Splintered (13 page)

“Yeah, you can answer my question,” Hutch demanded and followed Noah to the kitchen area.

“I’m going to give you a bit of advice. I don’t like being fucked with or treated like I’m an idiot, especially when I’m running on so little sleep,” Noah said angrily as he snatched the fridge door open and grabbed a bottle of water. He turned and glared at Hutch. “Are you going to tell me that you haven’t already done a full background check on me, Agent Hutchinson?”

“I’m not suggesting any such thing,” Hutch assured him. “However, I’ve dealt with many people who have lost loved ones to murder, and they rarely pick up such an odd hobby.”

“That’s the second time you’ve called it a hobby. This isn’t a fucking hobby,” Noah spat and stabbed a finger at the wall covered by the newest case. “This is a need to make some sense of the madness.”

Hutch knew exactly how Noah felt. He’d been doing the same thing for years. It wasn’t from a lack of trying, but he still hadn’t found any answers and suspected he never would. What he had learned was that people dealt with their grief in very different ways. Some fell into depression, drugs, self-destruction; others sought revenge. Some became incredibly passionate in their need for revenge and justice, stopping at nothing until the crime was avenged.

Unfortunately, there were those who allowed denied retribution to fester like a cancer, growing, eating at them until they lashed out and doled out their warped form of justice on the innocent. Hutch stared at Noah. Was that what Noah had done? Allowed the brutal death of his family to turn cancerous and drive him toward playing judge, jury, and executioner?

Even as Hutch thought it, it didn’t settle right in his gut. If Noah was the killer, why would he target gay men? Why torture them? Hutch realized he needed more facts. “Noah,” Hutch said calmly. “Did they ever catch who killed your family?”

Noah closed his eyes. Absent was the anger Hutch expected to see mixed with the sadness that overcame Noah’s expression as he shook his head.

Chapter 12

N
OAH
SAT
rigid, staring out the window without seeing the world beyond while he relived the nightmare he’d refused to think about in a very long time. He hadn’t intended to share his past with Hutch and Granite. When he opened the door to his painful memories a crack, however, they slammed into it, throwing it open fully and rushing from their hidden place.

“It was October 4, 1994. I was so excited to get home from school. Back then, I didn’t mind Mondays like I do now. However this particular Monday started out better than most. I had gotten a citizenship award and couldn’t wait to get home and show my mom. I tucked that little piece of paper with a big gold star on it in my coat to keep it from getting wet and ran the three blocks to my house. I had been too excited to be bothered with such insignificant things as an umbrella or putting up the hood on my jacket, so I was soaked by the time I rushed through the door.

“I slammed the door behind me and yelled out for my mom. The house was really quiet, but that wasn’t that unusual since Mom often lay in bed to watch her soap operas, and Katie, being a teenager, always hid in her room. She thought the rest of us were dumb.” Noah shook his head as he remembered how crazy she had been at times. “One minute Katie would be hugging me, wanting to help with my homework or work on my pitching, the next she’d be yelling and screaming at everyone like a crazy woman. Mom had explained it was a girl thing, and I remember thinking how lucky I was to be a boy.

“The award was a little wrinkled when I pulled it from my coat, but it was dry, and without taking the time to remove my wet shoes or dripping coat, I ran up the stairs. When I first entered Mom’s room, I had a hard time making sense of what I was seeing. I’d seen my mom naked before when I accidently walked in on her in the bathroom, but this was different. She was lying on the bed, her legs spread and her hands above her head. She didn’t jump and yell at me to shut the door this time, she just laid there, and at first I thought she was sleeping. I turned around, my cheeks hot, and yelled at her to wake up.

“God, I think I stood there a good five minutes screaming for her, but she never answered and I was too embarrassed to turn around, so I ran to my sister’s room and beat on the door. She didn’t answer me either. I tried for a really long time to get her to open the door. I never went into her room without permission ’cause that made her even crazier. I was dying to tell Mom about my award and really, really wanted Katie to help me wake her up. I was frantic with excitement, and I figured Katie had her headphones on and hadn’t heard me. I tried the doorknob and it wasn’t locked—which normally it was—so I poked my head in her room.

