by M. Leighton
I inhaled, closing my eyes in ecstasy. “Mmm, I love hot dogs.”
“A hot dog gets that kind of reaction?” he observed skeptically. Then he grinned. “Makes me wish I was a hot dog.”
He smiled. I smiled. It was just a smiley kind of a day. I felt like I was in a terribly cliché romantic comedy. And I was loving every minute of it.
I don’t know where the easy banter and sliceable sexual tension had come from, but it was wonderful. It was by far the best lunch I’d had in…well probably ever. Until he ruined it.
We were sitting on top of a picnic table with our feet on the seat. He’d just put our trash in the big metal can and come back to perch beside me. He was so close his shoulder and hip were touching mine. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together and staring down at them.
“Mercy, there’s something I have to talk to you about.”
My heart stuttered in dread. As much as the words themselves, the way he said them sounded so ominous.
“What is it?”
“You know that I believe you about Dr. Phillips, right?”
“Yeah,” I said carefully, feeling the tension build.
”And I told you I’d look into it, which I did.”
“Yeah.”
“We can’t find anything suspicious. There’s no way to tie her to Lisa. There’s no trail of evidence that even hints at her, nothing that we can use to get inside her house.”
Hmm was my only response.
“But we have a witness,” he said, turning his head to look at me.
At first I was confused, then thrilled, but then it dawned on me what he meant, who he meant.
“Me? But—”
“Mercy,” he began, cutting me off. “You know if there was another way, any other way, I’d gladly choose it. But I’ve looked. There’s just not.”
It was all over his face how much he hated to have to put me in this position, but that didn’t change anything. He still had to do it.
We both knew that I didn’t really have a choice. I mean, what was I going to do, let a killer go free just to save face and a few uncomfortable family moments? I think not. And Grayson knew that. He’d tried to find another way and couldn’t. Now it had come to this. It was what it was; nothing more, nothing less.
“Alright. What do I have to do?”
Grayson bent his head again and studied his hands. “You’d have to go on record as an eye witness…of the psychic variety. That’s the only way I can get a search warrant, if that’ll be enough for me to get one at all. After that, you might have to testify at the trial, but if we can recover enough evidence tying her to the murder, it probably won’t be necessary.”
“But I don’t know if you’ll find evidence. She admitted to it, but…” I said, trailing off into the worrisome unknown.
“We will. There’ll be something she missed, something that she just couldn’t let go of. It happens to every killer. We just have to find it.” He looked at me, a promise in his eyes. “I’ll find it, Mercy.”
And I believe him. I believed in him.
With a smile that I knew was small, I said, “Ok. I’ll do it.”
He let out a breath of relief and smiled back at me. “I know what this could cost you, but you’re doing the right thing.”
“I know.”
A minivan pulled up not far from where we sat and Grayson glared over at it.
“I guess we’d better get going. I’ll take you home.”
He slid off the picnic table then held out his hand. I took it and he gallantly helped me down then kept hold of it all the way to the car.
The woman in the minivan had retrieved two toddlers and one infant from the back and we watched as she made her way down to the sand with them, out of sight.
Catching me by surprise, Grayson pulled me around in front of him and plastered my back to the passenger side door. One hand cupped the back of my neck and his lips found mine.
The kiss, while brief, was incredibly tantalizing. It hinted at all the things that I’d fantasized about the night before. When Grayson lifted his head, all the longing that I felt, all the cravings that I had, were right there in his eyes. He felt the same way and he wasn’t bothering to hide it.
By the time he’d put me in the passenger seat and then made his way around to the driver’s side, I was just recovering my breath. When he slid behind the wheel, his eyes were still smoldering and his lips twitched up into the sexiest grin I’ve ever seen. And just like that, I was breathless again.
When he dropped me off at the house, he didn’t offer to come in, reminding me that he had to go get a search warrant before Phillips got too spooked over my impromptu visit. He didn’t seem mad, though. He said it in a kind of teasing way, but he still had to go. And that was probably a good thing. I don’t know how much we could be trusted to be alone together without things getting out of hand. And while that might sound like a delicious way to spend the afternoon, it was fraught with areas of concern. All in all, I thought it best we just not go there. Not yet anyway.
********
It was 3:30 when the phone rang. It was the doctor’s office. I’d forgotten my appointment and they were calling to see if I could still make it to have my stitches removed. Sliding my feet into flip flops, I tore out the door in a hurry.
Turns out most of my stitches were ready to come out. The ones that I’d aggravated when I’d hit my arm in Grayson’s car were still very tender, but the nurse snipped the thread anyway, assuring me they’d continue to heal and be just fine.
I had to wait forever for the doctor after that. I’m sure missing my appointment had thrown a wrench in their schedule so I wasn’t about to complain. By the time I left, they were about to close for the day.
