“My call didn’t go well,” I said.
He walked to the sofa and sank down to sit. I sat too and pulled my leg up so we were facing each other, and he rested his arm easily on the sofa back. “Why not?”
I shrugged as I pursed my lips. “She thinks I can do better. Narrow it down to a concept that is valid to me, personal to me.” I shrugged again. “I’m at a loss right now.”
He tugged on a strand of my hair that was brushing his hand, and I looked at him. “You’ll figure it out.” He studied me. “She’s right, though. This is your life. This is everything you’ve worked for. It should mean something important to you.”
I nodded.
“These things get published sometimes, right? I mean, that should tell you something.”
“I know,” I said, still nodding my head.
“You love this field for a reason, Hell, so there’s something in there that means a lot to you. Why justice?” He reached over to my neck, letting his thumb run down the side of it.
“I’ve always liked the concepts surrounding justice. I always have.”
“Tell me why.”
I glanced away, my brow furrowing. “It’s one of those topics that … at first blush it seems so simple, straight forward, black and white.”
I caught myself talking with my hands, and as his eyes glanced to my gesticulations, he smiled.
“And yet,” I continued. “You delve into it, and the whole thing unravels on you. That’s justice,” I said with a nod.
“It’s a matter of finding the right angle,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said on an exasperated smile.
He looked around the living room, eyeing the carnage, and when his eyes settled on the coffee table, he smirked. “Seeing as you literally brought the entire coffee pot into the living room with you, I’m going to guess you didn’t take a lunch break.”
I shook my head.
“I’ll be back with lunch. You keep obsessing, smarty-pants.” He tugged on my hair one last time, and then he walked out.
Chapter Nineteen
Kane
Eleven Years Ago
I had to pass through the same stretch of highway we’d fled the gas station on to get home. It was remote, and it winded darkly through the forested hills outside of town. My heart pounded as I drove, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out if it was dread to be going home or dread that I would be passing by the old gas station. I didn’t ever want to see that place again.
As I neared the Sleepaway motel, I glanced toward it. The same room that had been lit by the dim lamp less than forty-five minutes before was still illuminated. But the curtains were pulled farther closed … or maybe they weren’t… I couldn’t recall. But a light was still on somewhere inside the room. Oddly, though, there were still no cars parked in the lot, and I gawked as I drove past.
Where had the stranger come from? He’d not driven to the gas station, so he’d walked from somewhere. It could have been Sleepaway. But if it was, that would mean the man was without a car at all. It was a couple miles to the nearest heavily traveled interstate. He could have easily just walked from there—from one of the truck stops maybe.
I shivered as I drove by the strip of motel rooms, and seconds later as I passed the dark and deserted gas station, I avoided looking at all. I felt sick to my stomach, and my head was pounding. The second I pulled off the highway to the smaller country road that would take me home, I pulled over and threw up as I leaned out the door.
“Fuck,” I muttered. But then I looked around at the dark woods surrounding me, and a chill ran up my spine. I closed the door quickly, throwing my truck back in drive. I wasn’t prone to the willies, or the heebie-jeebies. I didn’t spook easily at all, but I was scared fucking shitless at the moment. I sped the rest of the way home, slowing down only when I pulled into our driveway that led a short ways into the woods before ending at my front porch.
The lights were on. Shit.
I stood at the base of the porch steps, staring at the house for a moment. The man inside had no idea what had happened to his son on this night, and I doubted he’d understand if I told him, much less care. How could I tell him this? Helene, whose family loved her the way a family should, hadn’t made any move to reach her parents. She’d washed away the evidence of what I’d done to her. She’d washed me off of and out of her body. She’d been desperate too. I could see it in her expression, and the moment her eyes begged me to let her, begged me to be okay with it, I put away the idea that we’d ever share this secret with anyone.
And I’d been relieved.
“Where the fuck you been?” my dad asked the second I stepped through the door.
I glanced down at the floor. “I had to take Helene home. Something… I had to help—”