Stone Cold

by James Glass

  Before I could return the favor, his body hovered over mine. His hand touched my face with a tenderness I hadn’t felt in a very long time. I winced in pleasure and pain as he entered me. He breathed through his teeth, his body moving slowly at first, eyes staring at me. I wrapped my legs around his waist as his pace quickened. My mind tried to process the sensation coursing through me, but failed. However, my body was in sexual bliss—a lost paradise rediscovered. Sweat glistened along his arms. He closed his eyes, his body tensed as he climaxed.

  When he rolled over onto his back, I moved over and laid my head on his bronze chest—tracing a finger along his six-pack abs. His breathing became quick and shallow as he stroked my hair. We both remained silent.

  Several minutes later, Francisco fell asleep, snoring softly.

  Rebecca, this can’t work. You know that. Right?

  Chapter 41

  2:15 a. m.

  Since sleep didn’t seem like a probability anytime soon, I had snuck out of bed and crept downstairs. Alone in the kitchen, wearing one of Francisco’s t-shirts, I nursed a cold beer. The shirt was huge on me and kept dipping to the side, exposing my left shoulder. I hitched it up and took another sip.

  After incredible sex my body wouldn’t allow me to sleep. Well, that and the many thoughts swirling around my head, like a puzzle, as if I took the time maybe the pieces would fit together.

  The one thought that seemed to make several passes was the night I killed my stepfather. That night had been a lifetime ago, but it showed its weary head from time to time, an escape from the nightmare never far away. Feeling the effects of alcohol coursing through my body, I relived the events of that night.

  I was twelve, and could no longer hide beneath the covers, under the bed, or inside the closet and cry myself to sleep after my stepfather raped me. But this night seemed to be even worse. The yellow glow of a single lamp illuminated his pale skin, glistening with sweat. He looked sickly. His pot belly moved increasingly faster with each second. The weight of his body made it difficult for me to take a deep breath. I inhaled in short bursts.

  Blinding pain shot though my bicep as he bit into the flesh. I closed my eyes and tried to think of a better place, but my mind seemed broken. No matter how hard I tried, there wasn’t an escape from the pain. Not this time. When I opened my eyes, my mother stood outside my bedroom door, looking on, a crooked smile, her eyes wide open. It seemed she had been watching and enjoyed seeing me suffer.

  After so many nights of this monster invading my body, how many times had she witnessed him force himself on me? Tonight had been the only time my mind had shut down, refused to allow me to leave the room and find a happy place. Many nights Iʼd prayed my father would somehow return and save me or send an angel to protect me. My prayers fell on deaf ears. Somewhere deep in my soul, I knew I must stop the monster.

  My hands reached under my pillow and found the steak knife that had been there for at least a month. Until now, the courage to use it had escaped me. The thought, which I’d played over and over in my mind, of killing this man always seemed to evade me in reality.

  His teeth bit harder into the meaty part of my shoulder. I winced in pain. Tears streaked down my cheeks and fell onto the bed. He lifted himself on his elbows. His dark eyes seemed to look through me. His large hands wiped away the tears.

  “You’re so beautiful, Rebecca. Please don’t cry.” Liverwurst overwhelmed my sense of smell as his heavy breathing continued. I twisted my head away, but the scent lingered. His fingers moved from one breast, then to the other.

  The door creaked open a little further, but my mother was gone. Maybe she had seen me staring back at her, pleading for her to rescue me. Instead, she'd left me alone with this monster. Who, like so many nights before, would rape me and desecrate another piece of my childhood. The woman who gave birth to me wouldn’t be saving me from this man. Not tonight or any night. Anger burned in my neck and face. My right hand squeezed the handle of the knife.

  My stepfather lifted his body a little higher on his elbows, his gaze moving down the length of my body. He licked his lips.

  God save me, please.

  No answer from the man upstairs.

  If someone was going to save me, it would have to be me.