“She was in the exact same position as my mom. Naked, legs spread, and hands over her head, only this time I knew Katie wasn’t sleeping. Unlike Mom, Katie’s face was turned toward me, her eyes open wide, and there was blood coming from her mouth and nose.”

Noah blew out a harsh breath and wiped at the single tear that had spilled over as he remembered the look on his sister’s face. It was a look of horror that had haunted him every night for years and one he had hoped to never see again. Now that the lid to the box had been lifted, however, the memories of that horrific day burst forth and he couldn’t stop.

“It was the wildest thing. Suddenly this scream rattled the walls. It was so loud it caused my ears to hurt, and I covered them, trying to block out the horrible screech. It took me a while to realize the agonizing sound was coming from me. Even at such a young age, I was very protective of my mom and sister, understood I would be the man of the family one day, and yet there I stood, unable to look away from my sister’s terrifying face, feet frozen to the spot, screaming and pissing myself.

“Pretty much everything after that was a blur. The cops came with lots of other folks, like the coroner, techs, and social services. Oh and there were lots of reporters outside, but you know what?” Noah asked, turning away from the window and meeting Hutch’s gaze for the first time.

“What?” Hutch asked gently, the sympathy apparent in his expression, something Noah had seen many times as a child.

“Once I had come out of my funk or whatever in the hell you call it, I didn’t call 911 right away. Nope, I changed my pants. Strange that. My mom and sister were lying dead, and I was more worried about people knowing I had pissed myself. Who does that?”

“A scared little boy of eight,” Hutch responded.

“Yeah, well,” Noah mumbled, turning away from Hutch and unable to look at Granite. Noah stared once again out the window, seeing nothing beyond the glass. “You can only imagine the nightmares I had over that one. My sister visited me most nights with that same expression on her face, only she wasn’t dead, or maybe she was, I don’t know. Instead of the silent scream of the cold dead, she was screaming at me. Yelling at me to call for help, but I couldn’t because I was too fucking busy pissing myself.”

H
UTCH
WATCHED
Noah carefully. He was shaking, face red and tears streaming down his face, the anger Hutch had been expecting to see coming out at last, still wrapped in that all-consuming sadness. He could only imagine what experiencing such horrors at such a young age had done to Noah’s psyche. Add in the humiliation of soiling himself, and it was little wonder Noah had suffered such horrible nightmares. Hutch’s first inclination was to wrap Noah in his arms and cradle the child within, but it was the barely masked violence that held Hutch transfixed.

Noah was no longer a boy of eight but a grown man of twenty-six. He’d had eighteen years for the hatred and fury to brew. Without proper treatment, hell, sometimes even with counseling, Noah could be a time bomb ready to explode at any moment. Or had he already erupted, leaving eighteen victims in his wake? Hutch could no longer decipher his instincts when it came to Noah. Instead, he teetered evenly between doubt and possibility.

“Noah, did your grandmother comfort you when you had a nightmare?” Granite asked after long silent moments.

“That old bitch? Are you fucking kidding me?” Noah spat. “I was the product of a one-night stand, a bastard and, in Sophia Walker’s eyes, spawn of the devil. She did spend a lot of time trying to exorcise the demon out of me with long hours of prayer and reading scripture.”

Hutch met Granite’s wary gaze. Hutch could tell from his partner’s expression that he was beginning to lean toward Noah being their killer right along with Hutch. Hutch’s stomach dropped at the thought that his initial suspicion about Noah was beginning to solidify into more than just a suspicion. After meeting the young man, he didn’t want it to be so.

“What about teachers or school counselors? Social workers? Did they offer help?” Hutch inquired.

“No.”

Hutch scratched the stubble on his chin as he continued to watch Noah with a critical eye. He was no longer crying, but he sat rigid, one hand balled into a tight fist at his side, the other wrapped around his glass of water, unblinking. His face was still red, his jaw clenched, expression angry. Hutch waited, but when Noah didn’t elaborate, Hutch pressed further.

