Two hours ticked past before Rixton marched into my room, pale and shaken, with the cause of his late arrival hooked on his arm. Sherry waddled beside him, a woman on a mission dressed in an open-backed gown to match mine, and arrowed toward me. Elbowing her husband, she blazed a trail for the only chair in the small room. Dad couldn’t hop out of his seat fast enough. She almost collapsed in his lap and then scowled at him for making her wait.
“Do you know how long it took me to escape the maternity ward,” she snarled. “Do you? I told them my friend was here, that she was hurt, and do you know what they told me? That I should focus on my breathing. That I couldn’t get in to see you anyway. That I— Damn it. I stopped listening at that point.”
“Sherry.” Rixton approached her with caution. “Baby.”
“Don’t you baby me, mister.” She gripped the armrests of her chair until the old wood creaked. “This is all your fault. All of this. Your fault.” She grunted a pained sound. “Never again. I am never having sex again, and that means neither are you. I hope you’re happy. You’ve ruined my one and only hobby.”
“Mrs. Rixton,” Dad began.
“No.” She hissed at him. “Keep your man bits over there. Don’t get them near me.”
“I’m going to get some sweet tea from the cafeteria.” Dad inched toward the door. “Does anyone else . . . ?”
Smart man, my father. That’s why he didn’t wait for an answer. He bolted for safety. Lucky dog.
“Is this the real deal?” I aimed the question at Rixton. “Is the baby coming?”
“Why are you asking him?” Sherry roared. “I’m the one having a baby. Oh, God. A baby. A small person. I’m about to fire a tiny human out of my birth cannon.”
“Birth cannon,” I echoed, nodding. It seemed safest to agree with the pregnant lady.
“Okay, enough about me and my impending vaginal pyrotechnics,” she panted. “What happened to you?”
“Well, as best I remember, it’s like this.” I rattled off the story I had concocted about the Good Samaritan finding me stumbling across the road and delivering me to the hospital’s doorstep. I wrapped up my tale with a cutting scowl I didn’t have to fake as I raised my left hand. “Next thing I know, I’ve got a needle in my arm, and I’m on a stretcher being wheeled down to radiology.”
Mesmerized by my tale of derring-do, Sherry hadn’t cursed Rixton’s anatomy in over sixty seconds. Rixton, however, gave me his flat cop stare. He wasn’t buying it, not all of it anyway. Nowhere in my story had I mentioned speaking to him earlier or explained why I’d needed those two hours. By not calling me out, he extended me a smidgen of trust, chose to believe I had left out critical facts for a reason. But he would find me, soon, and I’d better have the right answers when he sat down to chat.
“Oh, great.” Sherry’s voice cut into my thoughts. “Now I’ve peed myself.”
“Uh, Sher?” Rixton’s eyes swallowed his face. “I think your water broke.”
Unsure what that entailed, I resisted the urge to lean over and investigate. I wasn’t that bored. Yet.
“Luce, I’ll check on you once . . . ” His voice trailed off into a dazed kind of mumble. “Later. I’ll be back later.”
I waved them off, and then sank back against my pillows, sending up thanks to the Wi-Fi gods for their bountiful connectivity. Uncle Harold had made a supply run out to the house and returned with Dad’s tablet for my Netflixing pleasure. When I’d asked him why he hadn’t brought my laptop, he informed me it was toast. When the super gator—demon gator?—tromped through the kitchen, its lashing tail seemed to have sent the old girl sailing into a wall where she shattered.
A buzz on the nightstand had me checking my phone for texts. So far Miller’s attempts at tracing the tipster had led nowhere. Must have to do with the whole anonymous crime hotline being anonymous. But the guy had given enough details I had no doubt Special Agent Kapoor would soon have his people scouring the apartment building, even if that meant going door-to-door.
The only question was—would White Horse beat him to the punch?
