Blood Moon

by A. D. Ryan

  Seeing the expression on my face, David slowed his jog to a walk. “What’s wrong?” he asked, slightly breathless after just a few minutes.

  “The shower handle broke.” He moved his hand to turn the treadmill off, but I stopped him. “No, it’s fine. I just need to know of a temporary fix so we can shower until I can grab a new one tonight.”

  “How bad is it?” David asked.

  “The actual mechanics of the faucet still look fine. I think it’s just the handle that broke.”

  He contemplated this for a minute before saying, “Try the adjustable, open-ended wrench that’s under your kitchen sink.”

  I located it without much trouble and headed back to the bathroom to figure out how to use it to get my shower started. My entire shower was spent trying to figure out how I managed to snap it off in the first place. It wasn’t as though the house was that old. Was the faucet just a cheap shortcut that they used to save a couple bucks? I’d have to be sure to not repeat that mistake when I replaced it, that’s for sure.

  After my shower, I brushed my hair and teeth, and then headed back to my room to get dressed. On my way, I passed David in the hall as he headed to the bathroom to shower, and he gave me a playful swat on my towel-covered ass. I giggled like a silly schoolgirl, but before I could retaliate, he closed the bathroom door behind him. My spirits were high, probably thanks to the endorphins from my longer-than-usual run and the fact that I was returning to work after almost a week away. I quickly dressed, choosing jeans and a green fitted, long-sleeved shirt before heading out to the kitchen.

  Rifling through the fridge, I decided on bacon, eggs, and breakfast sausage. I debated a fruit salad, but my stomach wasn’t receptive to that idea, churning with displeasure. I did cut a grapefruit in half for David, though, just in case he was in the mood to balance his meal. While the food cooked, I opened the fridge to grab the glass carafe of orange juice. I barely grabbed the slender neck of the bottle, and it shattered in my hand. Pain shot through my index finger and up my arm as dark red blood seeped from a long slice in the pad of my finger. What the hell was going on? It was like I’d been exposed to Gamma radiation or something equally comic-book-like, because everything I touched was falling apart.

  Using my good hand, I formed a cup and held it under my bleeding finger as I ran for the sink and turned the cold water on. I thrust my sliced finger beneath the cool stream, using my good hand to help wipe away the blood so I could get a good look at how deep the cut was. The first pass over the pad of my finger opened the wound more, causing more blood to escape and be washed away, and I deduced that I might need a couple stitches if the bleeding didn’t stop soon. Every pass over the cut stung a little, but the pain ebbed as the frigid temperature numbed my finger. The water washed away the latest stream of crimson, and my eyes widened in disbelief; the blood stopped flowing so freely, and what I thought was a deep laceration was actually no more than something the size of a paper cut. Had I imagined the severity of the cut? No. I was fairly certain I knew what I saw. It was a deep cut. It had to be to bleed that badly.

  “What the hell happened out here?” David demanded, stepping over the spilled juice and shattered glass still on the kitchen floor as he rushed to my side. Freshly showered and dressed in jeans and a blue button-up shirt, his forehead was creased with worry. Because of me. Again.

  Still not entirely sure what happened, myself, I tried to explain. “The juice carafe broke when I grabbed it. The fridge must have been too cold, and the glass was a little more fragile when I grabbed it.” It was a plausible explanation, backed up by science.

  David took my hand, pulling it from the cold water and inspecting my finger. “You cut yourself.”

  “I did,” I replied softly. “But it’s not very deep. Just a scratch, really.”

  He lifted my damp hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to my fingertip. The pain was almost completely gone, only the slight sting that accompanied something like a minutes-old paper cut remaining. “You’ve really got to stop scaring me like this,” he teased, winking at me before turning to pick up the glass.

  I was so lost in the playful glint of his eyes that I almost forgot our breakfast was still on the stove and on the brink of burning. Gasping, I rushed over and saved it before I ruined something else today. I was lucky this time, and stayed focused on breakfast while David offered to clean the spilled orange juice and carefully discard the shards of glass.

