26. 25
“Come on,” I whine. “I just want to go.”
I’m in a hospital bed, hooked up to some fluids, my arm in a sling. I’ve spent the night here, and I’m going crazy. It’s not like I’m seriously injured. It was a clean shot; Beckett did a good job. They just patched me up in the hospital, and now I want to go home.
“Listen to the doctors,” Beckett says, sitting at a little table in my hospital room, working on his laptop. Apparently it requires a lot of paperwork when you shoot someone on the job when you’re with the FBI too. I’m lucky that Beckett was the one that shot him because my pile of paperwork would have been even bigger.
“What is staying here instead of being at home going to do for me?”
“Staying here ensures you stay in bed. If you go home now, you’re going to do stuff. You’re going to make yourself some coffee, which will end up in you wanting a snack, scrunching your nose at the cookies that I bought and bake yourself a batch because they’re better.”
I huff.
He’s probably right.
There’s a knock at my door, and before I can say anything, Alex sticks his head inside. “Can we come in, boss?”
“Yeah,” I answer at the same time as Beckett says ‘who’s we?’. Before he answers, my whole tac team and Zoey are standing in my room. Beckett mumbles something about taking it easy while I get excited. There’s finally something happening.
“How are you?” Scott asks.
“Bored out of my mind already.”
“You could do my paperwork for me,” Beckett says.
I point to my sling. “Sorry. I can’t help you with one arm.”
“Oh, now it’s suddenly holding you back?”
Dylan sits on my bed and throws an arm around me. “Good job,” he says and I start beaming.
“We just came to see if you’re alright,” Zoey says, nestling herself in Scott’s arms. “I was half convinced you were bulletproof, you know?”
Beckett squints his eyes. “She was shot when she saved those kids in the cargo train.”
“That was just a graze,” Scott, Alex, Zoey and I say at the exact same time.
“Sure, because a graze doesn’t count as getting shot!” he yells in frustration.
“Exactly,” Dylan says.
“So when are you getting out of here?” Zoey asks.
“Not a second before the doctor says she’s allowed,” Beckett grumbles.
“What are you, her keeper?” Alex asks.
“No,” I say at the same time Beckett says ‘yes’. He looks me in the eye, scowls, and points at me. “You need a keeper.”
“It’s weird when mom and dad fight,” Scott whispers to Dylan, who laughs and kisses the side of my head before he gets off the bed.
“It’s really over now, isn’t it?” Zoey says, looking unsure.
I nod. “Doesn’t get any deader than that.”
“Did it feel good?” Zoey asks Beckett.
“It never feels good to take a life. But I’m relieved he’s gone if that counts for something.”
The tiny girl with the pink pixie cut just nods. It’s a little uncomfortable conversation, so we let it go. The room feels crowded now that it’s full of people, while we’re not actually talking. It doesn’t take long for a nurse to stick her head in and chastise us for having too many people here and me needing my rest. I think she’s a nosy woman who should mind her own business, but all the guys except for Beckett get ready to leave anyway.
“Next time I see you in the hospital, you”ll be holding a little baby,” Alex says after he kisses me on the top of my head.
“Oh, that’s never going to happen,” I say, my voice soft.
“It is,” he says, a grin so wide I can count his molars. “Georgina and I expect you in about half a year.”
My heart skips a beat because while I might not want babies of my own, I’m happy when other people have them. “Really?” I ask, my eyes suddenly burning and a little wet.
“Really,” he says, looking every bit the proud dad that he is.
“Four?” Scott shouts. “Don’t you think that’s a little much?”
Dylan hits him in the back of the head. “Let him be, asshole. Say ‘Congratulations’ and then keep your opinion to yourself.”
“Congratulations and then keep your opinion to yourself,” Scott says.
Dylan hits him again.
Zoey is giving Alex googly eyes and I know this won’t be the last time that Scott will hear about babies tonight. He’s fucked. And not in the good way. They leave, bickering among each other, and I wave them goodbye with my good arm.
They haven’t been gone for five minutes when Viv, Peter and the kids come into my room. I hope the nurse doesn’t come back again any time soon, because there are more people in my room right now than when she tried making people leave. The kids don’t count as full people. Half at the most.
