For a brief, irrational moment, he was certain that he was dead and that what he was seeing, or rather not seeing, was the afterlife. He panicked and tried to cry out for help, but all that came out was a soft croak.

  That croak turned out to be enough. A light flashed on in the distance. Or maybe not so distant. With no frame of reference, it was hard to tell.

  The light, such as it was, was dim and narrow in focus, like a flashlight about to run out of battery. Kevin blinked at the light and managed a hoarse, “Hello?”

  “Hello.”

  Kevin gasped with relief and found his voice. “Oh, thank God. Can you help me? I don't know what happened. My head hurts, and I'm…" his voice trailed off as the reality of his situation sank in. He looked fearfully back at the light and asked, "Where am I? Who are you?"

  “No one,” the strange voice said. “Not to you, anyway.”

  Kevin frowned in concentration. The voice was soft, lilting, almost pleasant. He couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman speaking, but it sounded vaguely familiar.

  “Please,” he said, “I have a wife and daughter at home.”

  "Your wife is no longer your wife," the voice replied. "She left you for your boss eight years ago. She met him at his Christmas party, and the two of them had sex in his bathroom while you and the other guests sang karaoke. Your daughter calls him Dad now."

  Shock drove away Kevin’s fear. Anger followed immediately on its heels, and he said, “Who are you? How do you know so much about me?”

  “You abandoned me,” the voice said.

  Kevin blinked as confusion and fear once more asserted dominance over his emotions. “Who are you?” he asked again.

  “Now I’m going to abandon you.”

  “Wait,” Kevin said.

  He realized he was still lying down and struggled to a standing position. As he did, he realized that the light and the owner of the voice were far closer than he originally believed. Close enough that when he lifted a hand to try to quell the throbbing in his temples, the owner of the voice was able to strike like a snake, slicing a deep gash underneath Kevin’s armpit.

  He cried out and stumbled backward, falling against a wall. "What the hell?" he squeaked, pain and surprise overwhelming him.

  “Goodbye, Kevin,” the voice said.

  The light floated away. Kevin caught a brief glimpse of a cherubic face, but a jolt of pain seared through his chest, centered on the wound under his armpit. He cried out and sank to the floor, grimacing and pushing tears through the corners of his eyes. “Wait!” he cried out. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

  The light paused. “Your ex-wife won’t miss you,” it said, “Your boss is better than you by far. He knows how to please a woman.”

  Kevin had no idea if the speaker had any idea what he was talking about or if he was just torturing him before leaving him to die, and at the moment, he didn’t care. He only wanted to live, no matter who Jessica was sleeping with, no matter what Marjie called Jessica’s new husband. He wanted to live so he could see Jessica again, hear her voice telling him brightly about the new art project she was working on with the modeling clay he had sent her for her birthday, remind himself that it was okay that she didn’t live with him, that whoever else she called Dad, he was good enough to be worthy of her love and worthy of being part of her life.

  “Please,” he called after the voice. “Please don’t leave me.”

  The light paused again. “It hurts, doesn’t it? To be left alone.”

  The light moved again. There was a groan and a shriek as metal scraped on metal, then another shriek, followed by a low boom as the light disappeared.

  "No!" Kevin called. He stood, clutching the wound under his arm. It throbbed under his touch, and with each throb, he felt a gush of wetness escaping between his fingers.

  Panic settled over him like a blanket. He whimpered, tears streaming down his cheeks as he felt along the wall for a door. The walls were round, curving gently in a wide circle. He was in a well of some sort.

  No, wells didn’t have metal doors. He was in a grain silo.

  He had been left to die.

  “Help!” he cried. “Help me!”

  Outside, he heard the soft, muffled rumble of a diesel motor as his killer started his engine. Kevin cried out again and again as he stumbled along the wall. He felt a sudden wave of dizziness and fell to his knees just as the soft crackling of branches and the scraping of something being dragged told him that the truck was leaving him.

  He stood, and nausea accompanied this dizziness. He threw up a thin bile and whispered, "Help."

  He just needed to stand up. If he could only stand up and find the door, he could get help. He could see Marjie again. He could buy her more modeling clay and tell her he loved her and she would call him Dad again, and he wouldn’t have to die knowing that she would forget about him and move on just as Jessica had forgotten about him and moved on.

  He opened his mouth to say his daughter’s name, but no sound came out. He slumped heavily against the wall, and when his head connected with the handle, he was too far gone to realize he had found the door.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Do you ever wonder what life would have been like if you and Michael had worked out?”

  Faith furrowed her brow and smiled in amusement. “Me and Michael? Are you serious?”

  “Yes,” Dr. West insisted, smiling slightly. “I’m curious.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Well, he seems to be the most important person in your life. I’m curious to know if you still consider him to be and if you ever wonder what might have happened if the two of you had managed to maintain your romantic relationship.”

  She narrowed her eyes playfully. “It seems to me like you’re trying to live vicariously.”

