“What do you want?” There was no hiding my sharpness. Roose had left me in pieces when he'd met with me last. I didn't want to repeat that.
It amazed me that he didn't look like the threat I felt he was. He didn't even look like he belonged in law enforcement; his hair was too messy, his clothes too casual.
The silence stretched until Laralie broke it. “She asked you a question.”
“I'm aware.” He hadn't stopped eyeballing me. I wiped my palms on my hips, and he watched that, too. “Miss Willow, I was doing some thinking.”
“Were you,” I mumbled.
“Yeah. Last time we talked, you were... upset. Part of that seemed to come from your fuzzy memory.” Lifting an eyebrow, he pursed his lips. “I'm guessing you haven't remembered anything still?”
I swallowed loudly. “Nothing.” Where was he going with this?
Cocking his jaw, Roose sighed. “I'll just jump to it. Miss Willow, I want you to come with me to Old Stone Bank.”
I locked my knees out, ignoring how they ached. “I don't... what? Why?”
Laralie lifted her hands, sensing my unease and acting like she was going to catch me if I fell.
“I've done some research. In cases like yours, where a victim—”
Victim. I hated that word, but was he wrong?
“—represses their memories, going back to the scene of the trauma can jolt everything back into place.”
Shaking myself head to toe, I breathed in and filled my lower belly. The pressure kept me stable, strong. “No,” I said. “I can't go.” Never again. I said I'd never go back.
“And why is that?” he asked.
I glanced at my building. “We're in a crunch,” I lied. “I can't miss any work. I've got to get back before my boss flips out.”
Roose's smile ate my confidence away. “Thank goodness I already talked to your boss. He told me he'd be more than happy to let you assist me, in the name of the law and all that. Good guy, that one.”
Good guy, alright. I was mentally choking him.
Laralie looked me over, her tone gentle. “Maybe you should go, Alexis.”
I leaned away from her. “What?”
“Are your memories from back then really... you know, gone?”
Her concern was throwing me off. The armor I'd crafted out of terror and bitter exhaustion cracked off of me in bits. “Yes,” I whispered.
“That would drive me crazy.” Her shoulders rode high. “I don't know. As much as this guy is grating my nerves from how up your ass he's being—”
“Excuse me,” Roose coughed.
“As much as all that, not knowing would be the worst. If going back there can shake things loose, what's the harm?”
Both the detective and I blinked at her. He was baffled, and I was—amazingly—not as betrayed as I expected to feel. Laralie's heart was in the right place, and she had no idea she was putting me in a tough spot.
Except... maybe she was right. If it can help me stop blocking things out, isn't it worth the fear? I wasn't sure, but a sliver of me lit up like a firework at the idea of regaining my memories.
“Alright,” I said, trying to mute the defeat in my voice. “I'll see what happens.”
How much more could one event ruin my life, anyway?
Laralie reached out, pulling me in for a hug that left me blushing. Then, she backed up the steps, rounding on the detective. “If something bad happens to her,” she said flatly, “I'll stick that pen of yours up your ass.”
He threw his hands up, managing to look entertained instead of scared. “Why do you keep treating me like I'm the bad guy here?”
She pointed once more, then she waved at me before vanishing inside.
Roose sighed loudly, twisting the pen in his fingers. “She wasn't serious, was she?”
Looking up at him, I lingered on the pen. “You don't want to find out.”
His laugh was real, until he saw how I wasn't amused. Coughing, he tucked the pen in his pocket and waved an arm to the left. “Let's get going.”
My steps down the sidewalk became heavier and heavier. I had the sense that, in spite of all the promised results, I was heading towards the gallows.
Old Stone bank, the place everything had changed.
No matter how I tried to prepare myself... I didn't know what was waiting for me.
- Chapter Thirteen -
Alexis
The drive went by too fast. It always worked that way when you didn't want to be somewhere, didn't it?
Roose had driven us in an old, beaten up Subaru. Again, I didn't know what I expected from this guy, but it wasn't this. The floor of the car was messy—not with trash, I realized, but crumpled bits of notebook paper.
Nudging one, I tried to read the scribbles, but I was distracted by the sight of a Tool CD underneath. Were detectives allowed to listen to that kind of music? Good music?