  When we sat at the table, David eyed my protein-rich meal and quirked an eyebrow. I shrugged in response as I scooped some scrambled eggs onto my fork. “I had a craving.”

  “A craving,” he repeated, the word sounding a little more uneasy coming from him than I’d originally intended.

  Understanding, I smiled at him reassuringly. “Sorry. Not that kind of craving.” I picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite, savoring the way it tasted. “It must have something to do with my accident. Low iron, maybe? I don’t really know.”

  “Sounds like that’s a possibility,” David agreed, taking a bite of his own breakfast. “It just struck me as odd, is all. You’re usually a French toast and fruit kind of girl.”

  My lip curled in distaste at the mere mention of fruit, and even I thought it was a bit weird. It was probably just a post-accident phase, one I’d overcome in a few more days as my system righted itself and my body healed fully. Whatever it was, I was surprisingly okay with it, because as I finished my breakfast, my energy levels were renewed once more and my appetite sated.

  David drove us to the precinct in his car, and I willingly agreed to it, still not sure if I trusted myself not to have a repeat incident of the other day. I wasn’t completely blind to the fact that my increasing energy levels could very well be residual adrenaline from everything that happened. If I blacked out the last time it wore off, there was a very real possibility that it could happen again.

  When we walked into the office, everyone welcomed me back, and as I approached my desk, I saw a few bouquets of flowers waiting for me. It was a sweet—and totally unnecessary—gesture, but I appreciated it nonetheless.

  “Thanks, guys,” I said with a genuine smile. Before I could tell them that I just wanted to go about work as though none of this ever happened, O’Malley approached me and told me that the captain asked to see me the minute I got in.

  David nodded me toward Dad’s office. “Go on. I’ll get everyone gathered for a briefing to get you caught up.”

  Taking a deep breath, I headed for the captain’s office. He still wasn’t completely on board with my return to work so soon after being released from the hospital, but I hoped that he would see how good I was feeling. Maybe then he’d be a little more accepting.

  His door was slightly ajar, but I still knocked before pushing it open. “O’Malley said you wanted to see me, sir?”

  I heard the rustling of paper, and when I stepped into the room, he frantically closed a file on his desk. “Brooke,” he greeted, his eyes finding mine and softening with relief as he folded his hands on his desk. “How are you feeling?”

  I closed the door and sat in the chair opposite him. “I feel good. I got in a good run this morning, had a hearty breakfast. I feel better than good, actually.” My eyes fell to the file under his folded hands. “What do you have there?”

  Dad looked nervous, his eyes falling to his desk and then flitting to his blank computer monitor. “It’s, um…” He scrambled for an answer—one that I guessed might not be entirely truthful—so I leaned forward, reaching out for it. Dread stirred inside me, and I was almost certain I knew what was in the file.

  “Dad,” I whispered, and one look into my eyes was all it took before he surrendered the file to me. I took it, and my stomach rolled slightly when I saw that the file had been marked as a cold case. Then I read the side of it: Robert Leighton—Homicide—October 2007

  “Wh-why do you have this?” I managed to choke out, unable to bring myself to open it and view the contents. For the hundredth time.<
br />
  Dad sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. “When you passed out in here the other day after going on about the similarities between these murders and your brother’s, I picked up the picture you dropped and saw what you saw.”

  “Is that why you called me in here? To tell me you think this is the same guy?”

  He nodded solemnly. “That, and to see with my own eyes that you’re on the mend.” Pausing, he shrugged. “I think there’s a good possibility that you’re right, and I’ve been authorized to re-open these cases so we can see if we can find a pattern.” He picked up the other unsolved files from seven years ago and handed them to me.

  Hearing this stunned me into silence, and I just stared at the files in my hands. “I’ll find this son of a bitch,” I said softly, though I wasn’t sure if I was reassuring Dad or myself…or maybe I was making a promise to Bobby and the other victims.

