The Search (22 page)

Fate had taken him to that prison, Eckle thought, where George Allen Perry had unlocked the cell he’d been trapped in all of his life. He’d toddled like a child with those first steps of freedom, then had walked, then had run. Now, now he craved the heady taste of that freedom like breath. Craved it until he’d begun to twitch at the rules, the regulations, the absolutes Perry asked of him.

He was no longer the soft, awkward boy desperate for approval and hounded by bullies. No longer the child passed from hand to hand because of a selfish whore of a mother.

No longer the pimply, overweight teen ignored or laughed at by girls.

All of his life he’d lived inside that cage of pretense. Stay quiet, tolerate, obey the rules, study and take whatever was left when the stronger, the more attractive, the more aggressive took theirs.

How many times had he seethed in silence when passed over for a promotion, a prize, a girl? How many times had he, alone, in the dark, plotted and imagined revenge against coworkers, students, neighbors, even strangers on the street?

He’d begun these travels, as Perry had explained to him, before they’d met—but he’d carried the cage with him. He’d worked to discipline his body, pushing through pain and frustration and deprivation. He’d sought and found a rigid internal control, and still had failed in so many ways. Because he’d still been locked in that cage. Unable to perform with women when, at last, one deigned to sleep with him. Forced to humiliate himself with whores—like his mother.

No longer. Perry’s creed preached that the act of sexual intercourse diminished a man’s power, gave that power to the woman—who would always,
always
use it against him. Release could be gained in other, more potent ways. Ways only a relative few dared practice. With that release power and pleasure rose.

Now that the cage was open, he’d discovered in himself both an aptitude and an appetite for that release, and the power that charged through it.

But with the power came responsibility—and that, he could admit, he found difficult to navigate. The more he gained, the more he wanted. Perry was right, of course. He needed to maintain his discipline, to enjoy the journey and not rush it.

And yet . . .

As he pushed up the speed and resistance on the treadmill, Francis promised himself and his absent mentor he would refrain from seeking his next partner for at least two weeks.

Instead he would travel a bit more—meandering. He would allow his power to recharge, feed his mind with books.

He wouldn’t head north, not yet.

And while he recharged and fed, he’d monitor Perry’s disappointing mistake through her blog, her website. When it was time, he would correct that mistake—the only payment Perry asked of him, the price for tearing down the cage.

He looked forward, like a child to a parent’s applause, to Perry’s approval when he took, strangled and buried Fiona Bristow.

Bringing her image into his mind pushed him through the next mile while sweat ran down his face, his body. His reward came when the news-caster reported on the discovery of a young woman’s body in the Klamath National Forest.

For the first time that morning, Eckle smiled.

 

 

ON SUNDAY, Mai and her dogs came for a visit. Saturday night’s rain left the air cool and fresh as sorbet and teased out a haze of green on the young dogwoods flanking the bridge. In the field the grasses sparkled with wet while the creek bubbled busily and the dogs romped like kids in a playground.

On the scale of lazy Sunday mornings, Fiona rated this one a solid ten. With Mai, she relaxed on the porch with the mochaccinos and cranberry muffins the vet had bought in the village.

“It’s like a reward.”

“Hmm?” Slumped down, eyes half open behind the amber shades of her sunglasses, Mai broke off another piece of her muffin.

“Mornings like this, they’re like a reward for the rest of the week. All the get-up, get-going, get-it-done mornings. This is the carrot on the stick, the brass ring, the prize at the bottom of the cereal box.”

“In my next life I’d like to come back as a dog because, really, in the great scheme? Every morning is the prize at the bottom of the cereal box for a dog.”

“They don’t get mochaccinos on the porch.”

“True, but toilet water would taste just as wonderful.”

Fiona studied her coffee, considered. “What kind of dog?”

“I think a Great Pyrenees, for the size, the majesty. I think I deserve it after being short in this life.”

“It’s a nice choice.”

“Well, I’ve given it some thought.” Mai yawned, stretched. “Sheriff Tyson called me this morning to let me know they upgraded Walter’s condition to stable. He’s going to be in the hospital for another few days, but if he stays level, they’ll let him go home. The daughter and her family are making arrangements for a visiting nurse.”

“That’s good news. Do you want me to pass it along?”

“I let Chuck know, so I figure he’ll take care of that. Since I was heading over, I thought I’d just tell you in person. By the way, I really like your trees.”

“Aren’t they great?” Just looking at them made Fiona smile. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Now I’m thinking maybe I should plant something splashy at the far end of the drive. Like an entryway. It’d be a kind of landmark for new clients, too. Turn at the drive with the . . . whatever I decide on.”

Mai tipped down her glasses to peer at Fiona over the tops. “Moving out of the low-key stage? And I worried you’d put a gate up.”

Sipping her coffee, Fiona watched the dogs troop around the yard in what she thought of as The Peeing Contest. “Because of Vickie Scala?” she said, referring to the latest victim. “A gate wouldn’t do me much good if . . . and it’s a big if.”

But like Mai and her next life as a dog, she’d given it some thought.

“It makes me sick to think about those girls, and their families. And there’s nothing I can do, Mai. Nothing at all.”

Mai reached over, squeezed Fiona’s hand. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s on my mind. How could it not be? And I’m scared. You’re probably the only one I can say that to, just flat-out.” Fiona held on to Mai’s hand a moment, steadied by the contact. “I’m scared because if. I’m scared because there’s nothing I can do. I’m scared because it took them years to catch Perry, and I don’t know how I’ll cope if the pattern repeats. If I said that to Syl or my mother, they’d turn themselves inside out with worry.”

“Okay.” Tone brisk, Mai shifted to face Fiona. “I think you’d be stupid not to be scared, and why the hell would you be stupid? I think if it wasn’t on your mind, you’d be hiding in denial, and what good would that do? And I think if you didn’t feel sick and sorry about those girls, you’d be heartless, and how could you be?”

