by M. Leighton
I could tell when wakefulness was drawing near. It was like being deep under water and swimming toward the surface. I could see the hazy lightness of the sun as it shone down into the depths, but it looked so far away. I swam furiously toward it, but my feet felt as if they were anchored to the ocean floor by heavy weights. When I was finally able to open my eyes, I was confused and disoriented at first, but my mind cleared quickly and I sat up to look around.
I had no idea how much time had elapsed. It could’ve been minutes, hours or days for all I knew. I imagined that had to be how Rip Van Winkle felt when he’d awakened.
Light was pouring out from between the slats of my closed blinds and I could hear birds chirping. I turned to look at the clock and it read 11:42. I’d been asleep for nearly twelve hours and yet, in a way, I felt as though I’d just gone to bed and had that dream.
Pushing my body into motion, I crawled to the end of the bed and reached for my phone where it lay on my dresser. I dialed Grayson and sat back and listened as it rang.
“Grayson.”
“Grayson, it’s me. I had another dream last night.”
“Last night? What time?”
“It was after midnight, but I’m not sure exactly what time.”
“And you’re just now calling?” I could hear the pique in his voice, but I bit my tongue rather than responding in kind.
“I was just now able to get up. Literally.”
“What do you mean?”
“I couldn’t wake up. It was like I was trapped in- I don’t know where. What’s even weirder than that, though, is that I think he did it on purpose.”
“Who did what?”
“The killer. I think he kept me in some sort of trance or something so I couldn’t wake up.”
“How is that even possible?” He sounded more frustrated than doubtful.
“How should I know? How is any of this possible?”
“But why would he do that? He’s never done it before.”
“It’s just a feeling I got. This time, this…killing was different. I think he might’ve actually cared for this girl.”
“What makes you say that?”
“The way he treated her, the way he killed her, it was just different, almost reverential. And I think he wanted time with her after.”
“After what?”
“After he killed her.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he wanted to do something else before you guys got there. I don’t know. I couldn’t see them anymore.”
“Hmm,” he said, but it was a low, worried sound.
“What was that for?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. It sounded like he was chewing on his lip as he thought.
“Do you think that might be bad?”
“It makes me wonder if he was buying time to pack up and leave,” Grayson said gravely.
I gasped. I hadn’t even thought of that.
“Do you have any idea where the body might be?”
“I saw a notepad on the desk that said Marriott, but I guess he could’ve planted it there for me to see. To mislead us.”
“He’s never bothered to do that before. Why would he start now?”
“Like you said, maybe he’s giving himself time to escape.”
Grayson sighed. “Well, at least it’s a place to start.”
“Grayson?”
“Yeah.”
“This one, she’s different.”
“Tell me all about her.”
I described in great detail everything I’d seen, as well as all the other more subtle nuances of the dream with the exception of the words. For reasons unknown, I wasn’t ready to talk about them just yet.
When I was finished, Grayson sighed again. The way he kept doing that gave me a bad feeling.
“What are you thinking?”
“That this one’s significant. I just don’t know how. He’s always been so careful. I mean, he’s given us nothing so far. We have absolutely no useful evidence whatsoever, not the slightest trace of anything. And if he leaves now…”
“I know.” I finished his sentence in my head. We’ll never find him.
Another thought drifted through my mind, one that caused my stomach to twist into a tight knot of tension.
“There’s one more thing,” I began, taking a deep breath. I hadn’t wanted to consider the implications of the words the killer had left; without even thinking about them, I knew that they couldn’t possibly mean anything good. And I hadn’t really wanted to share them with Grayson because it might mean there was something awfully wrong with me, more than we both already suspected. But if there was a chance that what I had to say might give Grayson the upper hand, might lead to Grayson catching him, I had to tell him. No consequence was too great a risk when the stakes were so high.
I’d paused too long. “What is it, Mercy?” I heard apprehension in his voice. He knew this wasn’t going to be good.
“This time, he cut his own hand for the blood to write the words.”
“Are you sure?” Grayson’s excitement at that good news practically oozed through the phone.
“I’m sure.”
“What words did he write this time?” He asked in an offhand way that said he thought the most important thing was the fact that they had a sample of the killer. I doubted he cared much what he had to say. Until I told him.
“’It’s in your blood’.”
Our cellular connection buzzed in the strained silence. With every second that went by, my heart sank a little bit more. I knew that there was a limit to how much Grayson could take, how much bad news about me he was willing to put up with, to overlook or accept. Our relationship was new and fragile and this could be the very thing that breaks it, the thing that exceeds the limit.
