Pieces For You

by Rulon, Genna

  “I know I should have told you and Hunter, and probably the police. I didn’t want to deal with all the drama,” I said with sincerity.

  He released a long sigh, his body relaxing a degree.

  “I wish you would have told me sooner. You didn’t need to deal with this alone,” he said, taking my hands and gathering me in his lap. “Lo, you can’t hide from this. Pretending won’t remove the risk. We need to call Hunter and get him involved.”

  “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

  I felt his body tense again as he contained his frustration.

  “It is a big deal. Did that bottom-feeder lawyer come into Higher Yearning before you started receiving the letters?”

  “The first time, yeah,” I answered carelessly, my mistake apparent when an angry growl sounded beneath me.

  “How many times?” he asked in a clipped tone.

  “Three…no, wait, four. But he didn’t see me the last time.”

  He looked at me expectantly so I gave a brief summary of our exchange during his second visit. I explained that I stonewalled him on his third attempt, not speaking a word or acknowledging his presence in any way. When I spotted him walking up to the shop on his visit last week, I ducked behind the counter, hidden from view. I didn’t explain why, but I begged Meg to wait on him and tell him I wasn’t there if he inquired. The best part of the whole ridiculous scene was that Meg was so struck by his GQ model good looks that she became tongue-tied. First she asked, “What can you get me?” when asking for his order. Then she tried to upsell by offering a baked good, but it came out, “Can I give you something sweet?” The best by far was when she handed him an espresso and said, “Careful, you’re hot.” I had to slap my hands over my mouth to stifle my laughter. I thought she was going to crawl under the counter to hide right alongside me.

  Griffin wasn’t able to find the same humor in the encounter that I did. Maybe you had to be there?

  “I’m calling Hunter…this needs to stop. Now.”

  I nodded, unable to deny he was right. I had waited far longer than I should have. He pulled out his phone and punched out a rapid-fire text before tossing it on the couch beside him. He held me close, as if afraid I would be snatched from his arms at any moment.

  His phone rang and I couldn’t hear the specific words spoken but they were clearly enraged, based on the volume and harsh tone.

  “You’re telling me,” Griffin said sarcastically.

  “You do your thing and I’ll do mine.” He paused, listening to the caller’s response. “Yeah, it’s a very good thing she is staying here.”

  “Okay, see you in thirty,” he said before ending the call.

  “Hunter and Everleigh are on their way over. Just a head’s up, Hunter is not thrilled you waited so long to spill.”

  With that warning, he kissed my lips and set me back on the couch to await back-up.

  When Hunter and Ev arrived, I was forced to recount in excruciating detail every threat I had received and all of my interactions with Mr. Black. I was rewarded with a long lecture about making responsible decisions and personal safety from Hunter. But Griffin was wrong; it wasn’t Hunter who I should have spent the thirty minutes worrying over. Ev was livid, bouncing between pretending I didn’t exist and yelling at me for being “stupid and reckless and irresponsible.”

  “I’m sleeping with a damn FBI agent. Did it occur to you at any point to take advantage of that perk? Or better yet, how about letting me know that some shithead lawyer was stalking you at work? I appreciate you are trying to be strong and independent. I’m behind you 100%, but you can’t dismiss these threats as a joke…this isn’t a game. You are too smart to act this stupid.”

  “That’s enough, Ev,” Griffin said firmly. “You’ve made your point.”

  Hunter pulled her into his chest, cutting off any potential commentary. I felt like the biggest asshole ever; I hated that they were so worried. It was this bone-chilling fear that led me to keep the notes a secret in the first place. I didn’t want to be the source of their fear and concern…again.

  Griffin embraced me, offering warmth and consolation.

  “She’s just scared for you,” he said quietly.

  I nodded into his chest.

  “And worried…and maybe a little angry,” he added the last with a chuckle.

  I understood his humor. Ev was a sight to behold when she went off, arms flailing, face reddened. I would have been laughing had her fury not been directed at me.

  Once everyone calmed down, we all sat and discussed options. Hunter took possession of the notes to have them fingerprinted, although he didn’t expect to find anything. He had already called the Bureau to open an official investigation and planned to contact the warden at the prison. Everyone knew the notes were coming from him, but the main concern was that Heath had someone assisting him, enabling him to reach beyond the prison walls. I couldn’t shake the chilling thought that perhaps he had accomplices in his crimes that we were unaware of. Hunter suspected either he or his family was paying someone to deliver the threats.

  “The only good news about the last letter is that the threat is overt. Now we have a chance, given this evidence, to obtain a warrant that will let me dig into the Varbeck family. If I can connect them, Heath specifically, it will help the DA and allow us to secure a protective order for you,” Hunter advised. “If nothing else, it may create enough headaches to encourage them to back off.”

  The mood had lightened fractionally by the time Huntleigh were preparing to leave. As we walked them to the door, Ev grabbed me, hugging me tightly.

  “I’m sorry I yelled at you, but you were being stupid. Don’t take chances when the risk is so high. You have people who can help, use them. And please be careful.”

  “I promise.”