Adopting the no-news-is-good-news mantra, I set aside my phone and powered up the tablet. After opening a new tab, I did what I should have already done and ordered a balloon bouquet for Buck that I signed from Dad and me. It would be a while before I could visit him in person. At least this would let him know he was on my mind. I owed him more than a few plastic sacks of helium for his attempt at saving my life.
With that done, I cleared the browser and started digging. Curiosity had been gnawing on my bones since Miller’s big reveal this morning, and so I put off bingeing on The Great British Bake Off in favor of doing research on demons. The lore varied from religion to religion and from region to region. Until I sat down with the group as a whole and got their side of the story, I was reluctant to side with Wikipedia articles over first-person retellings of their history.
But demons? Real, live demons? Try as I might, the word conjured only little horned men dancing around in red tights and carrying pitchforks. Cole as a dragon was easier to swallow, but it made me wonder how the others in their crew—their coterie—looked beneath their human veneers.
Over the top edge of the tablet, I noticed the quality of light in the room change. The door swung open, but I kept reading to the end of the page before adding a bookmark. “I was starting to think you got lost. Was the cafeteria that crowded? Or did you wait for them to brew fresh tea to avoid Sherry?”
“Officer Boudreau.”
My head snapped up, and I dropped the tablet. “Chief Timmons.”
The man was about a decade Dad’s junior, but he’d gone white-headed young and passed for older. He was built like a bulldog. Squat and muscular with a thick neck. When he sank his teeth into something, he didn’t let go. I ought to know. I had enough bite marks to last a lifetime.
“You gave us all quite a scare.” His gaze darted to the door, then he sauntered up to the bed and braced his forearm on the railing. “Your father called me at the house last night and explained the situation.”
There was no love lost between my dad and the chief. For the life of me, I couldn’t picture Dad dialing the guy up and inviting him to stick his nose into our lives. “We both had a rough night.”
“Rough week,” he countered, fidgeting with an American flag pin on his lapel. “First Jane Doe, then your friend goes missing, you were involved in an accident and now this.”
Apprehension tingled over my nape, a warning prickle as impossible to ignore as the fact Dad hadn’t returned yet.
“The thing is this.” For the first time since entering the room, he made eye contact. “Your face has been splashed all over the news. That kind of coverage is a blessing and a curse. The kind of social presence you have could draw attention—both good and bad—to both cases.” He leaned closer, almost like he wanted to slide his arm behind me and across my shoulders. “The department can help you channel that presence, focus it, so that the real issues aren’t lost in the shadows of the spotlight.”
A bump against the door urged me up higher in bed. What was going on out there?
“Your case summoned a tsunami of media attention upon our small town when Officer Boudreau found you in Cypress Swamp, and again when you graduated the academy, proving that a girl with no past can have a bright future.” He puffed out his chest at that zinger. “But there comes a point when all the publicity starts affecting your work and the ability of your fellow officers to do their jobs. People love a good mystery, and that’s what you provide for them by refusing to be interviewed or to sit for photos of your unusual markings. The public has questions. Sate their curiosity, and they’ll move on to the next oddity.” He projected all things honest and noble, ignoring he had just called me an oddity. “Give them what they want, and they’ll give you peace. They’ll give Jane peace. Don’t you want that? To help her? So that she doesn’t have to endure the same hurtful speculation and objectification you’ve endured?”
Ice licked up the walls of my rib cage and crackled like hoarfrost over my heart.
“Sir, no offense, but I’m not interested in feeding the media frenzy. I want to be left alone to live my life.” The temperature in the room seemed to drop as my words permeated his thick skull. “Jane deserves the same opportunity, but feeding the journalists isn’t the way to end this. Once they see my birthmarks, they’ll want to see hers for comparison, and she’s in no condition to give consent. After they listen to my story, they’ll expect to hear hers. They’ll play us off each other based on our similarities and invent fictions to generate the most profit.”
“It has been implied—not by me, you understand—by other, concerned parties, that CPD’s association with you is detrimental to the department as a whole. It puts our officers and our records under the microscope of public scrutiny. We are a small department with limited resources, and the bright lights can be blinding. Canton knows this better than most small towns. For those reasons, the others espouse that severing ties with you might be in our best interest.”