  “I know you will, Brooke.” Dad tilted his head toward the door and smiled. “Now get to work.”

  After leaving Dad’s office, I met up with David, Keaton, O’Malley, and several other officers on our case in the briefing room. Upon first glance, I saw the whiteboard had been filled crime scene photos of the latest four victims as well as any leads O’Malley thought he found in my absence. I looked it over, but there really wasn’t much there other than how they assumed these victims were found in a secondary crime scene. They figured there were primary scenes still out there with blood evidence that may or may not tell us who did this.

  But I wasn’t so sure. Something deep in my gut told me there was more to this than everyone else was seeing. I still couldn’t explain why I felt this way—I just did.

  Before David started the briefing, I opened Bobby’s cold case file and rifled through the pictures until I located the one that haunted my every thought since I wound up in the hospital. All eyes were on me as I walked to the front of the room and stuck it on the board, directly beneath the blown up image of the wound on the victim number one’s neck. Upon first glance, they appeared to be an exact match, but only an in depth analysis would tell us for sure.

  “This photo was taken at a crime scene seven years ago,” I said, pointing at the picture of Bobby’s neck. I glanced once at David, who knew this wasn’t easy for me, and he offered me a sympathetic smile before I continued. “And these”—I pointed at each of the most recent victims’ photos—“were taken just last week in Chaparral Park. I don’t know if these cases are related, but I don’t think we can afford to dismiss the similarities at this point. We don’t have any solid leads yet, but I’m confident we can change that. We’ll exhaust every avenue searching for this guy, but we will find him.”

  When I finished, David allowed O’Malley to take over since he’d been heading up the case over the last few days, and then we doled out individual tasks for everyone to carry out. O’Malley had already spoken to the victims’ next of kin, but I mentioned how I would feel better if I could talk to them as well. Maybe see if they’d let me take a look around to see if I could find something. David agreed with this plan of action, and we prepared to head out. Before we left, I stopped by the break room for some coffee while David headed out to grab the car. By the time I stepped outside, David still wasn’t back with the car, so I waited on the sidewalk and went over any questions I wanted to ask the families.

  Lost in thought, I stopped paying attention to my surroundings, jumping when a familiar and unexpected voice came from behind me.

  “Hey, Brooke.”

  I turned around quickly, startled and staring up into the nervous blue-green eyes of Nick. Dressed in faded jeans and a white T-shirt that hugged his muscular torso, he walked toward me, and my breath faltered slightly. His longer, disheveled hair and stubble-riddled jawline still came as a bit of a shock when compared to the usual clean-cut look I was used to seeing on him. Seven years ago.

  My stomach flipped like it used to back then, and I took an involuntary step toward him before my brain registered what my feet were doing and forced me to stop. We continued to stare at each other, and the gloomy look in his eyes unnerved me.

  He took a hesitant step forward, possibly afraid I was going to toss my coffee to the ground and pummel him again, and his eyes shifted to the ground between us, then back up to mine. “Do you have a minute? I think we need to talk.”

  Chapter nine | inquiry

  I didn’t say anything—what was I supposed to say? He wanted me to spare a minute to talk? After leaving me without so much as an explanation seven years ago? It wasn’t a good idea, and I really didn’t owe him anything. He was probably just having an attack of conscience and wanted me to absolve him of all his wrongdoings. Too little, too late, if you asked me.

  “Please,” he pleaded, clearly seeing the uncertainty on my face.

  “I’m working, Nick,” I replied, looking around for David’s car. “I don’t have time for this.” I turned to walk away from him, but he refused to give up easily.

  “How’s your shoulder?” he called out, forcing me to stop walking and turn back around. I opened my mouth to ask how he even knew about it, but he cut me off. “My…uh…my mom heard from yours that you were in the hospital following some kind of wild animal attack. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.” We stood there, staring at each other for several seconds, letting the awkward silence thicken the air between us. It was hard for me to look into his eyes and not see the man I thought I’d share the rest of my life with, and, slowly, my resentment toward him wilted. My carefully constructed walls crumbled, and Nick smiled slightly, sensing the beginning of a thaw between us.

