Darker Than Desire

by Shiloh Walker

  Max had been robust, full of life, full of love for his Mary.

  David was more than half-dead inside. Too hard. Too cold.

  “Did you get whatever you were hoping to get?” David asked, his voice just a step above a whisper.

  “I wasn’t hoping to get anything,” Sorenson said. But he lied. He hated that this big, cold man could make him feel nervous inside his skin. David hadn’t even done anything, hadn’t moved toward him.

  But David had a way of looking at you that made you realize that you didn’t even exist. Not to him.

  It was … unsettling. Eerie.

  “You don’t tell lies as well as you need to,” David said. “Not if you want me to believe them. I grew up on lies and I’ve survived on them for longer than you can imagine.”

  “How long is that, David?” he asked.

  “All my life.” He moved now, taking one step away from Max’s bed. “You want to push at me, do it. I can handle it. You got questions you want to ask Max about Miss Mary or the day he was shot? I can’t stop you. But don’t come hammering at him. He’s got nothing that will help you.”

  “I’m afraid you don’t get to dictate how I do my job there, son.” He looked past David then, met Max’s tired blue eyes. “I’m sorry if I brought…” any inconvenience? This was more than that. Unhappiness? That didn’t touch it. Floundering for a word, he finally said, “I’m sorry for this. But I’ve got crimes to solve, some of them going back for twenty or more years, and I can’t do it without asking questions. Feelings will be bruised when I’m done, but there are dark, ugly secrets and they need to be exposed, and the criminals need to be brought before a court of law.”

  David turned away. “Too bad you’re too late for the worst of them. That would be my father and his lackeys. Too bad you didn’t come along in time to get them.”

  “They can get theirs in hell,” Max murmured. “The devil can torture them from now until eternity.”

  A humorless laugh escaped David. “Hell is here on earth, Max. The devil? He was every man who took a child into that room.”

  Then he looked back at Sorenson, and for a minute the cop was left to wonder if maybe David wasn’t right. Maybe hell was here on earth, and maybe the devil did dwell inside men—perhaps even inside the man standing across the room from him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “No visitors,” Max said again to the nurse David had hunted down.

  Melanie Hawkins nodded. “Got it, Judge Max. It’s noted in the book, I’ve got a sign up and you’re right by the desk, so I’ll be keeping an eye out myself.” She paused and then asked, “Are you okay?”

  Max didn’t respond, just shifted around in the bed. After a minute, he said, “Tell that damn doctor I can’t sleep. I want something so I can sleep. Every time I close my eyes…”

  He didn’t finish his sentence, but David imagined he knew the problem. He’d close his eyes and see Mary. Lifeless. Gone. Everything he’d lived for.

  Within another minute, Melanie was gone and David moved to stand by the bed, pulling a chair up so Max could see him.

  “You got any idea how many are left?” David studied him.

  Max flicked a look at him. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t give me that, Max.”

  “You know, for once in your life, wouldn’t hurt you to call me Grandpa.”

  Sighing, David bowed his head, hair falling to shield his eyes. Slowly, he reached up and caught one of Max’s hands in his, squeezed. “I don’t know if you really want that. I think of family and I think ugly things. I don’t have that connection with you.” Breaking the contact, he looked away. “I wish I could tell you the sort of things a man should be able to say to his grandfather. I do owe you; I know that—”

  “The fuck you do.” The words ripped out of Max, ugly and full of poison. “You don’t owe me shit. I never should have—”

  “Please don’t. You didn’t know.” Because David did wish he could give the man something, he decided to give what little he could. Rising, he made his way to the window. “Back before things got bad, I used to dream, you know. My father’s parents were dead. Mother never spoke of hers. Now I know why. But kids would talk about their grandparents and sometimes, I’d make up my own. In my head, my grandpa always looked like you. Big and strong, not afraid of anything—tough. That was how you looked to me. And my grandmother would look like Miss Mary. Sweet, with a voice pretty and soft.”