Peter shouts that they should be careful with me when all three of them climb on the bed. I don’t care. I smother myself in them. Charlie grabs the remote and finds a cartoon to watch, and all three boys sit back to watch the show while getting as much physical contact with me as possible.
Viv is hugging Beckett so hard he’s looking over her shoulder towards me and asking for help without saying the words. I just smile serenely.
“This is how we should’ve met,” Viv finally snotters.
“Better than with a psycho holding you, right?” Beckett says.
“Yes, let’s never do that again.”
“Let’s,” he agrees.
When Vivian finally lets him go, Peter grabs him, and the look Beckett is giving me now is making me laugh out loud. He looks so extremely lost. He’s just going to have to suck it up though. He said I could ask him to stay, which I did, and this is part of what he signed up for.
“So,” Viv whispers, “when I start getting the guest rooms ready for when you’re coming to visit, the moment you leave the hospital, how do I arrange the rooms? How does my niece coming over with her three hot pieces of ass work?”
I snort, pulling one of my stitches in the process a little bit, making me grimace. “Ouch. Just get two rooms ready. We’ll make it work.”
She sighs.
“I’m so glad we’re here,” she whispers.
“Same,” I say, squeezing her hand while I look her in the eye.
“You happy?” she asks over the kid’s heads, making sure we’re having our own private conversation even if we’re in a room filled with people.
I smile. “They not only stole the moon for me, they make me feel like flying through the stars and give me the whole world as well.”
This time, she squeezes my hand. “That’s the least you deserve, darling.”
Aunt Viv, Peter and the kids stayed for an hour and then the kids started to get loud. The nosy nurse came back in and sent everyone back out again. I decide right there and then that she’s my least favorite. The nurse that comes twenty minutes later with the good meds gets promoted to my favorite instantly.
Beckett, to my horror, changes the TV channel to start watching a baseball game. A baseball game. I hate watching sports. Perhaps watching Remy dance is the exception, but that’s more like watching art than watching a game.
Chester and Remy choose that exact moment to enter the room. They’re laughing and carrying coffees and a bag which I hope contains food. Half of the reason why I want to get out of the hospital this quickly is because the food is horrible. Really. Fucking terrible.
Chester stops mid-stride while Remy starts handing out the coffee.
“Hold it,” Chester demands before he can give Beckett his drink.
“What?”
“He’s watching sports,” he says, like that covers it all.
“So?” Beckett asks.
“We don’t watch sports. I’ve never seen you watch sports. You’re better than this.”
“I like to watch sports in my downtime. You know, when I’m not running around and catching people who kill for fun.”
Chester turns to me. “Do we really need someone in this relationship who enjoys watching sports?”
“Might be best to reconsider,” I say, staring at the screen, only half joking. I love Beckett, but do I really want a future where we watch games on the weekend? Oh my fucking God, does this mean we’re going to have to host game parties?
Beckett huffs. “Out of all of us, I’m pretty sure I’m the sanest. I don’t have to go see a therapist every week.”
“Actually,” Chester argues while he starts handing out what indeed turns out to be food, “that would be Remy. I know for a fact that every time you shoot someone you have to go in for a mandatory psych eval. Which has been twice in the last six months alone. So if we’re going based on the amount of time spent with a therapist, Remy wins.”
Remy shakes his head and climbs beside me on the bed, which I immediately abuse by nestling myself against him. “Maybe all the therapy is making you all more sane than me.”
That’s a nice way of looking for it.
“Never mind, Becky, what we’re all trying to say is, change the channel,” Chester snaps. Beckett hogs the remote, eyeing Chester defiantly and shaking his head.
“So,” Remy tries. “Where is this vacation we’re going to go to?”
“How about Australia?” I say.
“Glover, Cooke, MacDonald,” Beckett says, staring at his game.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Chester snaps. He always gets a little irritated when there’s sports on.
“Just a few serial killers Australia is known for.”
“There’s a serial killer named MacDonald?” Remy asks.
“Yeah, William MacDonald, also known as ‘The Mutilator’. Killed five men in the sixties. Punched and stabbed them to death and mutilated their genitalia.”
“I’ll never see a Happy Meal the same way again,” I say.
“Okay, so what’s the point in ruining fast food?” Chester grunts.
