7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Byron
T oday has been a day—heck, it's been two days all wrapped up into one. I came to the decision to live in a city like Portland after careful deliberation. It is big enough that I can disappear without drawing too much attention but not so big that I feel lost and completely alone.
The upside of being a medical examiner in a place like this is that we don't often see the bad things I did today. The downside is that I'm definitely not used to seeing them, and even though I was able to do my job objectively, now I have to deal with the fallout.
Aaron Butler's mutilated body keeps center stage in my mind, and no matter how hard I try to clear it and focus on better things, exactly in the same way Becky taught me to do, I can't cleanse my thoughts this time.
I've heard about The Cat. You'd have to live under a rock to have missed the entire country going crazy over The Cat that got everyone's tongue. After dealing with just one of the killer's victims, I feel as if I've been changed irrevocably for the rest of my life. And Agent Scott has had to deal with this day in and day out for months. And that's only one of his cases.
Putting my feet up on my coffee table I lean back in my large, overstuffed armchair with my glass of red wine held tight in my hand.
In my other is Agent Byron Scott's business card.
I shouldn't phone him. We have absolutely nothing else left to say to one another, but I've been unable to get him out of my thoughts since he left the morgue.
Before I can do anything stupid, I put the card back on the coffee table and get up to grab the TV remote instead. It's getting late, and I have to be up for work in way too few hours, but my brain is way too busy to settle down, so I might as well get in one or two episodes of The Circle. This will also give me the bonus of actually having something to talk with Jayne about tomorrow.
She's been remarkably accepting of my awkward shyness and reluctance to socialize, and I'm determined to make this friendship work.
With the first episode queued up, a glass of red, and snacks ready, I settle in for the night. But before I can even press play, there is a knock on my door.
My eyes jump up to the clock above my television and my brows furrow at the time I see there.
It's after ten.
On a school night.
Who the hell would be here at this time of night?
Thoughts of mysterious serial killers and crazy people invade my mind, and it takes a remarkable amount of effort to remind myself The Cat has only killed men. For once the female population in the US is safer from something than the men.
Now is not the time to snicker at Cat Lady jokes, Lily , Becky's ever-present voice scolds me, and a smirk still slips across my face. But as always, the smile tugs on the scar tissue, reminding me how very little I have to be happy about.
Another knock focuses my attention back to the front door, and I carefully get up, trying to be quiet for some ridiculous reason. If I'm this wound up over working on the killer's victim, I might have to take something to help me sleep tonight. There is no reason for me to be plagued by nightmares if I don't need it, right?
A quick peep through the peephole shows me a delivery guy dressed in a nondescript khaki outfit.
"Who is it?" I call through the door, refusing to open, seeing as I'm not expecting any packages, especially not at this time of night.
"I have a package for one, Miss Lillian Gale. It's labeled as a 'Circle Survival Kit'."
A giggle escapes as I rush to open the front door.
I didn't even know Jayne knew where I lived, but I suppose she could have gotten my address from someone in the hospital's administration.
"Hi!" I exclaim as the delivery guy holds his clipboard for me to sign. As usual, his eyes fall to my scar, and I see the instant recoil when he sees it. Used to all sorts of reactions, I brush it off, pretending it doesn't burn like the sting of a hundred hornets.
"Here you go," he mutters as he hands me the box before stepping back and rushing away.
Not willing to let one asshole's garish behavior affect what is otherwise a lovely and thoughtful surprise, I slam shut the door, taking care to lock and secure it before rushing to my comfy armchair.
I cut through the tape and push open the lid before grabbing my phone to dial Jayne's number. She was planning on being up late to watch her way through as many episodes as she could, so I'm not worried about waking her. Plus, it would be rude not to thank her.
"Hey, Lillian, what's up?" Jayne answers the phone within a couple of rings. I've already unearthed a massive bag of popcorn covered in caramel and a large box of red vines.
"Hi! Uh, sorry for phoning this late, but I wanted to say thanks." Next up is a decent bottle of red and a giant chocolate bar.
"Sorry, honey. What?" Jayne sounds confused and frankly a smidge out of breath. It's then I realize I can hear voices in the background. And music.
Oh shit. I fucked up.
"Shit. Sorry. You're busy. I'll phone back tomorrow," I mutter, moving to hang up the phone, but Jayne's voice calls out for me to wait before I can.
"Thank me for what, honey?"
"The gift you sent?" I respond, feeling utterly ridiculous. Obviously, she didn't send it. Why the hell would a woman I've only had a couple of lunches with at work send me a gift anyway?
"Listen, sorry. I made a mistake and probably should have checked the card first. I'll see you tomorrow at work. Enjoy whatever you're doing. Bye!" And this time, I hang up before she can say anything else.
As an extra safety measure, I turn off my phone in case she tries to call back because she's sweet—even with crazy, weird girls who work in basements and have zero social skills.
Pushing down the embarrassment threatening to overwhelm me, I stare at the box in front of me, trying to figure out where the fuck it could come from. I'd lied my ass off to Jayne; it didn't come with a card other than the big note on the front labeling it as the delivery guy described.
Sure, I'd been vocal about my love for the stupid TV show. But my circle is only so big, and no one in it comes to mind as someone who would go through all the trouble of making up a box of thoughtful items and finding a late-night delivery service to bring it to my door.
Karl is not the kind of guy to do something like this. He's sweet and listens, but he's a guy's guy. And Mr. Shafer doesn't even pay attention to the shifts I'm supposed to be working. There's no chance in hell he's sent me a gift, let alone a thoughtful one.
It doesn't leave me with many options. I've made some casual small talk with nurses and admin staff who work in the lower levels of the hospital, but other than Jayne, who's a relatively new transplant, and Karl, I barely speak to anyone on a day-to-day basis.
Who the fuck sent me this package? And the even bigger question is, how did they know to do it?