  Then, the stark realization that he left me when I was at my worst ripped through me like a knife, reopening a wound I’d worked long and hard to mend. “What are you doing here, Nick? Why did you come back? Why now?”

  His smile disappeared, and his posture deflated as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked like a lost little boy—a broad, six-foot-tall, lost little boy. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, Brooke. Please. I know you don’t owe me anything, but—” His words registered with me, hitting me so hard in the gut that I was winded, and they reminded me that he was exactly right: I didn’t owe him a goddamned thing.

  He must have seen the fire in my eyes, because he rushed forward, his expression no longer full of apprehension but instead flooding with regret…remorse. “I’m so sorry,” he said softly, his eyes never once straying from mine as one of his hands cupped my face.

  Without thinking, my eyes closed, and I pressed my face into his palm, welcoming the warmth, and his fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of my neck. I inhaled deeply, taking in his natural, woodsy smell, and he whispered sadly, “I never meant to hurt you. I was scared. I didn’t know what else to do. I panicked.”

  His words reached me, and I immediately snapped out of my dazed state, taking several steps back and watching his arm fall back to his side. “You were scared?” I demanded, my rage bubbling below the surface. “My brother died. Died, Nick. In a filthy alley outside a nightclub, and instead of being there for me—for my family—you just packed up your shit and bailed.”

  Something flashed in his eyes—surprise, maybe?—but it disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived. I couldn’t quite pinpoint it or what brought it about in the first place. I didn’t get a chance to question him about it either, because he was quick to contribute to the conversation. “I know what I did back then was a shitty thing to do, but you don’t understand, Brooke—”

  “Because you never gave me a chance to!”

  Something behind me caught Nick’s attention, and his face twisted in annoyance before he looked back down at me. “I didn’t come here to fight with you. I came to apologize for what happened the other night, and to try and explain myself.”

  I rolled my eyes and waited, but he shook his head with a nervous laugh. “It’s a…long story.” Reaching into his back pocket, Nick pulled out a piece of paper and he
ld it out for me. “Here’s my number and the address to my place.”

  “Y-your place? You’re staying in the city, then?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly as I looked at the scrap of paper in his hands; the address was less than ten blocks from mine. Since my hands were full, I couldn’t take it, so Nick took it upon himself to slip the piece of paper into the pocket of my jeans. His fingers brushed my hipbone, and a forgotten—and all too familiar—sensation passed through me. I hated that he still had this affect on me after all this time.

  Nick nodded in answer to my question. “I’ve got some business to take care of, and I can’t be sure how long it’ll take. I’d stay with my mother, but I don’t want to disrupt her life when I’m coming and going at all hours of the day, so I’m staying at a house one of my buddies owns.”

  My head bobbed in understanding, but I didn’t know what to do or say; I was honestly still trying to wrap my head around his more permanent return to town.

  I heard footsteps behind me, and when I turned around, I saw David rushing up the sidewalk. And he didn’t look happy. Behind me, I swore I heard a low growl coming from Nick, but when I looked back at him, he was watching me expectantly. “You should—”

  Nick nodded. “I’m leaving,” he interjected. “Just…please call me or stop by. We need to talk. And soon. There’s something I need to tell you. Before the next full moon, preferably.”

  Before I could question his odd request—or even give him a response—he turned and took off down the sidewalk, limping slightly as if favoring his right leg. It was likely he didn’t wait for an answer because he didn’t want to run the risk of me telling him where to shove his small piece of paper—which was exactly what I should have done—but a part of me was curious to see what he had to say. Now, while I wasn’t sure if I was going to call him or not, I didn’t want to upset David by telling him that my ex just slipped me his number and was staying in the city for a little more than just a few days.