by Harlow Stone
His frustrated black eyes stare back at me while he shakes his head, his posture tight.
“Why do you get to be the one to make the decisions here Elle? Why do you get to give me ultimatums?”
I soften a little, and settle my greens on his blacks.
“Because my life has an expiration date Ryder, and it’s not like yours that includes wrinkles, grey hair and grandchildren.”
His eyes close and he tilts his head down. This man has looked defeated in front of me so many times, I’m starting to wonder if I’m doing him more harm than good. Surely a regular woman with a normal life couldn’t put this much stress on a man.
I remind myself he too has left me stressed, and that whatever way we move forward will be for the better. At least right now.
“I don’t like it Elle, I don’t. But it doesn’t sound like you’re giving me any other option.”
I reach out and put my hand on top of his.
“This is the way it needs to be right now, Ryder.”
He grabs my hand and brings it up to his mouth, placing a kiss on my palm.
“I still think you’re wrong, and you never said I had to agree with you, because I don’t. I hope to prove you wrong, Elle. I fucked up the other day and I’ll probably do that a lot.”
He takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his hair before continuing.
“I’ll help. You know I will beautiful. But don’t think it’s going to be easy for me.”
I know what he means, and this is what it comes down to. Sex. It’s what it always comes down to. This is his way of letting me know that he’ll have a hard time not getting it from me, and maybe even that he’d find it somewhere else.
I decide that it’s no longer my place to ask him exactly what he means by that and give him a small, reassuring smile.
“I think this is the time we rip the band aid off, so if you don’t have plans today, I suggest we dive right into it.”
He studies me a few moments longer than necessary before standing up.
“No plans. I’m going to go grab a shower and a bite to eat. Meet you back here in an hour?”
I nod my head.
“Sounds good.”
Chapter Ten
I sit at the old wooden table that Tom Morgan and his dear late wife used to share dinners at. They probably smiled and told each other about their day around this table, most likely over a nice home cooked meal.
There will be no smiles around this table today.
Ryder is sitting in his usual spot at the head of the table, and I’m to his right, facing out the window toward his house. The mood is somber, and despite my want for a glass of vodka to accompany the task ahead of us, I know I need to keep a clear head.
“I’m not going to dive right into what happened in the basement, because at this point I don’t think it’s relevant. You’ll see enough from the photos and you’ve already seen my body.”
Out of habit he reaches over to squeeze my leg, but it ends up being more of a pat before he corrects himself.
“What I think is important is for you to look at all the information gathered so far, and do whatever it is you’d normally do to try and figure out who the second attacker is. My being wanted for questioning back in Canada is a moot point at the moment. I’m not asking you for help to get me out of that, I just need your help to find out who’s after me.”
I push the two inch thick folder containing the rest of the things he hasn’t seen toward him. The things he noticed were missing when he first discovered my dark secret spread out on my old kitchen table back in Indy.
“I’ll do what I can and use whatever resources I have to help you, Elle.”
I absorb the sincerity in his eyes before nodding my head, and letting the folder go. He gives me a small, reassuring smile before opening it up.
Ryder heaves out a long breath deep from his lungs and rests his hands on the table, now clenched tight into fists.
I know what he’s looking at, the first photos are of Andrew’s shrine. A wall approximately twenty-feet long by ten-feet tall covered in photos of me, along with notes of my schedule. When I went to work, who I hung out with, what time I usually went to bed at night.
The first few photos are of the full wall. The next photos he’ll see are the close ups on that wall. I wait for him to turn the pages and see the woman I once was; the one with the big smile on her face. The one that walked around without a care in the world. The woman who once swayed her hips when she walked, not because she wanted to flaunt herself, but because she had pride in who she was, what she did.
She was a hard worker, a good mother and a damn good friend to those closest to her. She was pale-skinned, with long wavy light blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. She was everything this new miserable bitch is not, and her name was Jayne O’Connor.
I watch him look at photo after photo. I watch his hands clench and unclench. I watch him grind his teeth, and fidget in his chair.
He turns the page and I see the photo of my daughter and I playing on the swing set in our backyard. Both our smiles are big, we were laughing at Norma who wouldn’t stop barking every time Lilly squealed because she was being pushed so high. Next to that photo is one of me at Frank’s bar, dancing with a man I used to spend time with.
They were both nice photos, if it weren’t for the words ‘dirty whore’ written over both of them. This is where I noticed a pattern. The candid shots of me meeting with work clients, or photos of Laura and I at lunch, didn’t have those two words angrily written across the top.
