13. 12
I’m sitting at the breakfast bar with Beckett and Remy, eating French toast I just made. There’s a fourth plate at the table, but Chester is MIA. I’ve sent Remy on a quest to go and get him, but all I’m told is he wasn’t in bed, and he wasn’t sure if Chester heard the request to come eat breakfast over the loud metal music that came blaring out of his speakers in his home office.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Remy says, eyeing the door, and indeed, there’s someone who might resemble Chester. His hair is almost standing upright, and he’s wearing yesterday’s clothes. It has questionable stains, but I don’t dare to ask those questions. Some things in life will forever remain a mystery, and I can live with that.
Chester sits down, scowls at his food, and starts to eat it as if he’s really angry about it.
“You okay?” I ask, pushing his espresso cup forward in a not so subtle attempt to lighten the mood.
He grunts and throws back his coffee, only to start stabbing his food again.
“Have you slept at all?” I continue.
“Nope.”
“Then what did you spend all night doing?”
He looks at his food, scrunches his nose, acting as if I’m trying to feed him something disgusting and pushes his plate away again. Then he starts rubbing his eyes, sighs, and grabs Remy’s coffee, downing that as well.
“I don’t think additional caffeine is gonna do it right now, love,” Remy says, a wrinkle between his eyebrows indicating he’s worried.
Another sigh. He sounds so tired I can almost taste it.
“My head started thinking last night,” he finally answers, acting as if his brain is an entirely different entity over which he has no control whatsoever.
“About?” Beckett asks, not making eye contact. He treats Chester like a stray cat he wants to befriend. With the way he’s behaving, I’m afraid it has rabies.
“Well, my head wants to know where his current clock is.”
“Yeah, we all would, buddy,” I answer grumpily.
“I think I figured it out.”
Three pairs of big eyes fall on him.
“How?” Beckett answers.
Chester ignores the agent, finally looking at me instead. His baby blues are red-rimmed and tiny, surrounded by dark circles and looking sad. “You’re not going to like it,” he whispers.
“Yeah, well, I like nothing about this whole case, so what’s just a little more?” I mope.
And I really mean it when I say it. What else is Wayne going to do that will fuck with my head? I’ve taken everything he has had to give me, so just keep ‘em coming, I’ll survive.
“So,” Chester starts, sitting back in his chair, letting his head fall back, and closing his eyes. “That freaky picture wall we found at his house? It’s like there’s a still frame of it stuck in my head. I’ve been going over all the photos, figuring out when he took it, how he took it and where you were. That made me realize he started stalking you right after we found the burial site. Maybe the same day even. It was quick, in any case.”
The stuff he’s saying should impact me, but now, I’m numb. I can handle it. So I shake it off.
“He took Elaine a little over two weeks after that. He picked Elaine because it was personal, to make it personal. The same way he started sending you photos. He made sure you were involved.”
I nod. Again, this is not new information, but seeing what Chester’s brain does with it is fascinating.
“So he takes this new girl, he starts a new cycle. All he can think about is you. He wants to get you in every imaginable way. This new burial site, this new clock? It has something to do with you. But he wants to keep you close. The photo wall proves that. I started mapping the area near his house, factoring in that he hasn’t been seen with the women after they were abducted, but he can’t keep them too close, or we would have found them already. It has to have something to do with you. I calculated how far he’d get taking a woman out through the woods, although I had to guess his strength and stamina, I’m not so sure about that, because I could only go on appearance and I don’t know what a maniac having an episode is capable of physically, but I did the math and I did my best.”
He’s just rambling now. I understand his words, but I can’t follow his thought process anymore. I’m sure trying to convey a whole night’s work in a few sentences leaves some vital information out anyway.
“It works with the postcard he sent you a while back as well, because of the ‘running over the same old grounds’ part of the Pink Floyd song.”
Pushing my chair back, I walk over and straddle him, putting my hands on his cheeks, swiping the pad of my thumb over his lower lip and tilting his head back up so he has to look at me.
“Where do you think they are?” I quietly ask him.
