The round hole was inches from Kaitlyn’s head. She shuddered at the sight. If she’d been standing there . . .
Rodney pulled a small flashlight from his pocket. “I’m going to look around outside.” He took a cautious step through the shattered glass door and disappeared into the night.
Julie folded her arms and stood rigid and still. She eyed Kaitlyn from across the room. It was an unsettling stare, and Kaitlyn turned her gaze away.
“Rodney tells me you two went over to Jersey today,” Julie said. Her voice had an accusatory tone.
Kaitlyn nodded. Exhausted, she needed something to prop herself up. The wall was the closest thing, so she moved across and leaned her back against it. “We went to the Shallows.”
Julie raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t know anything about the Shallows.”
“It’s something I don’t like to talk about.”
Julie’s eyes seemed to challenge her to fill in the details. When Kaitlyn didn’t, Julie said, “Are you going to keep me in suspense? The Shallows is . . .”
Kaitlyn finished the sentence. “A pond.” She wondered how much to say. “An old swimming hole from my childhood.”
Julie frowned. “All this shit is over a pond?” She gestured to the blackened mess before them.
“Not exactly,” Kaitlyn said.
She gave Julie an abbreviated version of the same story she’d told Rodney earlier in the day. The words didn’t flow as easily as they did with him. She felt the need to be cautious with the details. There was something about the way that Julie looked at her that unsettled Kaitlyn. Maybe it was the intensity in Julie’s eyes. As Kaitlyn detailed her attempt to save Jesse, she thought she noticed Julie’s lips tighten, if only for a moment. When she finished her story, she remained silent and waited for a response.
Rodney stepped back through the door. He worked his way around the mess to stand between them. “Not much out there. Some impressions in the grass. Might get a footprint or two. I’ll get forensics over here to process the scene.”
Kaitlyn closed her eyes and shook her head. More police traipsing through the house. Another sleepless night. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. What could they possibly think they’d find in her blackened kitchen? A bullet. A broken bottle. A cheap dinette table, black with soot. There was nothing here. It looked so easy on television. A CSI collects some hair samples, and within forty minutes the police arrest the killer. All bullshit. She at least knew that much. If it were that simple, Rodney would’ve caught Brad’s killer by now.
“Please. No crime scene stuff,” she said.
Rodney turned to her and frowned. “We need to process the scene.”
“Do you really think there is anything here worth processing?” She looked between Rodney and Julie. She didn’t want them there anymore. Kaitlyn didn’t want anyone there. The demons of her past were nipping at her heels, begging to be confronted. But all she wanted to do was run. Run away just like she did years ago when Jesse died. Run far away where no one knew her, and no one knew about her past.
Julie gave her a stern look. “We won’t know until we process the scene.”
Kaitlyn was silent for a moment. She thought about Jesse’s missing necklace. Did the police take it? “I don’t want anyone else blundering through the house.” She gestured toward the pile of scorched rubble. “Can’t you do it yourself?” She was shocked at how sullen her own voice sounded. How exhausted she was. How much she wished she’d been the one to die and not Brad. She trembled at the thought. Is that what she really wanted? To die in Brad’s place? Funny, she never thought this way when Jesse died.
Rodney stared at Julie for a long moment. Their eyes locked in some unspoken conversation. His entreating and defensive. Hers stern and disapproving. “We could probably bag and tag the important stuff,” he said.
“That’s not advisable,” Julie said, her voice was sharp as if condemning the merest thought.
Rodney walked toward the front of the house. He gestured for Julie to follow. “Let’s talk about this . . . in private.”
Kaitlyn remained in the kitchen as the two detectives stepped into her living room. Their voices were low and drifted out into the hall, but she could not make out every word, just the occasional phrase or partial sentence.
“—don’t care. This isn’t the way to run—,” said Julie.
“—questioning me? I’m still in charge of—,” said Rodney
“You’re making this personal,” Julie said. “You’re in too deep and it’s clouding your judgment.”
