Along Came December

by Jay Allisan

  Paddy snorted. “Down here? Keep dreaming.”

  I opened my door. “Watch the motel. I’ll be right back.”

  “Mordecai, don’t—”

  I hurried across the street and past the motel to the gathering of hookers. Icy rain slid down the back of my neck, and I shivered. The hookers watched me warily as I approached.

  “You want some, sugar?” One of the black women thrust her chest out. The group circled me like a pack of wolves.

  I held up my shield. “I need all of you to clear the area. Right now.”

  As quick as that the mood turned hostile. The woman who’d spoken moved toward me, and I realized she was a man in drag. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her nostril rimmed with white. She was high. “You a cop? Ima chew you up and spit you out. Ima break you in half.”

  She towered over me by almost a foot, close to six-nine in her spiked heels. I took a step back, resting my hand on the butt of my gun. “There’s a serial killer targeting sex workers in the area. Black women. For your own safety you need to leave.”

  The hooker laughed deeply. “Ima break him too, he try something with me. You leave now, little bitch cop. You run on home.”

  I looked at the other two black women in the crowd. “Is it really worth your life to be out tonight? Take a couple days off. Wait until we’ve got the killer in custody. Then you can do what you need to—”

  The hooker in drag pushed me and I stumbled back, falling against someone else. I heard a car door slam and Paddy’s yell, but the hooker had me by the throat, her meaty hand pawing at my waist. She threw me to the ground and pointed my gun at me.

  “Little bitch cop. Ima blow your—”

  Gunshots echoed through the night and I screamed.

  The bomb exploded and I screamed.

  Max fell to his knees, his eyes lifting to mine. He fell, his eyes lifting. He curled around Maria. He looked at me, curling around Maria. The bomb exploded. Max exploded. I screamed.

  Someone put their arms around me and I held on for dear life.

  Then the embrace was gone.

  “Get off of her!” Paddy snarled. My eyes flew open just in time to see him drag the blue-haired boy backward by his shirt. He shoved him away. “The fuck do you think you’re doing, asshole? Get outta here!”

  The boy looked at me, his dark eyes knowing. “Are you okay?”

  “I said beat it, shithead!”

  “Are you okay?” the boy repeated.

  “Fine,” I whispered, my cheeks wet with tears.

  “Kid, if you don’t hit the road in the next five seconds I’m gonna blow out a kneecap.”

  The boy hooker raised his hands. “It’s all right. I’m going. I just wanted to say—”

  “Stuff it.”

  “—that I’m sorry for your loss. Your husband was a good man.”

  He turned and walked away, stepping carefully around the body of the hooker in drag. I watched until the darkness swallowed him up.

  The street was deserted, and quiet as the grave. I was cold down on the sidewalk. Paddy pulled me to my feet.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered. He looked me up and down. “You okay? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “That kid didn’t… touch—”

  “No.”

  I stared at the dead hooker, my gun lying in a pool of her blood. I dropped to my knees and threw up in the gutter. Paddy crouched beside me.

  “What happened, Mordecai?”

  I spat the sour taste from my mouth. “She just caught me by surprise. It could’ve happened to anyone.”

  “You know what I mean. What happened?”

  Sirens swarmed in the distance, reverberating off the high-rises. My palms were wet, maybe from the rain or maybe from sweat. I wiped them on my pants.

  “Nightmares,” I said at last. “Except they’ve stopped waiting for the night.”

  Paddy let out a long, low sigh. He straightened. “Go wait in the car,” he told me. “First thing in the morning we’ll go see Tish.”

  36

  “HALLUCINATIONS.”

  “Flashbacks.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I thought I could handle it.”

  “Mordecai, this is very serious.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I thought I could handle it.”

  Tish shifted in her chair, the worn leather creaking. I couldn’t look at her, or Dixon sitting beside me, or Paddy leaned up against Tish’s bookshelf. I especially couldn’t look at Paddy, not with all those medical tomes behind him. Every book was a harsh reminder that I was a diagnosis, crazy unraveling in a predictable way.

