Careless Rapture (20 page)

Clay stopped walking and pulled her close. It
was amazing how fast a week could go. “I wish you didn’t have to
leave.”

“Only two more years.”

“Then what?”

“Master’s, maybe, but I’ll stay here.”

He brushed his lips against hers. “I was
hoping you would say that.”

“Why?”

“You know I would never want to get in your
way,” he said, his words coming out awkwardly. “I want you to be
whatever you want to be. I just like having you around.”

“I know. It’s been hard.”

He dug into his pocket. “I bought you
something to take back with you.”

“What?”

He pulled out a little black box and opened
it. It was a ring with a diamond so small she could barely see it.
She thought it was beautiful. “Will you marry me?”

She clasped her hands together, knowing the
importance of his offer. She lifted moist eyes. “But I don’t want
to get married.”

Hurt and disappointment flashed in his eyes.
“What?”

“At least, not yet.”

His eyes fell. “Oh.”

“It’s too soon.”

He shook his head. “Not for me.” He looked at
her, his eyes pleading for her to change her mind. “I know I want
you to be my wife.”

“I’m not ready to be a wife.”

He turned and walked away. She walked
silently beside him. After a moment she said, “But when I am ready,
the only wife I’ll want to be is yours.”

“We love each other, right?”

Pamela nodded.

He stopped walking. “Then say yes. We don’t
have to get married now. Just wear the ring so I know you’re
mine.”

“I don’t need a ring to belong to you.”

“The other guys need to know.”

She folded her arms and tilted her head to
the side. “The other guys know because I tell them. Don’t you trust
me?”

“Yes,” he said, unable to rid himself of the
disappointment inside.

Cedric had a hard time concentrating after
Pamela left. So he wasn’t surprised when he was called into the
manager’s office. However, he was surprised to see Drake there
instead of the manager, Lance. That wasn’t good. “What’s wrong?”
Drake asked him.

“Pamela left yesterday.”

“She’s left before.”

He shifted awkwardly. “I asked her to marry
me and she said no. She’s not ready yet. It sorta put me off my
rhythm.”

“You’re still young.”

“I’m a man.”

Drake nodded. Yes, he was a man and it wasn’t
fair to brush away his pain because he was so many years removed
from this moment. He shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a
little action figure. For reasons he couldn’t understand, Marcus
had a habit of slipping things in his pocket “to keep Daddy
company.” He set the figure on the table, then leaned back in the
chair. “I wish I had something to say to you to make you feel
better, but I don’t. But remember, today’s disappointments may be
tomorrow’s joys. What you want now may need time to simmer like a
good stew before it’s ready. Okay?”

“Okay. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“Fine, then get back to work.” Drake watched
him go, then picked up the action figure and placed it back in his
pocket. For the first time in his life he hoped he’d made a bet he
wouldn’t win.

***

“Did you see Brent’s eye?” Mack asked Clay
the next day. “Someone did us a favor and punched him.”

“He was trying to be smooth with the wrong
woman.”

Mack laughed. “And she punched him?”

“No, her boyfriend did. He makes some bad
decisions, but has he told you his theory on the Amanda
disappearance?”

“That’s she’s a groupie—”

Clay waved his hand. “Forget about that and
think about her leaving.”

“The police are on the case and they’re not
doughnut eating imbeciles,” he said.

“No one is saying they are.”

“Then let them do their job and we do
ours.”

Mack was right, he couldn’t get distracted.
He had other things to figure out. Like Patty’s cards.

***

Jackie sat on her couch, working on a
possible new budget, when the phone rang. She picked up the phone,
happy for the break. “Hello?”

“Still looking for me?” a familiar voice
asked.

She gripped the phone, anxiety creeping up
her spine. “Who is this?”

“You know who I am. You just don’t know my
name.”

Jackie tried to sound glib in an effort to
hide her fear. “Oh, it’s Rumpelstiltskin.”

He laughed. A low, chilling sound. “A sense
of humor. Very nice. Unfortunately, that’s not my name. Melanie
knows it, though. She could help you.”

