by Shealy James
I leaned in closer. “Friends kiss.” I barely ran my tongue across her bottom lip before gently pressing my lips to hers.
Her eyes closed, and her breathing picked up. “Not like that.”
“Friends touch,” I said as I moved my hands down her back to cup her ass.
“Definitely not like that.”
“Then I don’t think we were ever just friends,” I said right before our lips met once more.
I was never much of a talker. Words weren’t my thing. I sucked at journaling during my therapy because writing wasn’t my thing either. I couldn’t describe things the way other people could, so this was especially difficult to describe…the way Sarah made me feel. It was terrifying as much as it was gratifying. It was the first time I’d wanted something to last forever and feared it couldn’t last another second. She consumed me with that first kiss, so I kissed her again wanting nothing more than to be her everything.
I pulled away before the heated moment could escalate further, and believe me, I wanted to take it much, much further. “We’re going to the police station and reporting everything else he’s sent to you. It violated the restraining order, and I want him behind bars. Then you’re coming home with me.”
“So you can watch out for me?” she asked with a frown.
“Partially.”
“What’s the other reason?”
“I’ve been thinking about you in my bed since the night you stayed at my place. I can’t get the idea of it out of my head no matter how many times I tell myself you’re too good to be true.”
“Well, heck. That’s not the most proper offer I’ve ever received, but what girl in her right mind would turn down you?”
“Would it help if I took you to dinner first?”
“What kind of lady would I be if I said no?”
“The kind who knows what she wants and goes after it.”
With a small smile, she said, “It sounds like you know me a little too well.”
“I’d like to know you better.” I looked at her before giving her a small kiss on the tip of her nose.
She moved closer and batted her long eyelashes with a coquettish smile plastered on her face. “Wanna skip the police station and head right to the gettin’ to know you part of the evening?”
As much as I wanted to agree to it, I knew she needed to file the report. I had to be the strong one here. “Nice try. Grab your stuff. It’s raining, so we’re taking the subway.”
Sarah
It took hours to meet with Darrin Houser, who never became available. Finally, a woman came out and had us write statements and attach the printed emails and copies of the text messages, which I had pretty much already done over email. The lady who collected the paperwork from us said, “Someone will contact you.” When Michael asked when we might hear something, she gave us a look like we were crazy for even asking.
After Lana and Tony had dropped a bag for me over at Michael’s place, he did what he promised and took me to dinner. What didn’t happen was the touching. No kissing, no handholding, nothing. Nada. And it was driving me crazy. I was certain he was doing it on purpose, but another part of me, the vulnerable side of me that I hated, wondered if he’d changed my mind.
He hadn’t.
By the time we made it back to his apartment, I was agitated and borderline needy. I hadn’t felt like this when I was sober since…never. No man had ever made me lose my mind like this. Apparently, he was feeling the same way because the second we were inside the door to his apartment, I was against the wall, and his hands and lips were everywhere. Needless to say, I didn’t mind one bit considering my hands were unusually grabby, and the breathy moan that I heard come from my lips was undeniably one of pleasure. Let’s just say the night didn’t end with only a wild tryst at the door.
A kiss to the back of my neck let me know Michael was awake, and my daydreaming about last night was over in favor of some action.
“Good morning,” he said against my shoulder.
“You talk in your sleep,” I told him playfully. Instead of joking with me and trying to convince me to tell him what he said as I had expected, he froze and pulled away. I rolled over and tried to make sense of the expression on his face. “What?”
“I didn’t…” He swallowed hard.
“Hey.” I ran my fingers across his face smoothing out the worry lines. “I was teasing. All you did was mumble my name and pull me closer to you. It was nice.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all,” I confirmed.
He let out a deep breath and pulled me close. “Sorry. Sometimes I have dreams, memories. They can get really bad.”
“I know. It’s okay,” I told him, trying to comfort him. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but one day you’ll need to tell someone.”
His eyes were on my bare shoulder where his thumb rubbed back and forth. “Yeah. One day.” He watched his hand move down my arm. He pulled my hand up between us and held it against his chest. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I sighed. We were back to this again. “I won’t. He won’t-”
“I don’t only mean by him,” he said without looking me in the eye.
“What do you mean?” My words came out in a whisper.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I want you. You’re different, good different, and I could use a little good different in my life.”
As much as I would have loved him to profess his undying affection for me, I knew better. He wasn’t the kind of guy who made promises he couldn’t keep. He was probably the most honest man I’d ever met other than Daddy. Michael was one of the good ones whether he could see it or not.
“Like I said, let’s just take this one day at a time, but this time maybe you could keep your friends from asking me out.”
“Yeah, that’s never going to happen again. I was a moron to let that happen. I wanted to kill Jay, and I never want to kill Jay. Trust me, next time they see you they will all know you’re mine.”
“So, no killing anyone, right?”
“No killing,” he confirmed playfully.
“So, back to taking this one day at a time,” I teased as my hand drifted down his muscular chest.
