Justice (The Galilee Falls Trilogy)

by Jennifer Harlow

  Rebecca, eyes brimming with tears, runs up on stage and embraces me as the audience applauds. I hug her back. “Thank you,” she whispers.

  And damned if I didn’t mean every word.

  ***

  I think it’s time to go home. I’ve lost track of how many glasses of champagne I’ve had, but I always know that I’ve had enough to drink when I start getting touchy feely with strangers. Most of my one night stands were a result of this trait. Since I’m in an unofficially monogamous relationship, the fact that I’m seriously considering kissing cheekbones, now known as Dr. Jonathan “Jem” Ambrose, the neurologist Rebecca wanted to set me up with, is very bad. I’m no cheat, even when my boyfriend is a total jackass. I need to get out of here before I do something I regret.

  It’s rude, but I get up and slink away before he returns with my glass of water. Everything, the music, the lights, the air, has a soft edge to it. It’s difficult to walk, but I manage to make it to the dance floor where Justin and Rebecca slow dance like they’re at the prom, rocking side to side, completely enveloped in each other. A person could set off a bomb here and they wouldn’t notice.

  I also tend to get emotional when I’m plastered. Watching them so in love, so together, just makes me want to puddle into tears, which I can feel coming. They’d do anything for each other, and my boyfriend doesn’t even want to be seen with me. We could be dancing right there with them, but I’m not even worth a phone call from him. Why is it that some people are so lucky and others have to fight and struggle for scraps? It’s so fucking unfair.

  The song ends and all couples disengage. “Hey, guys, I’m gonna get out of here.”

  “Okay,” Rebecca says, disappointed. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, huh?”

  “Tomorrow?” I ask.

  “The dress fittings!”

  “With your Mom and Daisy. Right. I remember now. Noon?”

  “Yeah. I’ll take us all out to lunch after.”

  “Great.” I turn to Justin. “Have a safe flight. See you in a few days?”

  He kisses my cheek. “Take care of my girls when I’m gone, okay?”

  “I’ll guard them with my life. Night, guys.”

  I walk away. Time to go back to my empty apartment and eat an entire carton of ice cream, and then…wait. Was that…

  A very familiar looking man brushes past me as I leave the ballroom. He has the same dark brown hair, though in a different cut, build, age as…I turn back around to get a second look, but he’s faded into the crowd of tuxes. No, it couldn’t be him. He had glasses, a goatee, and graying temples. Besides that, how could he have gotten past the press and security? Or gotten in without an invitation? And there’s the fact this is about the seventh time I’ve “seen” him in the past few days. One guy I actually tackled. Overcompensating, obviously. No, that guy was too old. I definitely need to sober up and have a day away from all things Alkaline.

  There are a few cabs waiting, and I all but fall into the closest one. As soon as the cabbie pulls away, the tears make their way to my eyes. No. No. Unacceptable, Joanna. We do not cry over a man ever again. We do not cry, period. That son of a bitch is in no way, shape, or form worth it. Not even one tear. After years of practice, I’m a master at pushing down my emotions. The tears retreat, but they’re calling in the cavalry. Anger. “I’ve changed my mind. Take me to 14635 Gaiman Street.”

  Bruce is at the front desk when I come storming into the building. “He in?” I ask as I pass. I don’t wait for an answer. I get in the elevator and keep pressing the button until it closes. As the elevator lifts, so does my rage. I’m almost vibrating with it when the doors open. I knock and knock continuously until he opens the door, dressed in pajamas.

  “You asshole!” I push past him into the apartment. “You unbelievable piece of shit!”

  He shuts the door. “Jo—”

  “No! You don’t get to talk, I get to talk. I’m the one who had to go to her best friend’s party alone. I’m the one who had to deflect and lie about why she didn’t show up with someone when she said she would.”

