He is Mine

by Mel Gough

  “Can I have a look?” he asks in a tense voice. He holds out his hand for the little notebook, and Victor gives it to him, looking alarmed.

  Eric watches him, but for the moment Brad ignores his partner. He flicks through the book, which is the one he picked up from the hallway floor for Vivienne when they had last come face to face.

  The first few pages are filled with dates and times, and letters Brad realizes quickly are street names and subway lines. Each page is headed by the same two letters—DT—and Brad has no doubt that they are Damien’s initials.

  On the fourth page the heading changes. Now the top of the page reads ‘Detective,’ and next to the times are little notes in a cramped, childish writing. Brad squints to makes out the words, but only manages to decipher a few. He reads things like ‘gone to bodega’ and ‘work?’ and ‘gym’ and ‘DT arrives.’ One of the last lines bears the date on which the stone came through Brad’s glass door. The date, which is like all the others in pencil, is circled several times in red pen.

  He drops the book onto the table, and Eric takes it, turning the pages with dawning comprehension.

  “Why didn’t you come for your wife sooner?” Brad asks, trying not to betray his anger. “It’s been a month.”

  Victor shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “She wanted space,” he says, his voice wary.

  “And what has really changed this now?” Brad asks, the steel in his voice making it clear he won’t accept anything but the truth.

  “Well,” Victor says, squirming, “we need to start the PR for Dark Core, and I need her for that.”

  Brad stares at him for a moment. Then he gets up and leaves the room without another word.

  He’s halfway across the incidence room when Eric catches up with him. Brad has pulled out his phone and only stops when Eric holds him back by the elbow.

  “What’s going on?” Eric asks, his voice low and tense.

  “I don’t know yet,” Brad says. “I have a feeling…it’s insane, but…listen, I have to check something out.” He knows he should tell Eric everything now and do this by the book. He’s too close to this case to do his job. But something holds him back. He doesn’t have time to examine his feelings or explain all of this to Eric.

  “You finish off with Cahn,” he says to Eric. “Tell him we’ll look into his wife’s disappearance and that we’ll be in touch.”

  Not waiting for a reply, Brad turns away. He doesn’t find it easy to snub his partner, but an explanation would take much too long. And anyway, this probably is nothing.

  As he gets into the corridor he finally dials Damien’s number. The call goes straight to voicemail. Stopping at the elevators, Brad curses under his breath. When the beep announces that he should leave a message, he says, “Hey, just checking in. Give me a call when you get this?” He hangs up and taps his foot. Where’s the elevator?

  “Wait up!” Brad turns and sees Eric running toward him.

  “What—” he starts, but Eric interrupts him.

  “I don’t care what this is and what you’re not telling me.” Eric straightens up, placing his hands either side on his hip, trying to make himself look intimidating. “But you’re not going on your own.”

  “Look—” Brad tries again, but Eric cuts him off a second time.

  “I’m either coming with you or I’m reporting you.” He glowers. “Take your pick.”

  “Oh, all right,” Brad growls. Then he motions toward the staircase. “C’mon.” He has no patience to wait any longer for the elevator.

  Hurrying down the stairs he tries to ignore the ever-growing bad feeling in his gut. It doesn’t help that he’s guilty of flaunting all department rules. Eric remains by his side, and Brad can’t hide from himself that he’s very glad about that.

  He pushes through the front entrance, mumbling another curse under his breath. He has to fix this before it becomes another tragedy.

  45

  They take the subway. With the streets as busy as they are, it’s the fastest option. Eric doesn’t ask any questions for which Brad is grateful. The sick feeling in his gut gets worse, even though he can’t imagine what Vivienne can do to Damien. Could she have a weapon? Would she hurt Damien? Or Zoe? Brad’s gut feeling is yes, she would. Damien is no weakling, of course. He’s not helpless, and he might even be able to talk her down. But caught unawares, confronted with an angry woman wielding a knife or a gun, will he be able to?

