Jade sat calmly on the rug, washing her front paw. Confession time was over. “Fine.” She drained the Diet Coke. “I’m going to bed.”
Exhaustion hit her like a brick as soon as the word bed came out of her mouth. She made her way up the stairs with Jade galloping ahead of her, sounding like an elephant on a tear. She made it to her bedroom and to the bed, lying down fully clothed and was asleep within minutes, a purring bundle of fur curled up behind her legs.
The Fourth Day
Thirty
Taylor was dreaming again. She knew it was a dream this time, but couldn’t drag herself out of it. It wasn’t exactly the dream; it was a more tailored nightmare. Only the worst parts replayed themselves: the yelling, the heat of the bullet as it flew, the look of absolute shock on her face when she realized who she had killed. It replayed slowly, inexorably, as all tragedies do. She could see every detail as if it hadn’t been dark. The tiny spot of blood from a shaving cut mingling with the blood pouring out of his head, the gel he applied to the cowlick on his forehead making each strand of hair glow and shine, the blue fleck entrenched in the brown of his right eye. And then it all sped up, and she was standing over him, the cold steel smoking, a smile on her face.
She woke with a start, tears wet on her cheeks yet unable to open her eyes: her brain lingering on the final scene. It was different this time. Before she’d never been able to stop before she died along with him. She didn’t feel the gut-wrenching pain that usually accompanied the dream. In fact, she felt almost peaceful. She concentrated for a moment, trying to relive the last moments of the dream. She could have sworn she’d heard a word just before she came to, but her rapidly awakening neurons forced it away and the word slipped from her grasp as quickly as it came.
Taylor opened her eyes to the sun streaming through the window. Jade was still zonked out at the foot of the bed, a surprise. Usually when she had the dream the cat was right next to her face, her piercing emerald eyes full of concern, as if she shared in her pain. She mustn’t have shouted out this time.
She got up, peeled yesterday’s clothes off and jumped into the shower. While she washed her hair she tried to recall the element of the dream that had changed, but still couldn’t put it into words. She gave up, finished her shower, dried and dressed and headed to the kitchen, the thought of a fizzy jolt of Diet Coke pushing everything else out of her mind.
Thirty-One
Baldwin hadn’t slept, but the constant nagging voice in the back of his mind had blessedly shut up. He wasn’t sure what was going on. Eight hours before he’d been loaded and cocked, recklessly imbuing fate with chance. Now he felt a strange sort of hope, almost as if he had absolved himself of something.
After Taylor left, he’d sat in the dark the rest of the night, thoughts turning, cascading waterfalls of feelings through his head. None made much sense, but when the sun came up, he was determined to help Taylor Jackson.
He arrived at the station before she did, felt a vague sense of disappointment. He shook it off, got buzzed in through the back door, helped himself to a soda and sat down at Taylor’s desk in the squad room. He caught the curious glances from the night shift as they bundled up and went to live their lives for the day, and was sure the word had gone out the lunatic ex-agent was on the grounds.
You’re being paranoid, Baldwin. Stop it.
Ringing chatter came down the hall as Taylor and Fitz shared insults to begin their day. They entered the room laughing hard, and Baldwin was surprised to realize he wanted in on the joke. But they stopped when they saw him, the mood sobered, and Taylor greeted him warmly. Fitz stood to the side, still eyeing Baldwin as if he was a piece of moldy Limburger cheese. He chose to ignore him.
“Morning, Taylor.” He saw her eyeing him, could see the thoughts running through her head. Yes, he was still in one piece. Yes, he had made it in to help them work the case. No, he didn’t look all that great, but at least he was still with them. He subconsciously touched the bandage on his cheek and gave her a ginger smile.
“And to you, Baldwin. I trust you slept well?” He was taken aback. He’d assumed his actions of the night before had been duly reported, but it looked like she hadn’t filled Fitz in at all.
“Like the dead.” He was rewarded with an earsplitting grin. He laughed, feeling the tension in the room melt away. A brief glance at Fitz brought it all back.
“So Baldwin, Taylor told you about the poison?”
“Yes, she did. I’m anxious to hear more.”
“Ain’t we all, son. Taylor, where’s Sam?”