“We were going to go somewhere to get away from work. These are the first three things that come to my mind when I think about Australia. Now, most people would say kangaroos, crocodiles and Chris Hemsworth. I want to go somewhere where I don’t think about work.”
Remy rubs his eyes. “So Australia is out. How about Mexico?”
“You’re kidding me, right? Do you have any idea how many serial killers come from Mexico, with all the cartels and shit?”
“Greece?” I try, because I can see myself sitting on a white sandy beach and swimming in the ocean.
“Home of the woman known as the daughter of Rasputin? There was this nun that killed between twenty-seven and a hundred and seventy-seven people.”
“Special Agent Beckett Sanders, ladies and gentlemen, known for his ability to ruin the happiest of meals and nuns,” Remy says, shaking his head.
“Japan?” I try again. Sake and sushi could be fine.
“I think half the reason they eat raw fish is because they’re used to being around dead meat,” Beckett deadpans.
“Oh for fucks sake, why don’t you just tell me where we can go?” Chester yells, gets up, and steals the remote to turn the TV off.
“Either Croatia or Greenland would do.”
I watch the men who surround me while they discuss our upcoming trip to Croatia or Greenland, and I can’t help but sit back and enjoy the show. It really doesn’t matter where we go, as long as we’re going together. I think the bullet might have hit something inside of me, making me more sappy than normal, because I sure as shit don’t have thoughts like that, but I’ll enjoy it while it’s here.
When I walk into the event venue a week later, the building is covered in flowers. The city of Portland had to change venues several times because the usual memorial places couldn’t hold enough people. Or flowers. Not just one kind of flower but a wild variety. The body count on Wayne’s end was astronomical, and they asked the family and the loved ones of all the victims what their favorite flowers were. The hall is covered in it.
You’d think that many people would have roses as their favorites. They”re popular for a reason after all. But deep down, we all want to stand out, and we all have that certain kind of flower that we like just that little bit more than roses. The added bonus is that you’re picking something out of the ordinary, something personal, making it even more special.
I wonder which of the victims liked orchids. They’re gorgeous, but I understand they’re a bitch to maintain. I can’t tell from the flowers to whom they belong, they are the one flower that stands out, that’s specifically there for their loved one.
They know.
They know because that person mattered.
There are a lot of people here. After telling the people who organized the memorial, we found some chairs that we did not want to sit up front. This isn’t about us, this is about all the women that Wayne murdered.
After Wayne died newspapers reported about ‘The Time’ finally being off the streets. There’s some conspiracy out there that we got the wrong guy and the real Time is still out there. There are probably going to be a lot of copycats making use of that theory.
We know better.
I know better.
We really have him.
I’m very proud that we could steer the media into reporting about Wayne’s victims. Lists of their names have been published everywhere, photos have gone over the internet. Their names are being spoken.
Their lives have mattered.
Today is a memorial service for all these women. Their families, their friends, and their loved ones are here. We’re going to hear a little something about all of them. We’re not going to speak about the way they died or the man who took that life from them. Wayne doesn’t exist anymore.
He doesn’t matter.
And neither do we. We played a huge role in finally getting Wayne off the streets and in getting revenge for all these women, but today is not about us. I had a lengthy discussion with all of my men about how I’m a victim of Wayne as well. I might not have been killed, but he took a lot from me.
But I refuse to just be a victim.
The situation he put me in made me stronger. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not Wayne who made me stronger. I did that all by myself, forced by the situations he got me in.
Viv got an invitation to be here as well, but she said it didn’t feel right. She was the only one who survived Wayne, while all these women had not. She thought it was rubbing people’s faces in it, and this night was for all the loved ones of the women who didn’t survive. Survivor’s guilt is a thing, and there’s no predicting who will get it or how it will present. So Viv isn’t here – she has regular appointments with Robin.
Despite the whole room being full, it’s quiet. The air is filled with grief.
The mayor of Portland walks up on stage, where he takes the mic. He gives a brief speech on what a shame it has been to have lost all these lovely women who have died, and I have a hard time believing him. Nobody was looking for these women anymore. They would still be missing if I hadn”t stumbled upon them. I wasn’t looking for them either, but I was never supposed to. There are people out there who were responsible for finding them, but instead they failed.
