Sole survivor, p.3
Sole Survivor, page 3
I lean my head against the window and watch the world go by. None of it is familiar. I recognize McDonald’s and Starbucks when we pass them—but as a brand, as opposed to places I’ve been.
I don’t understand how any of that is possible. Still, the doctor said different parts of the brain are responsible for different things, like that vague explanation explains anything at all.
Am I happy I don’t have to relearn how to walk or speak? Of course, but I don’t know what my favorite food or color is. I don’t know my medical history or if I was popular in high school or how I like my coffee. I don’t know anything, and it’s making me want to rip my hair out.
By the time Nathan pulls up to a small house, I am so worked up that as soon as the car stops, I unhook my seatbelt and dive out of the car. Bending over, I suck in a lungful of air, not wanting to throw up in case my neighbors are watching. Nathan’s hands smooth up and down my back until my breathing is back under control.
Once I feel steadier, I stand up and feel myself flush. “I’m always having a meltdown around you. You must think I’m a nutcase.”
“What I think is that you’ve suffered a traumatic experience, and you’re hanging in there like a boss. I’d be rocking in the corner like a baby.”
“You? A big badass cop?” I say skeptically.
“Ah, so you’ve noticed, huh?” He lifts his arms and flexes his biceps before kissing one, making me laugh. When he smiles, I realize that’s exactly what he wanted.
“Seriously, Rue, cut yourself some slack. Just because your physical injuries were superficial doesn’t mean the mental ones are anything to laugh about.”
“Logically, I know that, but that doesn’t change how I feel. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to figure it all out.”
“You just take it one day at a time.”
He holds his hand out to me. I look at it for a moment before slipping my hand in his. He walks me up the pathway to the house. I take in the front yard. It’s neatly mowed with flower beds full of a variety of purple flowers, making me wonder if that’s my favorite color.
Once we reach the door, I stop, taking in the yellow police tape blocking the entrance. Nathan rips it down before pulling a key from his pocket.
“How do you have that?”
“Once we found out who you were and where you lived, we were able to find out that you rented this place. Your landlord gave us the key so we could search for any evidence.”
“Did you find anything?” I ask quietly as he unlocks the door and pushes it open.
“No, nothing. There was no forced entry, nothing appeared out of place, and there were no signs of a struggle. Your purse, cell phone, and house keys were still on the counter. A half-eaten sandwich was beside them.”
I frown. “It sounds like I left on my own and in a hurry if I didn’t take my phone or purse with me. Did you check my call log and text history?”
“We did.”
I step inside and take in the hallway, following it as I wait for Nathan to say more. When he doesn’t, I turn to look at him.
“And?” I prompt, turning back as I reach the end of the hallway.
I walk into the kitchen and stop. The room is modern and airy, with all white cabinets and countertops, but it’s the sight of the black powder coating everything they’ve dusted for prints that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Where’s my bag and phone now?”
“Your bag is on the coat hook near the door. And your phone has been logged into evidence. You’ll get it back once it’s been processed.”
“Please, Nathan. Did I speak to someone the night I was…” I swallow, not knowing what to say. Was I kidnapped, or did I know the killer and willingly meet them? Maybe they set a trap or something.
I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on.
“Here, sit down. Let me get you a glass of water.”
Nathan pulls out a chair next to the island, and I sit down and watch as he moves around the kitchen and heads right to the cupboard where the glasses are.
“Have you been here before?” I ask curiously. He didn’t say we knew each other. He would have told me if we did, right?
“Huh?” He looks from me to the cupboard to the glass in his hand, and I see the moment he realizes what I’m asking. “I was part of the team that searched the house. With a serial killer involved and rookies trying to make a name for themselves, I wanted to make sure they didn’t trash the place.”
I nod, accepting the glass once he fills it with water. He leans over the counter and watches me drink down half the glass before taking it from me and placing it to the side.
He clasps both my hands in his. “The call log shows you received a call that lasted four minutes and seventeen seconds. We tried to trace the number, but it belonged to a burner phone.”
“Oh.” I blow out a disappointed breath as I look at Nathan, but the look on his face tells me there’s more to the story.
“The night you were attacked, a call came into our station, reporting that they heard a woman screaming and that they saw what appeared to be a man attacking a woman in Highgrove Park.”
“Okay…”
“When we cross-checked the numbers, we found both calls came from the same phone.”
I gasp. “So the killer reported my attack? Why? Is this just a game to him, or did he think I was already dead? Did I know him, Nathan?” I whisper as I look around the kitchen and imagine the phone on the counter next to the half-eaten sandwich. I didn’t just leave in a hurry. I ran. The question is, was I running to someone or away from them?
I know I’m oversimplifying things, but I watch crime shows. I see now how this works. Wait… I watch crime shows? I jolt at the memory, but before I can say something, Nathan dives in.
“When we found out your name, we started investigating you and reached out to neighboring police departments.” He shakes his head before letting go of my hands and walking around the island to sit on the chair beside me. “I’d heard of you before, but I’d never actually met you until I found you.”
