Unseen (Nell Brach Book 2), page 11
I smile. “She’s pretty. She has your eyes.”
He keeps staring at it. I keep it held up.
Gradually, Rylan’s happiness fades. He glances up at the clock hanging behind me. His chest rises with a deep breath. He sits back. His leg resumes bouncing. I put the photo away.
He says, “I have to wear a diaper. They’ll give me three needles. First is the sedative. The second paralyzes. The third stops my heart. I’ll be restrained nearly thirty minutes before that with an IV of saline. I’ll probably piss myself during those thirty minutes. Hell, I’ll probably crap myself too. Between needles two and three, I’ll be aware I’m not breathing. But I won’t be able to react. If I haven’t already crapped myself, this is when I will. My muscles will cramp. Then, my brain will die.”
I’m aware I’m not breathing.
He keeps going, “Before needle one, I’ll be allowed to say my last words. I don’t know if I will. I doubt it. There’ll be a spiritual advisor. They asked me who I wanted. I didn’t care. They gave me a priest. I mean, if it were you, would you care?”
I take my first breath. My throat is raw and dry when I speak. “No.”
“If the person I killed had family members coming, they’d be put in a separate room. That’s a moot point in this case. The actual viewing of me will only be ten minutes if that. They won’t show all the ‘fun’ behind-the-scenes things. The media will be there. I heard Bacote’s coming.”
“H-he’s here already.”
“Afterward, a spiritual advisor will be available for healing and trauma support,” he says in a conversational tone like he’s talking about the weather outside and not his upcoming death.
The guard opens the door. “Let’s go, Rylan. Time for your lasagna.”
He stands, looking at me through the thick Plexiglas. “Will you come back and keep talking to me?”
I swallow. “Yes.”
FORTY-FOUR
Friday, 8 p.m.
In the waiting room, a guard approaches. He hands me an unsealed white envelope. “For Rylan’s daughter.”
My hands are unsteady when I take it.
The guard walks away.
I don’t know how long I stand here staring at this envelope, but I’m sure as hell not reading the letter. Not right now at least.
My phone rings. It’s Vaughn. Just seeing his name relaxes me. “Hey,” I say, my mouth dry.
“Checking in. How are you holding up?”
I try to swallow but I have no saliva. On the other side of the waiting room sits Captain Bacote and one person from the local media. That’s it. Two people in total to witness Rylan’s last breath. “I’m going to be sick,” I whisper.
“You’re okay. Stay on the phone with me. Close your eyes. Center yourself. Breathe.”
I do.
Weird enough, I hear the fluorescent bulbs. It’s impossible, but I swear I smell the lasagna.
“I wish I was there with you,” Vaughn says.
“Yeah.” I turn away from the captain and the reporter. “Anything on Skye? Anything on the stay?”
“Nothing yet.”
My voice comes quiet. “Do you think we’ll get it?”
“I hope so.”
FORTY-FIVE
Friday, 8:45 p.m.
“Did you know I wasn’t there when Mackenzie was born?” Rylan asks. “I was working. I didn’t even know Cathy was in labor.”
Somewhere between my last visit and this one, they cranked on the air. It’s freezing in here. Yet, a bead of sweat trails the side of his face. I watch it until it disappears under his chin.
“Paige was there. She gave me all the details. So many details that I felt as if I was there as well.” His gaze flits to the clock hanging over my shoulder.
I don’t need to look to know that we have one more hour until they take him away for good.
“Did you enjoy the lasagna?” I ask, knowing what a stupid freaking question that is.
“Tell me about your family,” he says, instead of answering my asinine query.
A tremor runs through my body. Rylan notices.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
“It’s okay. Tell me about your family.”
“Um…my family.” Focus, Nell, focus. “My brother, Tyler, I’m raising him. Mom was incarcerated, so I’m his guardian.”
“Is she still in?”
“She spent seven years locked up, but she’s out now.” I don’t tell people my personal shit, yet somehow it spills from me. “Tyler’s a teenager. We live in our grandfather’s old house. But I have a feeling that’s about to change.”
“Why is that?”
“My estranged father just walked back into our lives. He proposed to my mother and she said yes. He wants the whole family to move back to Georgia. That’s where the two of them met.”
“What do you think about that?”
“Well, my brother wants to. He’s my world, so I’ll probably go. But—” I shrug— “I’m waiting for the other shoe to fall, or however the saying goes.”
“Waiting for the other shoe to drop. And why is that?”
“It’s my father’s M-O. He’s not exactly reliable. He’s in my life, out, in, but mostly out.”
“Everyone deserves a second chance, your father included.”
Everyone deserves a second chance. I’ve heard that many times before. It usually goes in one ear and right out the other. But now, at this moment, it sticks. This man is about to die and those are his words to me. Everyone deserves a second chance.
We talk some more about my life, his, travel, food, and various other things. I even manage to forget I’m conversing with a man who is set to soon die. Every once in a while I glance over to the door that leads into the waiting room, willing Captain Bacote to appear and tell us the stay has been granted.
But the door stays fully closed.
Eventually, time is up.
The guard opens the entry on Rylan’s side of our small room. He stands and puts his arms behind his back. The guard cuffs him.
