Forgetting Jane (12 page)

His cell phone rang.

“Ok.” Beth closed the door.

Eli sat back down and clicked open his phone.

“Beaver Ridge Police, Chief McAvoy.”

“Hey, it’s Mike. Got your call. What’s up?”

“I need a big favor. My deputy, Tom Faber, will drop off evidence later today that needs to be processed fast. It’s connected to the Jane Doe case.”

“That urgent.”

“That evidence might be the only lead. Can you do it?” The silence lasted a breath or two, but it felt too long for Eli. “Mike, can you process it right away?”

“I owe you, bud. So yes. Tell your deputy to ask for me when he gets here tomorrow.”

“I will let him know. Thanks, this makes us even.”

“Yes. This makes us even.”

Eli cracked a smile. He remembered the night he saved his friend from a bar fight in Seoul. Mike drank too much to fight back and took on three marine assholes himself. After a few broken ribs and busted up lip, he pummeled the men and got Mike out of the bar before they all were arrested.

“Even then,” Eli said, feeling his left rib.

“I’ll call you when I have it done.”

“Sounds good.” After Eli hung up with his friend, he grabbed the unmarked folder of the dead women’s photos and headed out.

He stepped out of the station and immediately saw Mayor Daniels heading his way up the sidewalk on the East side of the street. There were a small group of women around him—like pecking hens, chatting away. Daniels finally took notice of him the second he stepped off the steps.

Holy shit.
Eli turned away, briskly walked to his truck and hopped in. He took off as Daniels tried to flag him down. He wasn’t in the mood for any more confrontations with the man, especially with photos of dead women in his hands.

Before heading home, he got gas and stopped at the Porter’s Grocer for some supplies. His thoughts switched to Jane as he grabbed the last box of Ho Ho’s on the shelf—his go-to need when the nicotine withdrawal was greater than his will power. Something sweet always made him feel better—especially a night of drinking too, but that was the past.

Though, the Ho Ho’s weren’t for him—they were for Jane.

After he left the grocer, Eli decided to make a quick round by the lake. As he passed the town limits, the images of the dead women rolled around in his head. The dates bothered him.

Eli couldn’t get past the dates of the murders. Forty years. Could Henley have been working on a case for a while? Why start an investigation, then shoot himself in the head later? Unless—
You’re
grasping at straws, McAvoy.

As Eli reached the lake, his temples had a constant beat of a headache. His eyes yearned for sleep. He was way too tired to think anymore. He’d come back after a few hours of shut-eye.

Eli turned down Route 41. A mile down, he saw Harold on the side of the road. Broad daylight and this fool was walking around with only his thermals with no shoes.

Harold stumbled along on the edge of the ditch. His feet dragged against the gravel and his head bobbed back and forth. It was as though a rope was pulling him.

Damn
. Raymond was supposed to be watching him.

Eli pulled up next to him and rolled the window down. “Hey Harold,” he called out, but his friend didn’t respond. “Harold Kantor,” he yelled loud enough that the next town could hear him.

Harold stopped in mid step, turned and gave Eli a blank stare.

“Harold,” Eli shot out.

The man turned away and walked off again.

He stopped the truck and got out. Eli walked up to Harold and grabbed him by the arm but he wasn’t deterred. He blocked his friend’s path and made him stop.

Eli didn’t like the way Harold’s breath reeked with whiskey and his eyes were glazed over as though he’d downed a case of it. A slight itch formed in Eli’s throat and his stomach flipped.

“Harold?” Eli snapped his fingers in front of his friend’s face. He shook him by his shoulders. “Harold.”

The man blinked and shook his head slightly before he came out of his stupor. “What the— McAvoy? What’s going on?” Harold looked around him. “Where the hell am I?”

“I think you were sleepwalking again,” Eli said.

“No fucking way, it’s daytime.” Harold shivered, rubbing at his arms.

“Then explain why you don’t have any shoes or clothes on. The temperature is in the twenty’s.” Eli let his friend go.

Harold looked down at his socked feet and wiggled his big toe out of the hole. “Can-can I have a ride home?”             

He shook his head. “Come on.”

Harold got in and asked with trepidation, “How’s the couple?”

“The man woke up and is doing fine—just a concussion. They aren’t pressing charges. You’re lucky, man.”

Harold gave a slight nod. “I know,” he said in a whisper.

Eli remained silent the rest of the way to his friend’s trailer, which was situated next this Raymond’s house. He dropped him off and called out, “Lock your door. And stay out of trouble.”

“Thanks.” Harold stumbled into his trailer and slammed the screen, then the metal door.

Eli backed the truck up and headed straight home.

Pulling up to the farmhouse, the For Sale sign on the side lot wasn’t swinging. He parked in the rear and felt the eerie quiet of the soft wind. Eli couldn’t wait to sell this place—too many bad memories.

As he got out of his truck and walked around to the passenger side to get the groceries, something caught his eye in the second floor window.