“If you cross the woods behind Wayne’s house and go West for a couple of miles, you reach the far side of Smith’s Lake,” he says, observing how I react.
It’s as if someone is stomping on my heart.
“I took apart all the camera footage I could find, and it’s possible to take them there from his house without being seen.”
There.
To the place my parents were murdered.
Where someone pulled them over, bound them to their car seats with duct tape, and then drove them into the water, where they drowned.
Instinctively, I know he’s right, making me want to scream. My muscles start trembling while the rest of my body feels locked up.
“What’s going on with Smith’s lake?” Remy asks.
“It’s where her parents were murdered,” Beckett answers, knowing all about it after reading their files.
“Oh fuck,” Remy says, eyes wide and face horror struck.
I get off of Chester’s lap, not looking any of them in the eye right now. I lock down everything I’m feeling and then some, filing it away for later. Because I’ll break down if I don’t do that.
I’m furious he did manage to find something to hurt me with. You’d think he’d have run out of options by now. But no.
“Let’s go,” I say, my voice hoarse, walking in the direction of the front door. I hear chairs scraping over the floor behind me, all of them following me without question. Sometimes you don’t even need words to understand.
Cold fall wind lifts my hair, the strands obstructing my sight. Not that it matters. I can’t see shit through my burning eyes anyway. I’ve actually never been here before. My parents never took me, and after they died here, I didn’t see the appeal in coming.
Never saw the crime scene photos either. People tried to save me from harsher memories, replacing the pleasant memories I had left of them.
Even so, the lake gives me chills.
This is where they took their last breaths, beneath the surface of the water, their bodies screaming for oxygen while never getting any until their vital functions malfunctioned and they died.
Just like that.
A warm hand on my shoulder shakes me out of my stupor. Wiping the back of my hand over my nose, sniffing as softly as I can, I turn around, facing Chester. He sticks both hands in his pockets and looks like he’s about to collapse at any given moment. He pulled an all-nighter and followed me out the door without asking any questions. If anything, he looks worried.
“Are you okay?”
I shrug. “I honestly don’t know. Part of me believes everything will be better as soon as we find these bodies. The other part just knows everything will be ten times worse finding them.”
He kicks a pebble over the ground with the nose of his shoe, staring down.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I can see him spinning his thumb ring even though his hands are in his pockets.
“Not your fault,” I answer astutely, meaning every single word of it. I can’t look at him right now, my eyes searching the rough terrain surrounding the lake. I’m looking for a spot that’s far enough away from the water so the surroundings won’t harm his clock, while still being close enough to the spot where my parents died to hurt me. Burying twelve women in a circle takes up some space, so the area must be big enough.
To my left, all I see is browning grass and a shore filled with pebbles. Wildlife is living its normal life as if nothing is going on. I spot a robin who’s trying to pull a worm out of the ground, and I want to scream at the stupid thing, make it see the importance of what’s going on in this moment.
There’s always a chance Chester is wrong, but I know he’s not.
Turning around, I find Remy and Beckett walking down the shore, searching the ground, but they’re too close to the water. Shifting even further right, my heart stops.
There are disturbances on the ground.
“There,” I say, but my voice gets carried in the wind and nobody hears me.
I walk straight to it, my heart beating so hard I can hear it. Once I get close, I can make out the distinct shapes of the bodies. Having seen it firsthand in that basement means I know what I’m looking for.
There are five shapes on the ground, even though the fifth of next month hasn’t come. He took Whitney Blake from her home ahead of schedule because he is devolving. Beckett explained it all. I just wasn’t ready to see a pile of dirt for her here. A small part of me thought that he would’ve deviated from his entire M.O., not having his usual torture chamber and not waiting for the right date. But he just sped things up.
Chester has caught up with me, silently laying a hand on the small of my back, offering me some comfort. The touch reminds me to keep breathing, and I suck in a huge gulp of air, filling my lungs to the brim, soaking in life.
Remy and Beckett make their way to me. I wonder what gave away that I seem to have found something, but at the same time, I don’t really care. Beckett has his phone pressed to his ear by the time he reaches us, calling in reinforcements and staring at the ground.