  After Ev released me, Hunter stepped up and hugged me as well. “We’ll figure this out, but it’s important you tell me what’s going on so I can investigate. You share everything that crosses your mind, whether I want to know or not… no secrets with this type of stuff.”

  I nodded my promise.

  After they left, Griffin and I headed for bed. When we were tucked in, I cuddled on his chest, wrapped in his protective embrace.

  “You need to be extra cautious until we get this all worked out. If I’m not around, get someone to walk you to your car after work.”

  “Okay.”

  “I have a few things I need to take care of tomorrow. I want to get someone in here to install an alarm ASAP. I don’t like the idea of you being here alone when I’m working nights. I’ll try and rearrange the schedule so I can be here most nights. I’ll just run up and check in or have them call when there are problems.”

  “No. Griff, you can’t rearrange your whole life for me. You have responsibilities, I’ll be fine.”

  “You are my first priority. I’d do anything to protect you, but it would make my life a hell of a lot easier if you at least tell me when there is a threat.”

  “Agreed.”

  We held one another in silence, just being in the other’s presence and listening to the duet of our heartbeats. In his arms I felt safe and found the reassurance I needed to believe everything would be okay.

  "A man does what he must—in spite of personal consequences, in spite of obstacles and dangers and pressures—and that is the basis of all human morality." -Winston Churchill

  I made my way across the parking lot with a determined stride, fully aware I was about to push the boundaries of legal statutes and violate several ethical tenets…I was okay with that. Actually, I was looking forward to doing just that; my only regret was that I would not be present to see the results of my efforts. Most people who knew me wouldn’t be surprised by my desire to protect someone I loved. But they would never predict the retribution I had methodically planned—the callous calculation with which I strategized the psychological and physical reprisal. Everyone has their launch code, the buttons no one should ever push becaus
e the results would be catastrophic. The son of a bitch secured in the building before me had flipped open the protective plastic casement, keyed in the required sequence, slammed his palm on the big red button, and then threw gallons of jet fuel on the explosion.

  I had been patient, waiting for the ideal time to exact revenge. Nothing could right the wrongs he committed nor undo the damage he wrought. I was unwilling to put my faith in the justice system; capital punishment did not exist in New York State—if convicted, the most severe sentence he faced was life in prison. After what Sam had endured, that punishment was insufficient and unjust. Her wounds had healed, but the scars remained and the memories could never be erased. My decision was made months ago, but finding his threats yesterday reinforced my choice and provoked me to act.

  I was briefly searched as I entered the building before passing through the metal detector. My intended weapon was already located within the walls of the prison. No cavity search or X-ray machine would detect the threat to my intended target. I signed in and provided my psychology resident credentials before a uniformed guard guided me to one of the familiar interaction and assessment rooms. I’d spent the last four months counseling and assessing inmates as part of my clinical psych residency. Truth be told, I had completed the necessary assessment hours two months ago, but I conveniently “forgot” to turn in my log, which permitted my continued access to the prison. Today I would finally be face-to-face with my target.

  Heath sat at a table in the center of the room dressed in forest green sweats, the required attire for inmates at the Riverhead County Jail. He was leaning back in his metal chair as if lounging in an oversized recliner, footrest extended, and massage feature buzzing away—not a care in the world. My fists clenched as I adopted an expression of detached indifference, a skill all therapists must master.

  “Mr. Varbeck,” I addressed him, curious if I would find recognition. He studied me for a moment, clearly trying to place me but failing.

  “You’re the shrink?”

  “I’m a resident psychologist. Today I will ask you a series of questions that will serve as part of the evaluation of your mental health.”

  “Great. Let’s finish this so you can verify that I am crazy and belong in a mental institution, not this hell hole.”

  I nodded, leading him to believe I agreed with his personal assessment. There was no doubt he was insane, but his crimes could not be excused by any diagnosis in DSM-5, the official psychiatric diagnostic handbook. The actions of a serial killer were not caused by a mental health disorder, rather the absence of a soul and a conscience. Heath would not be deemed mentally unfit for trial—he retained full control of his mental capacities and was able to comprehend the effects of his actions during the course of the attacks. If he was hoping for a “Primal Fear” movie-style victory where he feigned insanity to escape conviction, he would be sorely disappointed—he was no Edward Norton.

  “We have yet to determine a specific mental illness, which is why I am here for further assessment,” I said, summoning my most professional façade.

  “Fine, ask your questions and slap a label on me.”

  “Mr. Varbeck, why did you assault your fellow students at Hensley University?”

  “I don’t believe I ever confessed to any such crimes,” he returned mockingly.

  I sighed at his cliché answer. While it was not surprising, it was fucking annoying.

  “It is my understanding that you did confess to your last victim. Was I misinformed?”

  “Everleigh claimed I confessed a litany of sins to her, but her own mental stability could be called into question. Did you know her best friend had been attacked a week prior to our supposed conversation? I am sure she was distraught and not thinking clearly. I can’t imagine her statement will hold much weight.”

  I gripped the edge of the table, reminding myself of my goal. While slamming his head against the concrete floor repeatedly would be satisfying, it would prevent me from fulfilling my objective. Refocused, I continued.

  “Do you enjoy hurting people, Mr. Varbeck?”

