“I know. And I appreciate that. And I don’t know even if he was lounging unencumbered out under the sky if he’d share. My suggestion is, the hospital will have psychiatrists on staff. Get one, another suggestion, a male one, to do the eval there. One visit, double duty. But every indication he’s giving is that you’re correct. He turned himself in for the crime of murdering Nathan Calloway and he’s here to let justice take its course.” She got closer. “You might never have answers, Sheriff, but you have your man.”
Without her able to give him much more, he nodded.
“You want me to hang around or—?” she began.
“You can go but I’d like to be open to give you a call if we need to,” he told her.
“Anytime.”
“Obliged,” he muttered.
She gave him a close look, a small, forlorn smile then she turned and walked out.
Hix turned to the window to interrogation, one of two one-way windows that looked inside, and saw the man staring at his hands cuffed to the steel ring in the middle of the table.
He’d allowed them also to shackle his legs.
The defense attorney was leaning toward him, speaking.
Larry was against the wall, giving them space but watching.
Hal and Bets were in the observation room monitoring with the recording equipment on.
Nat’s killer was right there.
Right in his interrogation room chained to a table.
The man with the answers.
The end of it.
And studying him, Hix didn’t feel the relief he thought he’d feel.
Mostly because all he could think about when his mind had opportunity to let anything else in was that tear sliding down his craggy cheek.
On that thought, he pushed through the door.
Larry and the attorney looked at him.
So did their guy.
Hix took the chair the psychologist had been sitting in across the table from their perp.
He looked him in his eyes and saw right down to an empty soul.
He then put his hands on the table, but other than that, didn’t move in his direction at all.
“In order to do right by you and by Nat’s wife, we need to be thorough, sir,” he said quietly. “This means my deputies are going to have to take you to a medical doctor to be examined.”
That got him nothing.
“A psychiatrist will either be coming to this department to speak with you or you’ll be seeing one at the hospital,” he continued.
More nothing.
“Do you understand these things?’ Hix asked.
Finally, he got a chin jerk.
“Good,” Hix muttered and held his gaze before he whispered, “There’s a woman who’s now raising two kids alone who needs answers. You can find it in you to—”
The guy thumped the side of his fist lightly on the table, the chains rattled, and Hix grew tense, as did the room. But he looked down at the man’s hands and saw one long finger pointed at the legal-sized pad of paper there.
Hix shoved it his way.
The man put his opened hand on top of the pad then turned it palm up, and since they didn’t leave a pen that could be used as a weapon lying close to him, Hix looked to his attorney.
“I think we should get this gentleman’s evals out of the way before—” the attorney tried.
The man thumped his fist on the table, harder this time, then opened his hand.
The attorney sighed then leaned in and put a pen in his hand.
Hix didn’t look to the attorney, to Larry, to the observation window.
He looked right at the pad of paper.
The guy wrote on it, set the pen down, then flipped it around to Hix.
On it, he’d scratched in shaky but careful capital letters, I did it.
It took no time to read that but Hix barely got that job done before the guy was flipping the pad around again and writing.
He set the pen aside one more time and turned the paper Hix’s way.
Hix read it.
I’m sorry.
A prickle slid over his scalp.
Hix looked to his face and whispered, “Why?”
The man’s blank eyes stared into his.
“I’d like to be able to tell her why,” Hix shared.
The man continued to stare in his eyes before he slumped in his seat, tucked his chin in his throat and stared at his bound hands.
“You got your confession, Sheriff, now get this man his evaluations,” his attorney demanded. “It’s clear where this is leading and we should get there as soon as we can because this man needs help. Not a stay in a penitentiary.”
Hix looked to him then to their guy.
He was still staring at his hands.
“You didn’t want to, did you?” Hix guessed quietly.
The man stared at his hands.
“He gave you a ride and you were grateful. You were tired. It was hot. You wanted to ride a while. You wanted out from under the sun. He gave you that ride and you were grateful.”
The man stared at his hands but his shoulders pressed into his ears slightly.
He’d been grateful.
“What came next?” Hix asked.
The man said nothing.
“Sheriff,” the attorney butted in.
“What came next?” Hix pushed.
“Sheriff,” the attorney clipped. “This gentleman needs evaluated before you ask another question.”
“What came next?” Hix repeated.
The guy didn’t speak.
“Sheriff, I really must ask you—” the attorney tried.
“Why did you kill Nat Calloway?” Hix pressed.
The guy suddenly moved, making Hix’s body go tight. But he just grabbed the pen, pulled the paper to him, and wrote in a diagonal scrawl that was nothing like the careful, block letters he’d written before.
He set the pen aside and shoved the pad at Hix, not turning it like he’d done the other two times he’d shared.
Hix reached out and turned it himself.
I don’t know. Can you tell me?
Hix’s eyes cut to his face.
There was nothing there.
Hollow.
