Chapter 18
Roman
He retched as he jerked awake, his stomach rebelling against the rolling horror in his dreams. Through the rough rasp in his throat, Roman struggled to drag enough breath into his chest. Elbows on his knees, head in his hands, he braced himself and tried to clamp down on the sickness by focusing on his surroundings.
The air felt clammy. He’d need to change the sheets again. They were soaked.
The sweat was cooling on his back by the time he was steady enough to stand. Quads trembling, he took slow, deliberate paces toward the glazed balcony doors and watched his reflection run shaky fingers through tousled hair. The sky was clear above the treetops and as black as pitch. Stars, like backlit pinpricks through a sheet of cardboard, shone stark and comforting. A reminder of all that was beautiful in the natural world. Not like the ungodly mess regularly created by humans.
His heart rate steadied as the branches of the pine trees dipped and swayed.
His dreams had meshed an array of realities together. The young girl with his sister’s face was still dead, still draped unseeing on the single mattress in that grim, abandoned house on a decaying Detroit street. But alongside the wounds Roman had seen, catalogued and studied, and the track marks in her arm, her broken body was mutilated with a kaleidoscope of injuries from other victims and other cases—his unconscious mind drawing on atrocities from across the years. So much blood, so much suffering. Bones snapped, skin flayed, puncture wounds bubbling, body parts missing. Everywhere, the scent of death, rot, and fluids that he sometimes doubted would ever leave his nose.
Roman shuddered, turning from the window. He needed a shower, middle of the night or not. He needed something to drive the dream from his head. Stripping off his shorts and leaving them on the bathroom floor, he stepped under the showerhead and turned the heat up as high as he could stand. As the room filled with steam, he braced a hand on the tiles and hung his head.
The trigger tonight was a meeting with Millie Westlake and her parents. All three had been hollow-eyed and exhausted, the overdose infecting the whole family in a myriad of different ways. Millie looked thinner, almost ghostly. As if her experience had sucked the life and confidence right out of her bones. Her mother and father, gray and strained, flanked her with an intensity that broadcast their terror of what might have been.
He’d explained that Michigan’s Good Samaritan law meant no possession charges would be brought against Millie. Her use of what she’d thought was MDMA would result in a misdemeanor charge but, as a first-time offender, it was likely she’d avoid a prison sentence and the fine would be low. Without further information from Millie, there was nothing more Roman could do about tracing the source of the drugs.
The relief on her parents’ faces was palpable. Millie remained dazed and uncommunicative. He’d left the house sick and frustrated, a pervasive feeling of failure on his shoulders. There would be no winners in this case. Another one tucked, for now, into the devastatingly bulky folder marke.
“Unresolved”
in his head.
At least Millie Westlake had escaped with her life. She’d get over this, even if she never forgot it. She had a future to look forward to. She would make new memories and fresh mistakes. But Roman had gone to bed with other failures lurking like specters in the corners of his bedroom, waiting until he slept to pounce.
He shut off the water with a curse and stepped out of the shower, pulling clean shorts and a t-shirt from his dresser. Padding down to the kitchen with bare feet, he flicked on a solitary table lamp and made a cup of tea. His eyes gritty, his body clumsy, he stared at the digital clock on the front of the stove. The idea of Sunday lunch with his family, introducing Elenie to everyone amidst the usual noise and mayhem, was suddenly overwhelming.
Standing in the dark, with a head full of heaviness, the draw he’d felt toward her at Otto’s house was intangible, out of his grasp.
Why had he talked her into it? What the hell was he thinking?
He had enough on his plate without this as well. Elenie Dax was not a safe or sensible person for him to spend time with. He must be out of his mind.
And he was a mess. So screwed-up, he couldn’t talk to his family. Under pressure to fix himself in a timeframe chosen by other people.
What a catch.
Roman groaned and stared up at the ceiling, his mug burning his fingers. The minutes ticked by, the house silent around him. Beneath his feet, the rug was rough and textured. Concentrating on the sensation kept his mind from spiraling free. He doubted he’d get any more rest before morning.
