by CJ Lyons
"Sure. She won't get bail until Monday, so there's time." He went to make arrangements. Lucy strolled around the room, admiring the architecture with its high ceilings and ornate wood-work. Trying her best to ignore the urge to scream. Wasting time, that's all they'd accomplished.
Wasting Ashley's time. For the first time since this morning, Lucy allowed herself to add: if Ashley was still alive.
She yawned, stretching her jaw until her ear popped, relieving the stabbing pain that spiked down her neck. Rocked back and forth on her feet as she looked out the naked window from her position beside the sex-soaked unmade bed, her shoe kicking a meth pipe aside. Her wedding ring caught the light from the lone bare bedside lamp and flared in a rich red gold, the only pure thing in this place.
"You want anything else here, boss?" Walden asked.
Lucy shook off her reverie, turned her back on the darkness beyond the window and rolled her shoulders, shrugging the Kevlar's weight into a less uncomfortable position. "No. Let's go."
Ever since she could remember, Ashley had fought hard to avoid straying too far. Her parents would accuse her of being "flighty" or daydreaming and would chide her for "going away".
Going away, that's what it was, a helium balloon taking flight, drifting into the heavens, finding new places, new people, a new life.
When she was younger, a mere word would snap her back to the here and now. Then she learned to do it herself—a pinch on the back of her arm would suffice. But soon that wasn't enough to re-connect her and instead she'd scratch herself. That evolved into writing—she'd scrape hidden words into her skin, words she wasn't even supposed to know, words she wasn't certain described her or others. Fuck, shit, slut, asshole, bitch.
When that stopped working, she learned the power of blood. First a needle, a mere pinprick on the tip of a finger. As she concentrated on the crimson drop of blood, the sting of pain, she'd be able to convince herself that she could feel, that she wasn't totally empty inside, that she belonged here in this world.
She saw a girl in her class slice herself with her thumbnail and Ashley soon followed in her footsteps, experimenting with many sharp objects and techniques. If she cut too deep, there was too much blood, it would stream out, make an unsavory mess and draw attention.
Too shallow and there wasn't any blood—and at this point in her addiction she needed blood. Blood and pain were her bridges back to reality.
Until now. Now she lay curled around a metal pole, sweltering in air so heavy she had to gulp it down in quick bites, the stench of terror and death smothering her, her legs dead except for the occasional pins and needles, darkness all around her, seeping into her veins, seizing her heart.
She had begun this journey eager, ready to escape. To a new life, to new hope.
Hope. It was an obscenity in this new world she found herself in. Far better to simply leave, let herself go, than to waste energy on hope.
She stared into darkness so complete she couldn't tell if her eyes were open or closed. She didn't blink to try to find out. She was already gone....
Chapter 18
Sunday 3:02 am
Burroughs couldn't help himself. He couldn't face the prospect of going home to the empty apartment he rented in Shadyside. Empty. That was the operative word.
When the boys weren't there, the damn high ceilings and hard wood floors made his every movement echo, rattling his teeth like a lone bullet forgotten in an ammo box.
Other than a few bottles of Yuengling and some moldy pizza, the fridge was empty. Except for two shiny new frames from Target surrounding the boys' school photos, the walls were barren.
He ought to get a rug, ought to get some dishes instead of eating off paper plates, ought to get a real table and chairs instead of the card table his folks had lent him. Ought to get a life.
Correction. He had a life—he'd just thrown it away.
Of course, he'd had a little help.
He drove down Carson, away from the federal building and wondered at the smiling couples loitering outside of Blue Lou's and Mario's. Three am and people were still out having a good time, finding things to talk about, to laugh about.
Stopped at a red light, he watched as a man reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind his date's ear. A casual gesture, the woman didn't even seem to notice except that she interlaced her fingers between the guy's as they continued strolling. The scene was so familiar, yet so foreign. Burroughs felt blind-sided.
