by M. Leighton
On Thursday morning, Billie’s request was hovering somewhere near the front of my mind. I knew I had to get to work finding us a decent party to attend. I was waiting for the right time to broach the subject with Jake, enlist his help, but I didn’t want him to think I was trying to finagle a personal invitation from him.
As I worried my lip, I kept thinking that it would be nice if he just volunteered a party recommendation without me having to ask.
And then he did.
We were nearing Browning Hall, which was where my first Tuesday-Thursday class was held, when Jake turned to me and asked casually, “So, we’re having a party at the TKE house Saturday night. Why don’t you stop by?”
I know my mouth worked itself open and closed a couple of times, like a fish’s, but I couldn’t seem to stop it. I couldn’t stop the smile that spread across my face either. “Actually, that’d be great. One of my friends is coming in for the weekend and I promised her a party, so…”
“Awesome. Bring her. The more the merrier,” he exclaimed with a grin.
“What time should we stop by? I don’t want to be too early or too late.”
The look he gave me said Poor clueless girl. “You can never be too late, but I wouldn’t come before 10:00 or so.”
“So we should be there by midnight?”
His grin turned into a full-fledged smile. “You got it.”
We’d reached my building and I climbed onto the first step. “Well, this is me. Thanks for walking me. You really didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. I wanted to.”
Unless I was totally out of practice reading guys, I was pretty sure Jake Wheeler was developing an interest in me. I’m not conceited. I’m just saying…
“Well, thanks again. I guess I’ll see you Saturday at two a.m.”
“You’re getting better,” he teased, reaching out to tug on a wayward chestnut curl. “Arrivederci, Mercy Holloway.”
“Sayonara, Jake Wheeler.”
He grinned in casual way that he had and then turned to go off and finish his run I assumed.
Though I wanted to stand and watch him go, bask a little longer in the sheer pleasure of what had just transpired, I made myself turn and walk up the steps and into the building. It just wouldn’t do for me to stand there gawking at him. It just wouldn’t do.
Only having ever dated guys from my high school that were near my age, I wasn’t altogether prepared for college guys. They were just …I don’t know…different. They had a different way about them, a confidence that younger guys don’t have.
The happy glow from our exchange lasted all the way through dinner to when I was cleaning up the dishes. Mom had cleared the table then gone to sit beside Dad, as was her custom. And Dad was glued to the television, flipping through the news channels, as was his custom.
As I loaded the dishwasher, I listened with half an ear like I usually did. I was mentally browsing my wardrobe for something appropriate to wear to the TKE party Saturday night when bits and pieces of a news report started to penetrate my brain. Grudgingly, I turned all my attention to the television in the next room.
Details released from the Arville Police Department are limited at this time. Citing protection of an ongoing investigation, Lead Detective Caleb Grayson refused to comment on speculation that this incident could be the first in a series of related murders. Only moments ago, Grayson issued a statement confirming the identity of the victim as Ashton Webber, a second year liberal arts major at University East. An official crime scene photo was leaked and provided to WRRB via an anonymous e-mail. Detective Grayson refused to comment on the picture, though our sources indicate that the image is indeed a legitimate photograph of the motel room in which Webber’s body was discovered only four short hours ago…
At the mention of a motel room, I wiped my hands on a towel and walked to the living room doorway to get a look at it on the television.
And my heart stopped when I did.
CHAPTER SIX
It was clearly the same motel room that I’d seen in my dream several nights ago. Though the victim had been removed and the sheets had already been stripped from the bed, it was still easy to identify the crappy old furniture and orange and brown bubbly curtains. Not to say that no other motel room in the world had those same characteristics, but this room was identical to the one I’d seen. Identical! No doubt about it. My guts even twisted to confirm it.
As quickly as I could, I finished cleaning up the kitchen and excused myself to my bedroom. I grabbed my cell phone and scrolled through the recent calls until I came to Grayson’s number. I hit the send button and waited nervously for him to pick up.
“Grayson,” he answered in his clipped, no-nonsense way.
“Detective Grayson, this is Mercy Holloway.”
“What is it, Ms. Holloway?”
“Um, well, do you have a minute?” I could hear tons of background noise, lots of voices and engines, a beeping sound like a truck was backing up, the static of radios as people reported back and forth to one another. It sounded just like a crime scene on CSI.
“Not really. Is this something related to the Lisa Bauer case? Is it something that we can talk about later?”
“Uh, I guess. But it’s not about Lisa Bauer. It’s about Ashton Webber.”
After a pause, he muttered, “Hold on.”
I could hear the muffled sounds of his voice as he spoke to someone and then some crackling and rubbing sounds like his hand was moving over the mouthpiece. I figured he was going somewhere he could talk more privately.
