by G. R. Lyons
Charlie nodded absently, returning his attention to the box. When the first piece came to an end, Benash applauded along with the rest of the audience, and then sat back in his chair, curling his arm to one side as though he was holding someone.
“Weird,” Malrin said again, shaking his head.
Charlie didn't answer, but looked back up at the steady, realistic man who had practically raised him, wondering just how badly his mind had been shattered by the loss of his daughter.
* * *
CHARLIE WOKE with a gasp, the nightmare still filling his mind as he looked around at the dark bedroom.
“Just a dream,” he whispered. “Just a dream.”
He caught his breath and slowly lay back down, clutching a pillow as he tried to drive away the images of Saira's torn and broken body.
Standing water. All that blood…
Turning over onto his side, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember how Saira looked before that awful night, when she'd still been whole and happy and safe…
“What are you looking at?” she'd asked in a whisper.
Charlie breathed a laugh, picturing her lying next to him, the night before their wedding.
“You,” he'd answered, reaching out to brush a lock of hair away from her cheek. “My beautiful wife.”
Saira laughed and poked him in the chest. “I'm not your wife yet, you know.”
“Close enough,” he murmured, taking her hand and kissing her fingers. “The ceremony tomorrow is just formality. As far as I'm concerned, you're my wife already. And I'm your husband. For as long as I live.”
Saira breathed a laugh and glanced away, a tear of joy running from her eye before she looked back at him.
“Besides,” he went on, “if we followed the Tanasian custom, like Dad, technically you are already my wife.”
He winked at her, indicating the bed, their nakedness, and the two bouts of lovemaking they'd already enjoyed that night. Saira blushed and curled in closer to him.
“But I'm not too keen on their whole 'marriage scar' thing,” he added, shaking his head and running his fingers lightly over her left shoulder. “No scars for you. I don't own you.”
Saira gazed up at him, a world of love in her eyes, and rolled on top of him as she seared him with a kiss.
The memory of that moment followed Charlie as he drifted back to sleep.
* * *
CHARLIE LOWERED the magazine in his hands and glanced across the room. Asenna lay on the bed, fast asleep, her bathrobe slightly askew from the few times she'd tossed and turned, the jagged scar on her chest glaring at him.
I own you, the scar seemed to say, a violent cut into the flesh by the hand of some unknown man who had taken possession of Asenna's body for a short while, but left a permanent mark of his ownership, something to taunt her for the rest of her life.
When Charlie had arrived that morning, Asenna looked as though she hadn't slept all night, a suspicion she quickly confirmed when she admitted she'd stayed up late at the firing range and then kept waking up from nightmares of her own. After some idle conversation while Charlie had gotten himself settled on the couch with some files to review, she'd fallen back asleep, and Charlie decided not to wake her.
He watched her for a few minutes, his eyes stopping at each scar visible on her legs and hands, as well as the jagged one partially visible on her chest. Charlie tore his gaze away and looked at her face instead, trying to push all dark thoughts of torture and murder out of his mind.
Asenna stirred in her sleep, and Charlie quickly dropped his eyes back to the magazine, settling back more comfortably on the couch, and breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't wake up and catch him watching her.
He scanned an article, not really paying attention to its contents, and started when Asenna sucked in a gasping breath, her body arching off the bed.
Charlie dropped the magazine, reaching for his communicator, but hesitated, noticing that her movement was more fluid than when she was caught in a live vision.
He watched, mesmerized, as a recurring vision came to life before his eyes.
Asenna gasped for air, almost choking, and lifted one arm as though reaching for something, only to have the arm slammed down at her side again. Her head snapped to one side as though slapped, then again in the other direction, and then yanked back to center so she was looking straight up at the ceiling, her eyes wide and unseeing.
She cried out, her hands moving frantically as though she was straining against invisible bonds that kept her arms tied down. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, her gaze still fixed on the ceiling, unable to blink.
Charlie watched her body shudder and lurch, more tears coming from her eyes and more muffled cries from her throat, and he sank to his knees.
Somehow, he knew which vision he was seeing.
Unable to trust the steadiness of his legs, Charlie crawled toward the bed, pulled himself up so he sat on the edge beside her, and grabbed Asenna by the shoulders.
“Stop it!” he cried, shaking her. “Stop it! Wake up! Come out of it, gods damn you!”
He shook her again as she gasped and choked and cried, and finally she took in a deep, rattling breath and blinked, shaking herself free of his grasp.
Charlie panted, watching her, and saw her gaze finally turn focused as she looked up at him.
“Crawford?”
Stifling a cry, Charlie turned away, hiding his face in his hands.
ASENNA BLINKED, trying to get her eyes to focus as the recurring vision slowly faded.
Crawford sat with his back to her, his elbows on his knees and his shoulders hunched with tension. She reached out slowly, lightly resting her hand on his arm, and he jerked away, launching to his feet and rapidly pacing the room.
He panted, walking faster and faster, until he finally stopped with his back to her, putting his hands on his hips and visibly shaking.
“That was Saira, wasn't it?” he asked in a trembling whisper.
