Chapter Fourteen
Detective Simon wipes the dust from his itching eyes. His allergies are acting up again, agitating his nostrils and throat. The irritant he’s allergic to isn’t dust, but dust mites, the microscopic bugs that feast on the dead skin cells, carpet fibers, and dirt that accumulates on neglected surfaces. He’s seen pictures of the mites magnetized. They’re ugly litter buggers. When his symptoms flare, he can almost feel them wriggling around in his nose, their pinchers tickling his nostril hair. His shoulders cramp with tension from being hunched over the box of documents. He looks around the darkened subbasement, blinking. He’s spent much more time here than he’d like.
He holds a document in his hands, scanning it with weary eyes. Nothing, he thinks, then tosses it into the pile at his side. He’s been pouring over these files for days now, and he’s yet to find any evidence that Golding and Holderman would have Jack Larsen Senior killed. There is no smoking gun. Simon can’t decide if he’s looking for a needle in a haystack, or chasing a unicorn.
He stands up, pressing his palms against his lower back, stretching his sore muscles. He looks at the pile of documents he’s looked at. It’s a staggeringly tall stack that threatens to spill over.
Nothing, he thinks, glumly.
Jack and his black widow have made clear that Simon will get the rest of his money only when they can prove Jack is innocent. Detective Simon, of course, had hoped Jack is innocent, which is a real rookie mistake, causing him to try jamming a square shaped peg into a round hole. Golding and Holderman are scourges on society, but that doesn’t mean they killed Jack Larsen Senior.
“It’s always the husband, the boyfriend, the scorned wife,” Simon grumbles, massaging his temples. “It’s always the violent, black out prone son. It’s always the most obvious suspect.”
Detective Simon had put his career, reputation, and pension on the line to help Jack and Amber, and he’s regretting that now. The promise of millions of dollars had dazzled him, kept him from seeing clearly. But with the one and half million sum sitting in his back account, he can’t bring himself to give it up. And it doesn’t seem like enough. All of this extra work can’t be for nothing. He can never be an honest detective now, and he’s not sure one and a half million will see him through his golden years.
He walks out onto the street, blinking up at the sunlight. It burns his face and makes him dizzy. How long has he been scurrying around in the dark subbasement like a rodent? Too long. He grabs the phone from his pocket and calls Amber. She answers immediately.
“What do you have?” she asks.
Wind blows across the microphone of her phone. She must be outside somewhere.
“Where are you?” Simon asks.
“I’m walking back to the apartment. I’m alone. What did you find?”
Simon huffs, stretching his sore neck. “Nothing. Zilch.”
Amber is quiet for a moment. “Then why are you calling?”
“Because I’m.. uh-“ Simon scratches his chin, trying to choose his words carefully. “I think you should be careful around Jack.”
Amber sighs into the phone. “I don’t have time for this right now-“
“Don’t hang up. Listen, Amber, I’ve been digging for weeks now. I haven’t found anything.”
“Keep looking.”
“No, you don’t understand. With any other case, I’d throw this lead out the window. It’s not going anywhere. It’s a lost cause.”
“Okay, so we should start looking for another lead.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have to look very far. Amber, I know this is hard to hear, but I have a real gut instinct for this type of thing. It’s probable that Jack is the killer.”
Simon expects to hear the line go dead. Instead, he hears her soft breathing.
“Jack didn’t do it. If he did, and I mean if, he was blacked out and didn’t know what he was doing.”
Simon yanks at his hair, wanting to scream. How can he speak rationally with this Stockholm Syndrome chick? “He blacked out. That’s a likely story, Amber.”
“If you want the rest of your money, you’ll keep looking.”
“I do want the rest of my money. I’m entitled to it. I risked everything for you two.”
“You’re supposed to help us.”
“I’ll help you all right. Give me the rest, and I won’t tell the department exactly where Jack Larsen is.”