When I got home, Mom was already starting dinner so I pitched my purse on the island and washed my hands to help. I knew she was probably dying to ask me questions anyway, since we hadn’t talked about Grayson yesterday. Who was I to keep her from the little pleasures in her life? Plus, I loved anything that had to do with Grayson, even if it was just talking about him.
“Did I ever tell you why your father and I decided to name you Mercy?”
That wasn’t what I’d expected her to lead with when she finally spoke.
“No. I just assumed it was because you found me at Our Lady of Mercy Hospital.”
“Well, that was probably part of the inspiration for it, but your father and I had wanted a baby so badly for so long and we had begun to think it just wasn’t going to happen. And when Irene told me that a young girl had dropped you off, we were ecstatic. We felt like you were an answer to all our prayers. Then, when we saw the condition you were in…”
“What condition?” I’d never heard this part of the story before.
“You had all these markings on you. I don’t know what that girl was thinking, but you were covered. And there were bruises, too,” she said sadly. I saw a shudder rack her thin body.
“And?”
“And, well, your father and I just felt like it was God’s mercy that brought you to us before she could really hurt you.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” I wasn’t sure how I felt about this new information. How was I supposed to feel about it? What was I supposed to think or say?
“I just want you to know that we love you more than you can imagine. You were a gift to us. I don’t think we could’ve loved you any more if I’d birthed you myself. And all we both want for you is your happiness.”
“I know, Mom.” I had no idea where she was going with this. I hope she wasn’t getting ready to drop a bomb like I’m dying, Mercy.
“When I saw your face yesterday,” she said, her voice trembling. “I was just so happy to see that look.”
I wasn’t sure whether I should be embarrassed or not. “What look?”
Mom turned toward me and smiled. “Mercy, I know you’re in love with him. And I couldn’t be more thrilled. But then I started thinki
ng about all the things that can go wrong. Plus, he’s a cop. I just—” She stopped and looked up at the ceiling as if searching for words. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. I want you to have all the good things in life, experience all the joys that there are, but I’m so afraid you’re going to get hurt.”
“Mom, I’m fine,” I said, hugging her. She had me worried there for a second. “Even if I get my heart broken, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me so much.”
“I can’t help it,” she said, wiping tears from her cheeks.
“Well, try.”
Her laugh was soggy and halfhearted. “Ok. I’ll try.”
I smiled at her, but I was thinking to myself Yeah, right. Like there’s a chance that’ll ever happen.
We cooked then ate then cleaned, as was the Holloway household routine. As soon as Dad finished eating, he retired to the living room to make sure the television didn’t run away, as was his routine.
When Mom and I had finished cleaning up, I sat with them for a while, watching the news. My heart skipped a beat when I saw a picture of Grayson in one of the little cubes for upcoming stories. I heard the anchorman’s voice say something about a break in the murder of a local girl, but I wasn’t paying that much attention. I was preoccupied by Grayson’s incredibly handsome face.
I saw Mom turn her head to look at me, but I kept staring at the television. Despite the fact that Grayson’s image was a virtual one, my stomach still reacted and I had to fight the urge to grin like an idiot.
Patiently, I waited for Grayson to come on, daydreaming through several other reports that meant almost nothing to me. Then, finally, it was time for his spot.
In typical Grayson fashion, his speech was short and to the point. No frills, no nonsense. It was kind of bizarre to see him this way now. I mean, this was how he’d appeared to me in the beginning, but now… Now I knew there was so much more to him. He hid it well and he hid it from almost everyone apparently. But not me. I got to see what the real Grayson was like.
I learned something, though. I couldn’t help but smile when the reporter introduced the segment, calling Grayson Lead Detective Caleb Grayson of the Arville Police Department. This time when I heard it, I committed it to memory. Caleb Grayson.
As I watched him, I didn’t think he looked like a Caleb. To me, he looked like a Grayson. My Grayson. And that’s what he’d always be to me.
“Tell us what led you to Dr. Phillips, Detective Grayson,” the reporter asked. All I could see was an arm holding a microphone, but that was fine. All I wanted to see was Grayson anyway.
My stomach clenched nervously. I knew he’d do what he had to do, but I hoped that if he was going to announce to the world that I’d helped with the investigation, he’d at least have called to give me a heads up.
“A reliable source came forward with information that tied Phillips to the crime. Based on that, the judge granted us a search warrant,” he answered steadily.
Yay! I was still just a reliable source.
“And what did you discover?”
“We believe we’ve recovered enough evidence for a conviction. CSP will process her house and the evidence, but an arrest has been made.”
“So you’re confident that you’ve got the right person this time?”