  He seems confused. “Jo, I—”

  “Shut up! I’m not done!” I step toward him, fury cutting through the hooch, so I’m fast. “You made a promise to me, and I take promises seriously. I don’t ask for a lot, Harry. I don’t pressure you, I don’t smother you, and I haven’t asked you for any kind of commitment. I listen to you, I help you out at work, I never turn you down for sex, and I have lied to everyone I know and love to protect you. This was the first time I ever asked you for anything. Anything! And you said you would. You said you would be there. I needed you tonight, and you weren’t there! You didn’t show up! You lied to me!”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I’m not even worth a damn phone call to you. I’m nothing but a fuck to you. A roll in the hay to make you feel virile. You’ve been using me, haven’t you? You’ve been pretending to care for me, but you don’t. Not really. And if you were just honest about it, that’d be different. I’m used to it. I just thought you were better than that, but obviously I’m an idiot. Because I forgot. No one ever gives a damn about me. I don’t get a happy ending. What’s the matter with me? Why can’t anyone…” I ball my hands into fists, digging my fingernails in so deep I almost draw blood to stop those fucking tears from falling. My chin trembles. “I thought you were one of the good ones, Harry. I thought you wanted…me. And here I thought you were too good for me.”

  Harry takes a step toward me. “Jo…”

  I back away, holding out my arms to stop him. “Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me. Just…go to hell. Go to hell.” I turn around and storm out before he can see the tears I can’t stop this time. Bastard doesn’t deserve them.

  He doesn’t follow me. I don’t expect him to.

  Fuck.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Horror

  Light is bad. Light hurts Joanna. It burns my eyes, and makes the percussion band in my brain double their rhythm. I’d stay in bed until Armageddon if it wasn’t for the immediate need to vomit up all my internal organs. I rest my head on the cool porcelain after my second round. I shouldn’t have mixed drinks like that. I know better. Punishing myself, I guess. I’m very good at doing that.

  Last night I got home and just dived into bed. Fell asleep in my dress, which did it no favors. Neither do the specks of spit, vomit, and sweat on it now. Shannon is going to kill me. Sadly, I’m not one of those drunks who black out. I can never get a break. The whole awful night came back the moment I woke, adding to the general “I want to die” feeling. I push the memory of Harry’s confused face, then that final look of betrayal as I walked out far from my consciousness. It just makes me sad and angry, as if I did something wrong to him.

  Yeah, the repression of the memory lasts all of a minute. As I replay the scene over and over again as the near boiling water of my shower works its magic, I realize I’m not that innocent in this. I was horrible. I was needlessly cruel, like bringing an Uzi to a pillow fight. But he hurt me. Deeply. I’m madder at myself than him. I let myself get involved, and I know better. I saw a future for us that he obviously didn’t. I can understand that, God knows the roles have been reversed before, but it’s the fact that he lied about it. I don’t suffer liars well.

  After half an hour in the shower, I feel almost human. I grab the newspaper and plop down on the couch with my black coffee. New record. I made the front and society pages. The front just has an article about Stu Moore. Looks like V landed an interview with Kelly Moore. There’s just a mention of me and my “impassioned speech,” about how Moore deserves justice, and how we’ll catch Alkaline no matter what. There’s a picture of me and Kelly at the press conference. I really need a haircut.

  The society page is much kinder to my vanity. Taking up half the page is a photograph of all of us looking like a royal family, arrogant and classy. Underneath are candid shots of various guests and one of Marnie and Rebecca laughing at something I’m saying. Sparkl
e’s article is a loving piece about how magical the night was, and how perfect the couple is together. I’m quoted here too. “She’s like my sister…he doesn’t deserve her.”

  I should call and cancel the fitting. I am in no way ready for human contact, but the only other option is to spend all day alone in here brooding, which will probably lead to more drinking. I finish the paper and get my lazy butt up.

  Blue jeans, black shirt, and boots are my weekend attire and my new jacket matches perfectly. I grab a piece of dry toast and change purses. When I grab my wallet from the counter, I notice the light blinking on my answering machine. Please God, let it be from Rebecca cancelling.