I note the silence in the room and glance up at Ryder, who’s now staring intently at me. It’s not pity in his eyes. It almost looks like longing.
“You’re beautiful Elle, so was your little girl.”
I nod my head slowly and try to put his focus back on what’s in front of him.
“That she was. But she’s gone and I’m not that girl anymore. Let’s keep going, I don’t like to look at this shit any longer than I have to.”
He reaches out and places his hand on top of mine.
“You’re you, babe. That’s what I like best. I don’t give a fuck what color your hair is, not then, and not now when I’ve seen who you used to be. Remember that.”
I nod my head in mild understanding, not wanting to make this any more personal than it has to be.
I continue to watch Ryder as he studies the photos intensely, taking notes on a pad he brought with him. I know when he’s getting close to the real ugly, not because I know this file like the back of my hand, but because his breathing has grown heavy.
I look down at the file and see the photo of Cory and Andrew’s bodies lying lifeless on the floor. I see that awful rope, and the filthy blood soaked blanket in the corner. My eyes drift toward the bucket I was given to piss in and I turn my head away.
No matter how long it has been, when I see it, I smell it. It’s like this awful thing that has permeated so deep in my brain that seeing that photo takes me back there.
I can feel the rope on my wrists again, the blood running down my back. I can smell the putrid scent of that goddamn bucket, stale with piss and the man that didn’t shower for three days.
I push back from the table and walk briskly toward the bathroom, not slowing at all, knowing that if my head doesn’t get to the toilet soon, I’m going to have one hell of a mess to clean up.
I make it to the bathroom and fall to my knees, I reach my hands up to try and hold my hair, but two larger hands beat me to it as I empty my stomach of the coffee and toast I consumed this morning.
I don’t want him to see me like this.
Head in the toilet.
Weak.
I don’t have a chance to object because I can’t stop heaving. Everything from today and whatever was left from last night comes up. It’s a torrent of hell that that photo brought back to me and it doesn’t stop until my stomach is completely empty.
Ryder reaches in front of me and puts a cool cloth to
my forehead. I take it from him and he begins to rub my back. I’d love nothing more than to put the nightmare on my kitchen table to rest and just have this man hold me for a while so I could sleep it off. But I can’t do that. I need to push forward, no matter how much it pains me to do so.
“Maybe we should take a break, Elle,” Ryder softly says, always seeming to know what I need, even if it’s not technically what I want.
I shake my head.
“No.”
I reach out and flush the toilet, and Ryder helps me stand up. I don’t bother looking at him as I make my way to the sink and proceed to brush my teeth. He stands silently in the doorway, waiting for me.
I rinse out my mouth and wash my hands before looking at him. He’s leaned in the doorway, wearing a dark grey long sleeve shirt and worn out jeans. Dressed—or undressed—Ryder Callaghan is a beautiful sight.
“Let’s finish.”
He gives me a long hard look before nodding and following me back to the table. I stop on the way to get a glass of water before taking my seat.
“His photos of you started near university, is that right?”
I nod my head.
“Yes, but there were only a few from that time. Then there was about a year gap before it started again, and from then on they were pretty consecutive. No more gaps.”
He looks up from his notepad.
“What happened during the first gap? After university?”
It’s not hard to forget, they were some of the best memories of my life.
“The curly haired brunette in some of those photos is my best friend, Laura. We spent close to a year traveling. Everywhere from California to Italy. We’d fly somewhere for a month, spend a few weeks at home and then fly somewhere else. It wouldn’t have been easy to know where I was, unless you were a close friend of mine.”
Ryder nods his head, deep in thought before looking back to the photos and notes.
“Only the photos that are taken with your daughter, or men, are written on. I’m not a profiler Elle, but any idiot could assume that either he has strong religious views and didn’t like the fact that you had a child without being married, or he envisioned himself being the one to give that to you. Did he mention anything about that?”
Not wanting to think back on that time right now, I tell him so.
“I’d prefer if you would just look over that file, and make your own assumptions. Then maybe tomorrow we’ll sit down so I can answer your questions. You’re going to have more than just that one Ryder, and I would rather hash it all out at the same time after you’ve gone over the whole thing.”
Knowing that my suggestion is the best course of action for me right now, he nods his head and gets back to it.
“Sure, beautiful.”
The endearment comes out naturally, but I don’t acknowledge it like I usually would. Purely platonic, and strictly business at the moment is my game plan. I try my best to shut down my emotions and remain at this table like an outsider looking in. Not letting my heart or my head get too caught up in the mess that is my past.