  He looked back at Max, but Max had his eyes closed.

  “I need to know who else is left,” David said softly. “Don’t tell me you don’t know. I know what you’ve been doing. I need their names.”

  A moment passed, then another. David counted the beats of his heart, it had grown so quiet.

  “There is a journal,” Max finally said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “It was in Harlan’s study. I got it now. You want it, you’ll find it at my house.”

  “Where is it?”

  A faint smile came and went on Max’s face. “Look around my house. I’ve got the journals there. I…” His gaze moved to the door, and his voice dropped. “Just you look. But there’s not much left. Most of them are either dead or in jail.”

  A band wrapped around David’s chest. “Most. Not all?”

  “Don’t start down this trail, David. There’s nothing down it but death for you if you take even the first step.”

  “I took the first step years ago. I can’t undo it.”

  “You can. You’re not too far gone.” Max blew out a heavy sigh. “I was willing to take those steps, because I’d made a promise. It was a risky, fool thing to do, and if I’d messed up it would have hurt Miss Mary something awful. But every time I thought of what had been done…” He shook his head. “I had to do it. You don’t. The cops here, now, they care. The men I know about are gone. You can let it go. Take the journal to them. Let them do their job. Don’t go chasing death down. After all this time, boy, you deserve a life.… Don’t let them take anything else from you. Not even because you want vengeance.”

  David didn’t answer.

  A life. He wouldn’t know how to make one even if he wanted one. He didn’t understand the concept. Vengeance, though … that was something he understood.

  He went to slip outside and a quiet question made him pause.

  “Will you come back?”

  He gripped the door frame, stared straight ahead. He wanted to say no. Wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard. But it wasn’t possible. There weren’t many in this world he felt he owed much of anything to. But Max was definitely one of the few he did owe. “Yeah. I’ll be back.”

  * * *

  “Come on, you icy bitch. All I need is a grand. Five hundred would do it.”

  Sybil blocked out the anger, blocked out the insults and just said, “No.”

  Layla reached out. With the ease born of years of practice, Sybil sidestepped her younger sister’s hand—and those half-inch-long nails—and avoided being scratched or grabbed for what was probably the dozenth time in just the past ten minutes. “It’s not like you’re hurting for money,” Layla said, her tone snide. “Look at this place.”

  She picked up a Nikon that had cost Sybil over five thousand—not including the accessories. Pursing her lips, Layla held it up. “I bet you could put this on pawn and get a few hundred easy.”

  “Put my equipment down.”

  Hearing the threat in her sister’s voice, Layla looked up. “Shit, what crawled up your ass and died?”

  “I told you the last time I gave you money, it wouldn’t happen again.” Since Layla was still carelessly holding a very expensive camera, Sybil stepped forward and took it, returning it to its place. “And before you even start to consider it—all my equipment is registered to me. The pawnshop here would call me if you even tried. If one of my cameras goes missing, I’ll file a report. I’ll let Sorenson know you were here looking for money and I’ll call every pawnshop within a day’s drive of here.
If you take one of my cameras, I’ll have you arrested for breaking and entering, and theft. I’d also like to point out—there’s not a camera in here worth less than three grand. Keep that in mind before you think about trying anything. I’ve got one worth three times that. If I can get you arrested on grand theft? I’ll do it.”

  Layla’s mouth went pinched and tight. “You’ll spend that kind of money on a fucking camera, but you can’t spare a few hundred on your own blood?”