He headed downtown instead of east to his apartment. Downtown was where the devil lived, ensconced in a ritzy condo on Fourth Avenue.
He had a thousand opportunities to change his mind—as he did every time he made this drive.
Thought about Guardino. Lucia Theresa Guardino, what a name to be saddled with. But somehow it suited her. He liked the way she was strong as steel but not hard, no sharp edges, just determination that would not be bent or broken.
He appreciated the way she refused to give up on Ashley, rallying the rest of the cynical group of cops to fight for the kid as well. Hell, even he had fallen for it, starting to think the kid might even still be alive.
Guardino combined good people instinct with charisma, making her a born leader. Not strident or overbearing like most women in position of power, especially in law enforcement.
Not one of the guys, though. She stood apart. He had the feeling that had cost her, a lot.
He remembered how her voice changed when she spoke with her kid on the phone; the way her eyes widened, her breath quickened and she flushed when she joked with her husband—hell, after spending the day with her, he could about tell every time she even thought about her husband. Her pupils dilated, a faint blush crept up her throat. And she thought about him a lot.
Kim never looked at him that way, not even when they were newlyweds. Or maybe he'd just never noticed.
He pulled into the underground parking lot at the Carlyle. Licked his lips, hands still clenched tight on the steering wheel. This was the last place he should be tonight. Especially working this case.
But it was the only place left for him to go.
He called upstairs. She was waiting at her doorway when he arrived a few minutes later.
The door was open only a few inches, just far enough to silhouette her in the glow of the light behind her. She'd staged it to perfection: hair rumpled as if she'd just woken, skin glistening and smelling of jasmine, a hint of eye liner and lipstick, mouth parted in a welcoming pout, and gold silk robe unbelted, slitted open wide enough to confirm that she wore nothing beneath it.
The devil herself, offering everything he needed and nothing he wanted.
"I knew you'd come tonight," she purred, grabbing his shirt and tugging him to her when he hesitated. "After seeing the way you looked at her today, I knew you'd be in my bed tonight."
"What are you talking about?" He pulled back, one foot still in the hallway, freedom only a short sprint away.
She pulled him inside and shut the door behind him. Too late. He was trapped.
"You're such a sap, Burroughs. Always falling in love at first sight. But you have your damn code of honor. Worse, you actually believe in honor." She tossed her head, strands of hair flitting across his neck, sparking against his sweat-sheened skin. "You think that makes you special, but really it makes you a fool."
She combed her fingers through his hair, then forced his head down so that he looked her in the eyes. He felt a flutter start in his stomach—anger and fear and disgust and lust all kicking at his guts, fighting to see which would win.
"As soon as I saw her wedding band, I knew I would have you tonight," she continued.
She was wrong. His being here had nothing to do with Guardino. It had everything to do with him. He couldn't face being alone in that empty apartment. He didn't like to think that he needed anything, but he needed her. Someone. Anyone.
Her mouth met his. Before he could respond, she bit his lower lip. Laughed when he jerked his head away, raised a hand to wi
pe the blood.
"Go to hell, Cindy."
"Only if you come along for the ride." She shrugged free from the robe, its fabric caressing her curves as it cascaded to the floor. He reached for her and she didn't resist. Instead, she melted beneath his greedy touch as he grabbed on and refused to let go.
Lucy left the Subaru in the driveway. No sense risking waking someone with the sound of the garage door, especially when she'd soon be leaving again. She walked in through the front door—the door usually only strangers and guests used—and made her way to the kitchen in the dark. The light over the stove was on, providing a warm welcome.
In movements so practiced she didn't stop to think about them, she safed her Glock, putting the ammo on top of the refrigerator and leaving the empty weapon in its special pocket in her bag. Then she kicked off her shoes and opened the fridge.
She wasn't hungry until she saw the neon post-it note on a plate of chicken salad. Eat me, it ordered. Beside it sat a large tumbler of milk labeled with the command: Drink me.