Simon’s heart beats wildly as he waits for Amber’s answer.
“Here’s an idea,” she finally says into the phone. Anger seethes beneath her voice. “Come over to the apartment, and tell that to Jack yourself.”
The line goes dead. Simon clutches his phone, staring at the blank screen. He starts to hurl it against the wall, but thinks better of it, and slips it into his pocket.
*
Amber is two blocks away from the apartment. She can see the building rising up amidst the coffee houses and book stores. Instead of continuing, she cuts into a mini park. The bench she sits on is surrounded by huge rose bushes on three sides. She has to be careful not to scrape against the massive thorns. She breathes in the sweet scent of the blooms, letting the floral essence make her go a bit dizzy.
Is this when it falls apart? In the back of her head, she always knew it would come to this. She’d helped her fugitive boyfriend bribe a homicide detective for Christ’s sakes, how long did she think it would go on?
You’re way out of your fucking league. She closes her eyes, listening to the leaves of the rose bush rustle softly in the wind. She’s seized with an acute bout of homesickness, which she hasn’t experienced at all before now. She wishes desperately that when she opens her eyes, she’d see the quiet streets of White Oak. She’s back home, where life is simple, where she read all day, and worked at the diner at night.
She hasn’t spoken to her father since she met Jack. She just left him in the lurch, fleeing town without a word. Sure, her father had been doing much better, but he could always relapse, fall back into the empty hole left in the wake of her mother’s death.
The guilt is too much for her to bear. She opens the burner phone and dials her father’s number. She listens to it ring, and prays he picks up.
“Phil Parker,” he says, his voice lilting on the last syllable.
Amber opens her mouth to speak, and emotion floods her all at once. “Daddy?” Her voice is strained from fighting back the tears.
“Amber? Is that you? Is everything okay, sweetheart?”
“I’m fine. Everything is good.” She wipes her nose on her sleeve. “I just have a little cold is all. I miss you.”
“Well, your brother and I miss you too. I didn’t know when I’d hear from you. I thought you’d fallen off of the face of the earth.”
“Sorry, Daddy, I guess I kind of did.” She chuckles hollowly. “Things changed so fast, and I’ve got a lot going on.”
“Uh-huh.” Phil’s words thump through the phone. “Are you still with this guy?”
“I am. Things are going really well. I was afraid I’d never meet a guy in White Oak.”
“Sure, sure,” Phil says politely. “It just seems odd. We haven’t met this fellow, and suddenly you’re in New York City with him for weeks on end. Listen.” Phil pauses. It sounds like he’s cupping his hand over the phone. “Is everything on the up and up with this guy? What’s his name?”
“Daddy,” Amber chirps. “Don’t worry, you’d approve of him. He wanted to come meet you and Sam, it’s just, he has a high pressure job. He can’t be away from the office for very long.”
“Uh-huh.” Phil clears his throat, then takes a sharp breath. “You’re an adult, after all, you can make your own decisions. I’m happy for you, really I am. You know, I always felt somewhat responsible for holding you back.”
“Stop it, Dad. That’s silly. You can’t help it Mom got sick.”
“No,” Phil says, then clears his throat again. “I should’ve been stronger, for you and Sam. I should’ve-“ His voice is suddenly muffled. Amber pictures her father crying, and it’s enough to break her heart. “Just, come home, Amber, soon okay. I miss you like hell.”
“I will, Daddy. I promise.”
When Amber hangs up, she feels the last of her resolve seeping away. She slumps forward on the bench, her head dangling between her legs, and breaks down crying. She ignores the people on the street, and allows herself to have a good, cleansing cry. Her sobs are heavy and convulsing. Tears stream down her face. She’s crying for her mother, for leaving her father, for whatever might happen here with Jack. This is what she dreamed of, to escape White Oak and live an exciting life. She’s gotten her wish, with more excitement than one person can withstand. She didn’t know it would threaten to wrench her fucking heart out.
