lamont Emmerick of the Careless Rapture Ministry, the author of Divinity for the Spirit, and investigator Clay Jarrett, a Christian.”
Clay sent her a look. He hadn’t mentioned any religious affiliation. It was clear Amy had her own agenda in mind. He had to be careful not to fall into it.
“Now, Mr. Emmerick, tell us about your ministry.”
“My belief is an all-encompassing encounter with the good of the universe. Living in harmony with the various spirits that surround us.”
“And Mr. Jarrett, you disagree?”
“I don’t disagree with people’s beliefs unless it causes harm to others. Emmerick encourages those who are ill to forgo treatment.”
“But there are other faiths that don’t believe in using traditional science to heal,” Amy said.
“He has gone one step further by encouraging patrons to choose death.”
Emmerick smiled. “We are all going to die eventually. My belief is that if the universe has touched you with disease, you should surrender. It is in that state of giving when your rapture will come.”
“So you think those that have cancer are meant to die?” Amy asked, intrigued by his smile.
“Instead of seeing it as a curse, you should see it as a blessing. An invitation to surrender to divine peace. Science interferes with the natural order of things. Would they have lived years ago?”
“We used to have a high birth-mortality rate,” Clay said. “That has changed because our knowledge has changed.”
“We also keep those people stuck to life support as vegetables for our own benefit, not theirs. Where is their sanctity, where is their peace?”
“Not all people end up as vegetables. Some come out of comas.”