“Okay, so let’s say she wasn’t in the equation; let’s say Rose couldn’t care less if you went back or not. Would you have any hesitation?”
The realization hit her like a brick to the head. “Probably not.”
“I think you have your answer right there,” Higdon said. “I think at this point in the grieving process, you and your daughter can’t let one another dictate the way the other grieves. Rose needs to blame someone right now. That’s how she’s dealing…and your strained relationship makes it easy. As for you…I want to say returning to work might just be the thing to help push you along.”
“You want to?” Avery asked, confused.
“Yes, I think it makes the most sense, given your history and track record. However, during all of this time alone, isolated away from everyone, have you ever had suicidal thoughts?”
“No,” Avery lied. It came easily and without much regret. “I’ve been low, sure. But never quite that low.”
Yes, she had omitted her near-suicide. She had also not mentioned her package from Howard Randal as she had recounted the last several months. She didn’t know why. For now, it simply felt too private.
“That being the case,” Higdon said, “I don’t see the harm in returning to work. I do think you should be partnered with someone, though. And I know that could be touchy given who your last partner was. Still…you can’t be released into high-stress situations on your own so soon. I’d even recommend you do some light work first. Maybe even desk work.”
“I’ll just be honest…that’s not going to happen.”
Higdon smiled thinly. “So do you think that’s what you’ll do? Will you see if returning to work helps to get you over this self-doubt and blame?”
“Soon,” Avery said, thinking of the call from Connelly two days ago. “Yeah, I think I just might.”
“Well, I wish you the best of luck,” Higdon said, reaching over to shake her hand. “In the meantime, feel free to call me if you need to hash anything out.”
Avery shook Higdon’s hand and left the office. She hated to admit it, but she felt better than she had in weeks—ever since she had finally found a routine for exercise and sharpening her mind. She thought she might be able to think a little more clearly and not because Higdon had uncovered some profound hidden truth. She had simply needed someone to point out to her that although Rose might be the only person left in her life outside of work, that did not mean that her fear of how Rose viewed her should dictate what she did with the rest of her life.
She drove toward the nearest exit to head back to the cabin. She saw the high-rise buildings of Boston off to her left. The precinct was about a twenty-minute drive away. She could head that way, pay everyone a visit, and be given a warm welcome. She could just pull the Band-Aid off and do it.
But a warm welcome was not what she deserved. In fact, she wasn’t sure what she deserved.
And maybe that was where the last remaining bit of hesitation came from.
***
The nightmare she had that night was not a new one but it did present a twist.
In it, she was sitting in a visitation room in a correctional facility. It was not the one she had sometimes visited Howard Randall in, but something much larger and almost Greek-looking. Rose and Jack sat across the table, a chessboard between them. All of the pieces remained on the board, but the kings had fallen over.
“He’s not here,” Rose said, her voice echoing in the cavernous room. “Your little secret weapon is not here.”
“Just as well,” Jack said. “It’s about time to learn to solve some of the bigger cases on your own.”
Jack then passed a hand over his face and in the blink of an eye, he looked the way he did on the night she had discovered his body. The right side of his face was awash in blood and his face had a sort of sag to it on the right side. When he opened his mouth to speak to her there was no tongue in his mouth. There was just darkness beyond the teeth, a chasm where his words came from and, she suspected, where he wished her to be.
“You couldn’t save me,” he said. “You couldn’t save me and now I have to trust you with my daughter.”
Rose stood up at that moment and started walking away from the table. Avery stood with her, certain that something very bad would happen if Rose got out of her sight. She started to follow her but could not move. She looked down and saw that both of her feet had been nailed to the floor with enormous railroad ties. Her feet were shattered, nothing but blood, bone, and chunks of flesh.
“Rose!”
But her daughter only looked back at her, smiled, and waved. And the farther away she got, the bigger the room seemed. Shadows came spilling from every direction, descending on her daughter.
“Rose!”
“It’s okay,” said a voice from behind her. “I’ll watch over her.”
She turned and saw Ramirez, holding his sidearm and looking into the shadows. And as he so gallantly chased after Rose, the shadows started coming after him.
“No! Stay!”
She pulled against the spikes in her feet but to no avail. She could only watch as the two people she had loved the most in the world were swallowed by the darkness.
And that’s when the screams began, pouring out of the shadows, Rose and Ramirez filling the room with cries of agony.
Still at the table, Jack pleaded with her: “For fuck’s sake, do something!”
And that’s when Avery jolted upright in bed, a scream building in her throat. She turned her bedside lamp on with a trembling hand. For a moment, she saw that enormous room spread out ahead of her but it slowly dissipated with the light and wakefulness. She looked to the still-new cabin bedroom and, for the first time, wondered if it was ever going to feel like home.
She found herself thinking of Connelly’s call. And then of Howard Randall’s package.
Her old life was haunting her drams, sure, but it was also invading this new isolated life she had tried building for herself as well.
There seemed to be no escape.
So maybe—just maybe—it was time to stop trying to escape it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Once she’d stopped the heavy drinking during the more desolate stretches of the grieving process, she had slowly replaced her alcohol intake with caffeine intake. Her reading sessions would often consist of two cups of coffee with a Diet Coke in between. Because of this, she’d started to develop minor headaches after several weeks if she went without coffee for more than a day or so. It wasn’t the healthiest of ways to live but certainly better than drinking herself into despair.
That’s why she found herself in a coffee shop after lunch the following day. She’d gone out for groceries primarily because she’d run out of coffee at the cabin and, having only had a single cup that morning, needed a quick fix before getting back to the cabin and finishing out the day. She had a book to finish reading but also thought she might head out into the woods for another try at deer hunting.
The coffee shop was a trendy local place, with four people huddled down behind their MacBooks throughout the shop. The line at the counter was long, even for such an early afternoon hour. The place was abuzz with conversation, the whirring of machinery behind the counter, and the soft volume of the TV at the waiting end of the bar.
Avery got to the cashier, ordered her dirty chai with two espresso shots, and took up her own place at the waiting area. She passed her time by looking at the small corkboard filled with fliers for upcoming local events: concerts, plays, fundraisers…
And then she noticed the conversation beside her. She did her best not to seem obvious that she was eavesdropping, keeping her eyes turned to the events board.
There were two women behind her. One was in her mid-twenties, wearing one of those Baby Bjorn baby slings that wrapped over around her chest. Her baby napped restfully against her chest. The other woman was a bit older, drink in hand but not quite ready to leave the shop.
Their attention was turned to the TV behind the counter. Their conversation was hushed but easily overheard.