When the muffled sounds lifted, Grayson said, “Alright. What is it?”
I hadn’t given a second’s thought as to how I would proceed once I got Grayson on the phone; I just knew I had to call him. I paused while I was thinking how to begin.
“Mercy,” he snapped.
“Sorry. I, uh, I saw Ashton Webber get killed.”
He was quiet for a really long time. I’m sure he was wondering if he should listen to me while weighing my claim against what had happened so far with Lisa Bauer. Then it occurred to me that I could help his decision along.
“If you don’t believe me, I can tell you what was written on the sheets,” I said hopefully. “And about her tattoo.”
That got a reaction. “Don’t say another word. I’ll be by to get you in an hour.” He hung up and my stomach leapt excitedly for some reason.
Even though it made no sense, I popped into the bathroom to freshen up my makeup and put another spritz of perfume behind my ears. I guessed my clothes were ok. I was still wearing the brick red tank top and cut off jean shorts that I’d put on when I got home. I pulled my hair up into a casually sexy chignon and then laughed at myself for being so pleased that my reflection in the mirror looked pretty.
I went out into the living room and sat nonchalantly on the couch by Mom.
“Oh, yeah,” I began casually. “I forgot to tell you guys that Detective Grayson wanted to talk to me tonight. He’s got some follow up questions.”
“Wow. Is that why you’re looking so spiffy?” Mom asked with a knowing grin.
I frowned, trying not to get defensive. “What do you mean? It’s shorts and a tank top.”
“Yeah, but with your hair like that and your pouty red lips, you look…sexy,” Mom said teasingly.
“Gross, Mom. I don’t look sexy and you shouldn’t notice it when I do.” I got up and turned to stalk from the room, but Mom’s question stayed me.
“And this is all for Detective Grayson? I have to admit, he is a pretty fine catch.”
With a growl, I resumed my angry exit to my room and shut the door behind me.
As hours go, that had to be the longest one in the history of the world. And it didn’t help that he was fifteen excruciating minutes late. When I heard the rumble of his big engine in the driveway, I bolted to the door and walked outside before he could make it to the steps.
He looked me up and down then frowned and turned back tow
ard his car. “Get in.”
I immediately had misgivings about not changing my clothes. Not that I’d imagined any particular reaction (I was determined not to think of Grayson in that way), but if I had, that wouldn’t have been it.
“I’m sorry about my outfit,” I said as soon as we were both seated in the car. “I didn’t think we were going anywhere. I can change if you—”
Grayson looked over at me, his greenish hazel eyes starting at the crown of my head and working their way down to my knees, stopping along the way at my eyes, my lips, my chest and my thighs. It was like a physical caress; everywhere his eyes touched, I felt a flush of heat erupt in response.
When his eyes returned to my face, they came to rest on mine. For a second something hot and electric passed between us. My breath caught in my throat and my mouth went dry. But then it was gone.
Grayson’s eyes cooled and his frown returned. Before he continued, he shook his head as if he was rejecting a thought of some sort.
“We’re not going anywhere. I just wanted you to be able to talk freely. And not over an open line,” he emphasized, referring to my cell phone call.
“Oh. Sorry about that. I didn’t know how else—”
“It’s not a problem. I told you to call,” he said reasonably. He turned in his seat to face me and cleared his throat, keeping his eyes firmly glued to mine. “So, this is about another vision, huh?”
“Well, not really. This has never happened to me before and it’s kind of hard to explain.”
“Try,” he encouraged, just like he’d done at our first meeting.
I sat picking at my fingernails while I thought how best to describe my dream without sounding even crazier than I already did. Turns out there really wasn’t a good way, so I just told it like it was.
“This one came in a dream. And I know that sounds ridiculous. I mean, a dream is just a dream, right?” He was watching me with that carefully blank expression again. “But this one was different. It was like I was the one stabbing her and I was the one cutting off her finger and I was the one writing on the sheets.”
I knew by the change in Grayson’s expression that I’d struck a nerve. And, like last time with the red hair, he’d found a solid reason to believe me.
“What did you see written on the sheets?” he asked cautiously.
“’It’s time’.”
Still, he watched me closely. “And which finger was cut off?”
“Her right forefinger.”
Grayson turned in his seat to face forward and he leaned his head back on the headrest. He closed his eyes with a frustrated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose like he had a headache. “This is insane,” he whispered.
I wasn’t sure whether he was talking to me or talking to himself. Either way, I didn’t respond. I knew it was insane. It was making me feel insane. Not so much the dream, but the perspective of the dream had really messed with my head. In a way, I felt like a criminal, like I had done something wrong.