Elenie wore a simple cotton shirt dress, the color of fall leaves. Face bare of makeup, her expression was a smooth mask but he could read her well enough now to see the nerves. Her tongue flicked toward the healing cut on her lip. Tension burned in his shoulders and Roman felt a flash of regret at putting them both through this.
“We can leave any time you want,”
he said. Elenie’s eyes were on his face when Florence pulled the door open with a shriek.
“Welcome to chaos.”
His words were both gruff and apologetic.
Roman handed a bright bunch of sunflowers to his mother, bending to kiss her cheek, edgy and awkward.
“My son looks concerned for your safety. Or maybe your sanity?”
His mother’s usually blinding smile danced on her lips at reduced wattage. She held out a hand, blatantly assessing Elenie with a shrewd once-over that missed nothing.
“I’m Ava. It’s nice to meet you properly.”
“Thank you for letting me join you.”
Elenie’s polite response was stilted and defensive. There was a pause which made Roman’s head thump. He rolled his shoulders and tried to relax.
“Any chance we can come in? I really need to take some of the weight off my feet.”
Caitlyn’s voice came from behind them. She winked at Roman.
“My darling! Of course, of course. Come on, everyone. Move out of the hall. Our lovely pregnant mama needs to sit down!”
Ava led Caitlyn tenderly into the kitchen.
“Nicely played, wife of mine,”
chuckled Milo, following on behind.
“By the way, anything he’s said about me is probably exaggerated, unless it’s intellectual.”
He winked at Elenie, blue eyes twinkling, punching Roman’s arm as he passed.
In the kitchen, Thea was checking on something in the oven. Lunch smelled wonderful; his stomach growled. Both his parents loved their food.
Elenie took a long, slow look around the large, sunny space and Roman wondered what she was thinking.
“Can I get you a drink?”
Luke had one hand on the open fridge door.
“Thank you. I’ll have any soda there is, please.”
Elenie gave him the glimmer of a smile.
Roman did a quick round of introductions, silently beating himself up as he waved a hand toward Florence but avoided catching her eye. Last night’s dream lurked too close for comfort. Overtired and oversensitive, he was struggling to shake free of its grasp. As everyone grabbed drinks and exchanged news, his dad crossed the room to say hello.
“I’m Elias.”
He clasped one of Elenie’s hands in both of his.
“I can see why my son is a fan. Welcome to our home.”
She blinked, the smallest tilt tugging at her lips.
“It’s lovely to be here. Thank you for inviting me.”
Roman’s mother called across the kitchen, wanting advice from Milo on buying a paper shredder which Roman knew she’d never use. On the couch, Florence talked to Caitlyn’s stomach, sharing fashion tips and ridiculous life hacks with the baby. When Thea slid her arm around Roman’s waist, he saw Elenie tense.
“Your home is very beautiful,”
Elenie said to his sister, embarrassment giving an edge to her words.
“I hope Roman passed on my thanks for letting me stay.”
Thea reached out to give Elenie a hug. She squeezed her gently, her lips close to Elenie’s ear.
“Whoever did that to you is an asshole. Come and stay anytime you like.”
His sister drew back and Roman flicked her a grateful wink.
“OK, people—grab a dish and take it to the table with you!”
his dad called out.
“Florence, get the enchiladas out of the oven. Milo, can you take the sweetcorn?”
Ava started handing out food. The gold hoops in his mother’s ears caught the sun as they swung. She passed Elenie two small bowls of spicy salsa and guacamole, before giving Roman a huge dish filled with a colorful salad, topped with beans and crumbled feta, which looked as if it would feed twenty people.
When they sat down around the large rectangular table that had hosted every family gathering for as long as he could remember, he reached beneath it to touch Elenie’s hand. She jolted and gave him a sideways glance. Her fingers had warmed up and Roman ran his thumb once over her soft skin, startled by the flicker of heat it lit in his stomach. He drew back again.