Asenna sat up slowly, keeping her eyes on him, and murmured, “Part of it.”
A faint cry escaped his lips, and he managed two steps before he collapsed into a chair, holding his head in his hands while he braced his elbows on his knees again.
“I get different pieces of that vision all the time,” Asenna went on softly. “Sometimes I'll get just one small part, and sometimes it'll just keep going until I can pull myself out of it. I don't think I've ever seen it in full, though, even putting together all the pieces that have come to me.” She paused, watching him take deep breaths. “Thank you for helping me out. Last time, that one had me trapped for over an hour.”
She fell silent, watching him, his face red and his knuckles white as he tried to get himself under control.
After several minutes, and with his head still in his hands, she heard him murmur, “Chief would have my hide if he could see me right now.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and rested his head down again. “I told him I could handle this, since I always see it in my dreams…but what I see is only what I was there for. That was nightmare enough. I never imagined that actually watching what happened to her would be so much worse.”
He slumped back in the chair, his arms hanging over the armrests, and closed his eyes as he went on: “It was two days before we found her. Two days of searching, of worrying, of panicking, thinking I'd never see her again, thinking I'd find her dead. Two days of terror that will haunt me the rest of my life. And then that moment of relief, finding her, seeing her alive, but then realizing she was broken and suffering, and finally…” He trailed off, and Asenna stared at him, afraid even to move while he was letting all this out. His voice dropped almost to a whisper as he said, “I think back on that day, and think only of my own fear, my own grief, my own suffering. I've actually never stopped to consider those two days from her perspective. I mean, I have, but…but not really. And a medical report doesn't really tell the half of it. All that she went through: the fear, the pain, the torture, t
he violation, the hopelessness. And I never got a chance to ask her what happened to her. A part of me is dying to know every moment of it, while another part of me can't even bear to think about it. All that she suffered, and I was too late. Too late.”
Asenna looked at him as he went very still, his face pinched as though he might cry but no tears showing on his cheeks. She wiped away her own tears, her chest tight from hearing the pain in his voice, and she murmured, “I'm so sorry, Crawford.”
He nodded slightly, his eyes still closed, and took a deep breath, but didn't say anything.
“We'll get him someday, I promise,” she said. “And when we do, I'm going to cut the bastard into a thousand tiny little pieces and set each one on fire.”
Crawford opened his eyes slightly, glanced over at her without moving his head, and said, “Get in line.”
He closed his eyes again, sinking deeper into the chair, and Asenna burst out laughing.
She covered her mouth, trying to stop herself, as Crawford looked over at her again, but a moment later he was laughing with her, doubled over in the chair as the laughter visibly drained the tension out of him, tears streaming down both their cheeks by the time they calmed down.
“Oh, gods,” Asenna said, wiping her face. “I'm so sorry. That was horrible.”
“It's alright,” he said, giving one last chuckle and leaning back in the chair again, shaking his head. “Gods, I needed that. Horribly inappropriate as it was.”
Asenna nodded, and muttered, “I wish there was something I could do. I mean, maybe if I had her file at least, I could try to figure something out, but…it's just not there.”
“Not there?” he asked. “What do you mean?”
She looked up at him, hesitated, and said, “Crawford, the evidence for your wife's case is missing.”
“Missing?” He snorted a laugh. “That's impossible. That doesn't happen around here.”
Asenna raised an eyebrow, got up, and yanked some clothes out of the closet.
“What's wrong?” Crawford asked, watching her from under drooping eyelids.
“We're going down to Records,” she said, pulling on a pair of jeans under her robe. “I'll show you.”
“Asenna, it couldn't be missing–”
“Humor me,” she said, darting into the washroom, hanging up her robe, and pulling on a shirt. She grabbed a pair of shoes, slipped them on, and headed for the door, Crawford languidly rising from the chair to follow her.
They went down to Records, and turned down the aisle amongst the evidence shelves where the box for Saira's case ought to be.
“You know what,” Crawford said, hanging back, “I don't think I really want to see this right now.”
“That's just it,” she told him, gesturing at a shelf. “There's nothing to see. Look.”
Crawford hesitated, then crept forward, scanning the shelves where Asenna pointed. There was nothing there with the name Crawford on it.
“Did you try Rothbur?” he asked.
“I– Oh.” She frowned, turned, and headed for the end of the aisle. Crawford followed her, and when they got to the R shelf, there was still nothing to be found.
“Huh,” he said.
“And there's more.”
She darted back down the aisle, Crawford right behind her, and she took him to the shelf of digital files, showing no space for Saira's records.
“Nothing,” she said, pointing at the discs. “No disc. And every time I try to access it on the main server, it shows locked on Chief's personal computer. How can an entire case file just vanish or get locked up like that? It makes no sense. Where is all the evidence? Where are all the records, and the backup records?”
Crawford took a step back, looking unconcerned.
“Doesn't this bother you at all?” Asenna asked, waving her arms.
He looked at her and calmly said, “I'm sure Chief left the physical evidence back in Oaks Pass. As for the files, I think he goes over it all, every day, looking for answers, hoping he'll find something he missed.”
