Blood and Bone(38)

Rory gives me his arm. "Take it easy, Jane. Ya get that Scotswoman angry and it's my arse later."

"You like her angry." I push off from the bed, falling forward and  refusing his arm. I don't like it when he touches me. I have a hard time  looking in his eyes and not seeing the way I think about him when I'm  inside them. In their heads it's safe to look into his eyes and imagine  what it must be like to be loved by something that harsh and rugged.

I land on the edge of her bed, staring at her pale lips. I can see them  holding a cherry, just like her babysitter taught her to. I wish her  eyes would open, and I wish her lips would speak to me. Instead, they  will haunt me like the others. Too pale and too calm. No animation or  life. She is alone inside that place now. She is still sitting on the  floral couch in the house in France, the estate I visited once to make a  place for my imaginary grandmother.

That's how it works. For as much as they let me inside their heads, I let them inside mine.

She is number seven for me. The seventh person I have entered and  manipulated. The seventh person I have controlled and convinced to give  me all their secrets, at the same time I let her see mine. There's  always a moment when I glance at the glass and wish I could be the  doctor behind the glass, observing. Maybe then my head wouldn't hurt  quite as much as it does now, a leftover from the haze we make of each  other's lives. But that moment is fleeting as the pain fades away and  the reality of the insane act I have just committed settles in.

"She looks so young and sweet. I wouldn't have thought it possible for  her to be like her father," Rory mutters, sounding like he finally sees  her.

I shake my head. "She doesn't know she is. She doesn't know what she  does when she sleeps. She remembers nothing. She believes herself to be a  victim of him. When she thought she'd done something wrong it nearly  killed her." I run my weak and trembling hand through her silky blonde  hair. "She's not bad, not on purpose."

He lifts me back from the bed, helping me from the room. I don't look  back. That was the last look I should take. I need to separate us now. I  need to be me again.

When we are in the hallway Rory sighs again. "Are you sure you're all  right? Ya look a bit pale." His thick Irish accent always makes me  smile.

"I'm fine. Stop." But he's not the only one attacking me. As usual, Dr.  Angie comes running from the viewing and monitoring room. "Och, lass. Ya  shouldn't be outta that room just yet. Ya know I hate it when ya do  that. Ror, ya need to be on top of this. You're supposed to be in the  room until we clear her."

"She's meaner than she looks, Ang."

She glowers at him. "Ya wee chicken, letting a small girl boss ya  around." She winks at me. We both know what kind of small girl I am.

Rory points at the chair. "I'll wait out here." I nod and let her take  me in her arms. I don't need the help, but I have to humor her or she  starts cussing and soon I'm no better than all the other bloody Yanks  who annoy the piss outta her or the friggin' leprechaun she lives with.  She's a bit racist, but she sounds funny when she does it, so everyone  lets it slide.

She leads me to a chair, quickly checking my eyes and listening to my  heart. I breathe several times as hard as I can, in and out. She sits  next to me, shaking her head. "No more, Jane. Seven is more than anyone  else."

I sigh, letting her put her fingers on my neck and arms. "I just wish I could fill the gap, you know?"

She shakes her head again. "No, I don't. But I'm not missing most of my  life." She smiles, giving me that sweet face she always does.

It's then that he walks in, offering me a sweet smile. His lopsided lips  make me cringe inwardly. I recall every caress and every moment of them  brushing against me. I know I blush every time I see the man, but I  can't help it. I know I shouldn't use people I know when I slide into  the minds of the criminals or patients, but I can't help it. Something  real brings me back easier, and more whole than a made-up story.

Dr. Dash nods at me. "How was it?" His gray-green eyes fix on me, more gray than normal. He must be upset about something.         

     



 

I shrug, desperate to seem cool and casual. If only he knew about the  things I imagined he has done. "I found it, the spot. It was a lake. He  wrapped the little girls in blue tarps and sunk them to the bottom of a  lake."

"Jesus." That's his version of swearing. He's akin to a saint, but when  he gets really worked up, that's it, he says Jesus or what the hell. I  try not to say motherfucker or twat or any of the others my Irish  partner and I chant regularly.

