Brutal Discoveries (13 page)

“You looked shattered, sweetheart,” Aden murmured into my hair.  He was in my office, holding me in his arms, rubbing my back tenderly with his fingers. 

“I am,” I mumbled against his solid chest.  It was only lunchtime, but I was exhausted.  I had managed to steal a few moments away from the counter with Aden while the girls held down the fort, but I knew I would have to get back out there soon.

“Come and eat before the food gets cold,” he said, flicking his eyes to the bag of Chinese food he brought. 

“’Kay.”

We ate the noodles and vegetables with crispy chicken from the cardboard containers with the chopsticks supplied.  I wasn’t very hungry to start with, but once the delicious flavors burst on my taste buds, I ate my entire serving and mopped up the remaining sauce with an egg roll. 

“How are you feeling about everything, Scarlett?” Aden asked when he tossed our trash in the bin.

I sighed wearily.  “Drained,” I replied.  “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this emotionally exhausted in my life.”

“It’ll get better, baby.  I promise.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Now, come and give your man a kiss,” he ordered.  I went to him willingly without argument.  I planted my ass into his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck before kissing him soft and deep.  Our lips moved together in a well-rehearsed symphony, never losing beat, always in a matching rhythm.  His tongue slid inside my mouth and I welcomed him eagerly.  This kiss wasn’t about the lead up to sex, it was about passion, about consuming each other, and about saying everything that needed to be said without actually speaking.  When our kiss gradually came to an end, I pulled back and smiled a small smile.  My heart was feeling less bruised and aching in a way I truly enjoyed.

“I better get back to work,” I murmured regretfully.  If I didn’t have a bakery full of customers, I would have gladly stayed right where I was for all eternity… or at least until Aden got pins and needles in his legs from me sitting on them.

“I’ve got a night shift tonight.  Sleep at my loft tonight?”

“Sounds good.”  I nodded.

“You’ll need this,” he said as he reached into the pocket of his jeans and fumbled around before pulling out a keycard.  The keycard to his loft.

My smile turned broad and I took it from him, clutching it in my hands like it was precious jewel.

“Thanks, honey.  I’ll walk you out.”  I stood and waited for him to follow me, and then I took his hand and walked him out through the kitchen and around the front counter.  “Do you want anything to take with you? A snickerdoodle and coffee?”

He shook his head and then smirked.  “If you’ve got any leftovers, I might enjoy a midnight snack when I get home from work, though.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said through a grin.

He touched his lips to mine and then to my nose and then to my forehead.  “See you tonight, sweetheart.”

“Okay, Aden,” I breathed.

His eyes found mine and they had that look in them that I had seen in my bathroom the night before, but more than that, they were soft, melty, and so full of tender adoration, I felt my throat constrict.

“I love you, Scarlett,” he whispered gruffly.

Then he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there trying to catch the breath he had just stolen. 

Aden West loved me.  He said the words out loud.

He.

Loved.

Me!

I could have busted out the most amazing happy dance right there in my doorway if I didn’t have a group of elderly ladies waiting for me to move so they could come inside.  With a goofy beaming smile, I apologized and held them doors open for them.

He loved me!

“He loves me,” I blurted, still smiling ridiculously large.

“Of course he does,” one of the ladies agreed, a knowing smile on her face.

Floating on air, I walked back behind the counter and got back to work, but before I did that, I stashed half a dozen snickerdoodles in a box for Aden.

***

I was curled up on Aden’s cloud-like couch when my phone started to ring.  I put down the magazine I was trying – and failing – to read, and answered the call.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, darling,” she responded hesitantly.  “How are you?”  My poor mother sounded incredibly scared, frail even.  I could tell she was fearful of how their revelation had affected me, and I hated that she was feeling that way.

“I’m okay, Mom.  It’s a lot to take in, but I’ll be fine,” I tried to assure her, but even to my own ears, I could tell I was failing. 

“We’re worried, Scarlett,” she admitted, and I could hear she was fighting back tears.

“Has Scarlett always been my name?” I blurted.

“Yes, of course,” she responded with conviction.  “Why do you ask?” She sounded perplexed.

“I guess I just wasn’t sure if you and dad changed my name when you adopted me or not.”