  My right hand moved with a quickness I didn’t know existed. The knife sliced through his jugular. Blood sprayed my face and neck. His body fell on mine. I tried to scream as the warm liquid continued to ooze onto me. A moment later, my mother rushed into the room, her eyes almost bulged from their sockets. “No, Stanley!” she cried in a guttural voice. She grabbed his shoulders and rolled him off me. His body continued to roll off the bed and crashed onto the floor. It sounded like a piece of raw meat falling off the kitchen counter onto the tile.

  She turned to me, her face darkened. “You little bitch! This is all your fault. If you hadn’t been such a slut…” she raised a fist to hit me but stopped, seeing the knife still clutched in my hand. My mother turned and stormed out of the room, sobbing.

  “What are you doing?”

  Francisco’s sudden voice brought me back to reality. He was wearing gray boxers. The light bounced off his caramel skin. He walked across the floor, placed a hand on my shoulder and kissed me hard on the lips.

  This can’t work, Rebecca. You know that. Sooner or later, he’ll discover you’re broken.

  The muscles in his arms tensed as he moved away, eyes staring at me in wonder. Or maybe it was amazement.

  “What’s the matter?”

  It was definitely wonder.

  I set the bottle on the counter. “We need to talk.”

  He took my hand, kissed the knuckles, sending an electric jolt up my spine.

  “We had sex. Plain and simple. This can’t go on any further, Tony.”

  His body rubbed against mine. His arms wrapped around me, lifting me up onto the counter. My hip hit the bottle, tipping it over. I went to grab it, but my hand hit the side causing it to roll off the counter and the beer bottle shattered when it hit the floor. Glass shot in all directions. A few shards landed on my leg, but didn’t penetrate the skin.

  “Don’t worry about the mess,” he said. “I’ll get it later.”

  His index finger touched my exposed shoulder. His lips felt moist and warm as they caressed the skin. Goosebumps formed all over my body. I clearly wasn’t getting my point across.

  “Stop,” I said, tugging the shirt back over my shoulder. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you have to stop. This can’t work.”

  He stared at me, the same way Sam does when she doesn’t understand the command.

  “What we had earlier was great. I needed a warm body and comfort. But our relationship can’t go any further. Not sexually anyway.”

  He held up his hands. “Do you think I took advantage of you? Is that what this is about?”

  “No. Nothing like that at all.” I hopped down from the counter.

  “Ow!”

  “What, Rebecca?”

  “Glass! In my foot.”

  “Let me see.”

  Before I could object, he lifted me back on the counter and took my foot in his big paws. Blood dripped onto the floor. With his thumb and forefinger, he removed the shard.

  More crimson bled from the wound. He grabbed a dish towel hanging on the handle to the stove and wet it under the sink. He wrung most of the water from the wet cloth, applied pressure to the foot with the towel then looked at me.

  “Does that feel better?”

  “It does, actually. Thank you.”

  His gaze followed my foot, to my leg, to my eyes. “Okay, now getting back to our discussion. What was it about tonight you don’t like? I don’t know about you, but it was the most amazing thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”

  I thought of all the women who had come in and out of his life over the past three years we’ve worked together.

  “Tony, that’s really sweet of you, but it was just sex.” Who was I kidding?

&n
bsp; “Are you kidding? It was the most amazing sex ever.”

  He wasn’t making this easy for me. “This can’t lead to anything. We’re partners. This can’t happen.”

  He winked at me. “If it’s the fraternization rule, I think if we both approach the lieutenant about how we feel—explain our new relationship, I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.” He kissed the top of my foot. The pain was replaced by another jolt of excitement coursing up my leg. But no matter how much I wanted this, it would ultimately end badly.

  Be strong. Don’t give into temptation.

  “I can’t be another notch on your bedpost. Another conquest.”

  His face turned bright red. “I don’t believe you… How do you feel about me?”

  The question caught me off guard. “I—um—um, I like you. Just not in that way. We’re partners. Besides, what happens if this so-called relationship goes sour? Then what?”

  He looked away, then released his grip on my foot. The towel dropped to the floor along with my dignity.

