Chapter 11 #2
He grins. “I will.” Then he pauses, like there’s something else he’s about to say. But before he can, his phone buzzes again. “Shit. I really have to go.”
“Then go.” I take a step away and give him a little push towards the front door. “I’ll see you soon. ”
As I watch him walk away, the strangest feeling comes over me—kind of like a piece of my heart is leaving along with him.
Is this what Thea feels when Ben leaves? Or when Nora goes away on a job and has to leave Jackson behind?
Is this how it feels when you’re in love?
I’m still rolling the question around in my mind as I walk back to my office, still clutching the small bouquet of blue flowers—delphiniums, this time—in my hand.
I get a few curious glances from coworkers I pass, some of them accompanied by pleased little smiles, others the same skeptical looks I saw from Anna and Sandy.
But I don’t care. I’ll keep telling myself that until I believe it. Until all that remains is the warm glow from Kane’s visit and the fizzy joy I got when he handed me the flowers and the anticipation of tonight.
Just as I’m turning down the hall that leads to my office, a male voice calls from behind me, “Jessica? Is that you?”
The instant I hear him, a band wraps around my chest and squeezes. He might not be sure who I am, but I’m certain of him. Considering how badly he hurt me, I’m not sure I’ll ever forget his sneery tone or the words he said.
Brian. My short-lived boyfriend back in my twenties. The guy who I thought liked me, but discovered later was only using me.
I contemplate ignoring him and continuing on my way, but his footsteps speed up as he repeats, “Jessica. Wait.”
Crap.
Pretending not to hear him is one thing. But outright ignoring him? My mother raised me to be more polite than that.
With a resigned sigh, I turn around to face him.
Then I get a good look at my crappy ex, and even though I know it’s petty and superficial, I can’t help but feel smugly satisfied at his appearance.
Twenty-six-year-old Brian was good looking in a bland sort of way.
Fairly fit thanks to an almost fanatic obsession with racquetball, dirty-blonde hair always combed to perfection, and a toothy grin he never hesitated to break out whenever he wanted something.
Back then, I thought he was too attractive for me.
I thought I was lucky to have found him.
Or at least, before he crushed my foolish heart and left me swearing never to trust a man again.
But now? He’s carrying at least fifty pounds more than he should be, with a good amount of it in his belly. His hair is thinning, barely concealed by a cotton-candy-like comb over. And his smile is more fake than I remember it being; or maybe it was fake all along and I never noticed.
Should it make me feel better that he hasn’t borne the last ten years very well? Probably not.
Does it? Yes. Very much so.
“Brian,” I say in a carefully pleasant tone. “What are you doing here? I thought you were still covering the Capital region.”
His gaze moves up and down my body, lingering on my breasts before returning to my face. “I am. But the guy who covers downstate is out on paternity leave. So the company is making everyone else cover for him until he’s back.”
I breathe a silent sigh of relief. Brian’s a medical supplies sales rep, which is how I met him at the lab I used to work at in Albany. Even though I’m more than over him, I’d prefer not to have to see his face once a month when he shows up trying to sell our director something.
“Well, it’s a surprise,” I say honestly. “I hope everything is going well for you.” Which is significantly less truthful.
Brian glances at the flowers in my hand. “From a patient?”
“No.” My smile is tight. “Flowers from my boyfriend.”
Surprise flares in his eyes. “Oh. I didn’t realize you?—”
“Were dating someone?” My voice takes on a sharp edge. “Why would you? It’s not like we talk. Or even follow each other online.”
In fact, I haven’t spoken to Brian in over ten years.
Not since my twenty-fifth birthday. Not since the night when he cruelly informed me that no, he wouldn’t be bringing me out to celebrate my birthday with his friends, because, in his words, “I have a reputation to uphold, Jess. Some of those friends are clients. References. If I show up with a girl who looks like you… well, what does that say about me?”
“Well.” His gaze sweeps across me again, leaving a clinging, oily sensation behind. “I’ll probably be back in Sleepy Hollow again in a couple of weeks. So if things don’t work out with this guy, maybe we can go out for a drink.”