“No,” Hix said quietly. “But if you let the doctors see to you, maybe we can find out.”
The man jerked up his chin.
“Can this be done now?” the attorney asked impatiently.
“It can be done,” Hix murmured, about to get up but the guy grabbed the pen and reached for the pad.
He scrawled, set the pen aside and shoved the paper to Hix.
Hix stood and turned the pad his way again.
It’s never done.
Hix looked at him and replied, “No, man, it isn’t. And the way it goes, it never will be.” He turned his attention to Larry. “Let’s get him in a cell and get him a meal.”
Larry nodded.
Hix looked to the attorney, to the empty soul who wandered alone in order to protect the world from the unknown, inexplicable urges that lie within, the man who killed Nat Calloway, and then he walked out the door.
Greta and Shaw hung back when he walked through the back door that night.
But Mamie was on him in a way he knew they’d been watching for him to return home, and Corinne was on him two seconds later.
He held his girls to him but his eyes were on Shaw and Greta who were standing in the mouth to the mudroom, Shaw’s arm around Hix’s woman.
Shaw gave his sisters some time before he called, “Guys, let Dad take his jacket off. Dad, you want a beer?”
“Yeah, kid,” Hix answered as Corinne slid away but Mamie held on.
“You okay, Daddy?” Corinne asked.
“Yeah, honey,” Hix answered gently.
Mamie leaned into him, arms still around him, just arching her back and looking up at him.
“Yeah?” she asked for confirmation.
He glided his hand over her hair. “Yeah, baby. Now let me get my ja
cket off, okay? You can keep on huggin’ me after that.”
“’Kay,” she agreed and did just that, unclamping her hold on him for just long enough for him to shed his jacket and put it on a hook, then clamping on to him again so he didn’t bother to take his gun belt off and he had to shuffle from the mudroom down the short hall and into the kitchen with his baby girl attached to him.
The smells he was experiencing hit him before he hit the kitchen though, and he was reminded that Greta had been in his office to meet him for lunch, something he didn’t have, he’d only had the coffee that Ida had brought in from Babycakes.
“What’s that?” he asked, his eyes to the stove.
“Greta showed us how to make Mexican skillet casserole,” Corinne told him.
“Excellent,” Hix muttered.
“We’ll go set the table, help me, Mame, Cor,” Shaw said, handing Hix a beer.
“Sure,” Corinne replied, moving to a cupboard.
“Mame, babe,” Shaw urged gently, holding his hand out to his little sister.
She hesitated before she let her dad go, took her brother’s hand and held it even while Shaw went to the drawer and got out the cutlery.
The kids left.
Greta, standing at the stove sprinkling cheese on a skillet filled with what looked like heaven in ground beef form, turned her head his way.
He set his beer aside and moved right into her space.
Bag of cheese still in hand, she wrapped her arms around him.
“You good?” she whispered in his ear.
“Better,” he whispered back.
“You tell Faith?”
He nodded, her hair catching on his whiskers as he did it with his jaw pressed to the side of her head. “Her hair looks great.”
She gave him a squeeze and held on.
Hix held her back, and after a time, he tipped his chin down to put his lips to her ear.
“That man is broken.”
“He gave that impression.”
“But whatever snapped in him to make him kill Nat annihilated him.”
She just held him tighter.
“It’s the only time a murder was solved where the answer makes sense,” he shared.
“How’s that?” she asked softly.
“My guess, even he can’t control the demons that moved him to do it, he’s just got ’em. And if he was holding them back before, when they took over in that moment, whatever he had left, they took it with them. Only thing he’s got is the will to survive and the remorse he feels for taking a man’s life. In other words, there is no answer, there is no reason. It’s incomprehensible, just like it always is.”
She started stroking his back.
After a time, she said, “I need to feed my man and his kids. They insisted on waiting. But it’s late and I heard Shaw’s stomach rumbling so we should get down to that.”
What she meant was, I need to give my man normal with his woman and kids around, fill his belly and be in a position to assess where his head is at so I can do something about it if I need to and we should get down to that.
“Yeah,” he replied but didn’t let go.
She didn’t shift or move an inch.
In other words, she didn’t let go either.
The Drake Family
“Hey,” Shaw whispered urgently, catching Mamie, who had her mind on other things and was heading into the kitchen.
Corinne was already pressed to her brother’s back.
The three of them stood, frozen in the open doorway to the kitchen, watching their dad holding Greta.
No, watching Greta hold their dad.
“Let’s give them time,” Corinne whispered.
As one, they all slunk backwards on silent feet.
Mamie leaned against Shaw as Corinne adjusted the place settings so they were all just so and they waited patiently until their dad walked in with his gun belt gone, an open beer in his hand and an oven glove on the other hand that was holding the big, cast-iron skillet Greta had brought over to cook in.
“Get drinks, kids. Let’s get this grub in our stomachs,” he ordered.