“You OK?”
he mouthed.
“I’m fine.”
She looked a little shell-shocked, though not uncomfortable.
The table buzzed with noise. Plates of food were handed back and forth, serving spoons passed and sauces exchanged in a dance of hands, laughter and excuse me’s.
“So, you work in the diner on Main Street, Elenie?”
“Yes, I do.”
“I’ve seen you in there. That Delia can sure work a griddle but she doesn’t break a smile as often as she should.”
His mother’s understated observation was spot on.
“I think there’s a lot of things in life that disappoint Delia,”
Elenie said, just as carefully.
“It’s a challenge each day to work out what is top of that list and, when I can, I try to avoid adding to it.”
“One of the reasons I like working for myself,”
chipped in Caitlyn, waving her fork.
“The only moods I have to deal with are my own.”
“And that’s what the chocolate in the top drawer of your desk is for,”
added Milo.
Caitlyn grinned.
“He knows me well.”
“What do you like about working in the diner?”
his mother asked. Roman remembered the conversation on Otto’s deck and wondered how Elenie would answer.
She took a moment to swallow a spicy mouthful.
“It’s busy, so there’s no time to be bored. A lot of people are in a hurry or they’re socializing with friends, so they don’t want much of a personal approach. Just a few come in because they want some company or a change of scenery.”
She was clearly talking about Otto.
“It matters to them to have a connection with the person who’s bringing them their order. Those customers, I give more time, when I can. I like that best. It means a lot to them. And to me.”
His mother nodded without comment and Roman swiftly asked Luke about a refit he’d just completed at a shop unit in town. Elenie looked more than happy for the conversation to move on. All the different threads of chatter began to merge and spool around them—crossing, linking, and weaving. His dad, retired from the fire service for more than fifteen years, told Elenie about the red-tailed hawk he’d seen by the roadside during the week. Milo and Caitlyn, keen hikers, discussed their plans for including a baby in their future adventures. His mother had just started to dabble in watercolor painting, using one of the upstairs bedrooms as a makeshift studio.
“And she claims the twins were messy when they were teenagers,”
Luke told Elenie in a muttered aside, getting two matching clips around the ear from Thea on his right and Ava on his left.
Roman usually loved listening to everyone as they talked over and around each other. It was just what his family did. Today, the weariness of a broken night pressed down on him and he felt over-sensitized to the noise. He struggled to relax his face, unclench his teeth. He drummed restless fingers on his leg, counting the beat of each as they tapped in turn against his thigh. When he glanced up, Elenie was watching him with cool, guarded eyes.
Before long, it looked as if the table had been attacked by possums and everyone headed outside onto the deck for dessert and freshly brewed coffee. The afternoon was balmy. They lounged on a medley of outdoor chairs; none of the furniture in his parents’ home was new. Everything well-worn and well-loved, kept for comfort and happy memories.
“You won’t eat a better pecan pie than Ava’s,”
Caitlyn told Elenie around the biggest spoonful she could get in her mouth.
“There are over a thousand varieties of pecan nuts.”
Elenie studied her plate.
“Lots of them are named after Native American tribes.”
“I didn’t know that.”
His dad smiled.
Elenie ducked her head and grimaced, then shot Roman a sideways glance and mouthed, “Sorry.”
“What for?”
He leaned toward her, his voice a low rumble to keep it between the two of them.
“For coming out with such a boring-ass fact,”
she muttered.
His lips twitched and he was grateful for the moment of levity.
“You are many things, but boring isn’t one of them.”
Elenie’s smile was golden. It caught him like a gentle brush of fingers around the tight muscles in his chest and soothed. The waning sun seemed warmer, the colors of his parents’ backyard more vibrant. What did it matter that his head was a little scattered, the atmosphere a little forced, and his mother’s attitude toward Elenie reserved, though not wholly unfriendly.
He was just beginning to think the afternoon could still be saved when, in an instant, it all went to shit.