My mouth actually drops. Is he for real? After what he did, he thinks I’d go out with him? Not to mention, I literally just said I’m dating someone.
The last, lingering remnants of hurt burn away as anger rushes through me. My spine stiffens. My shoulders set. “No,” I bite out. “We can not go out for a drink. I’m with someone. It’s serious. And even if I wasn’t, I would never, ever go out with you.”
Brian blinks. “What?—”
But I’m done. “Next time you’re here, don’t come looking for me. Don’t talk to me. We have nothing to say to each other. Deal with your sales stuff and leave me alone.”
His face clouds. “Jess. Are you still angry about?—”
“No.” I take a few steps backward. “There’s nothing to talk about. Now, I have work to do. I’d suggest you do the same.”
Then I turn my back on Brian and walk away. And as I continue down the hallway, my anger fades, replaced by a sense of accomplishment.
I stood up for myself. Faced the man who seemed like such a monster back then, but in reality is just a sleaze. And I didn’t feel nervous about it. I didn’t care if I upset him. I just did what felt right. And I feel pretty good about it.
The rest of the way to my office, the feeling of pride builds. Yes, I’m aware it was just a little thing. And I didn’t say half the things I could have, like how awful he was back then and how slimy I think he still is. But for me? It’s an accomplishment.
As I walk into my closet slash office—it’s tiny but all mine, thanks to my recent promotion—my spirits lift even further.
Sitting on my desk is a shoebox sized package with my name on it, wrapped all in silver paper and decorated with a matching fabric bow.
I’m not sure how Kane got this in here without me noticing, unless…
Ah. He must have asked Oliver to do it. Oliver who was allegedly in the patrol car but must have snuck in through the back to drop it off.
Technically, we’re not supposed to allow visitors in through the rear exits, but if Oliver asked, dressed in his uniform, I’m sure anyone who works here would have let him in.
I approach my desk with a smile that hurts my cheeks.
Although I keep telling Kane he doesn’t need to buy me gifts all the time, he always says how much he enjoys it and how he loves making me smile.
I almost text him right away to tell him I found the present, and that yes, I am smiling, but then I reconsider.
I’ll open it first, and then text him. Take a picture of whatever gift he bought, maybe even wearing it, depending on what he chose.
Not for a second do I consider it being from someone else. It wouldn’t make sense. Thea wouldn’t send me a present like this. Neither would Nora. It has to be from Kane.
Except.
When I open the box, I’m not met with sheets of colorful tissue paper, but crumpled up newspaper instead.
The first of my inner alarm bells rings.
But it’s just newspaper. Maybe the place Kane bought it from is trying to be environmentally friendly. Maybe they think old newspaper is more creative.
A little more slowly, I pull out the paper to reveal a stuffed bear looking up at me from inside. He’s cute, a little roly-poly guy with an embroidered face and button eyes. I reach for him, smiling as I imagine Kane picking the bear out at Greta’s Goodies, the new gift shop in town.
Then I grab the soft fabric and a stab of pain bites into my hand.
I yelp in surprise, dropping the bear onto my desk. A drop of crimson follows, splashing onto the smooth wooden surface.
It’s blood. From the fresh cut on my palm. But how?
Then I see it sticking out of the bear’s belly—a razor, stained red with blood.
My blood.
My brain stalls in confusion.
What?
Why?
At first, I’m certain it’s a mistake. A mixup at the store. At whatever factory makes these bears. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.
But.
Beneath the bear, there’s something else.
Photos.
Even though the logical side of my brain is screaming at me to leave them alone, I reach for them, anyway. It’s a compulsion. I have to know.
Then I recognize the photos and wish I hadn’t.
They’re terrible. Gruesome. And all too familiar.
A low keening sound makes its way up my throat as I look at the pictures in horror.
The first is of a car with the front all crushed in. The windshield is shattered and splashed with red. A branch sticks through a jagged hole, right where the driver would sit.