  “Jo, it’s Harry,” my ex says over the machine. “I know you’re still there because you just left a message on my machine. God, I hope you get this. I know it’s short notice, but I can’t make it tonight. I’m actually running out the door right now. The Commissioner just called. I have to meet with him, the DA, and some Marshal. They’re talking about taking the case from us. I am so sorry. I’ll call you when I get a chance, okay? Have fun.”

  Immediately, I grab my cell phone and turn it back on. I shut it off because I kept checking it every three minutes. One message. “Hey, it’s Harry,” he says, concerned. “I guess you didn’t get my message. I can’t make it. I’m getting my ass handed to me by the Commissioner.” He sighs. “God, what a night. Look, I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll take out a full page ad in the paper about us, okay? Hope you’re having a better time than I am. Bye.”

  Oh, fuck. Oh…God. Oh, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! I plop down in the couch, staring at the phone in disbelief and horror. No. This is not happening. He…I…I have to get the fuck out of here. I’m going to be late.

  Millicent’s Bridal Boutique is the “It” place in town for the bride-to-be to purchase her gown. They have access to all the best designers newest lines and in-house tailoring, not to mention an attached flower shop for one-stop shopping. Inside the airy store, gown technician Libby greets me with a mimosa. I decline. The rest of my party hasn’t arrived, so I sit in a Chintz chair off to the side and wait.

  Happy young women with their friends and mothers filter in, giggling and chatting about the beaus and dresses. I was never that young. When I was their age, I was taking down meth labs and planning my mother’s funeral. They glance at me slumped in my chair with sunglasses on, dressed mainly in black and their smiles falter a bit. I should be quarantined. I suck the joy out of everyone I come in contact with. I’m toxic.

  And I’m an idiot. A huge fucking idiot. He wanted to be there. He tried to explain. But no, my self-loathing and negativity clouded my judgment. I know Harry. He’d never intentionally hurt or play games with me like that. He’s loyal and good. And well rid of me. So well rid of me. I was right. He is too good for me. He deserves better. So much better. I ruin everything. God, what is the matter with me? I fuck everything up. Everything. I don’t deserve him. Never did.

  “Miss Fallon?” Libby asks.

  I look up. “Yeah?”

  “While you’re waiting, would you like to try on your dress?”

  “Um, sure.” I follow her into the dressing room where a sleek blue dress with yellow ribbon around the waist hangs on the mirror. I begged for a tux, but it fell on deaf ears. At least there isn’t a big bow on the butt.

  It fits and looks beautiful, hugging my curves in the right places. I am going to need a wrap to cover my arms. Not my best feature. The tailor comes in and marks the spots that need taking in or letting out, then leaves to let me get dressed.

  As I’m putting on my boots, there’s a knock on the door. Libby pokes her head in. “Excuse me? Millicent wants to know when Dr. Thornton and her family will be in. Her next appointment is here.”

  “They still haven’t arrived?”

  “No. We’ve tried calling, but there’s no answer.”

  “They were out late last night. Let me try.” I pull out my cell and call. The machine picks up on both her house and cell phones. “Hey, it’s Jo. I’m at the boutique. Where are you guys?” I sigh. “Look, I’m going to pop by, okay? See you soon.” I hang up. It’s not like Rebecca not to call or hell, be late period. I pull out one of my cards and stand up. “If they show up or call, can you please let me know?”

  Libby takes the card. “Of course.”

  As I walk to my car, I try the house again. No answer. I’m going to feel like a total idiot if they’re on their way and I have to go back. Maybe they forgot or got the time and place wrong. I drive faster than usual out of town and into the Garden. Rebecca lives in a quaint community where all the streets branch off from a huge park where parents chat while their offspring play. I circle around once, but don’t see Daisy or her adults.

  The two-story, single family home is quiet as I pull in behind Rebecca’s Prius. The curtains are drawn too. The horrible feeling that grew with each unanswered call I have doubles. I try the house phone again and can hear it ring inside, but nothing else. No TV, no laughs, it’s as quiet as a…

  I unlock the glove compartment that holds one of my back-up pistols, a snub nose .38 I keep for just such occasions. I button up my bulletproof coat which hides the gun, and carefully make my way up the path toward the front door, checking all the windows for movement. My knock garners no response, so I try the handle. It’s open.