After a short while of silence, watching Ryder go over everything with a fine toothed comb, I get up from the table and head to the fridge in search of the makings for sandwiches. My stomach doesn’t necessarily want food right now, but I know if I don’t eat I’ll pay for it later.
I make us each a chicken club and grab a few bottles of water before sitting back down to eat. Ryder is currently looking over the notes from the forensic team regarding lists of items found in the room. Steel pipe, two-by-four soaked in blood, four-inch combat knife, etc. He studies everything with a trained eye, writing a lot of notes down on paper.
I take our empty plates to the counter, knowing what’s about to come. I don’t need to look at it again, I see and feel the proof of it every day. So I don’t turn around when I hear the shattering of glass against the wall, and I don’t follow him when he storms past me to head out the door.
I don’t need to check the file on the table to know which photos he just looked at. I was barely conscious when they asked to take them. The close-ups of my face are not the woman I am today. My eyes were swollen shut and the entire right side of my face is virtually black. My light hair was stained crimson, and I had a feeding tube inserted through my nose because it was impossible to swallow anything thicker than water down my abused throat.
The photos of my back show the one hundred and sixty two stitches holding it together. I don’t remember much from arriving at the hospital, and I assume I was in too dire need of medical care to take all of the photos on arrival.
There are also pictures of my wrists and ankles, followed by the close-ups of my black and broken ribs. I might as well have been a dead person, because that’s exactly what I looked like in those photographs.
I finish cleaning up our lunch mess, and look out the window to see Ryder pacing the beach in front of my house. Norm is not far behind, giving him a little space. I decide not to bother him. Obviously he needs a moment alone and I don’t think there are words that’ll make him feel better.
I turn on the radio to a mellow alternative station and sit back at the table to wait. He’ll come in eventually, he just needs time. I send a text to Denny letting him know that I’d like to meet at the gym tonight, and within five minutes I get a response telling me that he’s free. I gave him the code for the private room, so if he gets there before me he can let himself in.
Twenty minutes later, Ryder comes back in the house. He heads straight for the fridge and grabs a beer before sitting back down at the table. He cracks it open, and takes a long pull before staring straight ahead and speaking.
“What Andrew Roberts did was not because he loved you, or wanted to be with you. It was a punishment. He may have wanted you at one time, but this, these photos Elle, are that of a man who wanted you to pay for something. That payment being your life. I don’t for one second believe the detective’s notes stating this was an act of obsession and love to be the truth. This man didn’t watch you because he loved you, he did it because he fucking hated you, Elle. What we need to figure out is why.”
I stare at him the entire time he speaks, and I want to be offended he hasn’t yet looked at me. Perhaps it’s hard? A combination of seeing what I used to look like, along with seeing me in the hospital. I’m stronger now. Deep down I know he knows that. I just hope his eyes don’t judge me differently because of it.
“I agree with you Ryder, but they didn’t see it that way. The rest are the accounts of injuries and causes of death, along with a few more witness statements and some of his background information. Why don’t you take it home with you? We can sit down tomorrow afternoon and I’ll answer any questions you have.”
His troubled eyes finally meet mine and it takes everything in me not to jump out of my chair and plant myself in his lap. I want to hold him, I want him to hold me, but I remind myself this is about getting justice, about finding a killer that could potentially be out there harming other women. This isn’t about just me, or Ryder, or my desire to want to be with him. This is about tying up loose ends, and I can’t do that when my judgment gets clouded with sweet words and strong hands.
“This isn’t easy for me Elle. Actually, that’s an understatement, this is really fucking hard.”
He downs the last of his beer and heavily sets the bottle back on the table, not losing eye contact.
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I can to find this piece of shit Elle, I promise you that. My only hope is that when I’m finished, you’ll drop this ‘work and no play’ act you’ve enforced and realize you still want me right now just as much as I want you.”
I go to open my mouth but he cuts it off with a firm slap to the table, causing my eyes to blink. His voice is surprisingly soft when he speaks again.
“Don’t lie. Better yet, don’t speak. I’ll prove it to you.”
He doesn’t say anything else, or even try to touch me as he folds up the file and walks out of my h
ouse.
What have I gotten myself into?
Chapter Eleven
“Elbows in! Tuck ‘em in girl, fists up! Come at me!”
I do everything Denny says, punching with every bit of energy I have left in my body. Physically, I wasn’t exhausted when I came in here. Mentally—that’s a different story.
I had four hours after Ryder left before I got to work out with Denny. I came in an hour early, simply so I didn’t have to sit at home, pacing the floors. My mind is mostly here tonight, but it’s the anger behind my punches that are really keeping me present.