I quickly shake the thought. The only one to blame in this whole tragedy is Wayne. And he got what he deserved. Nobody is holding a memorial for him. Nobody will say what his favorite flower was or pick out rocks for him. I’d love to be able to say that history will forget about him, but past events have proven that it’s more likely that people will know his name in a hundred years than the name of all these victims.
It’s just how the human brain works.
One of the mothers of the victims takes the stage. It’s the first woman, in the first clock – the family and loved ones of the neighbor Wayne killed before he started his clocks passed up on the invitation as well because Wayne has not been formally sued for lack of evidence in that case – and she tells a lovely story about who she was. How her laugh would fill a room, how she was a dancer that would have had a promising future and how her favorite flowers were daisies because she just loved how mundane they are. I let myself ponder for a moment how different everything could have been if she had never run into Wayne. Would she have shone on stage alongside Remy? Would they have known each other?
One by one, the families and loved ones of the women get on stage, and while the women are all completely different and have their own personalities, they share a lot as well. They were loved, they made the lives of those who loved them better, they’re irreplaceable and they leave holes that can never be filled. They don’t speak about that time she was grumpy, or how she had the terrible habit of leaving her cup on the counter instead of putting it in the dishwasher. It’s not about the times she was sad or had a bad day – those are not the things we remember. People have a habit of remembering all the bad stuff. Our brains are wired to have easier access to negative things when we think about ourselves, and we have to put effort into accessing the good memories. But that’s not how it works when we think about someone we loved who is now lost.
We remember that sunny day picnicking at the lake, not the way we yelled at each other to ‘hurry and put on your goddamn shoes’. It’s the way we laughed until our bellies ached when we prank-called that cute guy in class, not the anger because she was ten minutes late to an appointment.
– It’s the times we baked in the kitchen and picked up new books in the library, not how they never returned from an evening out while drowning in a lake instead.
I listen to all the stories and fill myself to the brim with the goodness I hear. Yes, people can be really crappy shitholes, but most of the people out there are beautiful souls. And sometimes I need to remember that.
When I make it all the way through the service without crying, I think I’m doing a pretty decent job.
And then Sharon Bourgouis takes the stage, alongside her husband and her other daughter. She straightens her back, looking strong as all hell, her eyes bright and her shoulders back.
“I’m here tonight to honor Elaine Bourgouis. She is, was, my daughter. She was lost once before, being kidnapped alongside her sister.” She squeezes her daughter’s hand, who is crying like crazy. “Elaine was brought back to me that time. Both of my babies were brought back. Abigail Wilder decided that the sick bastard that took her would not win, and she saved them. Elaine was the first girl she ever saved and would throw that in my face. I’m special, she used to say. And my God, how true is that statement? Dark hair, gorgeous eyes, and a smile that could light up the room. And a tongue that would get you in trouble if you didn’t have your wit around you.”
There’s soft laughter throughout the room, and Sharon sighs before she continues.
“This night is about all those who fell victim to a killer whose name I shall not speak. Instead, I want to talk about two names for which I’m eternally grateful. Elaine Bourgouis got taken from us at a far too young age. She got taken twice, and both times she was lost. I was lost too. Elaine came back to me twice as well. The first time alive, the second time not so much. Both times were made possible by Abigail Wilder. She’s the reason all of us are here tonight. She brought all of our babies, our friends, our sisters, our granddaughters, our loved ones back.”
She meets my eye from all the way across the room.
“Without her, they would still be lost. Without her, I would still be lost. But I’m not. They’re not. And for that, I’m eternally grateful.”
I close the front door behind me the second Remy steps inside carrying my grocery bags. He kicks off his shoes at the front door without using his hands while I take off my own and put both of our sets away. I help him get out of his jacket before I take off my own, and while I hang them up on the coat rack, he makes his way to the kitchen with the three heavy bags of stuff we just picked up.
“I feel a little used,” he says when I enter the kitchen, but he’s already busy unloading everything. I might have gone a little overboard.
“You like being used,” I answer in a flirty tone.
“Yeah, but not to carry your groceries. You’re a strong woman. You can do this yourself!”
I do tell him that all the time. But you know what? Sometimes it’s nice to let people do things for you.
“I got shot,” I use as an excuse.
“So you’re healed enough to impromptu decide to make a very early Thanksgiving dinner for a fuckton of people, but you can’t carry the bags yourself.”