“And what do you suppose that means?” he finally asked in a cool, steady voice.
“I don’t know, but it can’t possibly be good,” I said, my voice quivering, my heart aching.
Had Grayson rejected me from the very beginning, it would’ve hurt. But that would’ve hurt in a different way, a wounded-pride kind of way. I could’ve recovered fairly easily from that. But if he rejected me now, after my feelings for him had grown so intense, it would be nothing less than devastating.
It was pure torture to wait for him to speak, but I did. Though none of this was my fault, he didn’t deserve any of this either and if I gave him enough time, I felt sure he’d come to that conclusion on his own.
The strained silence was shredding my nerves, so I broke it. “So what happened with Dr. Phillips?”
“When we searched her house, we didn’t find a wig, but we found some of the same synthetic hair on a jacket in her closet. And we found the gloves. They were an exact match to the material found under the girl’s fingernails. The scratches were visible, too.”
His voice was carefully devoid of even the smallest hint of emotion or inflection. He sounded like the stranger on television last night, the one I’d been so happy to know, really know.
I reminded myself that he’d been a stranger once and I could survive it if he was a stranger again.
“Did she confess? Do you know why she did it?”
“She hasn’t confessed. Hasn’t even admitted to a relationship with Bauer, in fact, but we found some e-mails that she exchanged with her. We’re missing something, though. I think maybe someone else was complicit, I just don’t know who yet. Or why. We’ll get the rest of the facts eventually. She’ll break or something else will turn up. Happens all the time.”
He’d patiently and very clinically answered my questions, just as he would anyone else I suspect. There was no trace of a personal connection, no trace of the bond we’d shared so briefly.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered if maybe I was just being too sensitive, imagining coolness where there was none, making trouble where there was none. But my exhausted and emotionally raw mind and heart couldn’t see past the worse-case scenario. I
was expecting Grayson to reject me, therefore he was. I was convinced of it.
I willed myself not to cry. At least if my heart was shattered into a thousand tiny pieces I could salvage my pride so I said in an equally unemotional voice, “Well, congratulations on closing the case.” To that he said nothing, so I cleared my throat and let him off the hook. “I guess I’ll let you go then. If there’s anything else I can do to help just let me know. Goodbye, Grayson.” Without waiting for a response, I hung up.
Flipping the phone shut, I told myself that I would not lay down on the bed and cry myself back to sleep, back to oblivion. I was going to get in the shower and scrub away the dream, the fear, the uncertainty and the man, as well as the last month of my life.
As I bathed, I tried to brainwash myself with a deluge of positive self-talk. It wasn’t the miracle that I was hoping for, but at least my attitude was a little better by the time I got out.
I’d decided that if I was going to survive, I’d have to just move forward and not look back. I even thought about transferring to Billie’s school at the end of the semester. It would crush Mom and Dad, but they’d have to get used to me being gone eventually. Why put if off any longer?
I dressed in white shorts and a tube top then grabbed a book I’d been trying to get through and went out onto the deck. I pulled the wicker coffee table closer to my chair, sat down, leaned back and propped my feet up. I was in hopes that a little sunshine therapy might help. I purposely left my phone inside so that I wouldn’t feel it staring at me, all blank and depressing.
Two hours and two shades of pink later, I went back into the house, no better for my outing. I had managed to read about a chapter of the book and then drifted into my own miserable thoughts and hadn’t come back out until just now.
Even though I could’ve kicked myself for being so weak, I checked my phone for any missed calls. There were none.
I decided to surprise Mom and have dinner fixed when she got home. That would keep me occupied for a while.
Only it didn’t. As I diced and minced, my mind kept returning to the ominous words it’s in your blood. What could that possibly mean?
Not for the first time in my life, I began to wonder about my parents. My real parents, the biological ones. I wondered if either of them had any special gifts or talents or, like me, curses. I wondered if maybe it was their blood, something inside my parents, that made me the way that I was or if I was just a freak of nature, like I felt.
By the time Mom got home, supper was almost done and we had some time to talk before Dad arrived.
“Mom, do you know anything about my parents?”
Her head snapped up and she turned to look at me. She was sensitive about these kinds of questions. That’s why I’d never asked very many. It seemed to hurt her when I wanted to know about people who’d willingly given me up. I think she felt betrayed, like I was somehow minimizing all she’d done for me, how much she’d loved me all my life. That’s why I knew very little about them. But these were questions that needed to be asked, especially now.