My attention is drawn to the spot on the ground the most on the left.
That’s where the one on the clock would be. That’s where Elaine is.
My vision blurs.
Beckett points his phone at the ground, snapping a few pictures before crouching and putting on rubber gloves. Ever so gently, he brushes away some dirt.
Time freezes momentarily when nothing happens, and a tiny bubble of hope makes me feel like this is the wrong place. That we haven’t found the bodies.
But when Beckett digs deeper and stumbles onto cling-foil, all hope evaporates. I don’t even have to see it with my own eyes to know there’s a woman buried there. To be more precise, not just any woman. That’s Elaine.
Elaine, who he took.
Elaine, who he strangled.
Elaine, who he tried to hide from the world just so he could keep her all to himself.
And she’s right there, just a short distance from the water where my parents drew their last breaths. Even without ripping the clingfoil, I can smell the limes. I’ll never, ever, get over that smell again. I’d much rather know the smell of decay, than to smell a lime and get pulled into the memory of murder.
Bile rises in my throat, but I don’t throw up. All of this is too much for me to deal with, so I shut down. Strong arms wrap around me, and I don’t even bother looking at whose arms they are before I bury myself in a chest, shutting myself out from the world and just starting to count along with my breathing.
I don’t look up or get out of the embrace until forensics arrive to start processing the scene.
Beckett instructs them on what to do. He’s been on the phone for most of the time we’ve stood here, waiting. I’m glad that right now, I don’t have to do anything.
My body is screaming for a run, but I feel like it’s my obligation to stay here. For the women he took, for the lives he stole. The least I can do is to bear witness.
We stand there as bystanders, keeping an eye on everything that’s going on, no need to speak.
But when the forensic team uncovers Elaine’s body, something snaps.
I rip myself loose out of the arms holding me, which turned out to be Chester’s all along and jog towards the edge of the lake. I see red, while I keep seeing Elaine in my mind. I don’t see her as the lifeless body that we just found. I see her as the little kid who was full of life, hope, and spunk on the day we saved her. I see her with a future that’s intact, as a part of her family, maybe a family of her own someday.
And it’s the contrast that nearly kills me.
I kick the sand near the edge of the lake, clumps of sand falling in the water with dunking sounds, creating ripples that get bigger and bigger until they finally get too big to stay intact.
Just like my anger.
I kick again, creating another wave of sand flying through the air and into the water.
The water that took away my parents.
My breath hitches and my anger makes way for a tidal wave of sadness that takes over me. My eyes begin to burn and my lip begins to wobble and I hate it. With every fiber of my being, I hate it. This is not who I want to be. I’ve grieved for my parents. I can handle what Wayne is doing but feel out of control. Broken.
Before I can get my emotions under control, Remy steps up to me. His hands are buried deep in his pockets, and he looks out over the lake. He doesn’t pry, doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. He’s so in tune with everything; both him and I feel that he doesn’t have to say anything at all.
I breathe in for four, hold for four, out for four and hold for four.
We just stand there, breathing, until in the end, it feels like I’m no longer choking. My shoulder sag while I take in the sight of the lake. Really see it.
It’s fucking gorgeous.
Which is the last thing I want to notice.
Remy moves, takes one of his hands out of his pocket and grabs mine with it. There’s something hard in it. When I turn my palm up, I see a stone. It’s oval and smooth, plain gray with a white vein running through it.
I raise an eyebrow in question, not understanding what he’s doing.
“In Judaism, people believe that in death, we are all equals. We are rocks against the elements who stand the test of time. Don’t hold me to it, though. I’m not a scholar, nor do I know anything about Judaism. I just know what an old friend once told me. Personally, I do not believe in a higher power. I know you don’t either. But what I do believe is that this rock will be here long after we’ve passed on. And just like that rock, I believe love is stronger than death. Do with it what you like. I just wanted you to have it.”
I stare at the stone again. It’s just a stone. But the sight of it soothes me nonetheless.
A weak smile creeps on my face. “You gave me a rock?”