I frown. “How have you heard of me? Am I famous or something?” I doubt it. The house—what I’ve seen of it so far, at least—is cute, but it’s tiny and outdated. Not the kind of place someone famous lives, I conclude, wondering if I sound like a snob.
“You’ve been working with another police department. That’s what you do. You consult with the police on a case-by-case basis.”
“As what?”
He licks his lips. “As a psychic.”
My mouth drops. Nothing he could have said would have shocked me more. “A psychic? Are you serious?”
He shrugs. “That’s what I was told. Apparently, you’re tracking the same killer I am, but somehow, he found you first.”
Chapter Five
Rue
Ilook out over the small fenced yard that, much like the front, has a neat lawn and lots of flower beds in full bloom, and sit here trying to wrap my head around everything.
After Nathan told me the farcical tale about me being a psychic, I left him in the kitchen, needing to put some space between us, and decided to come out here.
Footsteps have me turning to see Nathan as he steps out of the house with a mug in his hand, and I watch as he sits on the bench next to me. He doesn’t say anything. He just sits there drinking his coffee.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s a lot, I know.”
“A psychic, though? Am I really the kind of person who takes people’s money and tricks them into believing I can see their dead loved ones?”
“Actually, from what I understand, you don’t charge for your services at all. I’ll be honest, Captain James—the man I spoke to—speaks very highly of you. He says you’re the most skeptical out of all of them, which is ironic given how often you’re right.”
“Okay, back up and start from the beginning. Wait, before we get into this, can you tell me if there is anything I need to know? Like if I have an ex-husband and kids somewhere, or a family at least?”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Rue. I should have told you all that already.”
“Well, I figured I didn’t have a current husband when nobody came to see me, so there is that. Plus, you’ve been busy.”
“It’s no excuse.” He places his mug on the floor near his feet. “No, from what I’ve found, you don’t have a husband, ex or current, and no children either.”
“What about parents or siblings?”
“You had a sister who died when she was a teenager, and your parents appeared to have died not long after in a house fire. That was ten years ago.”
“I would have barely been an adult and all alone in the world,” I whisper, feeling sorry for my younger self. It seems like death has crept into my life one too many times.
He nods as I take a moment, feeling oddly detached from it all.
“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about that. On the one hand, I’m sorry they’re gone. They at least would have had some insight into who I am. But the reality is, I don’t know them. I don’t remember a single thing about them. It’s hard to miss or grieve for people who, right now, never existed to me.”
“There isn’t a right or wrong here, only what is.”
I look out over the grass and sigh. “You realize you sound more like Yoda than a cop right now?”
He chuckles. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”
I’m not touching that comment. I’m not sure half the time if he’s flirting with me or if that’s his nature.
“So, I’m a psychic? I haven’t had any visions since I’ve been awake. I think it’s safe to say I’m out of a job.”
“You were drugged, Rue,” he reminds me.
“Are you saying you believe in that kind of thing?”
“I think this is the most bizarre conversation we’ll probably have. A skeptical psychic arguing with an unconvinced believer.”
I look at him and grin. “Seems my crazy is rubbing off on you.”
“You’re not crazy.”
“That remains to be seen. Alright, give me a crash course on this psychic gig. You said I was tracking the killer?”
He nods.
“And there have been ten victims, including me, right?”
He nods again.
“Do you have any suspects?”
He looks at me, considering his answer. It’s frustrating as hell because working with half-truths is never going to jog my memory.
“There have been a few. Most have been eliminated, but there is one…”
“Who?”
“Nobody you need to worry about right now. He’s just shady, is all. The evidence against him is superficial, and he’s alibied for most of the killings.”
“He could have an accomplice.”
“It’s possible, but the profilers think it’s unlikely. Even the visions you’ve had only pointed to one killer.”
“Visions? I’ve had visions of the murders?” I swallow. “Now I’m not sure I want to remember at all. How do you live with something like that in your head all the time?”
“You find a way to compartmentalize. It’s the same being a cop.”
“I guess you’ve seen your fair share of horror stories.”
“Let’s just say not all of them have a happy ending like yours does.”
I’m not sure living in limbo can be considered a happy ending, but I get what he’s saying.
“You always want to be a cop?”
A shadow passes over his face before he masks it. He reaches for his mug and takes a drink of his coffee. I sense it’s more to stall for time than his actual thirst.
“My brother died a decade ago. His car went through the guardrail and over a steep embankment. It exploded on impact.”
He takes another drink, his grip on the mug tightening.
“Jesus, I’m sorry.”
“No. It’s okay. It’s been a long time. Skid marks showed that a second vehicle was likely involved, but the explosion destroyed any other possible evidence. If it weren’t for those marks, we’d have been none the wiser.”
“You’d think with cameras everywhere these days, nobody would be able to get away with anything anymore.”