Dr. Dash shakes his head, mystified. I can see it on his face. "How long has she taken up after her father?"

"Since she was nine or ten, I think, but it was animals then, and no one  knew. Her aunt came and took her away during her father's trial,  abducted her from the state house she was always running away from. She  lived in North Carolina and then went to university, but she never  finished, so she worked in a shop. She started killing people three  years ago when her father was released from jail."

"He was released after such a short amount of time?"

I nod. "Molestation charges were all they had on him. The disappearing  girls were never seen at his residence. Everyone believed he did it, but  they never proved a thing. When he got out, she went crazy. She went,  from what I can understand, and tortured him. Then she killed him and  stayed at that horrid old house. She lived like he was still alive,  afraid of him. She would bring him the little girls like she did when  she was a kid. He used her to lure them. She would take them back to his  house, and they would dress up in pretty dresses and play. Last week  she burnt the house to the ground when she woke covered in blood again."

He holds a hand up. "I can't do any more, Jane. Sorry. I don't know how you live with that in your head."

I lift my gaze to his. "I take things in there with me, things that will  create a better memory than the ones the patients try to give me."

"That's actually genius." He swallows, looking as if he might get sick.  My skin is prickled from the sickness of it all, but I don't let it be  bigger in my mind than the image of him kissing me and holding me.

The door opens. "They got something. Let's ride." Rory nods at the  hallway. I hop off the bed, fighting the dizziness. Dr. Dash grabs my  arm, steadying me. I linger, feigning just how dizzy I actually am so I  might stay in his grip a second longer. He smiles. "Maybe you should  stay."

I shake my head. "I've been living in her head for the equivalent of a solid week. I need to see this to the end."

Rory kisses Angie on the cheek, remaining for a second to whisper  something that earns him a wicked grin and a swat. She shakes her head  at me. "I don't know how you spend hours in a car alone with him."

"He talks about you the whole time. It's not so bad." I wink at her and turn away.

He nudges me, glaring down. "Ya might keep some of those things to  yourself. What happens on stakeout, stays on stakeout. Ya got me looking  weak like a nancy to her. She won't respect me for that."

I chuckle, completely aware of the way their relationship works. "You like it when she disrespects you."

He nods. "Aye, I do." He opens the door to the roof when we get up the  last flight of stairs. I remember the fear of heights and flying that  came from Samantha Barnes and grin, refusing to let it get to me. "I'll  drive."

He looks like he's about to argue, but he doesn't. He knows the things I  take with me sometimes mess with my abilities at work. No one else  knows. Turning on the engines, I sigh and let it all wash away. I have  to conquer her fears in order to be rid of them. My palms sweat and my  heart races, but I force it, lifting the helicopter into the air.

"How bad was it?" he finally asks when we are halfway to Geneva, Alabama.

"Bad. He used her to lure the girls, treated her like garbage, and  locked her away under the house with a notch hole to watch everything he  did. He whipped her when he caught her touching herself. That's those  marks on her back. He whipped her until she was unconscious."

He blows his breath in disgust. "No bloody wonder she tried to kill herself."

I nod, hating the fact she is a monster because he treated her like one  her whole life. Had she been born to a family who loved her, all those  little girls would still be alive.

"Where did you leave her?"

That's the part that makes me smile. "With a new family in a beautiful home with a new memory."

He sighs again. "At least that's how she'll die, with a mind full of good things."         

     



 

I don't want to talk about it anymore, and I can tell he doesn't either.  We like the success, the closure. We dislike the thrill of the chase in  their heads. He's done three. He does the men, and I do the women. If  we suspect who they might be, we watch them, stalk them, and get  evidence on them as best as we can. But if we don't know them at all,  it's a hard ride in their mind. Samantha Barnes never popped up on our  radar until a week ago when she slit her wrists in the concrete back  room of her work. She sat there, bleeding out on the cold floor. Knowing  who she was in the system made the right people curious, but her  bedside confession to a nurse started this process. She fell into a coma  before we could get any information. But luckily I don't need someone  to be awake to give me everything they have.