Then the next is a body bag, zipped up, with a body in it. Of someone I know, even though I can’t see inside.
And the third photo is one I’m closely acquainted with. Liam’s senior portrait; the one they displayed in the newspaper after the accident. The portrait shown at his wake, right beside his closed casket .
A drop of blood hits the second photo, reminding me I’m bleeding. That same rational part of my brain says, Back away. Don’t touch anything else. Don’t let your blood get on it. Get out of the office and call the police. Call Kane.
But I can’t move. Can’t breathe.
A dull chattering noise filters through the rushing sound in my head, but it takes me a few seconds to realize it’s coming from my teeth. From the shaking I can’t seem to control.
“Oh, Jess. You got another present.” A pleased voice comes from the doorway. Even in my shock, I know who it is. Marie. One of the nicer med techs. Sometimes we have lunch together in the staff lounge, though we’ve never made plans to do anything beyond that.
“Jess?” Her tone shifts to one of worry. “Are you okay? What’s—” Then she gasps. Clutches my arm to the verge of pain.
“I…” But I can’t seem to form more words than that. “I…”
“Come on.” Marie yanks me out of my office. “Get away from that.”
I follow her on numb legs into the hallway. My thoughts are still short-circuiting. Shudders have taken over my body. The pain in my hand is a faint throb; nothing compared to the tearing pain in my heart.
As if it’s coming through a thick pane of glass, I hear Marie calling the police. I know I should say something, should give her more details, but I can’t. The numbness is taking over my body.
I’m not sure how much time goes by before Marie darts into my office and comes back with a wad of tissues. She shoves them in my hand and says, “Hold onto these, Jess. Until we can get your hand cleaned up.”
Then she tows me back down the hallway, the same path I traveled just a few minutes ago, feeling so happy and proud of myself. Feeling so lucky . Now I feel like my chest has been carved out, leaving it empty and bleeding.
It hurts.
Not my hand. My heart.
It was just one mistake. I didn’t hurt anyone. I’m not responsible for other people’s actions.
Then why does this keep happening?
Marie deposits me in a chair in the staff lounge, then crouches in front of me. “I’m going to look for a first aid kit, Jess.” She pauses. “Although. Maybe we should let the paramedics check it out. Make sure there’s not something on whatever cut you.”
I just nod at her, not really caring.
All I really want is Kane.
As I sit, waiting, a buzz of voices surrounds me. Curious coworkers. Worried bosses. And Marie, gamely trying to comfort me, saying how my hand doesn’t look that bad and the police will be here any second.
Five minutes might have gone by, or maybe an hour. Time seems to have lost all meaning.
Until.
“Jess!”
Kane appears in the doorway, not as my sweet boyfriend but a police officer brimming with authority. Beside him is a glowering Oliver, who immediately starts shooing people out of the room.
But my eyes are locked on Kane.
He rushes to me, worry etched all across his features. Dropping to his knees in front of me, he frames my face with his hands. “Jess, sweetheart. What happened? The caller said you got a package with?—”
Then his gaze drops to my hand. “You’re bleeding!”
“I think there was something in the bear,” Marie explains from beside me. “I couldn’t tell, but maybe a knife. Or a razor.”
Rage suffuses Kane’s face. His voice drops to a dangerous growl. “A razor? There was—” He stops. Puffs out a heavy breath.
Over his shoulder, he says to Oliver, “I need to check on Jess. Can you?—”
“Of course.” Oliver lifts his chin. “I’ve got it.”
As Oliver draws Marie to the side, Kane pulls my injured hand into his. He looks down at the still-bleeding cut and curses under his breath. “Shit, Jess. Shit. I’m so fucking sorry.”
My vocal chords unfreeze. “Kane.”
And then the tears finally spring free.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why?” I ask on a shuddering sob. “Why does someone hate me this much?”
“Ah, Jess. No.” His lips press to the top of my head. “It’s not you. You’re amazing. Whoever did this is fucked up. I promise, we’ll find them. And I will make them pay.”