“Darling, you were three when we brought you home.  You knew your name.  You weren’t a newborn baby, but a toddler who could not only say her name, but could also almost
write
it,” she boasted proudly.

“Really?” I gaped.  “I could write my name when I was three?”

“Mm-hmm.  Of course it wasn’t totally legible, but you could make out each letter if you concentrated.”

“Wow.  I was awesome even back then,” I muttered.  Mom laughed through the phone and I felt the mood lighten significantly.

“The only thing we changed was your surname,” she admitted.  “We want you to know that you can come to us at any time, with any questions you may have, no matter how large or small, and we’ll do our best to answer them.  We understand this is confusing for you, and the truth is, Scarlett, we would have happily gone the rest of our lives never revealing the truth to you.  That might be a selfish or unwise act on our behalf, but it’s the honest truth.  However, now the truth is on the table, and it’s up to your father and me to make sure we support you through this tumultuous time so we can all come out the other side of this storm together, and stronger than ever.”

“I love you, Mom,” I whispered, my throat clogged with unshed emotion.

“I love you, too, Scarlett.  So much,” she replied fervently.

***

I must have fallen asleep on the couch.  I was jostled awake when Aden lifted me into his arms.

“What time is it?” I mumbled sleepily.

“Two a.m.  Go back to sleep, baby,” he replied. 

I touched my tongue to his neck and he growled throatily.  “You’re so yummy.  If I could turn your taste into a cookie, I would totally do that,” I rambled.  Clearly I was in that place where I was half asleep and half awake, and couldn’t control my filter. 

He chuckled.  “Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm.  I’d sell them at my bakery… or maybe I’d even give them away to customers who wanted to know what heaven tasted like,” I sighed dreamily.

“You’d need to make your own flavor into a cookie for them to experience heaven, baby,” he countered before nibbling on my neck.  “Now, go to sleep before I bury my face in your pussy,” he rasped.  My clit pulsed in excitement but I was oh-so tired.

Aden laid me into his bed and then he touched his mouth to mine briefly and when he pulled away, I ran my tongue over my lips, tasting the familiar sugar and cinnamon flavor of my snickerdoodles. 
Next week, I would make pumpkin snickerdoodles for Thanksgiving.
  That was my final, very random thought before sleep claimed me once again.

I woke with a start, forgetting where I was for a brief moment before I gathered my bearings.  Aden’s bed.  Aden’s loft.  Aden was wrapped around me like a comforting blanket.

Shit!
  I forgot to set the alarm.  It was four forty.  I was running forty minutes behind.  Dammit!  I quickly got dressed, forgoing a shower and coffee.  The latter I could get at the bakery and the former I took care of the night before, so I was good.  I tugged on my sneakers, planted a light kiss on Aden’s soft with sleep forehead, and snagged my handbag as I was racing out the door.  I forgot to leave him a note, but he would know where I was.  I jogged to work, which my body screamed in rejection at. However, I consoled myself with knowing I could eat an extra spoonful of cookie dough that morning because I had burned off more calories by running instead of walking. 

I was still running behind, but not by too much, when the girls walked in.  I was running around my kitchen like a headless chicken, flour coated the entire counter, there was dough in my hair, frosting on my cheek, and half of a Mars bar between my lips.

“Are those Mars bar cookies?” Ella asked, licking her lips.

I nodded, still chewing the chocolate bar.

“Yum,” Macy groaned.

“What the fuck happened in here?” Sammi gasped as she caught sight of the kitchen.

“I’m running late,” I mumbled unapologetically as I pulled a tray of perfectly soft chocolate chip cookies from the oven.

“We’ll leave you to it, then,” Macy said, turning to leave.  The girls nodded and followed her, with Ella lagging behind momentarily to sneak a Mars bar cookie.

I stayed in the kitchen for most of the morning, catching up on my baking and making sure the cases were kept full of fresh baked goodies for my customers.  When Ella took her lunch break, she did it in the kitchen with me, and she took the opportunity to ask me if everything was okay.  She was my best friend and I hadn’t had the chance to fill her in about the godawful turn of events that had transpired in my life.  So while I was rolling more snickerdoodle dough balls, I gave her the headline news version of the past week of my life.