“Let’s take this right now,” he said just before he rolled me onto my back and kissed me as if it was a promise of the words I desperately wanted to hear from him. Better yet, it was a promise that made me want to stay in his bed for the rest of the day. Eh, why limit it to one day? I wanted to stay in his bed forever. My heart was so going to break if I kept up these little fantasies.
Those little fantasies kept playing in my head all day long, driving me beyond crazy, making me check my phone every chance I had for a missed call or text from my favorite veteran.
Out of respect for the veterans in the study, I usually kept my phone turned off during interviews. I was lucky enough to get these soldiers to come see me so I couldn’t afford rude interruptions on top of their possibly unstable mental state. But today, the hope of hearing from Michael made me forgo my usual decorum.
Instead of hearing from Michael, I had a more disconcerting call. My first interview of the day had just walked out of my tiny office when my phone rang. I quickly wrapped up with Staff Sergeant Quinton Mills and answered my phone.
“Hello?”
“Sarah Grant?” a gruff voice said my name like a question. He sounded like he smoked three packs a day and had been yelling for several hours.
“Yes. This is she. May I ask who’s calling?”
“My name is Detective Ray Thompson. I understand you filed a report against Jameson Carmichael.”
“Yes, sir. I did.”
“I’d like to meet with you. I have some information that I think you need to hear.”
“You can’t tell me over the phone?”
“This is the kind of thing you need to hear in person.”
The second I told Michael where I was headed, he insisted that
he come with me. He met me at the VA then we took the subway to meet Detective Ray Thompson. The police station was a flurry of activity, but Michael seemed to have no trouble navigating his way to the second floor where a smorgasbord of people awaited in a dingy reception area to address their business with New York’s finest.
Michael must have sensed how uneasy I was because he took my hand and held it in his lap. “It’ll be okay,” he reminded me. I tried to smile reassuringly, but it came out pained instead.
“Miss Grant?” a large man called out. He was intimidating, yet friendly. Still, knowing that I was about to get information I didn’t want to hear filled me with unease. Once we made introductions, he instructed us to follow him. I was thankful he didn’t take us into one of those mirrored interview rooms. Instead, we followed him to his office where his desk was littered with files and coffee cups. It reminded me of Dr. Wright’s office where Jameson and I once sat side-by-side while Dr. Wright welcomed me to the study and assigned me to work with the man who single-handedly complicated my life beyond recognition. That felt like a lifetime ago, but truthfully, it had only been a few months.
“Please, have a seat.” He gestured to a small round table off to the side.
Michael waited until I sat before he took the chair beside me. He and the detective were chatting amicably about the military. They found they both served in the Special Forces from some medal Detective Thompson had hanging on his wall.
They could chitchat later. I needed to know what was going on. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but what is it that you couldn’t tell me over the phone?” I snapped. My mama would tan my hide if she heard me speak that way, but I was about to jump out of my skin with my nerves like they were.
“Yes, of course. A report you filed came across my desk. Jameson Charmichael?”
“Yes, sir,” I confirmed nervously.
“Darrin Houser, the ADA assigned to your case recognized the name and forwarded the complaint and subsequent information to me. I had worked on the Carmichael case fifteen years ago, and he thought I would know more about this guy whose lawyer seems to get him out of everything. Houser is having trouble building a solid case against him even with your testimony.”
“Why is that? Has he been arrested? Wait, what Carmichael case? I’m sorry, but I’m not following what you’re saying.”
He set his reading glasses on his desk then spoke candidly. “Fifteen years ago, I investigated the brutal murder of the Carmichaels, Jameson’s parents. They were well liked by everyone. We couldn’t find any motive for their deaths.”
“No.” I shook my head harshly making my brain swim. “You must be mistaken. Jameson’s parents aren’t dead. They own a penthouse on Fifth Avenue. He talked about them all the time.”
“But you never met them, did you?” Detective Thompson asked knowingly.
“No, but…”
“Here’s what I think, Miss Grant. You met Jameson. He’s a good-looking guy with impeccable behavior then one day he gets angry. Maybe he loses control a little. You ended it with him, and he didn’t take it so well. He decides to follow you, beg for your forgiveness. When that didn’t work, he started threatening you using means that were difficult to trace back to him. Now it’s your word against his. He had a high-powered attorney, and you have us.”
“I…I-” I didn’t know what to say.
“More or less,” Michael spoke for me. “What are you getting at? What does all this mean?”
“There’s more to the story. Jameson was home at the time of the murder. He didn’t handle it well, so child services had him evaluated. Eventually, they sent him to a mental facility upstate, paid for by the family’s estate. The first time he came home, he met a girl. She was a sweet girl, often alone while her parents traveled. They dated briefly then suddenly she disappears. We investigated him again, but there was no evidence of foul play. She just vanished. Through the investigation, Carmichael remained composed. He was emotional at the right time and angry at the right times as if he were being directed. I’d always wondered if he played us with his parents’ murders, but after the girl, I was sure of it.”