A woman with long brown hair stared down at him from his mother’s room. But that wasn’t possible. That room had been empty since her death. The person wasn’t Jane—her hair was short and her head bandaged up. Eli rubbed at his tired eyes and looked up once more. There was no one standing there. It had to be his eyes playing tricks on him, even in broad daylight.

The wind turned frigid, Eli shivered. He always hated the cold.

He shrugged off the chill and checked around the house. After the incident with his father breaking into the place, he couldn’t chance that encounter again. The cellar door was chained up and all the windows were closed. He then headed for the dilapidated barn.

If James McAvoy stepped one foot on the property, Eli would put his drunken ass in jail for the rest of his miserable life. Even though that was too good for the man. He would rather kill the bastard for what he had done to Eli’s mother. But death was too easy. If it weren’t for his old man’s boozing and womanizing, Eli’s life would have been different. Or maybe not.

After his mother passed away, Eli drank himself into that dark and deeper hole for a month. He pulled himself out of gloom, but he wasn’t quite the same. After the death of Elise, he sunk fast and couldn’t get past his wrongdoing. He had repeated nightmares of the last few seconds of her life, before his bullet killed her.

Eli made his own decision by picking up the bottle again. His father wasn’t there holding the glass to his lips. Drinking was his choice—his getaway from the hard pain of reality, it always had been—but never once had he ever raised a hand to a woman or child.

Eli was
not
his father. He hoped.

Three years after his suspension from Half Moon Bay PD, he decided to head home.

Three years of being sober, on his own—without AA—except for Magda. She was his rock. As much as he regretted coming back, this place was his only saving grace. He hoped it would be Jane’s also.

He slid the barn door open and saw Magda’s Corolla parked inside. He wasn’t happy that she’d taken a chance parking in the rotting barn. With the unstable roof, the walls could cave in at any time. Her car had to be hidden and he assumed this was her only solution. He guessed he would have done the same.

He closed the doors carefully and headed back to his truck. He grabbed the groceries, then dragged himself into the house.

Sleep was the only thing he desperately needed, but first he had to see
Jane.

J
ane couldn’t lie in bed any longer. She had been cooped up in the house for a week. Since she was brought to Eli’s home, she had less freedom than the hospital. She was going insane with boredom. Hiding out wouldn’t be as bad, if the concessions weren’t terrible. There was no internet in the house and the magazines were ten years old.

Talking to Magda was great, but Jane preferred some time for herself. The television only had three working channels. Either she could watch cattle trades, farmers’ lives, or feed grain prospects—she was going nuts.
And how much can one person rest?

She heard it all from Magda and the neurotic chief. Too many to count.
Go rest, Jane
.
Don’t do this. Get away from the window, Jane.

Eli was the worst. He drove her nuts as he spouted safety issues, to the point that she wanted to run him over with his truck. Every time he got all high and mighty on her, she called him “Ass”—under her breath of course. Though the chief was right about one thing, her safety was important. And calling him “Ass” hadn’t helped her cause.

Restlessness urged her up from bed. The wrought iron squeaked under her weight. She sat on the edge and looked around the room for the fifth millionth time. The green scalloped crocheted blanket cover was old and rough was still green. The coarse wool scratched her palm.

Aged yellow and green curtains shaded the small window above the bed. She couldn’t tell which color started out first. The odor that permeated the air was of old flowers and dust, mixed with a slight mildewy decay. Jane’s nose tickled—she sneezed with a squeak.

The yellowed ivied grey wallpaper peeled back at the corners. Jane’s fingers itched to rip the edges down, but didn’t. Instead, she kept her focus on her footing and dark hardwood floor.

The depression of the room weighed heavy on her, which didn’t help her frazzled teeter totter emotions. She might be the victim, but felt more like a prisoner.              

As she straightened out her twisted shirt, she stood up and proceeded to pace the small attic room. She was on edge. Maybe cleaning the room would help her anxiety. There was a small mirror perched on top of the tall dresser. She’d start there.

Jane walked over to it and hesitated, studying the dust that coated the glass. She swiped the dust with her hand, coming away with a worm length of particles stuck to her palm—she shook it off, onto the floor.              

She stared at herself for a moment then realized she had held her breath. Relief gave way and so did her breathing when she saw her own reflection. The old beveled mirror reflected her sallow face and furrowed brows. Jane smiled and the tension eased from her shoulders.

The bandages were annoying; Jane wanted to remove them right away. A month being wrapped up like a mummy was enough. With delicacy, she unwrapped the dressing, exposing the rest of her forehead. She tilted the mirror, took a step back to see her entire head.
Not bad.

Her cheekbones were defined—skin, pale but not
dead
—no dark swollen bruises. Her left eye had a few broken vessels but the right was clear. Her vision didn’t blur, and there was no pain.

Her choppy boy hair needed a huge makeover. If she had a pair of scissors she could fix a few areas, but it wasn’t terrible to look at. She spread her hair apart and saw the outgrowth at the roots. She couldn’t imagine why she colored her hair black. She pulled the mirror closer to see the hair at the root. “Ha. Blonde.”