“Very little,” she said quietly,
“Did you even know their names? Did you ever see them or meet them?”
“No. Your mother abandoned you at the hospital. According to the Safe Haven Law, she wasn’t required to even leave her name. Not that I asked. I wanted you free from all ties to those people,” she said bitterly.
“I know, Mom. And I know how lucky I am that you and Dad raised me, that I didn’t have to stay with them. I just wonder what they were like, why I am the way that I am.”
Frowning, she walked slowly toward me. “What do you mean?”
I shrugged, casting my eyes to the floor. My throat was suddenly tight with emotion and my eyes burned with unshed tears.
“Mercy, what is it?”
“I don’t know, Mom.” My voice was trembling. “I just want to know why. And I want to know if anybody will ever be able to love me like I am.”
I felt Mom’s arms come around me and I blinked back the tears that filled my eyes. It would kill her to see me cry, so I was strong for her when I felt like I couldn’t be strong for myself.
“There’s nothing wrong with the way that you are, Mercy. There’s no reason that anyone wouldn’t love you. And there’s a man out there who will be thrilled to have you in his life. You just have to find him.”
My mother loved me, but she didn’t know all there was to know about me. What if nobody could love me like this? What if I was destined to fall in love and then be forced to watch it fall apart over and over and over again? I didn’t think I could survive this kind of pain again.
Mom held me like that for a long time, stroking my hair and swaying back and forth gently. She’d soothed my aches and pains all my life in just this way, but this time her love couldn’t fix me. She couldn’t wash away or kiss away the wounds I was suffering from this time. Once again, I was on my own, separated from those I love by a condition that I didn’t ask for and couldn’t control.
When I pulled away to walk to my room, she let me go without a word. She knew me well enough not to press me just yet.
I lay on the bed, drowning in sorrow, for what seemed like hours. The house was quiet when the phone rang. I knew without looking at the clock that it had gotten late. I also knew without looking who was calling—the only person who’d have reason to call me late at night. It had to be Grayson.
“Hello?” My voice was as flat and lifeless as my heart.
“Were you asleep?”
“No.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Ok.”
“Can I come get you?”
I wanted to say no, but that wasn’t an option. For many reasons.
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
And he hung up. Just like he always did. And my chest ached.
I sat on the end of the bed, wishing for the anger that I’d spurned only days before. Where was that fiery emotion when I needed it?
I didn’t even bother changing clothes. I just walked to the door and waited, watching for the Dodge’s familiar headlights. When I saw them, I quietly opened the door and stepped outside, closing it behind me.
Grayson pulled to a stop just before he reached my driveway and cut his lights off. I walked to the driver’s side, arms crossed over my chest, and I waited. He motioned for me to come around to the passenger side so I did.
He reached across and opened the door a crack for me. I opened it further and sat down without closing it. I turned toward him and waited quietly for him to get to his reason for coming.
“Shut the door. Let’s go for a ride.”
With a sigh, I did as he asked, pulling my seatbelt around me as he turned on the lights and shifted into drive.
Grayson drove for several miles before he spoke. By that point, my nerves were clanging like dozens of cymbals.
“I think the killer is a relative of yours.”
I couldn’t have been any more surprised if Grayson had driven us off a cliff into an ocean of striped mushrooms and green ponies.
I stared at him, mouth agape and totally speechless.
Glancing quickly at me then returning his attention to the road, he said, “Those are preliminary results, of course. The final report won’t be ready for at least two more days, but I didn’t want to wait to tell you. The lab’s pretty good about getting this stuff right the first time.”
I knew I should cry or scream or rant or do something, but I couldn’t. On top of the emotionally crippling day I’d already had, this information had rendered me curiously (and pleasantly) numb. If anything, I was fighting off the urge to laugh. I mean, could it get much worse than this? Could life even make a worse day than this?
“Mercy?”
I chanced a quick look at Grayson. He looked like he was afraid to do or say anything, like I might crack if he breathed. He was a little late, though. I was pretty sure I’d cracked already. He was just see
ing the unnatural shape of brokenness.
“A relative?” I asked robotically.
“Yes. By the number of shared alleles, it’s likely either a parent or a sibling.”
“I guess we know what’s in my blood now,” I said with no small amount of bitterness. “Pure evil.”
My laugh was more a harsh bark than anything remotely jovial. Then something struck me, tipping off my temper.