My stomach rolled, and I felt myself pale. Michael grabbed my hand, and I was sure he could feel my body shaking. I felt like I was going to be sick, right there in the Captain’s office. “Make your point, Captain,” he demanded while I sat there reeling from the information.
“I think you may be in more danger than you think. The sly son of a bitch keeps evading arrest. I’ve had officers outside of both his building and in front of his parents’ where he maintains ownership. We can’t find him. He’s made no calls on his phone, and his lawyer claims he hasn’t seen him. After making a few phone calls, I discovered some interesting news.”
“Let me guess. He stopped taking his meds,” Michael guessed crossly.
“I have no idea,” the Captain responded to Michael’s snide comment seriously then continued. “My radar went off when I read the report you wrote. You said you both worked under the supervision of Dr. Frank Wright?”
“Yes, sir,” I confirmed.
Captain Thompson spun a file around on the table and pushed it toward me. He pointed to a name on the file next to the words Attending Psychiatrist. It said Linda Wright, M.D., which didn’t make sense to me.
“I spoke with Dr. Wright, Dr. Linda Wright. She evaluated Jameson when he was a child and has provided psychiatric care for him since the incident with his parents.”
“But he’s a student at one of the most prestigious schools in the country,” Michael commented derisively.
“Under Dr. Wright,” I reminded him, making the connection Captain Thompson was trying to show us.
“He was inpatient at the mental health facility for a short time then maintained the relationship while he completed high school at one of the most prestigious private schools in the city. Turns out he was a smart guy, earned a full ride to Colombia, and was admitted to their graduate program upon completion of his undergraduate degree. Of course, it helps when your supervising professor is the brother of the woman who had watched you grow up under her nose. It seemed a little suspicious to me.”
Brother. That one word told me everything I needed to know. My heart was pounding, and I felt like I was drowning with how difficult it was to simply breathe. Michael clarifying the situation didn’t help my state, either.
“Let me make sure I understand. Her professor is the brother of the woman who treated him when he was locked up in the loony bin.”
“It appears that way.”
“Oh, God,” I said as I started rocking back and forth. “This is bad. This is really bad. Dr. Wright knew he was dangerous or unstable at the very least.” I was sure the contents of my stomach would be returning to us momentarily if the detective shared any more information. By some miracle, I was able to tune them out while they continued to talk because the next thing I registered was that we were on the subway headed to Michael’s apartment. I didn’t know where my brain was that whole time, but it wasn’t present. It was like it blocked out everything without me even being aware it was happening.
We were lucky the train was relatively empty. Michael was holding my hand tightly when I registered where we were headed. “I still have work to do,” I told him with little intention of following through.
“Not today. We’re going back to my place.”
I frowned but nodded my head in agreement. He tucked me into his side and kissed my temple. As much as I didn’t want anyone taking care of me, I appreciated what Michael was doing for me. It felt like I couldn’t process the fact that I not only dated a crazy person, but he could also be a potential murderer that I effectively ticked off. Again, I wondered, what was so wrong with me that I only dated men with issues? As the minutes passed, I started to believe that maybe I did need to go home where Mama and Daddy could take care of me. At least then, I’d be safe and unaffected by my weak decision-making skills.
Sixteen
Michael
>
Sarah was still hardly responding by the time Lana and Tony showed up with dinner. I started to share the information the Captain gave us, but I didn’t get far. Sarah hadn’t even taken a bite of her food yet. As soon as I mentioned the part about the murder of Jameson’s parents, Sarah’s fork dropped to the table noisily and she darted out of the room. I gave her a moment, thinking she was upset from hearing about the scandalous information about Jameson again. She must have been scared. The guy was a certified lunatic, and to make matters worse, her professor was aware of it and still paired them to work together. The same professor supposed to help her file a report with the university. That was now questionable since we knew he had a significant relationship with Jameson.
After I had waited forever, three minutes to be exact, for Sarah’s return, I needed to check on her. I needed her to be okay because if it came down to it, I would put that son of a bitch in the ground for simply upsetting her. I didn’t even want to think about the things I wanted to do to him for physically hurting her.
It was difficult to think about how quickly Sarah became part of my life. There was a good, solid reason for me to avoid relationships, especially one where I never wanted to be away from her. The nightmares were a concern, but really, what it truly came down to was the fact that I was weak. I couldn’t protect her from me. What if I broke down? What if I got lost remembering what happened? Memories or warped versions of memories played like movies in my head, and I couldn’t escape it, couldn’t get back to reality, to the present, until it released me. Sometimes it happened while I was asleep. Sometimes I was awake, and those were the most terrifying. To know I had no control over what went on inside my head meant I would never be enough for Sarah. She unquestionably didn’t need to go from one crazy man to another. Still, I couldn’t let her go. She was everything that was good in the world, so I found myself knocking gently on the bathroom door. “Sarah?”
“Give me a minute, please.” She sounded like she was crying, and I couldn’t stand it. I quietly tried to turn the doorknob, but she’d locked it.