  Any guilt she could have once felt for Layla had long since died. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared the younger woman down. “And what about last year when I asked you if you’d like to go buy your son some Christmas presents? You didn’t have the money. You had the money, though, to haul your worthless ass to the liquor store twenty minutes later. You can’t spend your money on presents for your own blood, but you can buy booze?” As Layla opened her mouth, Sybil stepped forward. “I have expensive equipment because I am the one who has to care for that boy and I need the equipment to do my job. I’m the one who buys him toys and food and clothes. I am the one who pays for his medical bills—I can’t get him insurance because he’s not my son. I can’t get him on Medicaid because you never show up for the appointments. Right now? I’m paying off a thirty-two-hundred dollar hospital visit to the emergency department from the last time his asthma flared up. You want to talk about blood?” The words came out in a fury of pent-up rage. “Where in the hell have you been every time your son needed you? When he was sick, when he was hurting, when he just needed you?”

  Layla’s face was white, but as the words lingered, then died in the air, blood slowly crept across her face. “Don’t you dare go laying it at my feet when he gets sick. I can’t help that the kid has those breathing problems. He’s healthier around you, at least.”

  “That’s because I don’t smoke around him. I don’t parade a line of boyfriends through the house that chain-smoke around him. I don’t drag him around when he’s sick just because I’m bored and I have to get out and do something,” Sybil said, sneering. She backed away before she gave in to the fury and did something violent, something desperate. She wanted to shake her sister, make her see what she was doing, what she was losing, what she’d already lost.

  Drew looked at his mother with something just a step away from disgust in his eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t know her. It was that he didn’t want to know her.

  “It ain’t my fault,” Layla said, her voice shaking. Shaking with the need to believe it. “He was always sick like that. I tried, Syb. I did. I’m just not—”

  A wave of weariness crashed into her and Sybil looked away. “You tried. Yeah, I’ve heard this before. You tried. And when it got hard, you dumped him on Mama. Then she wasn’t there and I was. It’s fine. I love the boy. You know that. But you don’t get to come here, demanding money from me, sneering at the things I do to take care of him and getting pissy with me when I tell you no. I’m not your moneybag, Layla. You’re on your own now. I told you that once. It hasn’t changed.”

  Layla opened her mouth, closed it.

  Then she just slumped against the wall, slid down it. Drawing her knees to her chest, she tucked her face against them. “I don’t know where to go. I got kicked out of my apartment. I’ve been crashing with guys I know, but I’m running out of places to go. Nobody…” She sniffled and when she looked back at Sybil there were real tears in her eyes. “Nobody wants me, Syb. Nobody at all.”

  Even as her heart twisted inside, Sybil had to bite back the unspoken question: Do you blame them?

  Shoving her hair back, Sybil moved to the window. “Why did you get kicked out?”

  “I can’t pay the rent.” Layla thunked her head back against the wall. “Adam … I…” She licked her lips and slid Sybil an embarrassed glance. “You know Adam fired me. Nobody else around here will give me a chance. It was just him. Now I have no job, no money. I—” She started to shake.

  Those tremors were telling.

  “How long has it been since you used?”

  Layla clamped her lips shut.

  “Truth, Layla.”

  The younger woman averted her face, staring down the mellow golden hallway that led to the front door and out to Main Street. “I haven’t been using that much. I—” She stopped and blew out a breath. “Booze was easier. I could swipe it from the bar, take a bottle from the back. Guys never minded buying me a drink. I was doing some speed some nights. Smoked weed or swiped whatever pills I could if I was crashing with somebody who had them. But the shakes are from the drinking. It’s getting bad, too.”

  “I’m not going to give you money so you can go buy yourself another bottle.”

  Layla shoved herself upright. “You’ve already established that,” she said, her voice mocking. She set her shoulders, managed to pull the scattered threads of her pride around her. “I’ll figure—”

  Sybil ignored her and pulled out her phone. “I’m calling Noah. He’s got the number of a rehab place in Kentucky. You want help? Go in there. Dry out. Then maybe you and I can talk.”

  Layla went red.

  Sybil narrowed her eyes. “You’ve got one last chance, Layla, and something tells me you know it. It’s staring you right in the face. It’s either this or you’re going to end up dead on a slab somewhere.”

  “Does it even matter?” Layla whispered as something dark and haunted passed across her face. “Would anybody care?”