“Ho-
ly
fuck,” she gasped when I was finished.  “Oh, babe… I don’t even know what to say.  I’m shocked… I can’t imagine how you’re feeling.  Are you okay?  Of course you’re not okay.  I’m sorry.  I don’t know what to say,” she rambled as she pulled me into her arms and hugged me tightly.

“I’ll be fine,” I mumbled into her neck.  “Truth is, I’ve been trying not to think about it too much.”

“Ignorance is bliss,” she agreed with a light laugh.  “But seriously, though, you know I’m here for you.  I know Sammi and Macy would agree with me, babe.  We’re
all
here for you,” she stressed. 

“Thanks, Els.”  I hugged her a little tighter. 

“Now, I’ve got five minutes left of my lunchbreak before my boss starts riding my ass, so you need to tell me how things are going with Hashtag Hottie.”

I laughed at her use of his nickname, a name I hadn’t referred to him by since we started dating.  “Things are going good.  Really good.”  I paused.  I wanted to tell her that he told me he loved me, but part of me wanted to keep that to myself for a just little while longer.  “I’m really falling for him,” I confided.

“I’m happy for you, Scar,” she replied softly.

“What about you and Hashtag Dreamy?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t know.  He’s fallen off the face of the earth.” She shrugged lightheartedly, but I could tell she was upset about it. 

“Aden told me he’s out of town for a couple of weeks,” I mentioned.

“Well, that makes sense,” she grumbled.  “We only slept together that one time after that night at Marsden’s Bar, and I’ve barely seen him since.”  She shrugged nonchalantly, but I could tell she was affected by the situation.  I hoped she and Will worked it out, because I thought they would be an amazing couple. 

Standing outside the prison gates, I felt the same trepidation I felt the very first time I arrived here.  But that time my anxiety stemmed from a whole new source.  I wasn’t nervous about what would await me on the inside of the walls or stringent security checks I would have to go through.  My stomach churned as I inhaled a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.  I passed through security without issue and then completed the visitor log book and clipped my tag onto my shirt.

Damon sat in his usual seat, and the instant my eyes landed on him, my heart began stammering in my chest.  My legs felt like jelly as I moved across the room to the rectangular wooden table he was seated at.

“Scarlett,” he said with a nod when I pulled the plastic chair out and sat down.

“Hi, Damon,” I replied softly, my voice shaky.

“Everything okay?”

“Sure,” I automatically answered.  “Actually, no it’s not,” I sighed in defeat.  “Something has happened,” I begin cautiously.  “I found out something about my past.”  With a deep breath, I decide to just come out with it. 
Like ripping off a Band-Aid
.  “Damon, I need you tell me about the circumstances that led to you being caught by the police.”

He blinked once, gave me a weary look, and then shrugged one shoulder before opening up his notebook.  Then he started to read.

DAMON

It was winter.  Cold as fuck.  Nighttime.  Damon had been edgy for weeks and he couldn’t slow his thoughts down enough for him to process each individual one.  This meant his mind was in a constant scramble and it was playing havoc with his everyday life.  Damon’s parents were never far from the front of his mind.  It seemed the more he tried
not
to think of them, the more he
did
think of them.  He began spending all of his time in the shed in his backyard, obsessing over ways to murder two people who were already dead. 

Sandy noticed the change in her husband, and rather than let him be, she started to question him.  She tried to get him to open up.  She begged him to talk to her, but Damon knew if he polluted her soul with the gruesome truth of who he really was, never again would she shine that beautiful smile of hers.  That light in her eyes would be forever dimmed.  And Damon didn’t want that. 

“Damon,
please
talk to me.  You’ve changed so much lately and I’m really worried about you,” Sandy beseeched.

“Leave me be,” Damon ordered tersely.

“You need to talk to me!  You’re spending all of your time in this shed, and you’re drinking heavily,” Sandy’s voice had risen to a shout.  “Just talk to me, dammit. 
Talk to me!”

Rage filled Damon’s veins.  He felt his neck bulge as his shoulders constricted.  He stood to his full height, puffing out his chest in fury.

