Concealed Affliction (12 page)

I note the silence in the room and glance up at Ryder, who’s now staring intently at me. It’s not pity in his eyes. It almost looks like longing.

“You’re beautiful Elle, so was your little girl.”

I nod my head slowly and try to put his focus back on what’s in front of him.

“That she was. But she’s gone and I’m not that girl anymore. Let’s keep going, I don’t like to look at this shit any longer than I have to.”

He reaches out and places his hand on top of mine.

“You’re you, babe. That’s what I like best. I don’t give a fuck what color your hair is, not then, and not now when I’ve seen who you used to be. Remember that.”

I nod my head in mild understanding, not wanting to make this any more personal than it has to be.

I continue to watch Ryder as he studies the photos intensely, taking notes on a pad he brought with him. I know when he’s getting close to the real ugly, not because I know this file like the back of my hand, but because his breathing has grown heavy.

I look down at the file and see the photo of Cory and Andrew’s bodies lying lifeless on the floor. I see that awful rope, and the filthy blood soaked blanket in the corner. My eyes drift toward the bucket I was given to piss in and I turn my head away.

No matter how long it has been, when I see it, I smell it. It’s like this awful thing that has permeated so deep in my brain that seeing that photo takes me back there.

I can feel the rope on my wrists again, the blood running down my back. I can smell the putrid scent of that goddamn bucket, stale with piss and the man that didn’t shower for three days.

I push back from the table and walk briskly toward the bathroom, not slowing at all, knowing that if my head doesn’t get to the toilet soon, I’m going to have one hell of a mess to clean up.

I make it to the bathroom and fall to my knees, I reach my hands up to try and hold my hair, but two larger hands beat me to it as I empty my stomach of the coffee and toast I consumed this morning.

I don’t want him to see me like this.

Head in the toilet.

Weak.

I don’t have a chance to object because I can’t stop heaving. Everything from today and whatever was left from last night comes up. It’s a torrent of hell that that photo brought back to me and it doesn’t stop until my stomach is completely empty.

Ryder reaches in front of me and puts a cool cloth to my forehead. I take it from him and he begins to rub my back. I’d love nothing more than to put the nightmare on my kitchen table to rest and just have this man hold me for a while so I could sleep it off. But I can’t do that. I need to push forward, no matter how much it pains me to do so.

“Maybe we should take a break, Elle,” Ryder softly says, always seeming to know what I need, even if it’s not technically what I want.

I shake my head.

“No.”

I reach out and flush the toilet, and Ryder helps me stand up. I don’t bother looking at him as I make my way to the sink and proceed to brush my teeth. He stands silently in the doorway, waiting for me.

I rinse out my mouth and wash my hands before looking at him. He’s leaned in the doorway, wearing a dark grey long sleeve shirt and worn out jeans. Dressed—or undressed—Ryder Callaghan is a beautiful sight.

“Let’s finish.”

He gives me a long hard look before nodding and following me back to the table. I stop on the way to get a glass of water before taking my seat.

“His photos of you started near university, is that right?”

I nod my head.

“Yes, but there were only a few from that time. Then there was about a year gap before it started again, and from then on they were pretty consecutive. No more gaps.”

He looks up from his notepad.

“What happened during the first gap? After university?”

It’s not hard to forget, they were some of the best memories of my life.

“The curly haired brunette in some of those photos is my best friend, Laura. We spent close to a year traveling. Everywhere from California to Italy. We’d fly somewhere for a month, spend a few weeks at home and then fly somewhere else. It wouldn’t have been easy to know where I was, unless you were a close friend of mine.”

Ryder nods his head, deep in thought before looking back to the photos and notes.

“Only the photos that are taken with your daughter, or men, are written on. I’m not a profiler Elle, but any idiot could assume that either he has strong religious views and didn’t like the fact that you had a child without being married, or he envisioned himself being the one to give that to you. Did he mention anything about that?”

Not wanting to think back on that time right now, I tell him so.

“I’d prefer if you would just look over that file, and make your own assumptions. Then maybe tomorrow we’ll sit down so I can answer your questions. You’re going to have more than just that one Ryder, and I would rather hash it all out at the same time after you’ve gone over the whole thing.”

Knowing that my suggestion is the best course of action for me right now, he nods his head and gets back to it.

“Sure, beautiful.”

The endearment comes out naturally, but I don’t acknowledge it like I usually would. Purely platonic, and strictly business at the moment is my game plan. I try my best to shut down my emotions and remain at this table like an outsider looking in. Not letting my heart or my head get too caught up in the mess that is my past.

After a short while of silence, watching Ryder go over everything with a fine toothed comb, I get up from the table and head to the fridge in search of the makings for sandwiches. My stomach doesn’t necessarily want food right now, but I know if I don’t eat I’ll pay for it later.