  “I’ll call a cab to take you home.” He turned and walked away.

  I tipped my head back, resting it against the cupboard behind me.

  You’re a real bitch, all right.

  Chapter 42

  Tuesday, 9:00 a. m.

  The courtroom was packed, again. My head throbbed like someone was inside trying to beat their way out with a ball peen hammer. Four pain relievers an hour ago hadn’t relieved shit. McVay, Francisco, Carrubba, and I drank way too much last night. They were all probably still asleep. Well, Francisco might not be. Our relationship, or whatever it was, certainly seemed compromised by my selfishness, stupidity, or any number of derogatory terms. I’ll admit, I can be complicated.

  My stomach was angry and wanted me to suffer again at the toilet. Hopefully the Sprite and crackers I had eaten minutes before entering court would keep the peace, but only time would tell. One thing was for sure, if I never touched another drop of alcohol again, it would be too soon.

  Veronica sat next to me in a navy-blue pinstriped suit, her hair pulled into a bun. She was doodling on a yellow legal pad. Mostly, it was squiggly lines, but I noticed a hangman’s noose around the neck of a stick figure. She stopped and turned to me. Her makeup was perfect. She wore some perfume I didn’t recognize, but it had a faint honeysuckle smell, which normally is a welcomed scent, but not today. Nausea crept up my insides. I bit into a cracker I smuggled in with me.

  “It’s a good thing court isn’t going to commence today, because you smell like a brewery,” she said in almost a whisper. A corner piece of the cracker crumbled and fell onto the table, bounced several times, then tumbled to the floor.

  “Don’t get sick,” she chastised in a low voice. “Then I’ll get sick.”

  I winced as the man inside banged the hammer against my skull. I pointed at the figure on the page. “That Lucius?”

  Veronica smiled. “A woman can dream.” She went back to doodling.

  Hopefully she was right. If the judge had me take the stand and testify again…well I didn’t want to think about it. My stomach rumbled. My face felt flushed. Focus on something other than your misery.

  I scanned the prosecution table. Lucius laid his head down, using his arms as a pillow. His new lawyer, a skinny, blond-haired, pimpled-face guy, who looked all of thirteen, wore a brown suit he probably bought at a second-hand store. His eyes were shifty, but it seemed to be from nervousness instead of a twitch, but what did I know?

  There was an empty seat where my mother had been watching the trial. I wondered if she’d be a no-show. Maybe the reality her new sugar daddy wouldn’t get the big payday made Lucius less appealing.

  My cell vibrated. A text from Roger Bell.

  Tag her and bag her.

  I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh, but a giggle escaped my lips. My head paid the price.

  Veronica leaned over and whispered, “What’s so funny?”

  The door opened and the judge walked in.

  “I’ll tell you later,” I whispered back.

  Please, let my mother show up today.

  Judge Meeks’s face looked haggard, with a puffy face and bloodshot eyes. Maybe he never went to bed last night. He ambled to his chair. This was only the second time the courtroom was so silent. I could hear my breathing.

  Meeks scanned the courtroom, beginning with the defense, then the prosecution table. His gaze met mine and we stared at each other. He had a look of contempt. Could he tell I had a hangover? I blinked several times as if that would sever the invisible line of connectivity between us. He gave a slight nod, not of approval or judgment, but that of sympathy. Before I could read more into it, he turned to the jury.

  The judge sighed. “In case you’re wondering why you see a new counselor sitting at the defense table, it’s with a heavy heart that I inform you Mr. Crane died last night in the city jail.” His focus turned to Lucius. Meeksʼ jaw tightened as he spoke. “An investigation is underway to find the cause of his death.” The judge turned his attention back to the jury. “Because this trial started with Crane, and he didn’t have anyone sitting second chair, I can’t in good conscience allow it to continue. The defendant has a right to a fair trial and with the recent turn of events, I’m afraid it’s no longer feasible. Therefore, I feel there’s no other alternative than to order a mistrial. I want to thank you, the jury, for doing your civic duty. You’re dismissed.”