Shaking her head, she removed both and sat down at the table where a place waited for her. Images of Ashley raced through her mind as she started to eat. Terrified? Or laughing at them?
They were quickly replaced with thoughts of Megan: did she have another fever tonight? Was her throat still sore? Or had Lucy over-reacted, taking her into the doctor this morning?
Yesterday morning, she corrected herself, glancing at the clock. The second hand beat then twitched, beat then twitched.
As if each second ticked away left it breathless and palsied. Yet, it wouldn't stop.
Lucy swallowed the rest of her food and set the dishes in the sink. She tried to be quiet, but hadn't discovered a way to climb the staircase without producing a symphony of creaky groans. She stopped at Megan's room.
Megan lay asleep, seemed comfortable. A full glass of water sat at her bedside. Lucy crept in, knelt beside her, felt her face with her palm. Maybe a little warm, but it was a hot and humid night. Her breathing was raspy, not quite as bad as her father's snoring, a bit congested.
Maybe it was just a cold after all. Or allergies. Lucy kissed her on the cheek, arranged her covers and stood watching her.
Megan's room was a mess—as it always was, now that it was her responsibility. Her kingdom. The deal was, as long as she kept up with her laundry, had clean clothes for school, and didn't leave any food or dirty plates up here, she could do what she wanted with the room.
It was so very different from Ashley's room. Here, the fabrics and colors were bright and clashing. Beads hung in the open closet door, photos were taped all over the mirror, the wall without windows was a crazy collage of pages torn out of magazines and newspapers—things that "spoke" to her, Megan said. CD's and books and magazines and dirty laundry all piled together on the floor. The only sacrosanct area was the top shelf of the bookcase where framed photos of family and friends and Megan's soccer and Karate trophies stood.
This was how a girl's room should look. Full of life. Hopeful.
Lucy blew her daughter another kiss and left.
Nick was asleep in their bedroom at the end of the hallway. She crept past him into their bathroom, closing the door before turning on the light.
Her thoughts still buzzed and, despite how tired she was, she knew she'd have a hard time sleeping. She took a quick shower, hoping to strip away some of the stress of the day, and slid into her side of the bed.
Nick rolled over, curled an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. And held her. Not asking anything, not demanding anything, just there for her.
It never ceased to amaze her, after so many years, how much she needed him. Needed this. These silent moments where she could pretend the outside world didn't exist.
His fingers danced through her wet hair as she listened to the strong, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Finally her body relaxed, easing into his familiar contours.
"How was your day?" she asked. "Megan feeling better?"
"Said she was achy, but no more fever. I gave her some Advil before bed."
"She seemed fine when I just checked her."
"Maybe it was a twenty-four hour bug. With school starting, the kids share everything."
"Yeah, that's what the doctor said. You had a new client today, didn't you? How'd that go?"
The Pittsburgh VA didn't have an opening for someone with Nick's expertise, so he had started his own practice. Because he was the new kid in a city brimming over with world-renown psychologists, he was offering weekend and evening hours as an enticement. Which played hell with their home schedule, not to mention the added expense of setting up an office, but he was really enjoying the work, so Lucy didn't mind.
"Good. Guy's a vet from the first Gulf war, Holtzman referred him after he got fed up with the clinic. I think I can really help him."
"Of course you can." She shifted her body so their heads were side by side on the pillows. Her palm smoothed over his sparse chest hair. He lay his hand over hers, his fingers weaving between hers.
"I heard about your case on the news. Sounded like a tough one."
Her sigh was swallowed by the night. "Yeah. This kid—fourteen, in a house full of everything money can buy, two parents who say they love her—yet she's so alone. I get the feeling she's been that way for a long, long time."
"You think she ran away? To something better?"
"I think she ran away. To something worse." Her gaze flicked to the numbers on the bedside clock. 3:42—thirty-eight hours since Ashley had been last seen.