Once every ounce of tears has been expelled from her system, Amber straightens up. She wipes her face dry with her sleeve, then sits and waits, giving time for the redness in her face to go down. The bright daylight is giving way to dust. Shadows slant sharply behind the tall buildings, dappling the remaining sunlight, and giving everything a golden quality.
When she’s calmed down, Amber resumes her walk to the apartment building. Usually, she’s anxious to walk up those steps, go through the apartment door and into Jack’s arm. Today, there’s trepidation in her steps. She checks her face in the window of the front door to make sure there’s no trace of her crying. Her complexion is back to normal. Her eyes are a little swollen, but not noticeably so.
How much money is in my purse? Is it enough to buy a bus ticket to White Oak? I could get out before the shit really hits the fan.
She smooths her hair back, watching her reflection in the window. She rolls this idea around in her mind, seeing if it will take root. It doesn’t. She abandoned her father, she can’t abandon Jack. What would happen to him if she left? And she’s not sure he would let her go so easily.
In the apartment, it smells like something’s burning. Amber walks into the kitchen, and sees that something is, in fact, burning. Jack’s standing at the kitchen sink, the faucet on, filling a pot with water. Smoke oozes from the pot and the smell of scorched milk invades the air. There’s a large pot of water on the stove. It’s boiling furiously, splashing over the sides and sizzling on the hot stove.
“I burnt the sauce,” Jack says, smiling brilliantly at her. “Don’t worry. I have enough ingredients to make another batch.”
“You’re cooking?” Amber steps further into the kitchen, her mouth twisted in amusement. “Jack Larsen, I thought I’d never see the day.”
Jack leaves the pot in the sink, and opens the cabinet to grab a new one. “I found some old cookbooks in the closet. I wanted to do something special for you.”
Amber shakes her head, laughing. “Why?”
Jack turns to her with an intense gaze. He leaves the new pot on the counter, and walks slowly towards her. He reaches around her back, grabs her ass, and pulls her against him.
“Why? Because you’re my woman, that’s why.”
Jack leans down and kisses her deeply. Butterflies of lust flutter in Amber’s stomach, and her body grows warm. But she doesn’t allow herself to completely give in. She keeps her eyes open, studying his face.
Is he really the man I think he is?
Jack’s hand is creeping up Amber’s shirt, when they hear a loud sizzle. The water has boiled over. Frothy bubbles appear on the surface and ooze down the side of the pot.
“Shit,” Jack says, rushing over. He turns the stove off, then carefully moves the pot off of the hot eye. Staring down at the mess, he starts to laugh. “Fuck it. Maybe you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Let’s order out.”
“Sounds good to me,” Amber says. “But you tried so hard.”
Jack steps towards her again, backing her up against the counter. His thick chest presses into her, flattening her breasts. “The linguine Alfredo I attempted to make isn’t the main event.”
Amber giggles, trying to act casual. “It’s not.”
Jack shakes his head back and forth. Slowly, he begins to lower himself down. Amber is confused, until he bends down one knee. He takes Amber’s hand, then pulls something out of his pocket.
“This isn’t how I planned to ask you this, but I can’t wait any longer,” Jack says. The object in his hand is a twist tie from the bread. He ties it around Amber’s finger. “When all this is over, I want you to marry me.”
Amber notices it’s not a question. He’s telling her. Time seems to slow down. Amber feels like her feet are stuck in dried cement. Jack rubs the twist tie around her finger.
“Don’t worry. When I have full access to my accounts, I’ll get you something much bigger,” Jack says.
Amber is struggling to find the words, to find her voice, which seems to have shriveled up inside of her and died. Jack’s smile flattens at her hesitation. He stands up slowly, then towers over her.
“Aren't you happy?” Jack asks. “I just proposed to you.”
Amber takes a deep breath. “Yes,” she chokes out. “Yes, I’m happy. Thank you so much, Jack.”