  Brad nearly spills his fears at this point. Anything is better than keeping those awful thoughts inside. But just then the train stops at Canal Street, and they hurry out of the station. Brad is climbing the steps to street level two at a time when his cell buzzes in his pocket. He doesn’t recognize the number but takes the call anyway.

  “Who’s this?” he barks, no space in his head left over for niceties.

  “It’s Rose,” a familiar voice says. “Is this Brad?”

  “Yeah,” he says, his heart rate speeding up together with his steps down the packed sidewalk. “How did you get my number?”

  “I have access to Damien’s address book.” She sounds distracted. “Brad, I can’t get through to him. I picked Zoe up and went ahead for the Open Day at her new school. He had to make some calls so he was gonna join us there. That was an hour ago. I tried his phone but he’s not picking up.”

  Brad’s heart sinks. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Eric struggling to keep up, even with his long legs. “You got Zoe?” he asks.

  “Yeah. Brad, what’s—”

  Brad cuts her off, his voice firm. “Good. Stay away from the penthouse. You got that?”

  “Yes, okay,” she says, sounding scared. Brad hangs up. He can apologize later. At least Zoe and Rose are safe.

  They turn into Damien’s street. Everything is quiet. No fans hang around outside. Even in his haste, Brad marvels at the short-lived nature of social media posts.

  Brad uses the fob keys to get them into the building and to call the elevator. He glances at Eric. “Let me go in first,” he says, a lump in his throat.

  “What do you think she’ll do?” Eric looks at him and knows that his partner has pieced the truth together very accurately indeed. Brad is grateful for Eric’s unruffled professionalism, and for not trying to talk sense into him.

  “I don’t know,” he replies. “She’s obsessed with Damien. I just hadn’t realized how much.”

  “That notebook, that was her stalking diary, wasn’t it?” Eric asks.

  Brad nods. “She’s the one who smashed my patio door, too.” There’s no doubt in his mind about that now. Then he remembers something else. “Damien, he was getting a migraine last night. The meds make him dopey…”

  Eric’s expression is serious. “If it gets hairy, I’ll keep an eye on him.” As the elevator pings to a halt he pulls his pistol from its holster, and Brad does the same.

  “And leave her to me.” Talking strategy like this, just the same as they would in another high-pressure situation, calms Brad. He’d trust Eric with his own life, and he’ll trust him with Damien.

  When the doors glide open, Brad steps through them first. He strides across the hall to the penthouse, key in one hand, weapon in the other.

  The first thing Brad hears when he eases open the door is a crash from upstairs. It sounds like a plate breaking on the floor. There’s another crash, and Brad is already halfway up the stairs. Next there comes a screech, then a woman’s voice shouting.

  “You betrayed us. You!”

  Brad takes two steps at once, bursting into the living room seconds later. The scene before him would be almost comical if it wasn’t so chilling. Vivienne is near the open terrace doors, a small ceramic statue from a nearby table in her hands. Before Brad can do anything, she hurls it across the room at Damien, who has backed away into the kitchen, arms raised. There are shards of glass around him already and pieces of a picture frame Brad recognizes from having sat on a shelf until this morning. The statue shatters on the tiles. With a sense of relief
Brad sees that Damien has got on shoes. In fact, he’s fully dressed, wearing his leather jacket, too. He was probably just about to leave for his meeting with Rose and Zoe when Vivienne turned up.

  All this takes a second to notice, then Brad turns to the woman now screeching obscenities at both him and Damien. “It’s your fucking fault, you pig,” she hollers at Brad, hands balled to fists. Her hair is wild and unkempt. She wears a dress more suited for a summer picnic than fall in New York City. Her face is turned toward Brad now, a mask of pure hatred that stops him in his tracks. Her eyes are red and puffy. Tears make streaks down cheeks covered in too much makeup.

  Brad feels nothing but pity. Something has gone wrong here, and even though she’s dangerous and volatile Brad can’t hate Vivienne. She’s suffering, that much is clear. He slips his weapon back into the holster under his jacket. She’s unarmed, he won’t need it. “Miss Aubert,” he says as gently as he can. “Please, there’s no need…”

  She shakes so hard, her entire slender frame seems to be vibrating. For a moment Brad isn’t sure whether she’ll charge or retreat. He takes a step toward her, gambling on the latter. She glares at him. “You ruined our life!” she yells. There’s a tremor in her voice, and more tears run down her face. She turns toward Damien.