He chuckles, shrugging and looking. “I know it’s not much, it was the most I could do right now.”
It’s everything. But I can’t make myself say the words.
We lock eyes, saying everything words can’t say, before he turns around, walking straight towards Chester and leaving me once again.
I don’t know how long I stand there staring and feeling the cold wind on my cheeks as if a weak sun is trying to warm me, but to no extent. The chill I feel is coming from inside and is the physical manifestation of the nightmare I’ve been living ever since my parents were murdered there.
Has everything been bad?
No.
God, no.
There’s been so much good. But the common denominator in my life has been suffering, whether it was my own or that of the people I’ve crossed paths with. From Chester and his baggage to the children we save on a regular basis.
And now this shitshow with Wayne.
Behind me, all the women who found an untimely death here are being dug up. There are people swarming the site, dressed in white paper suits, getting pictures and samples and whatever else they need. It’s useless. We know who has done this, we just need to find him and take him in before more women are reduced to disturbances in the ground.
I release a long sigh and turn back to the water once more.
I weigh the stone in my hand, throw it up and down a few times, and catch it again. The weight of it is comforting.
My parents never were disturbances on the ground. They were fading ripples in the water.
I throw the rock into the lake using all the force I can muster.
It’ll be there long after we’ve gone.
I might not believe in a God or even be really sure what love exactly is, but knowing that rock will be there is the one thought that keeps me upright that day.
All it took was a Rapid DNA test on all the women we found and the DNA profiles we took from the missing women, and a couple of hours later, we had matches. Somehow I managed to calm myself down, finding solace in Remy’s embrace while all the others did their job, and now here we are, standing in front of a house in the suburbs, about to ruin someone’s day. Life. Whatever it is, we’re ruining it.
Beckett rings the doorbell, folding his hands behind his back. He has much more experience in telling people that one of their loved ones has passed away than I have. I took the fun job of retrieving kids while he has been dealing with death for a long while.
A woman in her fifties answers the door, and I would recognize her anywhere. Yes, her hair is more gray and she has a few wrinkles, but she looks exactly the same to me. The biggest difference in Sharon Bourgouis’ appearance is the lack of life in her eyes. The last time I saw her, her eyes were equally vacant, but when I brought back her babies, it was like a lightbulb was turned on.
Her lip starts to quiver when the door is fully opened and she seems to recognize me. It’s not every day you come face to face with the person who brought your now dead baby back.
Does seeing me bring back flashbacks of the time I did manage to save both her girls? Is she hoping beyond reason that me being here means I’m bringing Elaine back?
In some way, I am.
I am bringing her back.
Just not in the way we all would love. Safe, healthy, thriving - alive.
“Come on in, sweetheart,” she says, her voice fragile. She steps aside to let us enter and I have to breathe for four, hold for four, breathe out for four and hold for four until I can control my breathing and find the courage to step inside.
Sharon leads us to the kitchen, where she puts on water before she acknowledges us being there.
“Excuse me, I just feel like I might need a cup of tea for the reason you’re here,” she says when she finally turns to us and observes us with a forced smile. She grabs a teabag and stares at her hands, finnicking with it. “I stopped drinking alcohol every time I felt like it. The frequency was turning me into an alcoholic. And I…” She raises her head to look at a picture of Elaine and her sister on the kitchen counter and swallows. “And I can’t be absent too.”
Walking over, I grab her hand and squeeze. Beckett doesn’t say anything; he opens the kitchen cabinets until he finds cups for the tea and sets three of them on the counter. Not a word is spoken while we wait for the water to boil, all feeling the severity of our visit, like a big foggy cloud inside the house. It makes it hard to breathe.
“So, living room?” Sharon says, trying to sound chipper when we all have a cup of tea. The heat of the cup is trying to coax some warmth back into my hands, which feel like no blood courses through them. I nod, following her to another room where comfy couches surround a coffee table. Sharon sits down on one of them, and Beckett and I take the other. I do make sure I’m as close to Sharon as I can be.
“This isn’t a courtesy visit, isn’t it?” she asks, staring at a picture of Elaine on the wall above the TV.