  “I would. Drew would.” Sybil hoped she wasn’t lying.

  Layla averted her face. “The kid is better off with you. Everybody knows that. I don’t even know how to take care of him.”

  “That’s because you never bothered to learn. I didn’t know how to do it, either.” Her heart ripped in two, even thinking about it. “But I figured it out. You can do the same.”

  She gripped the phone, stared at Layla. “Do I make the call?”

  * * *

  “I’m sorry.” She stared at Noah as he loaded Layla’s bag into the back of his trunk.

  He crooked a grin Sybil’s way. “Why? You didn’t do anything.”

  Sybil crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t help but feel this is a waste of time. That … well, I read about that place in Kentucky a while back.”

  One of the teens—well, Brittany was grown now, married, with a baby on the way, but she’d been in a bad way for a while. Noah had met her through the forum, but everybody in town knew who she was. He’d helped get her into a program and she’d come home more than a year later a different person. People looked at Noah like he’d turned wine into water, but he’d just shrugged. It wasn’t me. I just gave her the tools. A lot of prayer and hard work on Brittany’s part did the rest.

  Sybil didn’t think all the prayers in the world could help her sister, but she was ready to try anything right then.

  “It helped Brittany,” she said quietly. “Can it help her?”

  They looked through the window at Layla’s bowed head, resting on her fisted hand.

  “That’s up to Layla. She’s been cruising along rock bottom for a while, but whether or not she wants to get out of the hole is up to her. Plenty of people can give her the tools. Can offer her a hand up. She has to decide if she wants to reach out and accept.”

  Sybil just nodded, thought about going to say something.

  In the end, she just backed away.

  As Noah drove off, she dropped down onto the bench and watched until even the taillights were lost to her sight.

  “Man, Trinity has got to be a trusting girl to let him go off with that.”

  Slowly, Sybil lifted her head, turned to look at Leslie Mayer. Leslie had cut her long, heavily layered curls to chin length. It was slightly—only slightly—more flattering to her round face. Her skin was ruddy and her expression was that of one who rarely smiled. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, I don’t mean anything by it.” Leslie shrugged. “You know how your sister is. She chases after anything with a dick. Where is she off to
with Noah, anyway?”

  “Off to a new store in Louisville,” Sybil said blandly. “Shopping for a new attitude—for you and her. Seeing as how yours sucks just as bad as hers.”

  Sybil rose just as Leslie whipped her head around.

  “What the—” Leslie stopped mid-sentence as somebody came striding across the street.

  Sybil’s heart rolled, heavy and hard, in her chest and heat gathered inside her.

  “Who is that?” Leslie murmured.

  Sybil managed to choke back the snort of laughter, although it took some effort. Leslie couldn’t stop herself from ragging on Layla and how she came on to anybody with a dick, but Leslie was just as bad. But really, when a man looked like that it was hard not to notice. Sybil had the added distraction of knowing just how wonderful it felt to have that strong, hard body moving over hers, under hers, to feel his voice, just this side of cruel, rasping in her ear—

  “I wonder who he is,” Leslie said, her voice an unwelcome grating against Sybil’s nerves.

  “Oh, for crying out loud. You’ve seen him two thousand times,” Sybil said. The image of him was burned on the inside of her, just like the feel of him was imprinted on her skin. She didn’t let herself stare at him, as much as she wanted to.

  “I’ve never seen that man,” Leslie said, licking her lips.

  “Man, a guy gets a haircut and changes his clothes,” Sybil muttered. He had gotten his hair trimmed, the longish strands now almost brutally short and the clothes he wore highlighted a body she knew as well as her own. Did he look different? Maybe a little. But she’d know him in the dark. Shooting a look at Leslie, she said, “That’s David—or you might recognize the name Caine better.”

  Leslie snapped her mouth shut. And the heat in her eyes went cool as disgust danced across her face. “Oh. Oh, he was one—”