“Would you be there for me?” Rylan quietly asks.
“What, in the room?”
“Yeah, in the room.”
One very long moment creeps by. The guard doesn’t move. Rylan doesn’t move. I don’t move. I don’t think any of us even breathe. Somewhere deep in the crevices of my brain, I was expecting that question. I was hoping it wouldn’t be asked, but I was expecting it.
Vaughn’s words come back to me. Rylan’s going to look out though and see a comforting face.
My legs wobble as I come to my feet. How is he so steady? “Yes, I’ll be there.”
With a nod, Rylan and the guard leave.
On my side of the Plexiglas, the waiting room door opens. I whip around, hope surging through me. My heart suspends beating. One look at Captain Bacote’s face tells me the answer.
“No.”
He shakes his head.
“No!”
I lose it. My scream echoes off the walls. It knifes through the air. My heart beats so roughly it stabs the inside of my chest wall. My breaths come quickly. Too quickly. My fingers curl into a fist. I look for anything to punch and end up slamming my knuckles into the Plexiglas.
Once. Twice.
And I keep punching and slapping until a smear of blood appears and a guard makes me leave.
FORTY-SIX
Friday, 11:54 p.m.
I now sit in the viewing room with Captain Bacote on my left and a male reporter on my right. Three people total. That’s it. The remaining seven chairs are empty. Straight ahead a heavy blue curtain covers a glass pane.
I’ll be restrained nearly thirty minutes before that with an IV of saline. I’ll probably piss myself during those thirty minutes. Hell, I’ll probably crap myself too.
My gaze darts to the clock. In under a minute that curtain will open. I’ll come face-to-face with Rylan. I draw in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly.
Captain Bacote leans in. “You okay?”
What an idiotic question. No, I’m not okay. I’m about to watch an innocent man be executed. To the right of me, the reporter waits, a notepad and pen in his lap. He’s calm. Almost bored. How many of these does he go to, I wonder.
The curtain opens. My heart stops. Dressed in all white and with an IV in his arm, Rylan’s strapped to a table that is propped up at an angle. In the room with him are the warden, a guard, a doctor, and a priest.
I have to wear a diaper.
It’s a ridiculous thought, but I hope he didn’t lose his bowels. I hope he has at least that final dignity to hold onto.
The practice of injecting one or more drugs into a person for the express purpose of causing rapid death.
On a silver table next to the IV stand are three syringes. My eyes go from them to Rylan’s. He’s looking right at me. I will maintain eye contact with him from here on out.
In my periphery, I see a phone on the wall. The warden checks the time.
Then he looks through the glass at the three of us. “Let me remind you photography is not permitted and you are required to remain silent throughout. There will be no entering or exiting until this is completed. Upon pronouncement of death, you will be escorted back to the waiting room to collect your belongings.”
The warden turns to Rylan. “Rylan Scott, be it known you have pled guilty for the crime of murder in the first degree of Paige Bell. I am hereby authorized to cause the sentence of death to be executed upon you at this time. Would you like to make a final statement, Mr. Scott?”
Rylan’s body trembles. “Just…just get it over with.”
My hands fist so tightly I feel the strain in my neck.
The warden nods to the guard. He lowers the table. I keep my gaze fastened on Rylan’s until I no longer can.
The warden glances at the clock. He stares at it until it ticks down. When it does, he nods to the doctor.
The doctor picks up the first syringe. He connects it to the hub of Rylan’s IV line. Slowly, he pushes the medication in.
First is the sedative.
Rylan’s eyes flutter close. I’m not a person who prays, but I do now that he’s disappearing into that memory of tickling his daughter.
His body stops trembling.
Once the sedation syringe is empty, the doctor places it back on the tray and picks up number two.
The second paralyzes.
The doctor repeats, connecting the syringe to the hub and slowly pushing the medication in. Once it’s empty, he places the syringe back on the tray. He picks up number three.
Between needles two and three, I’ll be aware I’m not breathing. But I won’t be able to react. If I haven’t already crapped myself, this is when I will. My muscles will cramp. Then, my brain will die.
Like earlier, I realize I’m not breathing. My mouth opens. I draw in a breath. My heart thumps in my fingers, my neck, and through every vein intricately weaving through my body. It reminds me that I’m alive.
The doctor connects the last syringe. Slowly, he pushes the liquid in.
The third stops my heart.
FORTY-SEVEN
Saturday, 7 a.m.
I run faster than I’ve ever run before. My long legs eat up the trail. My lungs burn. Sweat drips. My vision warbles.
Still, I push harder.
I pass one trail runner. Then another. And another. The seconds tick to minutes. I erupt from the trail into a grassy meadow. I come to an abrupt stop. A large white pine stands alone, towering fifty feet into the air. I’ve seen this pine many times and have run past it with barely a look.
This time I walk to it. My chest rises and falls with heavy breaths. I step into its shadow. I reach up. Slowly I run my fingers across the stiff green needles.
It feels like life.
When I pull into my driveway, Vaughn’s leaning up against his Mini Cooper checking his phone. He’s already talking when I step from my SUV. “You don’t answer your texts. You don’t return your voicemails. What’s a partner to think?”