“No, it isn’t,” I answer. For a split second, I’m taken aback by the likeness between Elaine and myself, and my heart is hurting. There really is no easy way to say this, so I just get it over with. “We found her body.”
Sharon sighs, looking away from me through a window, staring in the distance. What is she seeing out there? Her last hope evaporating?
“She did it right after getting a second chance,” she eventually whispers, but I don’t know what she means by that. I don’t voice my confusion, though; instead, I let her decide when she wants to speak.
“After you brought her and Lauren home, she did it just right, you know? She lived. Even at age ten, she would look me in the eye, defiance written all over her face. Whenever I wanted to keep her home, keep her safe. She’d look at me and say: ‘Mom, I’ve come home when you didn’t expect me to. Don’t steal the second chance at life I’ve been gifted’. It terrified me. I wanted to keep her with me, never let her out of my sight again.”
Her now dull brown eyes seek me out. “But that would have been a shame, now would it?”
“If she was anything resembling the little girl that I saved, she would not be one to sit quietly and let life pass her by,” I offer her. I’ve only ever spent one day with the girl, but she’s been with me mentally every single day since then. The face behind my drive.
“She used to use that excuse every opportunity she got,” Sharon continues, the corners of her mouth pulling up now. “Would convince me she would be fine to go to the late night movie, all alone, because what were the chances of her being taken twice? My trust in the world might have been broken, but my trust in her was always endless.”
“I’m so sorry they took your baby again,” I manage to whisper.
Her eyes wander, looking anywhere but at me. “Well, I guess it was all a bonus after all.”
I can’t imagine what she must be going through. I don’t know what it’s like to love a kid - I’d like to pretend that I know what it’s like to feel a mother’s love, a parent’s love, but I don’t. To have them taken away from you, both of your children and to get them back – only to have her taken away again. Hearts aren’t meant to be mended after breaks like these.
“Can we bury her?” she asks, looking to Beckett for answers.
“We’ll get her back to you as soon as we can,” he reassures her. He doesn’t tell her that a team is now excavating her and ensuring they get as much evidence as possible. Nobody wants to think of their loved ones like that. She’s much more than just a body and evidence to her family.
“At least that means there’s something to bury,” Sharon says, absentmindedly sipping her tea.
“I’m so sorry we didn’t find her in time,” I whisper, my eyes burning while I try to hold back the tears. This is not about me. This is not the time.
Her eyes find mine again, a sliver of life to be found in them this time around. “But you found her. I know where she is now.” Just as quick as that spark came back, it extinguishes again. “It’s been a constant nightmare since she got kidnapped all those years ago. Not knowing where she is.”
Tears stream down her face, and I feel their twins falling down my own cheeks.
“You hear the other people say that not knowing is the worst part. And the first time, they were right. I hated not knowing where she was. I hated it this time too. But deep down, not knowing means there’s still hope. And now, there’s none. She’s dead. Taken. And I’d rather have the hope.”
All the stages of grief show on her face, ending somewhere in rage. Grief isn’t linear. You get bounced around between all the stages until you finally find a new way of living again.
Her anger is so strong I can feel it in my bones.
“We’re going to get him,” I say, meaning it with every fiber of my being.
“Are you?” she spits out, directing her anger at Beckett.
“Yes ma’am, we are,” he answers, his eyes earnest and his hands folded. He exudes a calm I don’t possess.
She points her finger at him, staring him down. “Neither police nor FBI could find her last time. It all came down to this young lady. She found my babies while you and your bureau and every cop in the whole world let me down. You do not put finding this monster on her, you hear me?”
She starts sobbing inconsolably.
“She brought Elaine back home in one piece, and you brought her back dead. You fix this fucking mess, and don’t you dare put this burden on her shoulders!”
I let myself sink on my knees in front of the couch she sits on and wrap my arms around her as her shoulders start shaking from her crying.
It’s not Sharon who Beckett looks at. It’s me, his emerald green eyes shining with emotion and determination.
“Yes ma’am,” he promises, and I know it’s me he’s making this promise to as well.