“Don’t. Fucking.
YELL
. At me!” he roared.  Fear washed over Sandy’s face and she shrunk into the wall, but all Damon could see was red.  He stalked toward her and gripped her by the throat, lifting her petite frame clear off the ground.  She struggled against his hold, kicking her legs and twisting her body.  Fear shined bright in her eyes as her cheeks turned from pale to bright red.

“D-Damon.  Da…mo…nn,” she gasped.  Her nails dug into his wrists as she thrashed, silently begging for him to release his tightening grip.

“I warned you,” he snarled.  “I told you to shut up, and you just didn’t fucking listen.”  Spittle sprayed over her face as he spoke the words sinisterly quiet.

Her cheeks morphed from bright red to dark purple and her scared eyes started to bulge.  In the deepest recess of his brain, Damon momentarily considered dropping his hand, but as quickly as the thought entered his mind, it left and was replaced by the terrified image of his mother.  He squeezed harder.  Damon’s knuckles turned white.

“You never gave a shit about me!  Always thinkin’ about your next hit, never about your fuckin’ kid who was cravin’ your attention, begging to be fuckin’ loved by his mother.”  Damon was shouting his hate-filled words to his wife while picturing his mother.  He had lost all ability to see the world clearly. 

“Damon,” Sandy gasped.  His wrists began to bleed from her nails.  He didn’t feel the pain from that.  He didn’t feel the pain from anything.  All he felt was hate. 

“Why?  Why?  Why?  You couldn’t even love your own kid?  Why?”  He was cursing and yelling, so deep in his own darkness he couldn’t dig himself out to see that he was draining the life from the only person who had ever shone light on him.  When Sandy’s lifeless body slumped to the cold cement ground in his dingy shed, the real world gradually came into focus and Damon realized what he had done.  He stumbled backward, hitting the wall behind him and collapsing to the ground, his head in his hands, his heart bleeding with remorse and regret for the life he had just taken.

Sitting there on the cold cement floor, on a chilly winter evening, Damon hung his head and let salty wet emotion trickle from his eyes. 

Neighbors had heard the commotion, Sandy’s tortured cries, and Damon’s shouting.  Minutes later, four police cruisers arrived at the house, their sirens screaming, the red and blue lights illuminating the dark night.  Damon stayed seated, his head still down, his tears still falling. 

The policemen were shouting at him, their guns drawn, their flashlights bright, but Damon remained seated, his tears still flowing.

“Damon Salt, you’re under arrest for the murder of Sandy Salt.  You have the right to remain silent, anything you say or do, can and will be held against you in the court of law.  You have the right to an attorney.  If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you.”  Heavy metal cuffs were snapped around his wrists.

Damon didn’t feel fear, knowing he was arrested, knowing he would be going to prison, knowing his free life was done.  Damon felt relief.

“Let me see my kid. 
Please
.” Damon’s voice was hoarse when he begged the officer for one last moment with his daughter.  He knew he would never see her again, but acknowledging that truth would bring him to his knees.  He needed to say goodbye.  “She’s in the house,” he added.

The officer gave him a steely look and a sharp nod, before following Damon up the path and inside to where his daughter sat Indian-style on the floor, watching a Disney movie.  Damon knelt down beside her and leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

“Daddy loves you, Scarlett.  Be a good girl.”

“Okay, Daddy,” she replied innocently, her eyes still watching the Dalmatians on the screen.  Thankfully, she was oblivious to the devastating situation surrounding her.  She was just three years old, and Damon prayed she would be too young to ever remember the brutal circumstances of that night.

***

Seated across from Damon in the well-lit interview room at the police station were two male police officers.  One was older, greying hair, glasses, and a moustache.  The other looked not much older than Damon’s twenty-four years, and he was taking notes in a small flip notepad.  The older officer asked Damon about the events of the night and Damon didn’t hold anything back.  He told them everything.  Then, to the surprise of both officers, Damon went on to tell them about the rapes, murders, and thefts he had committed over the years.  Like verbal vomit, unstoppable from years of swallowing it down, he let it fly out.  When he started, he couldn’t stop, and at the very end of his longwinded confession, Damon only had one question for the officers.  He wasn’t concerned about what would happen to him, how many years he would get in prison, or whether he would ever be free.  There was only one person that mattered to him now.