After another few moments of unintelligible conversation, Julie stormed from the living room and out the front door without saying a word. The door slammed shut behind her. Kaitlyn stared down the empty hall, waiting for Rodney to return. When he did, he looked despondent. His shoulders were hunched forward as if under an enormous weight. Rodney shook his head as he moved back toward the kitchen.
“You okay?” she asked.
Rodney waved his hand, as if to dismiss her question. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He looked back toward the front door. “She just needs to cool off.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve caused all this.”
“It’s not your fault.” Rodney glanced at the shattered glass door. “We need to get this closed up. Do you have any plywood in the garage?”
Kaitlyn swept the last of the broken glass into a pile. She leaned the broom against the wall and turned to where the sliding-glass door had once been. Rodney had found several pieces of scrap plywood in her garage and managed to cobble together a rudimentary wall to close off the opening. It wasn’t pretty, but it would serve its purpose. She’d call a contractor in the morning and get an estimate on the repairs. For now, she was safe.
Safe. She rolled the word around in her head. What was safe? Was she safe in her own home? Was she safe at work? Would she be safe anywhere? Not as long as her stalker and Brad’s killer were at large. There was nowhere safe for her. She tried to remember when she last felt safe. With Brad, she’d been secure. When wrapped in his arms at night, she was protected. But now he was gone. Where could she find safety and security now?
Rodney came in through the front door and walked toward the kitchen. “That should do it for now. No one’s getting through there easily.”
“Thank you,” Kaitlyn said. “You look like you could use a drink.”
Rodney smiled. “Yeah. Got anymore JD?”
Kaitlyn crossed to the cabinet. “With tea?” She smiled.
“I’d prefer Coke with it, if you have any.”
Kaitlyn pulled two glasses from the cabinet, grabbed a bottle of Coke from the refrigerator, and fixed their drinks. “You’re not going to get in trouble for this, are you?”
Rodney took the glass from her. “Probably, but don’t worry about it.” He sipped on his drink. “Damn, that hits the spot.”
They moved back into the living room and continued to drink. They each took turns returning to the kitchen for refills. When the whiskey was gone, they moved onto wine. They talked into the night, mostly about philosophy and literature. Kaitlyn relaxed, feeling less anxious and, for a moment, almost forgetting about the turmoil her life had been in over the past few weeks.
Rodney pulled her copy of Fifty Shades of Grey from the shelf and read a few passages aloud. Kaitlyn laughed at his varying expressions as he read the more salacious bits. His words were slurred, or was she just hearing him wrong through her own drunkenness?
“How can you think this is good?” he asked, holding the book in the air. “It’s not even good enough to be called erotica.”
She smiled. “Do you read erotica?”
His face turned red. “Well, no.”
“Then how . . .” She found herself tongue-tied. “. . . how do you know?”
“Because . . . because . . .” He stammered for a moment. “I don’t know. It just isn’t good enough.”
“I need another drink,” Kaitlyn said, rising to get another bottle of wine from the kitche
n.
“I’ll get it,” Rodney said, jumping from his seat onto unsteady feet.
They collided near the door of the living room and Kaitlyn stumbled. He caught her in his arms and held her close for a long moment. She looked up into his eyes. A deep blue, just like Brad’s. She never noticed before. His arms around her were warm and comforting. She struggled to catch her breath. Was that his heart pounding, or was it her own? She felt safe, safe within his arms. Every fiber of her being begged her to pull away, but the alcohol had gone to her head. She looked into his eyes again. Her head was swimming in those deep blue pools. It was wrong, she knew it. But her whole life was collapsing, why fight it?
She snaked her hand around his neck and drew him closer.
34
Kaitlyn stood by the kitchen window and watched the morning mist dissipate from around the gravestones in the cemetery. Her head pounded from last night’s alcoholic binge. Her heart pounded for another reason. Shame. She had allowed the situation to get out of hand. She could blame the alcohol, but that didn’t excuse the behavior. In the midst of her own grief and guilt, she’d crossed the line with Rodney.