  “Rebec—” is all I can get out before a familiar smell stops me dead. Burnt flesh and metallic acid. God. Fuck. I stumble back to get away from the smell and pull out my cell phone. I take a few deep breaths as my shaky hand dials dispatch. “This is Det. Joanna Fallon, badge number 5757. I have a possible 187 at 5672 Kirby Street. We’re gonna need a bus, and please call Lt. Harold O’Hara and Det. Terrance Cameron.” I hang up, stick the phone back in my pocket, and take out the .38. I draw in breath, doing what I always do before viewing a body. Shutting off. I flip the switch. This is no time for emotion. Then, breaking about twenty policies, I enter the quiet house.

  I feel nothing beyond the adrenaline. The living room is clear, just dolls and crayons scattered around. No one in the kitchen or backyard either. My heart pounds in time with my pants. The smell is making my eyes water. In the backyard I take deep lungful of fresh air. Where the hell is my back-up? I don’t want to be the one who…I glance at Daisy’s pink playhouse and straighten up. This is my job. I can do this.

  Gun pointed, I return inside and make my way upstairs, checking every corner again, all my nerve endings and muscles tightening. I’m halfway up when I see a body lying face down in the upstairs hallway. A pool of blood and pink fluid is underneath what’s left of the face. I can tell by what’s left of the hair this is Marnie. I know there’s no point but I check her cold neck anyway. No pulse. I cough and gag from the smell and practically leap away. Breathing through my mouth, I take huge gulps of air. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck,” I whisper. Gotta keep going, Jo.

  Careful where I step because of the acid and blood drops on the carpet, I check the spare bedroom. Marnie’s gown from last night hangs on the armoire and the only things out of place are the covers tossed off the bed. She must have heard a noise and gotten up to check. The other two bedrooms are down the hall. Master on the right, Daisy’s on the left. I go right, passing an indentation on the wall with blood in it.

  I’ve lost track of how many murder victims I’ve seen. They run the gamut from peaceful to slaughterhouse, but this…this is just… Rebecca’s tied naked to the headboard with purple rope, arms and legs spread eagled for everyone to see. Her head is turned to the side, but I can see there’s a gag in her mouth. Her chest is nothing but an empty hole of jagged ribs and red gore. I back out of the room as if it was on fire, straight into Daisy’s. I don’t want to turn around, but I do.

  The four-year-old lies on her bed with a pillow over her head, her tiny arm hanging over the side. Though my hand is violently shaking, I touch her wrist. No. That’s it. That’s all I can take. As quick as I can, I run out of that house, taking steps t
hree at a time. My back-up arrives, sirens shrieking just as I step outside and puke my brains out right on Rebecca’s perfect rose bushes while my legs give out on me.

  Dear God in heaven. What have I done?

  ***

  At my command the uniforms that respond first do not enter the house. I don’t want anyone to contaminate the scene, so the men set up a perimeter. The moment they pull up, the neighbors peek out of their homes to check out the commotion. When the coroner van appears, there are a few gasps. Right behind the ambulance is the CSI van, followed by the first of the press. Let the circus begin.

  I haven’t been back inside the house. I can’t. The ME and techs know their jobs and don’t need me breathing down their necks. There are other things I can be doing, interviewing neighbors for one, but instead I’m sitting in the backyard staring at that pink plastic house, trying not to feel anything. I walked back here through the gate like a zombie and just sit down in the same chair I was in a month ago for a bar-b-que. Rebecca at the grill, Justin teaching Daisy how to somersault, and me sipping beer and as always feeling out of place.

  My hands haven’t stopped quivering. Even balling them into fists doesn’t help. Everyone’s left me alone out here, even Cam. I heard his voice barking orders a few minutes ago. It’s only a matter of time before he comes looking for me. I have to give my statement. I’m not an investigator on this one. I’m a witness. I’m part of the case now, and I think I’m the only one who realizes how big a part right now.