Asenna stared at him, processing his words, and felt herself deflate, all her frustration draining away.
“Oh.” She paused, glancing over at the shelf, then back at him with a grimace. “That makes sense. Just like I was doing with the others' files. Except…” Her voice dropped lower. “It's his daughter, so…Yeah, of course he'd be possessive with that one.” She folded her arms over her chest and muttered, “Sorry.”
Crawford shook his head. “It's alright. Honestly, I'm not sure I could stand to look at her file right now anyway. That vision was more than enough for one day.” He paused, and added, “For one lifetime, really.”
Asenna nodded, looking away, feeling her cheeks redden as guilt washed over her.
“Come on,” Crawford murmured, touching her lightly on the arm and steering her toward the door. “Let's go try to do something productive.”
Nodding again, Asenna followed him back upstairs.
Chapter 8
SITTING AT opposite ends of the couch, Charlie and Asenna went through the unsolved cases again, particularly familiarizing themselves with the newest ones.
“What the fuck is this?” Asenna asked.
Charlie looked over, seeing a holographic image of a floral arrangement in her hand, the one that Lehinis had taken at the Bordal crime scene.
“You call this serious detective work?” she added.
Charlie put his hands up. “Hey, don't look at me. That was all Lehinis.”
Asenna turned the image around and tilted her head to one side. “Weird arrangement, though, isn't it? It looks unbalanced somehow.” She paused, thinking. “Now why does that sound familiar?” she whispered, her eyes going unfocused. For a second, Charlie thought he saw something flicker in her gaze, but the moment passed and the look was gone. She shrugged and tossed the image aside, moving on to a written report.
Charlie looked over at the image as it came to rest, hovering off to the side amongst the holographic files.
“What?” she asked.
Charlie shook his head, turning his attention back to the Wakler file he had spread out in front of him. “Nothing. Just…weird flashbacks. Don't mind me.”
“About what?”
He glanced over at her from under his eyelashes and sighed, sweeping the file back together and tossing it back onto the wallscreen. “It's nothing. Just a memory from my wedding day. Nothing pertinent.” He paused and sighed again. “I'm sorry, I'm just tired and getting distracted.”
Asenna shoved aside the Bordal file and rubbed her eyes. “I think we all are.” She stretched and leaned back. “Tell me what's on your mind. We need a break from all this anyway.”
Charlie winced. “I'm not sure this would exactly count as a break.”
Turning sideways on the couch to face him, Asenna folded her arms and waited.
Charlie sighed again. “Alright. It's just some stupid little thing. The day before the wedding, Saira got some flowers delivered.” He sat forward, chuckling. “There were flowers everywhere, of course. Chief's house was practically overflowing in flowers. But this bunch…” He paused, frowning. “She kept saying there was something wrong with them. The card was blank, and they didn't match the other arrangements, so we had no idea where they came from. Like I said, just a silly memory. My mind makes associations with the oddest things because of that day.” He paused, taking a deep breath, and murmured, “I still get anxious every time I see a puddle of water. Even if the shower drain backs up just a little bit, it's all I can do to breathe.”
“Hmmm.” Asenna shrugged and stretched again, then sat forward, rubbing her eyes. She reached out toward the holographic files, moving icons around, and froze.
Charlie started, reaching for his communicator, bracing himself for a vision.
“The flowers…”
“The…What?” Charlie asked, blinking.
“By the gods, Crawford, it's the flowers!”
“What do you mean?”
<
br /> “I don't know, I just…” She clenched her shaking hands into fists. “Something…”
Asenna launched from her chair and rushed from the room. Dumbstruck, Charlie followed her, racing down the stairs.
They burst into the conference room, and the detectives there fell silent.
“I need any photos or video images of the flowers found at the murder sites,” Asenna said breathlessly, pressing an icon on the blank conference table and rapidly selecting a series of files.
The room was silent, the detectives staring at Asenna as though she'd gone mad, but at the chief's nod, the detectives moved their tablets and coffee mugs off the table and watched as Asenna dragged the file icons around, laying them out in order of occurrence down the length of the table.
At the wallscreen, one detective pulled up a video database containing digital recordings from the mini-cams the detectives wore any time they investigated a crime scene.
It was tedious work, running through each video, searching for a clear shot of the flower arrangements, and then creating a picture file from the frame frozen on screen, but they eventually managed to discover footage of a flower arrangement at each site, and laid the images out on the table next to their applicable files.
“Alright, that's just creepy,” Malrin murmured. “How did we never notice that before? And who sends flowers to his vics?”
“Shhh,” the others hissed.
The room fell silent while Asenna moved slowly down the table, analyzing each image, her fingers hovering just above the pictures. She studied them for several minutes, frowning all the while, her eyes darting back and forth from one to another.
Her hand stopped over one picture, but her eyes continued to scan the other images.
“This one,” she murmured. “Two victims?”
Across the table, Lehinis tapped on the appropriate file to open it. “Yep. A young man and his grandfather.”
Asenna moved down the table and stopped at another file. “And three here?”