  Brad takes a step in front of Damien, cutting her off if she decides to go that way. She hesitates again, now staring at something by the stairs. Brad doesn’t turn around, but he’s sure she’s looking at Eric and his gun.

  Trembling harder than ever, she gives an anguished howl. Brad can feel Eric moving behind him and holds up a hand without turning around. “No,” he murmurs.

  Then Vivienne turns, as Brad had suspected she would. He’s ready for it, and yet she manages to get out onto the terrace before he has taken two steps. She clutches the balustrade and has a foot on the big terracotta flowerpot holding an artfully cut miniature tree. Brad lunges for her as soon as he’s in reach. He grabs her around the middle just as she tries to get enough purchase to launch herself over the railing.

  They stagger backward together, Brad nearly losing his footing. Even though Vivienne is so slender, she thrashes around madly, putting up a terrible fight. With a mighty effort, Brad lifts her up in his arms and heaves her through the door into the living room. Eric is there, cell phone clamped to his ear. But it’s Damien who is by Brad’s side and grabs hold of Vivienne’s arm first. She screams again, flailing and kicking.

  “On the sofa,” Brad pants. Damien nods, holding both her arms now and trying to stay out of the way of her kicking feet. Somehow, they get her onto the sofa, facedown.

  “Don’t hurt her, Brad,” Damien whispers.

  Brad looks up into Damien’s face, which is mere inches away. With a thrill of horror, he notices a number of deep scratches on Damien’s cheek and down the side of his neck. Enough blood has run down to soak the side of his white T-shirt collar crimson. Brad clenches his jaw.

  “All right, I won’t” he says. “But help me get the handcuffs on her.”

  For a moment, Damien looks like he wants to argue. But then he nods, and shifts Vivienne around until her wrists are in the small of her back.

  Brad pulls handcuffs from his back pocket and secures them around Vivienne’s wrists. He fights the urge to make them extra tight. Sitting back on his haunches, but not letting her go, he considers the pitiful sight before him. Vivienne is no longer struggling. She cranes her neck, and her eyes meet his. There’s blood on her mouth and her teeth; it looks like she’s bitten her lip. If that’s supposed to help her, Brad isn’t worried. He has two witnesses to confirm that he used no unnecessary force. Her eyes blaze with hatred.

  “You think you won, huh?” She spits out each word as if it tastes bad.

  Brad bites back an angry retort. Instead, one hand firmly on her back, he says, “Vivienne Aubert, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been given to you?”

  She says nothing. Brad clenches his jaw again, and his hand on her back balls into a fist. Before he can say anything, however, Eric speaks from behind Brad. “Miss Aubert, do you understand?”

  She glares up at Eric. “Yes,” she mutters eventually. Then she turns her face away.

  “A squad car is on the way, and an ambulance,” Eric says. Brad glances up at him and nods his thanks. His partner looks pale and shaken. “You okay?” Eric asks.

  “Yeah,” Brad says, and then glances at Damien, who is on his knees next to him on the rug, eyes fixed on the back of Vivienne’s head. His arms hang by his side and he seems lost and confused. He’s staring at the back of Vivienne’s head, unblinking. Clearly, he’s not okay.

  Brad reaches out and puts a hand on Damien’s neck. Damien looks around, and a tear rolls down his bloody cheek. His eyes are wide, but other than that he looks blank.

  It’ll be all right, Brad wants to say, but can’t get the words out. He wants to say, I’m sorry, too, but can’t get that out, either.

  Damien’s mouth moves for a moment with no sound coming out, and then he pulls away from Brad’s hand and pushes himself slowly to his feet. He takes a couple of shaky steps, then stops and turns his back on the three of them. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his shoulders shaking.