  “Through you?” he asked.

  “Or through Michael.”

  He gave her a paternal look. “Are you suggesting that I’m asking this question so I can imagine what dating you would be like?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Maybe vicariously is the wrong word.”

  “Maybe you’re just stalling so you can avoid answering the question.”

  “It’s a weird question!” she protested. “Do you ever wonder what things would have been like if you and your ex-wife had remained together?”

  “Of course,” he replied. “All the time.”

  She stared in surprise. “Really? Doesn’t that depress you?”

  “Does it depress you to think of what might have happened between you and Michael?”

  “I asked first,” she said.

  “Actually, I did,” he pointed out, “and you still haven’t answered my question.” He took a sip of his water. “But I’ll play nice. No, it doesn’t depress me. I am happy with my choice, and I believe she is happy with hers. We reached a point where we were completely incompatible, and there was no way for us to be together without lessening both of ourselves.”

  “Wow.” Faith leaned back in her chair to digest that. “That sounds very depressing.”

  “Not at all. We enjoyed many wonderful years together, and I look back on them fondly. Occasionally, I miss those years. But when I look back on them, I realize that she and I wouldn’t have lasted in the long term, and if we had tried to force something that wasn’t there, we would have made ourselves miserable and sacrificed much of what matters to us both intrinsically and experientially.” He smiled a touch sheepishly. “Was that too much psychobabble for you?”

  “No, you’re good,” Faith said with a smile.

  The smile faded. Dr. West waited patiently while she gathered her thoughts. Finally, she said, “I… try not to think too much about it, I guess.”

  “Why’s that?”

  She shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with the subject. “I mean… it didn’t work out. What’s the point of wondering why or thinking about how things might have been different? They’re not different, and if we try to make them different, we’ll just end up hurt.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  She stared at him incredulously. “Um… well, we’re not together, so obviously things didn’t work out.”

  “No, I mean the last part. The part where you said if we try to make them different, we’ll just end up hurt. Why do you say that?”

  She shifted in her seat and shrugged. “I mean… we’re different people. We want different things in life, and we want different things in a relationship. If we tried to want the things the other person wanted… I guess like you, we’d be forcing something that isn’t there.”

  He nodded, then sat back on his chair and crossed his arms, cocking his head to one side.

  “What is it?” Faith said with the barest hint of irritation. “Whenever you sit like that, it means you disagree with something I said.”

  “It’s not about disagreement,” he replied. “I already said, agreement is not the purpose of our sessions.”

  “So what is it? I spilled. Your turn.”

  “I think you’re lying.”

  She didn’t hide her irritation anymore. “What makes you think I’m lying? Why would I lie?”

  “Because you don’t like questioning yourself.”

  “Well, I’m not questioning myself.”

  “Exactly. When you make a choice, you refuse to examine your reasons for making that choice.”

  “Well, I examine them before I make the choice,” she explained.

  “Do you? You have said many times that you love Michael, but when the two of you had a chance at a future together, you rejected it. Now, however, you have a deep-seated, irrational distrust of his current girlfriend to the point where you claim to fear for his safety. Yet you’ve made no attempt to protect him. If you believed Ellie was as dangerous as you say, I have a hard time believing that you wouldn’t physically remove her from his life. They sleep in the same bed, share intimate moments with each other, they are physically close—”

  “I get it,” she snapped. “If I thought Ellie was going to hurt him, why am I letting her live with him, sleep with him, screw him and I’m doing nothing about it.”

  “Yes.”

  "Because…" she pressed her lips together and then admitted, "I guess I don't really think she's that dangerous. I just… don't like her."

  “Why?”

  “Can we talk about something else?” she asked suddenly. “This is…” she waved her hands as though warding something off, “an awful lot about Michael.”

  Dr. West held her gaze for a long moment, then finally nodded. “Sure. Wake up, Faith.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “You fell asleep. Faith, can you hear me? It’s Michael.”

  “Michael?”

  “Faith.”

  She started and swiped with her hand. Michael jumped backward, narrowly avoiding a fingernail to the eye. He lifted his hands cautiously in case Faith decided on a more dangerous attack. “You awake?”

  Faith straightened and looked around. She was sitting in a chair in a conference room at the Sioux City Police Department headquarters. Turk was curled up on the floor next to her. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Yeah. How long was I out?”

  “Seven hours, give or take.”

  “Seven hours?" She looked outside, and the bright sunlight filtering through the windows told her that she had slept through the night. "Why didn't anyone wake me?"

  “Maybe they wanted to keep their eyesight,” he deadpanned. “Honestly, you looked so comfortable, I just told them to leave you alone. You were exhausted and you needed your rest.”

  “Did you sleep?” she asked, a little peevishly.

  “Yeah, I crashed in one of the jail cells.”

  “You slept in a jail cell.”

  “Yeah. Why not? It has a bed, a toilet, a pillow and a blanket. What’s wrong with that? It’s more comfortable than sitting slumped over in a chair.”