  Once the jury exited the courtroom, Meeks glared at the defendant. If the judge had laser beams I think he would have fried the man for wasting his time. Then he turned his attention to the defense attorney.

  “Looks like Lucius is going to need another lawyer. My advice to you, Counselor, is to strike a deal with the DA. Otherwise, you may find yourself in the same predicament as the late Mr. Crane.”

  Meeks banged the gavel, stood, and stalked out the door behind the bench before the bailiff could give the order, “All Rise.”

  Lucius smirked, as if he'd gotten away with being convicted of killing his girlfriend. Of course, I don’t know why he would be smiling since it meant going back to prison. In some part of his twisted mind, he probably thought the next trial would work out better. I doubted it since he’d surely be convicted of two murders instead of one.

  A police officer came over to put him in handcuffs and shackles. Lucius punched and kicked at the officer. “I’m not going back to prison.”

  Lucius’s new lawyer looked on in horror as did some of the people seated in the first row behind them. A cameraman weaved through the crowd of spectators. I was about to run over and assist when the cop pulled the Taser from his web belt and shot Lucius in the chest. A hundred thousand volts of electricity hijacked the reins of the central nervous system and Lucius dropped to the floor. A yellowish liquid began to spread outwardly from the unconscious figure. It was nice to see the killer lose bodily function on television. Hopefully, we were live.

  A moment later, the officer placed the Taser in its holster and secured Lucius with the handcuffs and shackles.

  Now that the excitement was over, I turned my focus back to the first row behind the defense table. The chair remained empty.

  My mother never showed.

  Chapter 43

  9:45 a.m.

  As the police escorted Lucius out of the courtroom, he screamed obscenities to no one in particular. I must say, knowing this man was going back to prison—probably for the rest of his life—gave me some pleasure. But not closure. I really wanted to put my mother in handcuffs and send her ass back to Boston.

  Veronica turned to the court-appointed attorney for Lucius. She pointed a finger at him. “Okay, Counselor, where’s Anna Watson?”

  His forehead creased. “Who?”

  “Your client’s girlfriend. She should have been sitting in the seat behind him today, but she didn’t show.”

  He smiled. “I don’t have to tell you anything about my client. It’s called client-defendant confidentiality. Maybe you’ve hear
d of it?”

  Veronica took a step closer and drove an index finger into his chest. “For starters, there is no client-defendant confidentiality in this matter since Ms. Watson isn’t your client. Secondly, if you are withholding information on her whereabouts, I will personally bring you up on charges of interfering with an investigation.”

  He swallowed hard. “Okay. Okay. She phoned me first thing this morning to get a message to my client—the wedding’s off since it didn’t look like he would win the case.” He opened a manila folder and flipped through several pages. “This is her address.”

  I snatched the paper out of his hand and started walking toward the exit.

  “You can’t get involved,” Veronica shouted from behind. “She’s your mom and a potential suspect.”

  “Try and stop me,” I said in a firm voice. I shoved the double-doors to the courtroom open and stormed out. No one was going to stop me from getting to my mother. Not even this hangover.

  ****

  There were two patrol vehicles parked outside the mid-level chain hotel, their lights flashing but the sirens were turned off. On the drive over, I had requested through dispatch to be the arresting officer. Veronica, using her position in the district attorney’s office, had overturned my decision.

  Although I wouldn’t be the one arresting my mother, she informed me I could watch from the sidelines…the sidelines being next to Veronica, which would be outside the door to my mother’s hotel room. The officers on scene would ultimately Mirandize her. I didn’t agree to the terms but what could I do? At least I’d get the satisfaction of seeing her face when they put the cuffs on her.

  I parked the Jeep Renegade and Veronica and I approached two officers, one male, the other a short female.

  The female, whose nametag read Goodwin, said, “The manager of the hotel said Anna Watson is still registered in room 203.” She handed Veronica a plastic key card. “I was told by dispatch that you’re in charge. How do you want to do this, Counselor?”