She remembered the kiss. It had been long and impassioned. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the kiss that left her feeling feverish. She pulled Rodney closer, allowing herself to be enveloped by the warmth of his embrace. He seemed more than willing to reciprocate; his hands drew her into him. Kaitlyn struggled to catch her breath, heart fluttering. A tingling sensation surged from deep within her, making Kaitlyn draw in a breath and tremble with desire. Her fingers raked down the back of his shirt. She ached to feel his bare flesh. Then, the moment of clarity struck.
She pushed away from Rodney and quickly turned her back to him. “I’m sorry,” she said. A tear ran down her cheek. She brushed it away. “I don’t know what got into me.”
“I should probably go.” His voice was weak, fluttering with each word.
“No. Please stay. I don’t want to be alone.” She turned to look at him. “I’m scared.”
Despite Rodney spending the night on the sofa, she hadn’t been able to sleep. The bed was cold and desolate, like a frozen tundra of Egyptian cotton and down-filled pillows. Kaitlyn laid in bed, chastising herself for being callous and heartless. For god’s sake, Brad’s body was still in the county morgue and she was ready to hop into bed with the first man who showed compassion. She vacillated between fits of crying and angry self-recrimination. Could she have done anything more careless and humiliating?
What would happen now? Would he recuse himself from the case? Would another detective—maybe Julie—take over? Would another detective be as understanding about her past? Would he or she see through her lies?
Kaitlyn returned her gaze to the kitchen window. The sun breached the horizon, casting early morning shadows across the cemetery. Among the headstones and statues, the mist performed a swirling and twisting dance of death, as if it knew that with the morning came its demise. Kaitlyn clutched her tea mug and gazed at the clouds that hung low to the ground. The silhouette of the tall angel statue at the center of the cemetery was barely visible. Its outstretched arms beckoned to Kaitlyn, as if waving her to venture forth into its realm. She shivered at the sight.
Off to the right of the statue, a faint bluish glow captured her attention. The light was still too dim to see well, but she swore that there was movement nearby. Resting the mug on the kitchen counter, Kaitlyn leaned forward. She squinted through the windowpane in hopes of catching a glimpse of whatever was moving out there. A dark form emerged from between the stones, tall and thin and wearing a long, flowing coat. Kaitlyn’s shoulders tensed at the sight. Framed from behind by the rising sun, its features were obscured. It remained still, and for a moment, Kaitlyn imagined that its eyes were locked with hers. Who was it? What did they want? She glanced over her shoulder. Should she wake Rodney? No. She would face this alone. Her demons waited for her in the cemetery. She couldn’t hide behind him any longer.
She turned back to find the form hadn’t moved. The faint bluish glow she’d seen earlier hovered at the figure’s side. Kaitlyn couldn’t tear her eyes away from the graveyard and was vaguely aware of her arm reaching across the sink. When she finally looked down, she was holding the carving knife from the nearby butcher’s block. She tightened her hold on the wooden handle. It was warm and comfortable in her hand. It felt safe.
Emboldened, she resolved to end this now. It was time to find out what this was all about, who was behind it. She was terrified of what she would find in the cemetery, but this needed to end. One way or another, she was going to get answers.
She turned from the window, moving swiftly to the front of the house and out the door. With the knife firm in her grip, she circled the house and started to work her way through the gravestones. Despite the rising sun, the mist still hung low across the cemetery. It made it difficult for her to see the low grave markers that littered the ground. Kaitlyn’s eyes darted around, searching for the figure she’d seen earlier. At first, she saw nothing but rows of marble monoliths. Then, a dark silhouette rushed into the space between two large monuments ahead of her. It vanished just as quickly. Kaitlyn tightened her grip on the knife and forged forward, treading cautiously through the mist. She crept past the broad base of a marble angel, back and wings arched forward as if in mourning. She crouched beside the stone effigy, leaning her shoulder against its cold, hard surface.