To those who didn’t know him, it probably seemed that Grayson didn’t react at all to the thinly veiled accusation. But I knew him. I could see the nearly imperceptible tightening of his lips and a hardness come into his earthy eyes.
“I follow the evidence, Ms. Shane, and right now, the evidence is pointing to Dr. Phillips as Lisa Bauer’s killer.”
Good answer! I thought.
The reporter asked a few other questions, but I wasn’t really listening. I was just watching. In my head, I was wondering if Grayson would call me when he got a chance to so that he could tell me how things went. I surmised from the interview that he’d gotten what he needed, but I’d still like to hear a first hand account of what had happened and what they found.
He must not have gotten much of a break, though, because I finally drifted off to sleep at 12:45 and he still hadn’t called.
Interrupting my sleep was the familiar flicker that alerted me to what was coming. I tried to wake myself, telling myself in my head that if I opened my eyes, the images would disappear, but it didn’t work. Whatever—or whoever—held me in my sleep had me completely captivated.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
As soon as my “vision” cleared, I knew something was different. If a dream could have a tone or a feel, this one had changed dramatically from that of its predecessors.
Once again, I was staring at the closed curtains of a picture window, but these curtains were nicer. They were gold, maroon and white striped and they had a sheen that was much more luxurious than the cheap drapes at the previous motels.
I turned from the window and my eyes swept the room. The carpet was maroon to match the stripe in the curtains. The bed itself was an actual freestanding four-poster bed of dark, rich cherry in a Queen Ann style. Cherry nightstands framed it and there was a matching desk that sat in the corner to the left of the bed. On its surface, I could see a pad of labeled stationary and a pen. The stationary read MARRIOTT.
Rather than piled at the foot of the bed as the others had been, the comforter on this bed had been neatly folded and lay across the foot of the bed. It was a rich gold and cream swirl.
Lying on heavy-looking ivory sheets was a girl. Well, this one was more like a woman. She was probably in her late twenties, older than the others had been. She had long black hair and clear blue eyes and she watched me.
She was neither bound nor hooded and she looked nervous. Not afraid, just nervous. She was dressed in a solid white baby doll dress and her only other adornment was a silver necklace with a charm on the end that lay perfectly centered on her chest. The design of the charm reminded me of the symbol on the Book of Shadows in the television show Charmed. It was sort of a three-pronged flower looking thing.
When I looked at her, a gnawing dread filled my stomach and I looked away. It was almost painful to behold her, but I didn’t know why.
My head turned quickly back to her as if she’d said something, but I couldn’t hear anything. I approached the bed. I could see her lips moving, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying.
She held out her hand and I hesitantly stepped forward to take it. My hand wasn’t gloved and my arm wasn’t wrapped. I could see that it was a man’s arm, muscular and hairy.
The girl nodded encouragingly and then she smiled and closed her eyes, almost as if she was waiting. That feeling of dread swelled inside me, but with it came a sense of purpose that I hadn’t felt before either, as if what was happening had to be done, a dreaded inevitability.
I reached my hand out toward her and slowly squeezed my fingers into a tight fist. A tear slipped from between the girl’s dark lashes and slid down her pale cheek to moisten the pillow. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp and I saw her tense. A violent tremor racked her body and her eyes flew open. She looked up at me, the blue orbs filled with sheer terror. And then slowly, like water draining from a sink basin, the life faded from her eyes and she went perfectly still.
The intense pleasure that normally accompanied the extinguishing of a life was curiously absent this time. I felt a deep, aching sorrow.
I didn’t move for a long time, just stood by the bed and stared down into the beautiful, frozen face of the girl. I waited to reach for the finger, as I’d done in all the other dreams, but I never did. Instead, after several minutes of what felt like mourning, I raised my hand and sliced the palm with the curved knife I’d become so familiar with.
I fisted my fingers and squeezed. Blood dripped onto the white sheets, but I felt no pain. Opening my hand, I dipped the forefinger of my other hand in the blood and began to finish the ritual by penning bloody letters on the parchment of the sheets.
Minutes later, I stood back and read the message. IT’S IN YOUR
BLOOD.
When I read the letters, the heart in my own body felt like it dropped into my stomach. For one instant, I was aware of my body outside the dream and it was overcome with a terrible sense of foreboding. If MH is me, then what’s in my blood?
The flicker signaling the end of my “dream” came and went, but, unlike previous times, I wasn’t able to wake up. I felt as if someone was holding me in a dark room in the middle of nowhere. There was no sight, no sound, no evidence of life or activity. There was just a marked nothingness that seemed almost purposeful, like I was being kept from waking for a reason.
At first I struggled against it, but I tired quickly. It was like trying to fight the wind, impossible and futile. When my exhausted mind could fight no more, I fell into some kind of deeply meditative state. It was neither restful nor taxing. It simply was.