“Alright. Tell me exactly what you saw. Leave nothing out.”
Grayson kept his head relaxed against the headrest and his eyes closed as I talked. At no time, though, did I get the impression that he was actually relaxed. The air around him snapped and crackled with frustrated energy.
He asked a few questions, mainly about the killer, but I had little to contribute on that front. All I’d seen was the glove-covered hand, the plastic-wrapped arm and the knife that was used. Unfortunately that provided nothing useful. They’d already gotten details about the knife from the coroner’s report.
“So you’ve never had a dream like this before? Or a vision like this?”
“No. Never.”
A hmm was his only response.
Finally, he lifted his head and turned to pin me with his stare. “You know details about the crime scene that only a few law enforcement officials know. It is imperative that you tell no one, and I mean no one, about what you’ve seen.” He was glaring at me, talking to me like I was an unreliable child.
“Yeah, because I’m gonna tell everyone that I’m a freak who has dreams about killing people.”
He shrugged.
“Also, you know I’m going to have to get your alibi for Saturday night, right?”
“What? But no one even knows that I came to you with this information. Can’t you just- no one would know if you didn’t talk to my parents. It’s not like I’m in your file anywhere. As far as anyone else knows, I have nothing to do with this case.”
He worried the inside of his cheek for a minute, deep in thought. “I haven’t decided what to do about you yet. I had to see what you knew first.”
“Why don’t you just leave me out of it?”
“Because you didn’t stay out of it,” he snapped, his eyes flashing with aggravation.
“I thought maybe I could help.”
“How? You didn’t really see anything.”
He had a point there. I couldn’t really say why I’d called him. Maybe the fact that he knew about my visions (and actually believed me) made me feel not so alone in it all.
“I don’t know. I just thought I should call you,” I said quietly, picking at my nails again.
I heard him sigh. “Look, I’m sorry. You just- it just makes my job harder in some ways, that’s all. I’m still glad that you came to me, though. Really.”
I was still looking down at my hands. For some inexplicable reason, my feelings were hurt and I didn’t want him to see that.
I felt his finger slip beneath my chin and lift. Grudgingly, I met his eyes. They were warm again, all traces of anger and frustration gone, replaced by something else. At first it seemed that he was going to speak, but he stopped. His gaze dropped to my mouth and I sucked in a breath and held it. My lips tingled in anticipation.
In that moment, I wanted him to kiss me more than anything in the world. I felt his thumb lightly brush my bottom lip and then his eyes were on mine again.
I saw something flicker in them, something like…awareness maybe. It was strange, like he’d been confused or disoriented and it had suddenly cleared. He dropped his hand and looked away and I felt blood rush into my face.
“Ok, well. Sorry to have bothered you,” I said hurriedly, reaching for the door handle.
“It’s fine. You’re not bothering me. I’m glad you called and I really do want you to let me know when something like this happens. You never know when you might see something useful, something that could bust a case wide open.”
I felt a little like he was patronizing me, but I just smiled and let it go. Without another word, I got out of the car and walked to the house. I heard the engine start as I closed the front door behind me.
********
I was just finishing up using a flat iron to straighten my hair when I heard loud feminine voices and a familiar laugh coming from the kitchen.
Billie was here.
I waited patiently while she greeted my parents exuberantly. She loved them and they loved her. She always took a minute to chat with them when she came over and tonight was no exception. She’d make her way back to me in her own time. She always did.
I smiled as I thought of my friend. Billie had the most enviable personality that I’d ever come across. She was outgoing and friendly without being loud and obnoxious. She was beautiful without being conceited and she was sweet without being fake. Oh, and she was smart. She was the type that you’d love to hate, but just couldn’t manage it.
She’d always been the girl with tons of friends and she’d always been the girl who gets the guy—whichever one she wants. And though I’d unfortunately lost a secret crush or two to her over the years (the operative word being secret), it had never hurt our friendship. Billie couldn’t help how awesome she was.
A few minutes after all the commotion had begun, the pretty round face of my oldest friend appeared in the mirror behind my reflection.
“Oh my gosh, look at your hair! I love it,” I exclaimed, whirling around to ge
t a better look at it.
Billie’s natural hair color was a pretty light brown. She’d worn it long and straight for the last few years. Now, it was layered and wavy with white blonde on top and darker layers underneath. It was very hip and looked fantastic on her. She grinned behind her dark red lips and I noticed the twinkling of a tiny diamond in the curve of her left nostril. She’d gotten her nose pierced, too.
“Look at you! New hair, a pierced nose, red lipstick. What’s next, a tattoo?” I asked with a smile. “You’ve only been gone a month. What on earth have you been doing?”