  I twisted Max’s ring around my finger, around and around and around. “This is it,” I said numbly. “I’m finished.”

  “We’re not out of options yet,” Tish said. “But you are back on desk duty.”

  “I could be a checkout girl,” I said. “Or a janitor.”

  “Honey—”

  “Or a burger flipper. Or—”

  “Knock it off,” Paddy growled. “Listen to what she has to say.”

  Tish didn’t say anything until I dragged my gaze up to meet hers. She smiled softly. “You’ve worked very hard over the years, Mordecai. You’ve done well with cognitive therapy. But now it’s time for medication.”

  “No. I don’t want it.”

  “If you want your job,” said Dixon quietly, “you need the medication. This is our last resort.”

  Tish set a small bottle of pills on the coffee table. I refused to acknowledge it.

  “This can be managed,” Tish said. “I know your father’s PTSD treatment has left you skeptical of medication, but it’s come a long way since then. In conjunction with your therapy, I’m confident you’ll find some relief. You could be cleared for active duty in only a few weeks.”

  “Or maybe it’s just time I give up.”

  My chair scraped against the hardwood as I stood. I stalked toward the door. Paddy blocked my exit, glowering at me. I whirled on Tish instead.

  “This job, this fucking job, has taken everything from me, and I can’t do this anymore! We were going to start a family, Tish. Me and Max. We were going to buy a house, and have a baby, and spend our lives together, and now… I think about him all the time and it hurts, and it doesn’t matter if I’m on the streets or at a desk, or if I even get up in the morning at all because he’s gone, he’s gone…”

  Tish took my elbow and guided me back to my chair. I collapsed, sobbing. “I don’t want this anymore, I don’t want it, I don’t want it…”

  “You need it,” Tish said. “You need to keep moving forward, even when it gets hard.”

  “It’s always hard.”

  “I know, honey, but you need to keep moving forward. Let me help you. Let me make things just a little easier.”

  Her warm hand covered mine, wrapping my fingers around the pill bottle. I stared at the translucent orange plastic. “What is it?”

  “It will help with the flashbacks.”

  “What is it?”

  Tish’s mouth pursed. “It’s only a name, Mordecai, just a classification—”

  “Tell me what it is.”

  “It’s an antipsychotic.”

  I could feel concern in the room like a fine mist, laced with wariness, thickened with trepidation. I dropped my head into my hands and laughed. “Fuck.”

  “Honey, you are not psychotic,” Tish said firmly. “You’re grieving. Your mind is coping as best as it can, but it needs a little help.”

  “A daily dose of sanity,” I said, shaking the bottle. “Contains everything the crazy girl needs to—”

  “Goddammit, Mordecai, you’re not crazy!” Paddy snapped. “Just take the fucking pills already.” He folded his arms, shifting uncomfortably. “You can get better.”

  Dixon laid his hand on my arm. “You have nothing to lose by trying.”

  I looked at the bottle, hazard orange. Little white tabs piled up like bones.
“I worked so hard to stay off of medication,” I whispered. “And look at me now. What would Max…”

  “Max would want you to look after your health,” said Dixon. “He would support you no matter what. You know that.”

  I still felt like a failure when I swallowed the first pill.

  “YOU LOOK really terrible,” Josie told me cheerfully. She put a glass of water on my bedside table. “Whale says hi. He had a thing he couldn’t miss but he sent these.” She set a bouquet of flowers next to the water. “I brought soup, too. I made it myself and it’s delicious. Want some?”

  “I’ll just throw it up,” I grumbled. I draped my arm over my eyes. The lights were already off in my bedroom but I still had a splitting headache. “Christ, this sucks.”

  Josie plopped down on the mattress. “It’s only temporary, though, right? These kinds of side effects are supposed to go away after the first week or so on the medication. You should be out of the woods in the next couple days.”