  Vivienne moves at his words, and Brad tightens his grip on her back. But all she does is look around, fixing on Damien for a moment, then looking at Brad again. “We’re not done,” she snarls. “You’ll see—”

  “No, ma’am,” Brad interrupts her, unable to stand any more of her madness. “You’re wrong. We’re definitely done.”

  46

  That night, Zoe stays with Idil. When Brad finally calls Rose, she’s already contacted Zoe’s mom and delivered the girl to the London Hotel. Idil, it turns out, has been busy looking for a new apartment in the city and tying up loose ends for the New York branch of her talent agency.

  By the time Brad gets off the phone with Rose, the second pair of paramedics are just finished with Damien. The first pair left with Vivienne, Eric, and the uniformed cops a while ago. The first paramedic disappears down the stairs as Brad makes his way over to the sofa, where the second one, a tall young man with blond hair, zips up his kit bag.

  “Shouldn’t he go to the hospital?” Brad asks, frowning. Damien, half-leaning, half-lying on the sofa, looks much the worse for wear, pale and shaken. Brad isn’t sure he can manage him on his own.

  Damien shakes his head. “No, please,” he murmurs.

  “He’ll be all right,” the paramedic says, getting to his feet with the kit bag in his hand. He regards Brad with calm eyes. “I’ve given him some Diazepam for the shock. He should rest and take it easy for a couple of days, and have the bandage changed by his usual doctor day after tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” Brad says, not really feeling reassured. But Damien wants to stay, and Brad can’t bring himself to have him carted off. He precedes the paramedic down the stairs and locks the door behind him.

  When he returns to the living room, Damien hasn’t moved at all. Brad sighs. “With all respect, but you look like shit. You should go to bed. Want me to help you?”

  Damien shakes his head. “Please, not yet.” His voice is raw and weak. He looks so miserable, Brad doesn’t have the heart to argue.

  “You want coffee? Or some food?” Brad asks. What he really wants is a whiskey, but Damien can’t mix that with the Diazepam, and it would be heartless to drink in front of him.

  “There’s Zoe’s cocoa,” Damien suggests, hopeful.

  “Sure.” Brad froths milk with the fancy coffee maker he hasn’t used before, and makes himself a cappuccino. He stirs two spoonfuls of sugar into Damien’s cocoa and carries the hot drinks the length of the room.

  They sit in silence for a few minutes. Brad drinks his cappuccino, but Damien takes only one s
mall sip from his mug, then puts it on the coffee table. His hands are shaking. Brad puts his own coffee down and scoots around on the sofa until he faces Damien.

  “How’re you feeling?” he asks. “Really, I mean?”

  Damien shrugs. “As you’d expect.” He touches the big gauze patch covering the deep scratches on his neck and winces. The patch only covers the worst damage; the iodine extends halfway up his cheek, too, where Vivienne’s nails did only superficial damage.

  “You know we’ll have to press charges, right?” Brad watches Damien for a reaction. Damien doesn’t look surprised.

  “I knew you’d say that,” he whispers. “Will they send her away?” His voice is very small.

  “That depends on her lawyer and the jury,” Brad says. Now isn’t the time to go into detail. But Damien looks up at him, expression stricken. So Brad adds, “They might advise her to plead not guilty on mental health grounds. The judge might agree to mandatory in-patient therapy at an appropriate facility.”

  “Can we do anything to make that happen?” Damien asks, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

  Brad hesitates again. He doesn’t want to make promises he won’t be able to keep, or that he doesn’t believe in. “She’s committed serious criminal offenses, Damien. Assault, stalking, vandalism. Not just misdemeanors.”

  “I know,” Damien whispers. “It’s just, I can’t stand to think this is somehow my fault…”

  Brad takes Damien’s hand that lies limply in his lap. His fingers are icy. “It’s not your fault,” Brad says. “You did nothing wrong. But she probably deserves to get help. Something’s not right with her. I’ll make an appointment with the Department’s legal team and see what they say.”

  Damien gives a shaky sob. “I never expected this,” he whispers. “It annoyed me that she didn’t want to take a hint. But I didn’t expect her to stalk me, or…or throw that stone…”