“Exactly. See. You always get me.”
He unloads all the ingredients I got and I start moving stuff around and arranging it to see where I’m going to start. Getting the turkey in is my first priority. It isn’t Thanksgiving yet, it won’t be for a couple of weeks, but I feel like cooking today and I’ve invited all the people I want to see. The upside of having an early Thanksgiving dinner is that nobody has any commitments for today, and they can all come. Alex and his family are coming, Zoey and Scott can make it as well, even Dylan and his new love Mollie and her two teenage daughters will be here. Then there’s Aunt Viv and Peter and their demon spawn coming over.
I’m so fucking excited.
“What can I do?” Remy asks.
“What can’t you do?” I counter, beaming while I preheat the oven.
“You’re in a good mood.”
“I am. I’m thankful. Thankful for the opportunity to do this with the people I love. Having the time to be here with you. And really, who wouldn’t be grateful for two Thanksgiving dinners?”
He doesn’t answer me, kisses my nose, and grabs me a tumbler that he fills with whiskey. Nobody fucking cares. It’s only halfway through the morning, we make our own rules.
I find the fresh herbs and lemon we just picked up, grab a chopping plate and start preparing a baste for the turkey.
Remy kisses my shoulder, his lips touching my skin because I’m wearing a loose off-shoulder sweater. No matter how many times he kisses me, they’re always the highlight of my day. He gives every kiss his everything and he never half-asses it. And I love it.
“Why are we stress cooking?” Beckett asks when he enters the kitchen. He’s wearing his glasses, indicating he’s been working. We’ve had to make him his own office because Chester and him were driving each other insane while working in the same room. Most of it was caused by their different musical tastes.
“I’m not stress cooking. We’re having early Thanksgiving. Besides, you’re not really cooking anyway; I’m cooking.”
“But it’s not really Thanksgiving, so you don’t have to go all out.”
“It’s just as much Thanksgiving as it will be on actual Thanksgiving when I’m going to go equally all out when your whole fucking family is coming over.”
Yeah, that’s happening. Beckett’s parents, his brothers and their wives are coming over here and we’re meeting them. I probably should be a little worried by it, but really, everything will be fine. We’ve been through worse. He’s supposed to have the good parents.
“That’s fair,” he says, grabbing a glass and reaching over me to fill it with water while his front is pressed to my back. He kisses the side of my head before he moves out of my space and lets me do my thing again. I’m just about to ask him what he was working on when Chester walks in.
“Has the silence returned?” Beckett asks him.
“What?” Chester grunts, moving towards Remy and giving him a peck before he walks towards me and kisses me as well.
“You were listening to that noise again,” Beckett whines. His office is still right next to Chester’s office, and at the volume Chester listens to his music, Beckett gets annoyed. A lot. Chester casually opens the cupboard beneath the sink, grabbing one of his cheap-ass energy drinks before opening it as if he has all the time in the world before he answers.
“It’s not noise.”
“It was that same fucking song you made us listen to when you went rogue.”
I spin faster than humanly possible because this is an argument I’m not missing. Chester’s face turns red. “I was listening to Rammstein.”
Oh, yeah, he’s going to get mad. He gets defensive when it comes to Rammstein.
“But it was that song, wasn’t it?” Beckett yells. These two could’ve been brothers. They can fight over everything.
“That song was Limp Bizkit! This was Rammstein!”
I force back a smile. I know Chester thinks this explains everything, but Beckett truly is clueless.
“It sounded the same!”
“It… The fuck Beckett! Rammstein sings in German, Limp Bizkit in English. How the hell does it sound the same?”
“Because it did!”
“It’s a completely different language!”
“It’s the same noise!”
In the process, Chester throws up his hands, spilling some of his drink. “We’re dealing with a madman. Chasing serial killers has changed you, Becky. Something is seriously wrong with you.”
“At least I have taste when it comes to music!”
“Taste… Sure. Abby, say something!”
“Pass me the salt, please?” I say.
“That’s all you have to say? Pass me the salt?” Chester bellows.
“Well, it’s what I need right now,” I shrug.
Because that’s about it, nothing I can say will change their argument. We stay in the kitchen, the guys keep arguing, I keep cooking, and I really have all I need. Including all the time in the world.
And that’s really all any of us can ask for.