Careful not to tip my hand, I pretended to give the matter serious consideration while mashing the intercom button wired into the bedrail. “These others are willing to look the other way if I agree to an interview and photography session?”
“Your cooperation would go a long way toward smoothing ruffled feathers, yes.” He pinned on an earnest smile. “You’ve proven yourself to be a tribute to your father and your department. I’d hate to see you throw away your career on a whim. What other department would take you on knowing the baggage you carry?”
“Let me get this straight.” I crossed my toes that someone, somewhere was hearing this and that help was coming. “Either I conduct interviews and allow photos of my bare upper body to be taken and published, or you and these others will fire me? You are aware that’s blackmail, correct?”
“Must you be so crass?” He clamped his jaw shut. “I am simply telling you how it is, Miss Boudreau.”
“I’m not selling my soul, not even one tiny piece of it. Not for you, not for the department. Not for anyone.” I raised my voice over the commotion leaking in from the hall. “I think you should leave, sir.”
“Franke,” he called out in a voice that had carried over many a shift meeting.
Franke? My bad feeling got worse when the door swung open.
Sure enough, Moses Franke stumbled into the room as though he had been pushed with a sleek camera hung around his neck. The dull roar of raised voices followed him. He aimed his new toy, pointed and clicked. Done. I reared back in horror at the picture we must have made. Chief Timmons leaning on my bed, his arm inches from burrowing under my pillow in his effort to sling it around my shoulders. The chief had come prepared, and I had been outwitted by an old politico determined to get the last shot at my expense at any cost.
“Got it.” Franke lifted his camera in salute to the chief. “Nice doin’ business with you.” The shutter whirred again, capturing my mortified expression. “Tell your boyfriend I’ll send him a copy. Free of charge.”
The photographer slid through the crack in the door, and the chief watched him go. I yanked on the tubing in my hand, about to rip out the IV, but Franke was long gone. I couldn’t catch him without creating more of a spectacle by flashing my bare butt in hot pursuit of the photojournalistic equivalent of an ambulance chaser.
“Get. Out.” I pointed at the door. “Now.”
“All this could have been avoided if you had taken my offer.” Chief Timmons spun on his heel with military precision. “You and I will talk about disciplinary measures once you’ve been released to return to active duty.”
I bet we would, and I imagined his pet photog would be lurking under his desk to chronicle the ordeal too. Releasing the intercom button, I startled when a crisp voice came from the speakers. “Miss Boudreau, this is Ida. Are you all right?”
“No.” I slumped against the pillows. “I’m really not.”
I barely managed to zip my lips before tacking on I want my Daddy. I was a grown-ass woman. It was time to—not cut the apron strings. What was the father/daughter equivalent? Toss the spent shell casings? Whatever. Doesn’t matter.
“I’m on the way,” Ida assured me, and I nodded though she couldn’t see.
Sick to my core, I drew my legs up against my chest and cinched my arms around them like that might somehow hold me together. I rested my forehead on my kneecaps, and warm tracks wet my cheeks as I purged the anger.
Never had I felt so violated. Exposed. To borrow from that rat bastard, objectified.
I was a person, damn it. Not a thing. Not an it. I wasn’t a commodity to be exploited. Huffing out a pitiful laugh, I wiped my nose on the scratchy bedsheet. I got it then. I understood why I wasn’t running scared of the White Horse coterie. And I laughed even harder.
This right here, this dehumanization, had primed me for the startling discovery that something other existed. I’d known it all along, deep down, hadn’t I? All they had done was given me proof. Now I knew that, while I might not be normal, I wasn’t alone either. There was comfort in that. So much so that fresh tears spilled over my cheeks.
Miller had no idea how parallel our paths ran. Then again, he had let me go without extracting any blood oaths or mind melds, whatever the demon equivalent was to I cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye. Maybe he saw more than a human Cole had entrusted with their secrets. Maybe he saw a kindred spirit too.