“These days, yes, but not ten years ago. Anyway, it happened out on Henwick Hill, just off the—” He shakes his head. “And you have no clue where I’m talking about. Sorry. It’s a blind curve on the top of a steep hill notorious for some pretty grisly accidents over the years. That’s what my brother’s death had been initially written off as before it was ruled a hit-and-run.”
“So, you became a cop to help others, or so you had resources to try and find your brother’s killer?”
He looks at me sharply. “I’m a good cop.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “I never said you weren’t.”
He curses quietly. “Sorry. I guess there is some truth in what you said, and it makes me feel ashamed. I might have joined to try and find my brother’s killer, but it’s not the reason I stay.”
“I know. Remember, I was on the receiving end of your white knight services. You’re very good. Five stars, would one hundred percent recommend to any of my friends if they get kidnapped by a serial killer, you know, if I had friends.”
He scowls at me.
“What? Too soon?”
“I’m not sure there’ll ever be a time when it’s okay to joke about it.”
“Fine. My point is that it’s easy to tell you love your job. I’m sure your brother would be super proud of you.”
“My brother actually hated cops,” he deadpans.
I crack up laughing. Oh, that’s too funny. He sits there watching me with a half-smile on his face when his cell phone rings, interrupting us. He pulls it out and answers.
“Hask,” his voice barks out, all business. He listens to whoever is on the other end before nodding. “I’m on my way.”
He hangs up and stands, shoving his phone in one pocket while grabbing what looks like a business card from the other.
“Here. My cell number is on there, so is my work number. If you need me, call.”
I reach out and take it from him.
“I don’t have my phone, remember?”
He curses, shaking his head. “I’ll try to get it back to you as soon as possible, but it might be worth picking up a cheap pay-as-you-go one for now.
“I’ll have a couple of uniforms outside watching until we get the phone situation sorted. After that they’ll do regular drive-byes. If it makes you feel better, I can come back later and crash on your sofa when I’m done, but I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”
“I know you suggested it in the hospital, but I’ll be fine. Having cops outside helps a lot,” I hasten to add. “And knowing I wasn’t snatched from here helps a little.”
“You sure? I really don’t mind.”
“I’m sure. The officers can call you, though, if I change my mind.”
“Okay. But don’t be afraid to use them. I don’t want any of that I didn’t want to be a bother bullshit.”
“You don’t know me.” I huff.
“You don’t know you,” he points out with a smirk.
My mouth drops open.
“What, too soon?” he mocks.
Standing, I slap him in his stomach, though his hard abs mean I hurt my hand more than I hurt him.
“Tut-tut, Miss Anderson. I’d hate to have to cuff you for assaulting a police officer.”
I swallow and take a step back. Again, I don’t know if he is flirting or if this is just how he is. If he senses my unease, he doesn’t show it.
“Right, I better go.”
I follow him inside and through the house to the front door.
Turning, he looks at me. “Lock the doors and have the officers call if you need me.” I nod, and he opens the door, and with a quick wave, he leaves.
I watch him go before closing the door and locking it. I slide the deadbolts into place. Turning, I press my back against the door and take in the stillness. Everything seems too quiet now.
Being in the hospital meant there was always someone around. Now, the quiet I so desperately wanted is not as comforting as I’d hoped it would be.
Not sure what to do with myself now, I head into the kitchen and place Nathan’s card on the island before making myself a hot chocolate and heading back outside. I sit down and sip my drink. After a few minutes, I realize that without Nathan, I feel exposed out here.
Hating myself for letting my fear win but unable to bear it anymore, I finish the last of my hot chocolate and head inside, locking the back door behind me. I place my cup in the sink and wander toward the living room.
I stand in the doorway and take the room in as I decide what to do. Decorated in a light gray with white blinds covering the windows, the room is light and cool with a more modern touch than the rest of the house. A white leather sofa that looks like the most uncomfortable thing in the world sits under the window. Beside it is a wing-back chair and matching footstool in dark gray velvet. An end table sits beside it with a table lamp and two books stacked on top of each other.
There is no television, no bookcases—nothing really. It’s just a place to sit. There is no art on the walls, no photos of friends or people I might know. It’s functional, yet something about it just doesn’t feel like me. I should ask Nathan if he knows how long I’ve lived here.
I walk over to the books and pick the top one up, flipping to the dog-eared page. The book looks like it’s been read many times, and maybe it has. Maybe this is one of my favorites. I run my fingers over the cover. Nothing about it is familiar, but for once, that’s okay. Now, I get to read it for the first time and fall in love with it all over again.
Holding it to my chest, I walk to the window and see a cop car sitting outside my house. Unfortunately, I also spot a couple of reporters across the street, cameras rolling as they talk to the nation and invade my privacy like I haven’t been violated enough already.
With a growl, I stomp away and head upstairs to my bedroom.
The room is similar to the sitting room in the sense that it’s sparsely decorated. A queen-sized bed sits against one wall with plain white cotton sheets and dozens of pillows. On the opposite side of the room is an oak dresser and two matching bedside tables on either side of the bed. The left side table has a lamp and a pair of reading glasses beside it.