"If anyone can find her, it's you." He pulled her close again.
"Wish I could be so certain." Her eyelids drooped as her breathing synchronized with his.
"I am."
Blackness engulfed her as she fell into sleep.
Before she could finish the journey, panic jolted her awake and upright. "Did my mom get back from her date okay?"
Nick was far gone. "Dunno," he mumbled. Then he was asleep again.
Lucy envied him. She grabbed her cell from the bedside table. Double checked it for messages. Nothing. Her finger quivered over the buttons, poised to call her mom. Almost four in the morning. She couldn't call, not for anything less than an emergency.
She set the phone back down, this time right on the edge of the table, trimming a millisecond or two off her response time. If it rang.
Laying back on the pillow, she edged into sleep. Visions of Megan, her mother, Nick, Ashley chased through her mind….and snakes. Hissing, biting, coiled, striking snakes, fangs dripping blood and venom.
Jimmy's butt was asleep. But he couldn't stop watching. It had been hours and she hadn't moved—not an inch. If it wasn't for the microphone picking up the sound of her breathing, he'd swear she was dead.
She looked so lost, so alone. He wanted desperately to go to her, comfort her, let her know that he was here for her.
But he didn't. He stuck with the plan.
Although he had double-checked his references. The one from Vietnam had been most helpful: Catatonia. A result of internal conflict when the subject cannot incorporate conditions of new reality in terms of old values. Last stage prior to old values being discarded and new reality becoming acceptable, frequently associated with delusions and hallucinations.
Tomorrow, he thought, stretching his fingers to touch her face on the screen. Tomorrow he would take her to the next stage, introduce her to her new world.
Tomorrow he would save her from the ghosts of her past.
Chapter 19
Sunday 6:08 am
Sometime before dawn Lucy woke, feeling restless and irritated and needy. Nick was happy to oblige when she reached for him; morning was his favorite time to make love.
Lucy straddled him, needing to feel in control, and they made love quietly, still uncertain of how sound traveled in this creaky new house of theirs with Megan only two doors down at the end of the hall. His hands feathered over her, coaxing, guiding, never demanding—not until t
he end when his hips thrust up, meeting hers, and the bed rocked and groaned as they both climaxed.
She remained on top, curled up, her arms and legs clutching either side of his chest as if fearful someone might steal him away. Nick fell back asleep but she couldn't, her mind chasing young girls and dark demons and slick talking monsters.
Finally she clawed her way out from under the covers and got ready to go to work. She filled her thermos with coffee, making sure there'd be enough left for Nick, and defrosted two sticky buns for him and Megan. Special Sunday treat.
Before she left, she found herself in Megan's room. It was barely seven o'clock. She wasn't going to wake Megan. She just wanted to look at her, make sure she was all right.
Megan stirred as Lucy sat on the edge of the mattress, twisting her wedding ring, watching her daughter. Megan's breathing was still congested, her color pale in the sunlight filtering through yellow gauze curtains. Lucy brushed her hand across Megan's cheeks. They felt cool and dry. She bent over, kissed Megan's forehead. Also cool.
She traced her fingers along Megan's neck. The glands there still felt big, the size of walnuts. Their old doctor had once said that they'd normally be around the size of a peanut. He'd also said the same thing as the new doctor. That swollen glands were usually a healthy sign of the immune system fighting off disease.
Unable to restrain herself, she bundled Megan into her arms. "Hey sleeping beauty," she murmured when Megan squirmed awake. "Just wanted you to know that I love you."
Megan pulled away from her mother's embrace, one hand rubbing at her eyes. "Mom." She smothered a yawn. "Why do you always have to do this? I'm fine."
"I know you are." Lucy gave her another kiss, this one on the cheek.
Megan wrinkled her nose. "Yuck. You smell like coffee."
"Love you too." Lucy relented and stood to leave. "I'll probably be gone all day again."