“What will happen to my daughter?”

“Does she have any living relatives?” the young officer asked.

“Her grandmother.  Sandy’s mother,” Damon clarified. 

“If the child’s grandmother is willing and able to provide care, she will be granted custody.  If she cannot, your daughter will be placed in the care of the state.”

Damon loved his daughter, more than he had ever loved anyone in his life, and he wanted good for her.  He wanted her to have a wonderful life.  He didn’t want a trailer park upbringing with a grandmother who, as it was, had to work eighty hour weeks in a bar just to keep herself and her not-so-secret weed addiction afloat.  What would happen to Scarlett during the day while her grandmother slept, or at night when her grandmother worked?

With a bolster of steely determination, Damon decided to do one thing right in his life.

“I want to call a lawyer,” he told the officers.

Damon was remanded in custody, and the following day he had a visit from a lawyer he had procured.  He explained everything in gruesome detail to Barnaby Straus, the professional who Damon hoped would be able to help him.  He didn’t choose Barnaby because he was good at keeping people from prison, that wasn’t Damon’s concern.  He wanted Straus to focus on making sure his daughter didn’t end up in the care of her grandmother.  He passed along Sandy’s mother’s address and asked Barnaby to pay her a visit, perhaps try to convince her she wasn’t the best person for the job of raising Scarlett. 

For two long weeks, Damon sat in his cell, waiting to hear back from Barnaby Straus.  With every day that passed, Damon became more and more anxious.  Not knowing where his daughter was, if she was safe, what the courts had decided… he didn’t know anything and he hated it.  Whatever punishment was bestowed to him, he knew he deserved.  But his kid, she deserved nothing but the best, and the last thing Damon wanted was his daughter suffering from the life choices he had made. 

When Barnaby Straus visited again, he came bearing good news.  Sandy’s mother had decided on her own accord that she wasn’t the best person for the job of raising Scarlett.  Not only did she know her work hours and low pay would mean she wouldn’t be able to provide financially, physically, and emotionally for Scarlett, she also knew the process the courts would take would lead them to finding out about her weed habit.  That was something she didn’t want known.  Straus informed Damon that Scarlett would be relinquished to the state and adopted by a suitable family.  Straus had connections with an adoption advocate named Gail, who was not only the best at her job and had the record to prove it, she also had the perfect family lined up to adopt Scarlett.  A childless couple who had a good home, a good marriage, and who would give Damon’s daughter a great life.  Just like he wanted her to have. 

Straus also informed Damon a hearing date had been set for his crimes.  After Damon and Straus discussed the details of the upcoming trial, Damon confirmed he would be pleading guilty.  Straus reiterated that he would receive life in prison since Wisconsin didn’t have the death penalty.  Damon was considered a threat to society and a flight risk, so applying for bail would be fruitless.  Damon didn’t care.  His fate had been sealed.  He knew it.  He accepted it.

As Straus stood to leave, Damon had just one more favor to ask him.

“There’s a box in my shed.  Can you get it and put it in storage for me?” Damon asked the grey-haired Straus. 

The man nodded, however, he appeared regretful.  “I’m sure the police have been through and retrieved anything of value, Mr. Salt.”

Damon had accepted that as a possibility, still he told Straus where the locked box was buried deep in the soil beneath his shed.

With his knowledge that his daughter was going to be taken care of, Damon awaited the day he would come before the judge.  That day came at the beginning of December, 1990, just weeks before his daughter would be spending her first Christmas with her brand new family.  Damon didn’t know if she was happy, but he had to trust that she was, and that both Barnaby Straus and Gail, the adoption advocate, had done their job properly. 

It wasn’t a surprise to Damon when the judge sentenced him to life without parole for the murders and rapes of his fifteen victims.  As Damon stood and prepared for the bailiffs to transport him to South Glenn prison where he would serve his sentence, Straus quietly whispered in his ear that he had retrieved the box for Damon and had it safely stored at a facility.

Damon exhaled in relief.  The items in that box had no value to anyone except Damon.

And, his daughter too, he hoped, if one day she ever found herself visiting him at South Glenn.