I make us each a chicken club and grab a few bottles of water before sitting back down to eat. Ryder is currently looking over the notes from the forensic team regarding lists of items found in the room.
Steel pipe, two-by-four soaked in blood, four-inch combat knife, etc
. He studies everything with a trained eye, writing a lot of notes down on paper.

I take our empty plates to the counter, knowing what’s about to come. I don’t need to look at it again, I see and feel the proof of it every day. So I don’t turn around when I hear the shattering of glass against the wall, and I don’t follow him when he storms past me to head out the door.

I don’t need to check the file on the table to know which photos he just looked at. I was barely conscious when they asked to take them. The close-ups of my face are not the woman I am today. My eyes were swollen shut and the entire right side of my face is virtually black. My light hair was stained crimson, and I had a feeding tube inserted through my nose because it was impossible to swallow anything thicker than water down my abused throat.

The photos of my back show the one hundred and sixty two stitches holding it together. I don’t remember much from arriving at the hospital, and I assume I was in too dire need of medical care to take all of the photos on arrival.

There are also pictures of my wrists and ankles, followed by the close-ups of my black and broken ribs. I might as well have been a dead person, because that’s exactly what I looked like in those photographs.

I finish cleaning up our lunch mess, and look out the window to see Ryder pacing the beach in front of my house. Norm is not far behind, giving him a little space. I decide not to bother him. Obviously he needs a moment alone and I don’t think there are words that’ll make him feel better.

I turn on the radio to a mellow alternative station and sit back at the table to wait. He’ll come in eventually, he just needs time. I send a text to Denny letting him know that I’d like to meet at the gym tonight, and within five minutes I get a response telling me that he’s free. I gave him the code for the private room, so if he gets there before me he can let himself in.

Twenty minutes later, Ryder comes back in the house. He heads straight for the fridge and grabs a beer before sitting back down at the table. He cracks it open, and takes a long pull before staring straight ahead and speaking.

“What Andrew Roberts did was not because he loved you, or wanted to be with you. It was a punishment. He may have wanted you at one time, but this, these photos Elle, are that of a man who wanted you to pay for something. That payment being your life. I don’t for one second believe the detective’s notes stating this was an act of obsession and love to be the truth. This man didn’t watch you because he loved you, he did it because he fucking hated you, Elle. What we need to figure out is why.”

I stare at him the entire time he speaks, and I want to be offended he hasn’t yet looked at me. Perhaps it’s hard? A combination of seeing what I used to look like, along with seeing me in the hospital. I’m stronger now. Deep down I know he knows that. I just hope his eyes don’t judge me differently because of it.

“I agree with you Ryder, but they didn’t see it that way. The rest are the accounts of injuries and causes of death, along with a few more witness statements and some of his background information. Why don’t you take it home with you? We can sit down tomorrow afternoon and I’ll answer any questions you have.”

His troubled eyes finally meet mine and it takes everything in me not to jump out of my chair and plant myself in his lap. I want to hold him, I want him to hold me, but I remind myself this is about getting justice, about finding a killer that could potentially be out there harming other women. This isn’t about just me, or Ryder, or my desire to want to be with him. This is about tying up loose ends, and I can’t do that when my judgment gets clouded with sweet words and strong hands.

“This isn’t easy for me Elle. Actually, that’s an understatement, this is really fucking hard.”

He downs the last of his beer and heavily sets the bottle back on the table, not losing eye contact.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I can to find this piece of shit Elle, I promise you that. My only hope is that when I’m finished, you’ll drop this ‘work and no play’ act you’ve enforced and realize you still want me right now just as much as I want you.”

I go to open my mouth but he cuts it off with a firm slap to the table, causing my eyes to blink. His voice is surprisingly soft when he speaks again.

“Don’t lie. Better yet, don’t speak. I’ll prove it to you.”

He doesn’t say anything else, or even try to touch me as he folds up the file and walks out of my house.

What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Eleven

“Elbows in! Tuck ‘em in girl, fists up! Come at me!”

I do everything Denny says, punching with every bit of energy I have left in my body. Physically, I wasn’t exhausted when I came in here. Mentally—that’s a different story.

I had four hours after Ryder left before I got to work out with Denny. I came in an hour early, simply so I didn’t have to sit at home, pacing the floors. My mind is mostly here tonight, but it’s the anger behind my punches that are really keeping me present.

I’m not angry at Ryder. I’m not angry with my life at the moment. I’m angry because I had to share what I did with him, and regardless of the circumstances I hope he doesn’t view me in a different light. That thought alone pisses me off because normally I live life by the rule that I won’t give two fucks what other people think of me. Now, all I worry about is if he sees me as weak and helpless.

I lived for three days with someone viewing me as weak, and I never want to feel that way again. I don’t want someone to think they need to look after me. I don’t want Ryder to become some vigilante and get a wild hair avenging my attack and almost death.