  “I’m not going to make it another couple days. I… oh, shit.” My stomach clenched and I grabbed for the bucket beside my bed. The nausea passed, and I fell back against the pillows with a moan. “Josie, if you shoot me now I’ll leave everything to you in my will. My house, my car, everything. Just please put me out of my misery.”

  She patted my leg. “Silly. If I shoot you now you won’t have time to change your will. But I’ll come back in a couple days with a lawyer and we can negotiate then.”

  “Some friend.”

  “Only the best.”

  “You guys find him yet?” I asked. “The prostitute killer?”

  “No, not yet. But he hasn’t killed anyone since the third victim, so that’s a plus. We’ve gone back to canvassing. With so many prostitutes downtown someone has to know something, but you know how they are about talking to police.”

  “Yeah, I really do.”

  Josie winced. “Ooh, my bad. Sorry.”

  “It’s fine. They’re not… they’re not all like that.” An image flashed in my mind of a sparkly white tank top and floppy blue hair. Dark, knowing eyes. I curled up on my side. “Do you mind if I go to sleep now?”

  “Heck no. I’ve been waiting for you to fall asleep so I can go watch your TV. That thing’s majestic.”

  “Knock yourself out,” I murmured. “Thanks for coming. Sorry I couldn’t eat the soup.”

  Josie smiled. “It’ll keep. I’ll hang out a little longer. Give me a shout if you need anything.”

  She left me alone in the blessed dark and I was quick to fall asleep. It was only later, when I’d woken up, that I realized I hadn’t dreamed.

  February

  THE MURDER investigation dragged on. While my team pursued leads out in the field, I was left to compile what photographs, interviews and forensic data we had, all to a mind-numbing dead end. Nobody was talking, not even when Josie and four other officers went undercover as prostitutes. We needed a lead before the killer decided three victims weren’t enough.

  And I needed a lead on the kid I couldn’t get out of my mind.

  Every time new material crossed my desk I flipped straight to the witness description, and every time I was disappointed. The witness had black hair. The witness was Asian. The witness was female. The witness bore no visible markings or tattoos. I felt foolish for being disappointed no one had found him yet, then annoyed with myself for feeling foolish. He was as much a lead as any other prostitute, and if the field investigators hadn’t talked to him yet then I’d track him down myself. On my own time. When there wasn’t anyone keeping an eye on me.

  My first night I stayed out two hours, burning through half a tank of gas as I circled the streets near the motel where I’d first seen him. It was cold and raining and I didn’t get so much as a glimpse of someone fitting his description. I went home and drank alone in front of the TV.

  The second night I didn’t get far. Cruisers were spaced downtown at regular intervals, and I got the hell out of there before someone could spot me and wonder what I was doing.

  The third night I found him.

  The midnight air was cold and crisp, but a full moon bathed the streets in a serene glow that drew hookers by the dozen to the street corners. I started again at the motel, spiraling outward, creeping down the dirty streets as I scanned the crowds for blue hair or bright tattoos. I turned a corner and there he was, standing alone at the mouth of an alley, a cigarette between his lips. I pulled my car to the curb and cracked the window.

  He looked at my car, drawing leisurely on the cigarette. I lowered the window further. He smiled and stubbed the cigarette out. His hips rolled seductively as he approached, and he leaned on the car door and winked through the glass. I rolled the window down all the way and his expression shifted to surprise.

  “Get in,” I said.

  “You wouldn’t be trying to trick me,” he returned, but he didn’t walk away.

  “I just want to talk to you. Get in.”

  He did. Neither of us spoke until I pulled into an empty parking lot ten minutes uptown. When I killed the engine he said, “You’re not my type, you know.”

  “Yeah, I bet you don’t sleep with many cops.”

  He smiled. “I don’t sleep with many women.”

  “Good thing I don’t want to sleep with you.”