  “I enjoy giving people what they secretly want and fulfilling their deepest desires.”

  “And you believe the girls abused at Hensley wanted to be hurt and maimed?”

  “I imagine they loved every minute of the game, it was only afterward when confronted with the judgment of their friends and family that they cried foul. During the game, I imagine they would have been crying out, playing along to get more of what they yearned for.”

  I went through the motions of making notes on the legal pad, allowing me to hide the fury blazing in my eyes.

  “What of the three girls who were murdered? Do you also imagine they wanted their lives to be cut short in such a brutal fashion?”

  “I can’t say for certain—I wasn’t there after all—but I would guess anyone participating in such games understands the inherent risks. Accidents do happen.”

  “Are you capable of telling the truth, Mr. Varbeck?”

  “I am certainly capable, but it’s terribly boring—wait, maybe it’s just you who is boring me,” he chuckled to himself.

  “Are you disappointed that you failed to conquer your last two victims? After such a long and successful run, it must be disappointing to end in failure.”

  I smirked with satisfaction as Heath gritted his teeth—I had found a sore spot.

  “I have never failed at anything in my entire life, only temporary setbacks. I am a very determined and resourceful man.” His smile was sinister and the resolve in his eyes unmistakable.

  “Do you believe you have that kind of reach? You are behind bars, after all,” I prodded.

  “You still believe I’m going to be convicted?” he asked, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “The influence, resources, and money my family will dedicate to freeing me are limitless.”

  I shook my head at his arrogance, a dangerous vice that had led to the downfall of those far more intelligent than him.

  “You’ll never get the opportunity to finish what you began—you’ll likely die behind bars. Have you considered the possibility?”

  “Who do you think you are talking to? You can’t imagine the reach my family has.”

  “Ah, your family,” I said, leaning forward, mirroring his position. “You are every parent’s worst nightmare realized. You are a problem they must solve for their own benefit, and when this is over they’ll pretend you never existed. How does that make you feel?”

  I watched as his face reddened and he fidgeted in an effort to restrain his anger. I smiled in satisfaction.

  “You have no idea what you are talking about. They’ll never stop trying to free me…they believe me.”

  “If it makes you feel better, you are welcome to cling to that belief, but mark my words, they won’t be sitting behind you offering support during your trial. Have they even come to visit you since you were indicted or have they just sent the family lawyer?”

  “Shut the fuck up,” he barked.

  “It must cut deep that you can’t even fool your own parents—the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally. It doesn’t bode well for your ability to fool a jury.”

  “I told you, I will never step foot inside a courtroom for trial. It won’t get that far. I heard the prosecution’s witnesses are dropping like flies,” he gloated.

  “Do you believe you can dissuade all of the witnesses from testifying? Even you must admit some will be too committed to seek justice to bend to your will.”

  “Would that be the fiery Everleigh? Everyone has their price.”

  “You can’t honestly believe everyone can be manipulated with money.”

  “You may be right, but I can only imagine what choices Everleigh will make if forced to choose between love and justice. Don’t you think she would forgo testifying to protect her boyfriend, or maybe her best friend?”

  I slammed my fist on the table without conscious thought of what the gesture revealed.
Heath eyed me, assessing.

  “She means something to you—Samantha. How is that lovely piece?” he taunted.

  I gripped the edge of the table and locked my feet around the legs of the chair to keep myself from killing him on the spot. Fuck, this was infinitely harder than I had anticipated and my control was balancing on the edge of a razor.

  “I know you, don’t I? I thought you looked familiar. You’re that bartender from The Stop, one of their guard dogs,” Heath snarled.

  “Does it make you feel powerful abusing women?” I tried to steer us back on course.

  “How did you even get in here? You’re a freaking bartender!” he uttered as if the word was a profanity.

  “I just completed my master’s in Clinical Psychology and am finishing up clinical hours today for my licensing requirements. I only have one more assessment after you.…Lionel. Have you met him yet?”

  I knew damn well Heath knew who Lionel was—everyone incarcerated at Riverhead knew. The man dwarfed me, which is virtually impossible. I’ve seen Hummers with less mass. He was the man who dictated the prisoners’ social structure, and the inmate all others refrained from pissing off at all costs. You did not want to be on his radar if you weren’t his ally. He was in for life on several counts of first-degree murder resulting from turf wars over narcotic distribution channels in the impoverished areas of Long Island. He should have been transferred to the state prison over a year ago, but overcrowding kept him in the maximum-security wing at the county jail—much to Lionel’s delight. He’d rather be the biggest fish in a small pond. He used his time at Riverhead strategically, building his reputation beyond local lore, so that when he was transferred to state prison, he would be assured a privileged position in the prison’s caste system.

  Over the past months, I used our evaluation sessions to develop a rapport with the kingpin; we wouldn’t be exchanging Christmas cards, but we shared a mutual respect. When he mentioned that his eight-year-old daughter struggled with reading, I found a tutor willing to assist the little girl for free. Lionel may have earned every year of his life sentence, but his daughter should not be punished for her father’s choices. I learned the only thing in the world Lionel cared about above money or himself was his daughter. I had earned an ally in assisting the little girl, an unexpected boon.