“What about other family members? Were you close to maybe an aunt or an uncle?”

Noah opened and closed his hand a couple times as if the strain was beginning to make them ache, but he finally clenched it again and held on tightly to his anger. “No.”

Again the silence stretched out. Hutch kept glancing from Granite to Noah to the glass in Noah’s hand. Noah gripped it tightly, visibly shaking. Hutch was half tempted to pry the cup out of Noah’s hand before it shattered, but he didn’t want to spook the man. Noah was no longer in the room, at least his mind wasn’t.

Discreetly, Granite pulled his gun, tucked it against his leg, and eased around the room until he was standing to the side of Noah. Granite’s gaze was intent as he scrutinized Noah.

Once Granite was in place, Hutch turned his attention back to Noah. “Are you okay?” he asked, keeping his tone low and even.

Noah’s grip on the glass tightened further still until the glass shattered. “Oh fuck!” Noah cried out and shook his hand, sending shards of glass flying and causing Hutch to jerk back and reach for his weapon.

Thankfully Granite kept his wits and didn’t pull the trigger in the commotion. Noah seemed to come out of whatever stupor he’d been in; his brow furrowed, eyes cleared, and he grabbed his hand and rushed to the sink, leaving a bloody trail behind him.

Hutch pocketed his gun and followed. “Jesus, you okay?”

Noah flipped on the tap and stuck his injured hand beneath the flow of water. “I….” He looked over at Hutch and then shook his head. “What a basket case, huh? I haven’t thought about that day in a very long time. I’m….” His shoulders slumped, and he blew out a long breath. “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what the hell came over me or why all that shit came back now.”

“We can talk about that after we get your hand tended to. Let me see it,” Hutch ordered and reached over and turned off the water.

“I’m fine,” Noah said meekly, but he allowed Hutch to examine his wounds.

There was a large gash across his palm, and shards of glass were embedded in his fingers. “You’re going to need stiches, I’m afraid.”

“Yup, definitely going to need stitches,” Granite commented as he looked over Hutch’s shoulder at Noah’s hand.

“Hell no!” Noah tried to pull his hand away, but Hutch held fast. “I hate needles,” he explained with a bit of a whimper in his tone.

Granite handed Hutch a wad of paper towel. He folded them quickly and pressed them against the gash, putting pressure on the wound to staunch the flow of blood. “No way this is gonna heal on its own. Plus, you’re going to need to have the glass removed.”

The color drained from Noah’s face, sweat beaded on his brow, and he began to sway. “I think I need to sit down,” he muttered.

As Hutch helped a shaky Noah to a chair, he shot a questioning look at Granite, who just shrugged. Noah slumped down in his desk chair, and Hutch fumbled to keep hold of the wound when Noah stuck his head between his knees and started breathing heavily.

“Dude, are you seriously going to pass out?” Granite asked incredulously.

“I hope not,” Noah muttered. “But I hate the sight of blood almost as much as I hate needles.”

Hutch didn’t even try to hide his shock. “There are pictures of mutilated bodies on your wall, and you have an odd habit of attending death scenes. What the hell do you mean you can’t stand the sight of blood?”

Noah lifted his head and smiled weakly at Hutch. “Those are just pictures, and at the crimes scenes, we’re behind a barrier. You don’t see the victim, only the activity around them.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it’s just my own blood that freaks me out.”

“Whew! You, my man, are a walking contradiction, aren’t you?” Granite asked, his tone skeptical.

Noah rested his elbows on his knees, leaned his chin on his uninjured hand, and looked at Granite sheepishly. “Yeah, I suppose I am. I’m not really into the actual act. I hate looking at the death and mayhem he causes. It makes me a bit squeamish. I’m more fascinated by the mindset. What drives a serial killer, how he—yes, he, since female serial killers are so rare—chooses his prey, and identifying risk factors that could prevent the formation of a psychopath. My graduate thesis is on becoming the perfect victim.”