  “That should work out nicely for both of us.” He shifted so he was facing me, one leg tucked beneath him and his arm resting on the back of the seat. “You’d like to talk to me. Go ahead.”

  I took a notepad and pen from the dashboard, flipping slowly to a blank page. I wished I’d brought water for the itch in my throat. I coughed dryly.

  “Three, uh, three women…”

  My mind went blank, emptying of the facts I’d studied for hours, of questions I’d asked a thousand times. I was staring at the kid, I realized with embarrassment. I blinked quickly and cleared my throat.

  “Recently someone has been targeting female prostitutes, and…”

  And I couldn’t remember why I cared.

  Something softened in his eyes. “If that’s what you want to talk about I can’t help you. I didn’t know them. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s what you said,” I whispered. “That’s what you said to me, about…”

  “About your husband.” He smoothed blue hair back from his face. “I meant it.”

  “Why? Why do you care? Why did you… hug…”

  “You needed me to. I thought maybe I could help.”

  I was staring again, unable to take my eyes off of him. He held my gaze like it was the easiest thing in the world.

  “I know how it feels,” he said. “To watch someone you love run out of time.”

  I heard a sharp intake of breath but couldn’t place it as mine. I just stared, and stared, and my eyes grew wet.

  “I watched my mother die,” he said. “For her it was slow, a disease with no cure. And when she was gone I was alone. Like you.”

  My heart twisted and I couldn’t breathe. The hooker smiled sadly.

  “My mom worked in a gas station for twenty years. There were six people at her funeral, including me. She had a small obituary in the back of the paper and a simple plot in the cheapest cemetery. No one made a fuss over her, and for a long time I resented that. I’d lost my entire life but the world carried on, and I was left alone in my grief.”

  His eyes broke from mine to stray out the windshield. He traced his thumb over one of his tattoos. When he looked at me again his eyes were shadowed.

  “They run a photo of you in the paper,” he said. “It’s from the day of the memorial service. You’re carrying him in your arms. There’s a sea of people around you but you’re separate from them, looking beyond the camera like you see something. Like you see death coming for you too. And it wasn’t until I saw that photo that I understood.”

  “I don’t understand,” I whispered.

  “Do you know how many people honored your husband? Not just on the day of his service, but in t
he days before and the weeks that followed. Thousands. Tens of thousands. And not just police. Everyone. Even people like me. But when I saw your photo I knew that none of it mattered, not then. Not to you. I realized no matter how many people there are around you, you’ll always be alone in your grief. No one loved them like you did and no one will miss them like you do. But just because you grieve alone doesn’t mean you are alone. I guess I just wanted you to know that, if it helps. That you’re not alone.”

  Slow tears slid down my cheeks. “You said—you said Max was a good man. Did you know him?”

  “No.”

  “Then how could you know?”

  “Because only a good man would give his life for someone he loved.”

  “He didn’t save her. She died too.”

  “That doesn’t take away from his sacrifice.”

  “He knew he couldn’t stop it but he wouldn’t leave her. It was a dumb thing to do.”

  “It was a brave thing to do.”

  “He was so scared,” I whispered. “He knew he couldn’t stop it but he wouldn’t… if he’d just left her he could have lived. If I’d gotten there sooner he could have—he’d still…”

  The hooker moved toward me, one arm outstretched. “I’m going to hug you now, okay? If that’s—”

  I threw my arms around his neck and cried, sharp, heaving sobs that tore up my throat like shards of glass. He held me just as tight and didn’t let go until I did.

  “Does it get easier?” I whispered. “Living without them?”

  He smiled again, that soft, sad smile. “No. You just get used to carrying it.”

  I wiped my eyes and held out my hand. “Mordecai. Just Mordecai.”

  He didn’t shake. He took my hand in both of his and squeezed tightly instead. “Presley. Just Presley. Glad to know you, Mordecai.”

  I DROVE him back to the alley where I’d found him. He opened the car door but I caught his arm.

  “Wait. Are you—do you need anything?”