  “I thought you said you thought I was comfortable.”

  “I said you looked comfortable,” he clarified. “I’m sure you were really uncomfortable the whole night.”

  “Well,” she said, grimacing as she worked a kink out of her neck. “I was. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “So did he get back to you?”

  She blinked. “Who?”

  “The Boss. Did he get back to you?”

  She blinked again, then snapped her eyes to her laptop. It sat on the table, open. The screen was asleep, but when Faith touched the mousepad, it woke up and revealed an email thread between her and the Boss. She reddened slightly, closed the email and shut the laptop. “No,” she said simply.

  “You know what he’s going to say.”

  “So why are we talking about it?” she said, standing. “Let’s focus on this case.”

  She reached for the door, and he put his hand on it and stood in front of her. “That’s kind of my point. The Boss has made it clear to you time and time again that you’re not to be involved in the Copycat Killer case, but you’re emailing him asking him for details and leads.”

  “Yeah, he beat me and Turk both unconscious, killed Gordon and threatened you and David,” Faith said curtly. “Excuse me if I’m a little invested in it.”

  “Except you’re not a little invested. You’re completely invested. You’re obsessed.”

  Faith reached for the door handle, but Michael put his weight into the door and held it closed. “Faith, this affects more than just you. I need you focused on this case, the one we’re solving right now, not the case where your involvement means the end of your career.”

  Faith met his eyes and said darkly. “Let go of the door.”

  Michael’s own expression darkened. “Faith, we might not be friends anymore, but we are partners, and I need you focused. If you can’t focus on this case, do me the courtesy of letting me know now so I can call Philadelphia and ask for a replacement.”

  Faith’s stomach lurched at his words. She had suspected for a while that their friendship would eventually end if things continued the way they were, but hearing him say it aloud, confirming her worst fears, nearly collapsed her. She looked away from him so he wouldn’t see her lips tremble. When she was in control of herself, she looked back at him and said, “I am in control. I am focused. I am, have been, and will continue to do my job. I am also interested in the progress of the manhunt for the man who hurt me and Turk, killed my friend and threatened to kill my other friends, but in spite of that, I am still focused on the task at hand. Forgive me for sending an email.”

  “Okay,” Michael said, lifting his hand off the door. “Then my advice as your partner is to not ask the Boss for this information. At this point, Faith, he’s looking for a reason. You understand?”

  If I thought another SAC would do a better job of reining you in, I would have transferred you years ago.

  I know you’re not going to let go. The only way that happens is if I charge you and imprison you.

  I’m not there yet. But I will get there.

  Faith lowered her eyes and nodded. “I understand.”

  “All right.”

  He backed off, and Faith left the conference room. She ran into a half-dozen uniforms on her way to the break room. All of them avoided her eyes.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee, cursing when her trembling left hand caused her to scald herself. She flexed her right wrist, grimacing through the pain. It was stronger than it was yesterday, but still too weak to be useful.

  I know we’re not friends anymore…

  She reached for the coffee mug and missed the handle, knocking the cup over and spilling boiling coffee all over the floor. Some of it splashed onto her thigh, staining her pants and scalding her once more. “Dammit!”

  She stepped back and favored her burning leg. Tears welled in her eyes, tears of frustration and anger and pain.

  “Dammit.”

  She took three deep breaths, then got some paper towels and started cleaning the mess. When she finished, she steadied herself and reached for the coffee pot again.

  “I got it,” Michael said.

  She turned to see him entering the breakroom. He offered her a slightly sad smile and poured her a mug. “Here you go. Black like your soul.”

  A memory came to her mind, sharp, clear and unbidden, of the first time he had said that to her. It was the morning after they had finally given in to their attraction, weeks of flirting and teasing finally culminating in frenzied passion and release. She had woken up in his bed and come to the kitchen to find him cooking breakfast. At the time, no one had ever done that before, and the smell of the bacon and coffee combined with the ridiculous sailboat boxers he wore was, to Faith, the pinnacle of romance and pleasant domesticity.

  He had smiled at her and said, “Good. You’re awake. I made us coffee. The beautiful cappuccino with perfect microfoam is mine. The liquid representation of your black and bitter soul is yours.”

  That was the moment she decided she loved him, and for that moment, she was absolutely certain that they would spend the rest of their lives together.

  Back in the present, she took the mug he offered and managed a “thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said, “I’ve gotten used to carrying you.” He lifted his hand and quickly clarified. “Joking. That was a joke.”

  She managed a transient half-smile and sipped her coffee. It was indeed black and very, very bitter.

  “I talked to Dr. Heath and Sergeant Forster while you were asleep,” Michael said, preparing his own coffee. “They’ve searched thirty percent of the abandoned shelters and silos in the region so far.”

  “Is that good?”

  “They seem to think it is. I get the impression that farms out here are just allowed to sit and rot. Demolition is not something that matters much when you have a population density of six per square mile.”

 

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