Kaitlyn listened for footsteps, for anything to tell her she wasn’t imagining things. A crow swooped down and landed on a nearby gravestone, cawing. The harsh sound seemed to be directed at her. Was it angry that she had invaded its domicile? It cawed again, this time more loudly. The crow peered down at her like a black harbinger of evil. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Her arms quivered, and her mouth had gone dry. She felt stupid for not waking Rodney before coming out here. She set the knife on the statue base, then rubbed her eyes with balled up fists. With a quick glance back toward her house, Kaitlyn wondered if it would be better for her to head back. That was when she heard the snap.
She made a frantic grab for the knife, knocking it to the ground at her feet. Pain raked across her palm. As she reached down, a dark form darted from behind a nearby crypt toward her. Kaitlyn threw up her arms protectively and tumbled backward. She rolled into a grave marker then scrambled to her feet, cursing. The dark figure was almost upon her. She turned to run but only took a few steps before her assailant slammed into her shoulder. Kaitlyn was thrown hard to the ground. Rolling with the fall, she reached out. Her fingers grasped what felt like a shoe. In desperation, she yanked hard, throwing the figure off-balance and to the ground. Kaitlyn lunged forward, arms outstretched. She reached for the face. Her fingers caught a handful of hair. Kaitlyn pulled hard but was surprised when the hair came away in her hand. A booted foot slammed into her face. She reeled backward; her head crashed into a gravestone. The sound of running footsteps faded with the morning sunlight as she lost consciousness.
The voice that called her name was distant and muffled. It swam through the ache in her head, swirling around with the blotches of color that drifted before her closed eyes. Something nudged at her shoulder, then touched the side of her throat. She tried to open her eyes but found the light too bright. Turning her head to the side, Kaitlyn winced as a sharp pain jabbed at her right temple.
“Kaitlyn.” There was an urgency in the voice that was calling her name.
She squinted against the daylight, trying to focus on the blur of gray, green, and blue. There was another nudge on her shoulder, more forceful than before.
“Come on, Kaitlyn,” said the voice. “Talk to me.”
It was a familiar voice. She couldn’t quite place it. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember what happened. The cemetery, she was in the cemetery. Vague images formed in her mind, then a dark figure lurched out of the gloom of her memories. Her eyes snapped open and she jolted up. Her head exploded with pain; it blazed down the side of h
er face. Kaitlyn screamed. A hand gripped her shoulder, and another cradled her back, guiding her back down. Rodney’s concerned face came into focus.
“What the hell?” she said.
“Don’t move. An ambulance is on the way.”
Kaitlyn stared at the blue sky above her. “What happened?”
“I was hoping you could tell me,” Rodney said. “I woke up and couldn’t find you in the house.”
Kaitlyn fell silent, trying to make a mental assessment of herself. Her mouth was parched and her lips dry. Her palm stung and her fingers were covered with something thick and moist. There were aches in about half a dozen joints, and her face felt as if it were on fire.
“I found you lying here with a bump on your head and a gash in your hand,” Rodney said.
Kaitlyn hesitated for a moment, trying to frame up the right words in her mind. Then she recounted her encounter among the graves. Her sentences were broken and short, but Rodney took in every word. “I got some hair . . . I think.”
Rodney shook his head. “Sort of. You got a wig.” He held it up for her to see. “Here.”
Kaitlyn studied it as best as she could. The color and length were familiar. She’d seen it a lot recently. Chestnut-brown. Shoulder length. My god, she thought.
“It’s a woman?” she muttered.
“Or a man dressed in drag.”
Kaitlyn shook her head, regretting it immediately. “No. It’s a woman. I’ve seen her a couple times over the past couple weeks.”
“What did she look like?”
The shrill of approaching sirens echoed across the cemetery. Kaitlyn sighed as she tried to recall the details, any details, of the woman with the chestnut-brown hair. The hooded figure during her run a few weeks ago. And at Toscana Italiano. The woman had bumped into Kaitlyn as she and Brad were leaving. And just a few days ago in the hotel lobby, the woman had been there as well.
“She’s been following me,” Kaitlyn said.
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