She pushed back the straggly pieces behind her ears and turned her face from side to side. Jane wished she could see the gash on the back of her head. It didn’t hurt, but the incisions itched. “That’s going to leave a scar,” she uttered while tracing her fingertip along the ridge.

The tape from the bandages on her arms and legs were itchy too. She wanted to rip them off and scratch until the burn was gone, but Magda made her promise to leave them on for a few more days. Instead, she rubbed her arms along her sides and her legs against each other like some demented dance.

Physically, she was pretty much healed, except for her head and her memory. Jane’s mind wouldn’t relinquish its secrets. The biggest was…who tried to kill her?

She would rather tolerate a thousand bruises and lashes, if for a moment she could remember something more—anything—her name, where she lived or what kind of brown car she drove.

“Holy crap. I have a brown car.” Tears came and slipped down her cheeks as she remembered the beat up piece of crap she drove. As Jane grabbed a dusty Kleenex from the nightstand, the sound of a car door stifled her mini celebration.

She couldn’t help but break the rule and shifted the curtain an inch to see out. She looked down at the familiar truck. “Eli.” She whispered out his name in a hitch.

Her skin tingled and her breathing quickened. Warmth grew in her belly, spreading out across her body. It was silly to think one prickly man made her feel
safe
, but he did. Even with his asinine attitude, she still trusted him. Though in the past few days, his attitude was nothing but strange.

Eli had been keeping his distance from her—acting odd whenever he was near her. He’d come home and go straight to his room—eating alone as well.

Once, Magda tried to involve him in a game of cards, but as soon as he looked at Jane, he said
no
and took off out the door.

His actions proved his dislike for her, and that was fine with Jane. She didn’t particularly like the man either. Though she had to admit, she was relieved to see him every time he walked through the door.

And nervous too.

Her stomach fluttered at the sight of him patrolling the back of the house. He did this routine safety check every time he came home. His strong gait showed assurance. His broad shoulders promised strength. Eli’s hard features exposed his anger—or was it pain, she wasn’t sure which. Maybe a little bit of both.

What he looked like under his wrinkled uniform—
What the hell am I thinking?
Jane couldn’t be attracted to the man. Was she nuts? Being cooped up in the house had fuddled her mind.

Jane shifted to get a better view when he looked up and saw her.

“Oh crap.” She was caught. The severe frown on his face told her that he wasn’t happy. No, he was pissed. She was going to hear about her disregard of his rules. All those fuzzy feelings went away in a flash the moment he strode toward the house.

Jane forgot all about her brown car too.

She released the curtains and sat back down on the bed in a slump. What if he hadn’t been the chief?
What if- what if- what if?
She shook her head and tried to calm her erratic heartbeat.

The two rules were simple: stay away from windows and doors, and rest. She broke rule one,
again
. Did she always ignore what people said when it came down to her safety? Or was she just plain stubborn? She shook her head and tried to clear the angst that weighed her down. Jane pulled at her shirt while she waited for Eli to come up.

The house became quiet. Too quiet for Jane’s liking. That was when she heard a faint sound of crying. Her head began to hurt, turning sharp. Pain stabbed at the back of her skull. She fell into bed, coiled into a ball—she covered her head with her arms and took deep breaths.              

“Please stop. Please stop,” Jane cried out. The spasms sliced through her brain in one swift slash, then it eased up.

Heavy sorrow flooded her, the sound of the crying got louder—Jane cried too. A scream for relief but the sound lodged in her throat. The pressure became too much for her to swallow down.

Twisting herself, Jane jerked tighter into a ball and sobbed harder. “Why me, damn it? Leave me alone.” Her plea came out in a whisper. Jane fisted her hair at the sides, pulling at her scalp to stop the electrical pulses that zapped down her spine. Sharp jabs at her stomach made her lose her breath but then faded fast.

The room turned prickly cold. Her skin drawn tight into goose flesh. The tears that coated her cheeks turned frosty. Her exhaled breath was visibly white. Fear controlled Jane.

In the far corner of the room, a shadowy figure manifested. It hunched over, weeping as loud as Jane was. The grief that emanated from the spirit tore through Jane like a hot jagged knife to her heart.

The girl
—No. This time something was different. There was no malevolence like she had felt in the hospital. This was someone else, another woman, but Jane wasn’t sure who.

The soul stopped crying, but didn’t move from the corner. The aroma of baked apple pie replaced the staleness in the air. The savory scent warmed Jane’s soul, which gave her a sense of peace. A contradiction to how she was feeling moments before.

Jane wasn’t afraid anymore. She slowly reached out and tried to touch the dark form. As Jane extended her arm further, the shadow recoiled and faded away.

The crying returned, but the sound came from Jane. She turned around, grabbed the green blanket and wrapped it around herself while the room’s temperature returned to normal. Even the apple smell was gone.