They moved out as Greta moved in, carrying a big wooden bowl (that she’d also brought over) of salad.
“Corinne, can you grab the salad dressings from the fridge? And Shaw, can you get the cornbread out of the oven? Just put it on the hot pad by the stove. I’ll come in and deal with it.”
“You got it,” Shaw muttered.
“No problem,” Corinne said.
“I’ll get drinks, what does everyone want?” Mamie asked as she entered the kitchen.
Shaw and Corinne did as Greta asked and Mamie got the drinks.
They sat down at the family table.
They all watched closely as their father tried to make it normal while they ate Greta’s amazing food, but they did what they could to take their dad’s mind off things, talking about school, telling stories, anything.
It never got normal.
But they gave it their best shot.
And their dad, being the kind of dad he was, didn’t bother to hide he appreciated it.
Hixon
The call came when they were all cleaning up.
He saw who it was on the screen and muttered he had to take it as he walked out of the room, through the living room, out to the front porch, doing it sliding his thumb on the screen, taking the call, putting the phone to his ear.
His storm door closed behind him as he answered, “Hey, Hope.”
“Hey, Hixon,” she replied gently.
“You okay?” he asked.
“That was my question, honey.”
He looked to his boots.
There was the woman he’d married.
“It’s good it’s over, yeah?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Greta and the kids taking care of you?”
He looked to the street, the snow covering his lawn, his walk and driveway clear.
“They are, Hope. Thanks.”
“How’d the wife take it?” she inquired.
“Confusion. The guy is . . . off. But there was also some relief. Blatt’s semi-related to her. I called him, he was there when Larry and I visited. He took over when we left. He can be an arrogant ass but I think he’s got this.”
“That’s good,” she murmured.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“Okay, I didn’t want to take up too much of your time or anything. I just . . . heard and I’ve been thinking of you.”
“That’s appreciated, honey.”
She was silent for a few beats before she rushed out, “Okay. You probably need a bourbon about now so I’ll let you go. Just . . . take care of yourself, yeah, Hix?”
“I will. You too.”
“I will. Tell everyone I said hey.”
“I’ll do that.”
“’Night, Hix.”
“’Night.”
She hung up.
He dropped his hand with the phone in it and stared at the street.
When he noticed his breath come out in a visible puff, he cleared his throat, shoved his phone in his back pocket and went inside.
He was up, his knees were up, but Greta was straddling him, riding him, her fingers in his hair, her lips attached to his so the noises she made were muted since they sounded down his throat.
Her rhythm was gentle, but he could tell she was working to keep it that way, so he put his hands to her waist, lifted his hips and took her to her back before he threaded the fingers of one hand through hers and he stopped going gentle.
“You’re . . . too good at this,” she breathed against his lips.
He could not believe it in that moment for a variety of reasons but what she said made him smile.
“What?” he asked.
“It’s . . . hard to . . . stay quiet,” she pushed out.
He slanted his head and took her mouth to help with that even as he ran a hand down her chest, snagging her nipple hard with his thumb, forcing a gasp into
his mouth, thus making it harder.
She lifted her knees high at his sides and he went deeper, which felt so fucking good it made him go faster.
He slid his lips to her ear.
“You love me?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she panted.
“You know I love you?”
She tilted her hips up and held his hand laced in hers so tight, he felt pain at the webbing.
“Yes,” she repeated breathlessly.
He lifted his head and looked down at her indistinct face, the shadows of her sunshine and honey hair somehow bright even in the dark. “Good, baby, because I love you a lot.”
“You can’t . . .” she tipped her knees back farther, he slid in deeper, and she lifted her head to put her mouth to his when that caused a low groan to rumble out of him, “imagine how awesome . . . that is, baby. But can we have this conversation when I’m not . . . about . . . to . . . ?”
She didn’t finish.
Her neck arched, her mouth opened, and her pussy seized his pulsing cock as she climaxed under him.
He watched. He enjoyed it. Then he kissed her so when his world exploded, the grunt it forced from him was quietened by her mouth.
Hix came down slow, made sure she came down slow, and kept his fingers wound through hers long after, kissing her, working her neck, feeling her work his, her free hand moving on him, his doing the same.
Finally, he found her ear with his lips and whispered, “At last.”
Again, her fingers convulsed in his hand before she repeated, “At last, Hixon.”
He kissed her throat, pulled out and rolled them both out of bed.
He got rid of the condom, cleaned up, pulled on some pajama bottoms. She pulled on panties and her nightie.
They slid into bed together and she curled into his side.
“Love you, Greta,” he murmured to the ceiling.
He felt her kiss his chest before she settled back in. “Love you too, Hix.”
She burrowed deeper into him and after some time, he felt her weight fall into him with sleep.
Hix closed his eyes and saw hollow.
But he felt Greta.
So eventually, he followed her.
Seventh Circle
Hixon
“COME AROUND,” HIX rumbled.
Complicated Page 53