“I will find out who you are and I will stop
you.”

He clicked his tongue with mock sympathy.
“Such anger. Pity, in someone so young. No wonder Melanie gave me
your number. She wants you to experience the same peace she
has.”

“My peace will come when I find you.”

“Yes, that’s right. However, you will not
find me on your own. Since you’ve made no progress so far, let me
help you. Melanie will tell you who I am if you get to her before
she leaves.”

Jackie’s heart began to race. “Before she
leaves?”

He replied with the dial tone.

Jackie called Clay. “He called me again.”

“What did he say?”

She wrapped the cord around her hand. “He
said I should see Melanie before she leaves.”

“I’ll be right over.”

***

Melanie lived in a section of southeast D.C.
where tourists and most taxis didn’t venture. Jackie and Clay
walked up to the brick complex, where a cracked cement walkway led
a path to Melanie’s first-level front door. Her lawn sprouted more
weeds than grass. Through an open window above, they heard a baby
crying while two adults shouted obscenities at each other. Jackie
knocked on the door. No one replied.

She turned to Clay. “Break it down.”

He glanced around the complex, his sharp eyes
taking in a used needle on the ground and the stripped car, left
like a disregarded skeleton on the street. “She may be out.”

Her tone hardened. “Break down the door or I
will.” Clay looked at Jackie’s stubborn face and smiled. “I’d like
to see you try. It may prove amusing.”

She walked away and then ran toward the door.
He casually held out his hand and stopped her. “Breaking down the
door is only one way,” he said patiently. “But there’s an easier
way.” He pulled out a thin wire and picked the lock. He opened the
door. They found Melanie lying face up next to an empty bottle of
pills.

Jackie rushed to her and checked her vital
signs while Clay called an ambulance. She was still alive, though
barely. “You have to hold on,” she urged, awkwardly cradling
her.

Jackie had faint memories of her mother, kept
alive by photos and the stories her brothers told. One thing she
remembered were her mother’s arms as she lay in bed; they were
skinny, like twigs at her side, and they used to lift her up and
hug her. She remembered creeping into the room one day and laying
her mother’s head in her lap and humming as her mother used to,
hoping that if she could hum enough her mother could get well like
magic tears or a kiss had done in a fairy tale. Jackie felt that
desperation now, wanting some magic act to prevent the death that
was destined. She turned to Clay. “We could try to make her
sick.”

“The drugs are already taking effect.”

“We have to stop them somehow.”

Melanie’s eyes drifted to hers. Eyes once so
clear were now dazed and unfocused. “What for?” she whispered
through cracked lips. “It will come soon—the peace, the rapture.
He’ll come for you, too. He’ll save you.”

“What is his name?”

She smiled weakly. “I told him about you.
You’re like the rest of us.”

Jackie resisted the urge to shake her. “What
is his name?”

“Name?”

“Your adviser. You can tell me now. He told
me so.”

“He did.” she said, uncertain.

“Yes.” She stroked Melanie’s forehead. “It’s
all right now.”

Her face relaxed. She took a deep breath,
then said, “His name is Emmerick …” Her voice died away. A few
seconds later, so did she.

Jackie stared at the wide, sightless eyes.
She turned to Clay, who stood with his hands on his hips and no
readable expression on his face. Her sense of helplessness ignited
into rage. She wanted to scream and shout at him for not stopping
this, for being so busy with other cases that he hadn’t prevented
what had happened. She wanted to pound his chest, cause him some
pain, to get some emotion on his face. At that moment she hated him
for being so calm, for being so distant.

She stood and faced him. “Don’t you
care?”

“Of course I care.”

“Then show it.”

His eyes searched hers. “What do you expect
me to do?”

“Feel something.”

He merely looked at her.

Jackie gripped her hands. “Sometimes
you--”

“Hate me? Do I disgust you with my
heartlessness? Don’t worry, I inspire that in a lot of people, but
I don’t have the luxury of coddling you and trying to make
everything okay. It’s not okay. This world isn’t okay. You’ve seen
death before so you know it exists. People die sometimes by their
own hands. I’m not a hero sometimes I’m too late.”