“And there,” Fiona said on a wave of relief, “is why I could say it to you.”

“Now, on the other end of the scale, on the solid reasons not to freak—scared, yes, freaked, no—you have the dogs, and you have people who’re going to be checking on you with such annoying regularity you’ll be tempted to tell them to butt the fuck out. Oh, and don’t bother to tell me to butt the fuck out,” she added. “I’ll just kick your ass. Short, yes, but mighty.”

“Yes, you are. I also know we’re sitting here drinking mochaccinos and watching our dogs play because you’re checking on me. And I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. I want you to plant your splashy whatever at the end of your drive, Fee, if it makes you happy. But I want you to be careful, too.”

“Part of me wonders if I’ve ever really stopped being careful since the day Perry grabbed me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I stopped running, and God, Mai, I used to love it. Now I use a treadmill, and it’s not the same rush. But I settle because I feel safer. I haven’t gone anywhere alone in years.”

“That’s not . . .” Mai paused. “Really?”

“Really. You know, it didn’t occur to me until this started that I never go anywhere without at least one of the dogs—and part of the reason is what happened to me. I wait for movies to come out on DVD or cable instead of going to the movies because I don’t want to leave one of the dogs in the car that long—and more, I only take all three of them, leaving the house unguarded, when it’s for training or when I’m taking them into your office.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, and I’m okay with it—I just didn’t realize the underlying reason for it. Or didn’t admit it. I leave my door open a lot. I rarely lock it—until recently—because the dogs give me the sense of security I need. I haven’t actively thought about all that happened, not really, in the last year or two, but I’ve protected myself, or at least my sense of security, all this time.”

“Proving you have a smart unconscious.”

“I like to think so. My conscious is also doing some target practice. I haven’t done any shooting in a couple years either. So . . .” She shook it all off. “I’m doing whatever I can, which includes not obsessing about it. Let’s talk about the spa.”

Enough, Mai decided. She hadn’t come to drag Fiona into the stress but to help ease it. “We could, and we should, but first I could tell you about my date for drinks this evening.”

“You have a date?” This time Fiona lowered her sunglasses. “With who?”

“With Robert. He’s a psychologist, with his own practice in Seattle. Forty-one, divorced, with a nine-year-old daughter. He shares custody. He has a three-year-old Portuguese water dog named Cisco. He likes jazz, skiing and travel.”

“You used HeartLine-dot-com.”

“I did, and I’m taking the ferry over and meeting him for drinks.”

“You don’t like jazz, or skiing.”

“No, but I like dogs, I like to travel when I can, and I like kids, so it balances out.” Stretching out her legs, Mai studied the toes of her shoes. “I like ski lodges, with roaring fires and Irish coffee, so that’s half a point. Besides, I have a date, which means I’m going to put on a nice outfit, fuss with my makeup and go have a conversation with someone I haven’t met. And if there’s no zing, I get on the ferry, come home and try again.”

“I’d be nervous. Are you nervous?”

“A little, but it’s a good nervous. I want a relationship, Fee, I really do. It’s not just the dry spell, because, hello, Stanley. I want someone I care enough about to want to spend time with, be with, fall in love with. I want a family.”

“I hope he’s wonderful. I hope Robert the psychologist is freaking amazing. I hope there’s zing and common ground and palpitations and laughs. I really do.”

“Thanks. The best part is, I’m doing something for myself. Taking a chance, which I haven’t done, not really, since the divorce. Even if there’s zing, I’m going to take it slow. I want to get a feel for how this whole thing works before I jump into the pool.”

Feeling the vibes of Mai’s good nerves and anticipation, Fiona sat silently a minute. “Well, speaking of zing, I guess I have to tell you I’ve lost the contest.”

“The—You had sex?” Mai scooted around in her chair, whipped off her sunglasses. “You had sex and didn’t tell me?”

“It was only a couple of days ago.”

“You had sex a couple of days ago and didn’t immediately call me? Who—Well, shit, why would I even ask? It has to be Simon Doyle.”

“It could’ve been a new client I was suddenly hot for.”

“No, it was Simon—who actually is a new client you’re hot for. Details. The nitty and the gritty.”

“He gave me the trees.”

“Oh.” Mai sighed, turned to look at them. “Oh,” she sighed again.

“I know. The first one was part of a deal, a trade for this stump he wanted.”

“The stump sink. I heard about it.”

“I said maybe I should get another, and he got it, planted it—when we were out on the search. I came home, and there it was—planted, mulched, watered. I got the other dogs and went over to thank him. And I guess I thanked him by having sex with him on his dining room table.”

“Sweet magnetic Jesus on the dashboard. On the table?”

“It just sort of happened.”

“How does it happen that trees lead to table sex?”

“One minute we’re outside talking, then he’s pulling me to the house. Then we’re all over each other and pulling and dragging each other toward the front door.”

“This is the flaw in the Stanley system—the lack of pulling and dragging. Then what?”

“And when we got there, I’m up against the wall, actually telling him to hurry. So he dumped me on the table, shoved things off and wow. Wow.”

“A moment to recover, please.” Sitting back, Mai waved a hand in front of her face. “Obviously this wasn’t crappy sex.”

“I almost hate to say it because it might make it more than it might be, but it was, it really was the best sex of my life. And I loved Greg, Mai, but this? It was outrageously stupendous sex.”

“Are you going to see him again that way?”

“Definitely.” Fiona laid a hand on her heart, did a pat-pat. “Plus or moreover or first and foremost, I like him. I like the way he is, the way he looks, the way he is with his dog. And you know, I like that I’m not his type—at least according to him—but he wants me. It makes me feel . . . powerful, I guess.”