“Sorry. I needed to clear my head.” I walk toward my house. “You could’ve waited inside.”
“I knocked. No one answered.”
“Tyler was here when I left to go running.” Inside, I find a note taped to the refrigerator. Went to Starbucks with Dad to visit Mom.
I open the door, grabbing two water bottles. I give one to Vaughn.
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“Okay, I guess.”
Silently, we both drink.
He sits at my kitchen table. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.” I take the seat across from him.
“I’m an asshole,” he says.
“Vaughn, my friend, you are anything but that. Why would you say that?”
“I snapped at Charlotte last night. I was hovering over Lisbeth, hoping for results on Skye when Charlotte called me. She was being her usual sweet self just checking on me, and I took my frustration out on her. We were in that window, waiting to hear back on the stay, waiting for anything on Skye… and I lost it.”
I drink more water. “It happens. Call her today, or go see her. Apologize.”
“I will. She did not deserve my stress.” He fiddles with the cap of his bottle. “Sometimes I think cops are meant to be alone.”
“That’s not true.” Though I have thought those exact words myself.
“What, we can be different?”
I toast my water bottle to his. “Damn straight.”
He sips, pondering me.
“What?”
“We know for a fact Twitch didn’t do Paige. But he’s going down for Cathy. Are you content with the arrest?”
“Hell no, I’m not content. Rylan went down for Paige. Twitch is going down for Cathy. A job well done most would say. Yet I am far beyond satisfied. I’m confident the same person did both women. I feel it in my gut. I don’t want to close the case, but Owens expects us to.”
“I was looking at your grandfather’s boxes that you’re storing at my place. There are a lot of files in those boxes. I didn’t look through them, but please tell me they’re not all cold cases. I’m not sure I can keep doing this job if so many cases go unsolved.”
“The majority of those files are my grandfather’s notes and thoughts. Things he didn’t want to be filed officially. I’d say there are maybe twenty cold cases he never solved. He was a cop for a very long time. That’s a pretty good solve rate.”
“Maybe you and I need to start a box of our own. This will be our first one. Though technically it’s an extension of your grandfather’s.”
We share a resigned smile.
“Okay, rolling with this,” he says. “How did Twitch get that picture of Cathy’s stabbed body? Did he come across her on the trail and take the photo? Did he find the picture in the garbage? He’s adamant that he’s never seen it before. He’s been arrested for murder. Now would be the time to admit if he’d taken it himself or found it. Therefore—”
“Someone planted it on him. Just like someone put the knife in his things.”
“I can’t believe I’m rallying behind Twitch.”
“He needs to go down for about a million things, but not this.”
Vaughn’s phone gets a text. So does mine, but it’s on the other side of the room.
“No way.” He stands, and as he walks toward my front door he says, “Lisbeth finally figured out who Skye is.”
FORTY-EIGHT
Saturday, 8 a.m.
After a quick shower, I drive to the station. In the lobby, I make a brief stop at the receptionist's desk. She visibly cringes when she looks up and sees me.
“Don’t you work the afternoon/evening shift?” I ask.
“Yes. I need the money. I took extra hours.”
This makes me feel even worse. I get right to the point. “I was a dick to you yesterday. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll do better.”
“You’re doing just fine. Know that I’m a very hands-on detective. If anything comes in for me, make sure I get it.”
“Got it.” She nods.
“Thank you.”
When I walk through the security door that leads to the back, I run straight into Sheriff Owens. He does not look happy to see me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Well, for starters, Sergeant Rogers is not filing a formal complaint.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “Isn’t that good news?”
“He said he’s old school. ‘Cops don’t rat on cops,’ were his exact words.”
“Yeah, and?”
“And it doesn’t matter, Nell. You’re still suspended. The whole station witnessed you punch him. That can’t go unpunished.”
“And what about everything he’s thrown my way?”
“Would you like to file a complaint?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “No. When does my suspension start?”
“You’re very unaffected by all of this.”
“Because I am. Rogers is an asshole.”
His lips press tightly. His head shakes. He studies me.
I don’t have time for this, but I stand here, waiting.
“I don’t know what to do with you. Wrap up all the paperwork on Cathy and Twitch, then I don’t want to see you back here for two weeks. Unpaid.”
I should be irritated, annoyed, hell, even furious, but somehow, I’m not. I’m simply indifferent. “Fine.”
Owens lowers his voice. “Rogers wasn’t wrong. I do show you favoritism. That has to stop. It’s not good for either one of our careers. You understand?”
“I do.” I look past his shoulder and into the workroom. I spy Rogers sitting at his desk, staring at me. His nose looks fine. I wish it didn’t. “I’m not apologizing if that’s what you expect.”
“I didn’t say that, did I?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Nell!” From across the room, Vaughn waves me over.
“Go on,” Owens says. “Finish up.”
At the IT desk, Lisbeth has a picture on her screen of a young teenage girl with long straight auburn hair, deep blue eyes, very little makeup, and dressed in a private school uniform. “I was just telling Detective London how sorry I was I didn’t figure this out sooner. I’ve been working around the clock. I promise you I have.”