He cocks his head. “Thank you? That’s what you say?”
“Please.” Amber presses her hand against his chest to keep him from getting any closer. “I’m sorry I’m acting so weird. It’s just, this situation is so stressful, it’s hard to imagine when it will all be over. I think I can’t feel the joy I want to feel because I’m scared.”
Jack stares at her dully for a moment, then he smiles deeply. He draws her into his arms, hugging her tightly. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll get us out of this. I get what I want, one way or another, even if I have to take it.”
Amber nods against his chest, feeling her ribcage constrict slightly under the weight of his embrace. His declaration gives her a flash of confidence. What is she scared of, really, that Jack is the killer? If she answers honestly, that’s not it. She’s scared of Jack being ripped away from her, either by police or a murderer. All she cares about is being with him. If she stays fiercely loyal to him, they’ll find a way. That means she has to be completely honest with him.
“I have something to tell you… some updates.”
Jack loosens his grip around her. “Joel?” he asks, his voice solemn.
“We’re still looking into Joel,” Amber says, doggedly. Detective Simon may have given up, but she hasn’t. “But no, that’s not it.” She takes his hand and leads him to the couch, where they both sit down. “Detective Simon is getting nervous,” Amber begins, carefully. “With his disposition, we should’ve known it would happen.”
“What’s he done?” Jack asks, his gaze fixed on a distant point.
“Nothing yet. He threatened to turn you in. I don’t think he will though. He still wants his money.”
“He’s going to get his money.” Jack curls his upper lip, revealing his teeth. “When this is all over.”
“He got impatient chasing the Joel lead.”
“He’s a detective, that’s his job. If there’s something to find, he'll be able to find it.” Jack folds his hands as if in prayer, and presses them against his lip. Amber can see the wheels turning in his head. If it isn’t Joel, then who is it? Is it me?
“There’s something else,” Amber says.
Jack blinks, but doesn’t look her way. She continues.
“The other night, you said something in your sleep.” Amber’s voice suddenly falters. She clears her throat. “You said you drank scotch while your father gargled his own blood.”
Jack’s entire body goes still. His complexion is ashen, making him look like a stone statue. Amber’s heart pounds as they sit in silence for a few moments.
“Do you think that’s true?” Amber whispers.
“What do you mean, I said that in my sleep,” Jack says, finally. “Did I just blurt it out?”
Amber looks down at her hands. She’s gripping the hem of her shirt, twisting the fabric tightly between her fingertips. “I was asking you questions. I thought-“
Jack jerks his head towards her, his eyes dark. “You shouldn’t do that. Don’t ever do that.”
“Why not?” Amber wishes she could speak louder, but blood is rushing thickly through her veins, her heart pounding in her ears. For once, her desire for him is outbalanced by fear.
“I tried memory work with my therapist once. It didn’t end well,” Jack says. “I have no control over myself when I’m in that state of mind. I don’t want to be like that around you.”
“Did you do something to her?”
“I grabbed her, hard. Left a mark. Gave her a good scare. She swore we’d never try it again. And, she said the information isn’t reliable. The brain can fabricate memories.”
The tension in Amber’s shoulders magically relieve. She knew she couldn’t trust what Jack says in his dreams, and now, professional opinion backs that up. Jack leans forward, his face buried in his hands. Amber rubs his shoulders, giving specific attention to the tight knots.
“I don’t think it’s true,” Amber whispers in his ear. “It was a dream.”
“We don’t know that.”
Amber reaches into his lap, and grabs his hand. She intertwines her fingers with his, feeling the plastic bread tie against her flesh.
“I wasn’t expecting a proposal. Sorry for acting like a freak,” she says with a laugh. She wraps her arms around Jack’s torso. “I can’t fucking wait to marry you, Jack.”
Jack turns to her and gives her a passionate kiss, but his muscles are stiff. Amber bites her lip, wondering if she’s transferred her doubts to him.