His words shamed her with their truth. She
could hear the pain in the distant syllables of his words ringing
with the bell of remorse. It was unfair to blame him.

Jackie briefly shut her eyes and took a deep,
steadying breath. “This wasn’t supposed to happen! We were supposed
to save her. She wasn’t supposed to die in this place.” She looked
around at the dirt on the wall; there was the smell of damp carpet
from last week’s rain. Tears filled her eyes. It was a dreadful
place to die, but many people died in places far worse. “I
failed.”

He touched her shoulder. “You didn’t
fail.”

She shrugged his hand away. “Yes, I did.”

“No, you—”

“You don’t call this failure?” She pointed to
Melanie’s lifeless body. “What would you call it? A
miscalculation?”

“She killed herself. You couldn’t have
stopped that.”

“Yes, I could have.”

“Sometimes people have a despair that cannot
be reached. You couldn’t have—”

Jackie pounded her fists against her thighs.
“I needed time. He stole that from me. He killed her and I still
don’t know anything about him. Neither do you.” She studied his
face a moment. “Do you?”

He nodded.

“How long have you known?”

Long enough. He’d met Melanie and realized
she was in pretty deep. It would take a major intervention to
combat the brainwashing. What she said was familiar and in his gut
he knew then who her messenger was.

“His name is Lamont Emmerick. At least,
that’s one of his names. He grew up in Michigan, the second son to
a factory worker and teacher. His parents were happily married. He
graduated from a local Detroit college and made his way west. Lived
in California, then Washington. Never stayed in a place longer than
three years. He had worked as an insurance agent before following
his ‘calling.’”

Jackie’s anger dipped into a dull anger that
radiated in the back of her mind, slowly heating itself as she felt
her limbs tremble. She wanted to shatter something, presently his
face. She could barely get the words through her teeth. “Why didn’t
you tell me this?”

“Because he’s a dangerous man.”

“Did I hire you to be a damn bodyguard? You
bastard. You knew all this time and you didn’t tell me. You let her
die. You’re right—you’re no hero, you’re a traitor.”

“She was in too deep, like a trapped fly in
milk Emmerick isn’t the type of man you can reason with. I didn’t
want you ... I wanted to protect you.”

“I don’t care. You should have told me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

He walked to the window and ran his finger
against the ledge. “Because I hadn’t stopped him,” he said simply,
wiping the dust from his fingertips.

“What do you mean? How could you have stopped
him?”

He captured her eyes. “By killing him the
first time I had a chance.”

Jackie needed
only to look at the shadows in Clay’s eyes to know what he meant;
they almost reached out to her, chilling her heart with their
remote sadness. She slowly fell to her knees, feeling ill. “But she
doesn’t have any marks on her. How could it be the same man who
killed your sister?”

“He only beat his wives. His style hasn’t
changed much. Suicide is the preferred method of peace. I’ll have
to verify a few things.” He disappeared into the next room.

She wished he wasn’t so calm. Didn’t he know
how cold it seemed? She wanted—no, needed—some burst of emotion:
pain, rage, hurt, anything. She, thought of Adriana comparing Clay
to a phantom. What was going on in his mind? “I can get someone
else to help me,” she said when he returned to the room.

He raised a brow. “Are you firing me?”

“Yes.”

“Too bad.”

“Clay—”

“Then let me do my job.”

“You’ve done your. job. Now that I know who
he is—”

Clay spun around so quickly, she jumped.
“You’re going to stay away from him until I say so.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“You’re a smart woman, don’t spite me just
because you don’t like instructions.”

She bristled at his tone. “I—”

“I know what he’s capable of.” He pointed to
Melanie. “This is nothing.”

“He can’t—”

“I want your promise.” He grabbed her arm.
“Promise.”

“You’re hurting me.”

“Promise.”

He released his grip. She rubbed her arm; he
noticed the motion and felt guilty. He reached for her—she stepped
back. “Trust me,” he said.

“Only if you tell me everything from now on.
I don’t need protection from the truth.”