The door swung open, but I didn’t raise my head. It weighed too much. The betrayal stung too fresh, sat too heavy on my shoulders, for me to care who had entered or what they wanted.
“I brought you a present.”
I raised my head slowly, not believing my ears. “Cole.”
“Here.” He placed a sleek red camera at my feet as an offering. “Thought you might prefer this to flowers or a get-well balloon.”
I wiggled my toes. “How did you know?”
“The police cordoned off the hall to give you and the chief privacy. Or so they claimed. Me? I’m not convinced. Seems if that was their goal then they would have been more careful sharing your personal information since the door had no name or chart to identify its patient due to security concerns.”
I didn’t want to know who had betrayed me for a pat on the head from the chief, so I didn’t ask the question in his eyes.
“I was on my way to see you and got sidelined,” he continued when I remained quiet. “I was content to wait my turn until I saw that little shit strut right into your room. The uniforms didn’t bat an eye, so I figured he must have been given permission to violate your privacy from someone higher up the food chain.” Cole stood there, tapping his fingertip on the lens until I expected it to crack under the strain. “He strolled out with that camera in his hands and a smirk on his face.” He still refused to look at me. “I asked him nicely to show me his last few shots, and, when he did, I convinced him to part with the camera without forwarding the files to his computer.”
“You’re right.” I hauled the expensive camera into my lap by its neck strap. “This is so much better than wilting flowers or a lame balloon.”
Not many people used dedicated cameras instead of snapping pics from their phones, me included, so it took a minute to locate the memory card slot and remove the black square. Thin as it was, I folded it in half and relished the crisp snap before moving on to wiping the camera.
“Have you seen my dad?” I asked when the silence lingered.
“I spotted him when I first arrived, but he was called to handle a commotion at the nurses’ station.” His lips seesawed before settling into a half smile higher on one side than the other. “It seems a patient was being blackmailed by her boss and had the good sense to activate the intercom. The nurses, upon identifying the speakers, whipped out their phones to record the entire exchange. It ought to be making the rounds by now.” He flicked his gaze up to mine. “Just don’t break Twitter. Portia goes into withdrawal when the robot pops up instead of her timeline.”
“I didn’t think.” Groaning, I flopped back on my pillows and kicked out my feet. “I reacted. Probably overreacted. I was so pissed off at his gall, I couldn’t think straight.”
At the time, I had been running on instinct. It hadn’t occurred to me that the reason why the nurses hadn’t chimed in sooner was due to operator error. As long as I depressed the button, they couldn’t speak to me. They had to wait until I dropped my hand to do what the blockade had prevented them from doing in person and check on me.
“Don’t beat yourself up over it.” He gripped the rail, used it to haul himself closer, as though fighting against a fast-moving current to reach me. “You did what you had to do.”
“So.” I tipped my head back to ease the strain on my neck from gazing up at him. “I had the most vivid dream last night.” I pursed my lips and studied him. “You were there.”
“A dream, huh?” Metal whined, and the railing caved under the pressure of his fingers.
“Parts of it were scary,” I admitted. “Kind of terrifying, really.” The tubing gasped as he crushed it flat in his fist. “Other parts . . . ” I rested my hand on his until his fingers unclenched. “You’re pretty amazing.” I shrugged to downplay the awe even I heard in my voice. “Dream you, I mean.”
“We need to talk.” He turned over his hand, sliding our palms together, the effort to be gentle with me a conscious one. Perhaps it had always been this way, an endeavor on his part not to break me. Well, I saw him now. I saw the others too. Perhaps, for the first time, I began to see myself as well.
Eyes wide open, Luce. All the best mistakes started with a conscious decision to make them.
“Not here.” Cole glanced around and then up, as though remembering the story I’d once told him about the photog in the ceiling. “Come home with me?”
Answers. He was offering me what I had always wanted most. I wet my chapped lips and nodded. “Okay.”
Eyes wide open.