Chapter 8

Sleep is supposed to be a restful time. An opportunity to rejuvenate. The dreams that come are supposed to help one heal, to recover. Maybe even to help. Not my dreams. No. Instead, I have nightmares. I see myself in his place. I see myself forcing Bethany to do what I want. I see myself destroying her.

I snapped awake. The sun was up and light filled my bedroom. My sheets were soaked with sweat, and I felt as if I had run further than I had ever attempted.

My phone rang.

It took me a moment to understand that I wasn’t him. I didn’t kill Bethany. I was a victim as much as she was.

The phone rang again.

I turned and looked at it. A face smiled up at me. I knew her. I also knew how this call would go.

I picked up the phone and answered, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to.

“Ral? Where are you?”

It was Ellen. One of my lifelong friends. When she wasn’t off doing something that she liked, she acted as a mother hen, making up for anything my mom didn’t do.

“Ral? You there?” she asked.

I swallowed, trying to wet my throat. Finally, I was able to croak out a few words. “I’m back at my apartment,” I said. “I’m sorry...”

“Where have you been?” She asked, interrupting me. “I saw you on the news just now.”

I frowned. “What?” I asked in confusion. Then I recalled the night before, and the fact that I spoke briefly to Ms. Romaine. Anger flooded me. “I knew better than to trust her!”

“Trust whom?” Ellen asked.

I frowned harder and thought about it. Even if Ms. Romaine had decided to add me to her report about the crime scene, I didn’t believe she had enough time to compose a video of me with my words arranged into something intelligible. “Unless ... Ellen, what was the report about?”

“You don’t know?” she asked, her tone shifting to inquisitive, much like Ms. Romaine’s had been. “What did you talk about?”

I shook my head though I knew she couldn’t see me. “Just tell me what the report was about, please.”

“There was a murder, and you were mentioned as being at the scene,” she said. “What’s going on Ral?”

I wasn’t sure what to worry about more, what Detective Stanfield would say or what Ellen would. “I can’t talk about the scene,” I said. “I wasn’t involved directly. I was directed to the scene, but I gave the directions to the police instead. They decided that I should go too.”

“Is this going to end up going the same route as last summer?” she asked.

“Well, if you and Eric follow through with your plans to fly home, and with Rachel still living in Houston with her family, there won’t be anyone I care about close by for bad guys to use against me.”

“No, that just leaves you here to be targeted,” she said. “You should come with me and Eric. You already have tickets.”

I shook my head again. “No,” I said, turning to sit on the edge of my bed. I only wore a pair of gym shorts to sleep in. I would want something else on before I even started breakfast. Speaking of meals, I asked, “How was dinner?”

“We didn’t go,” she said. “And why not? Did the police forbid you from leaving town?” She could switch topics faster than my dad could flip through channels on TV.

I pulled out a shirt and a pair of pants from my closet. “No, they didn’t, and why didn’t you go out?”

“We were trying to figure out where you were,” she said. “And if the police haven’t restricted your movement, why not go?”

I closed the closet and shivered at the thought of what was found at that scene. “This is a bad one, Ellen. With Jacquelyn, you couldn’t tell how someone died. With this guy...” I closed my eyes and forced myself to stop playing through the memories of the visions I received from the killer. “It’s just bad, Ellen.”

“Okay, hang on,” she said and then covered the phone. I could hear her talking to someone, but I couldn’t tell what was said or to whom she was speaking. Then she came back. “Get dressed. We’re coming to pick you up.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Well, if Eric and I are flying out this afternoon, then we still need you there with us for lunch, at least.”

I glanced at my alarm clock. It was nine-thirty. She probably had breakfast on her own, before she saw the news. “I can’t let you try to talk me into going,” I said.

“Just get ready,” she said. “We’ll be there soon.”

“Okay,” I said, a little taken aback. I wanted to say something else, but she hung up.

I looked down at the clothes I had chosen. They weren’t suitable for going out. I had decided unconsciously to stay in. Of course, that wouldn’t do for Ellen.

Before I could decide on what I should wear, there was a knock at the door. For all I knew, it would be Lt. Stanfield and his new partner, Hathaway. They would want a statement from me. I would have to put on something else.

I quickly chose different clothes from my closet and pulled them on. They knocked again. “Give me a second,” I called. Then I grabbed socks and my shoes. I went to the front door and pulled it open.

I didn’t bother checking on who was there. I simply said, “Come on in. I need to pull on my shoes and socks.”

I moved around to the solo chair in my living room. I sat down, pulled my socks apart, and snapped one in the air as I looked up to see...

A man with dark wavy hair and wearing an expensive-looking suit, standing in my doorway, waving at me. He was of average height and had a drab olive aura. Behind him stood a woman with long auburn hair, wearing a tailored skirt suit, and a pair of sleek, yet modest heels. Her aura was almost the same color as her hair, making her look as if she had a massive hairdo. I didn’t recognize either of them.

The first thought that crossed my mind was that they could be reporters, but the lack of a news van and cameraman suggested that was the wrong idea. I waited for them to say something while I held onto my socks.

“Mr. Sutton, I’m glad we caught you,” he said, still standing near the open door. “My name is Rodney Jefferson, and this is Sarah Martin. I’m the business manager for a local private investigation firm, and she is one of our field investigators.”

I didn’t have the closest idea of what they could want. “How can I help you, Mr. Jefferson?”

“Honestly, I believe we can help each other,” he said, taking a tentative step into my apartment.

“And how is that?” I said, not discerning any form of threat from either of them.

He smiled. His aura indicated that he was pleased. It seemed genuine, but something told me I might not like it. He almost felt like a used car salesman, somewhat slippery, possibly underhanded.

“I’m sure by now you’ve heard about Hammon’s Bill,” he said. “He intends to have all law enforcement policies updated to deal with people with power so they don’t have to depend on them to get the job done.”

It was an interesting introduction, especially considering how Ellen reminded me of speaking with Ms. Romaine not five minutes earlier. What caught my attention, however, was his summary. I wasn’t sure if that was better than what Ms. Romaine gave me, but it certainly changed the context. “I’ve heard of it, yes, but I’ve not had a chance to read the law yet.”

Mr. Jefferson’s smile drooped. “I was under the impression that you had changed your major to the Criminal Justice system so you could work with the police.”

I wondered where the hell everyone kept getting so much information about me. “How did you find out about that?”

He chuckled. “I’m not with the news, but I manage in a Private Investigation Firm, like I said. We have our sources. What I don’t understand is why you would want to read the bill Senator Hammon has proposed.”

“Well, a reporter asked for my opinion on the bill last night,” I said. “She wants to know my opinion on it and I told her I wouldn’t say anything officially until I had a clearer idea of what the bill would do if passed.”

Ms. Martin leaned over and said something to Mr. Jefferson so I couldn’t hear her.

“You don’t know much about politics, do you, Mr. Sutton?” He asked, his smile beginning to return.

“If you mean keeping promises to get votes regardless of whether you intend to keep said promises,” I said, “Then I have a rough idea. I do not, however, promise anything unless I know I can keep it, and beyond that, I do what is right, Mr. Jefferson. Now what do you want?”

He held up his hands in defense. “I meant no harm by it. I only made an observation.” He put his hands down. He was excited about something. I was beginning to guess what that would be. “I want to offer you a personal proposition. If Hammon gets his way, it could pave the way for further laws regarding how people with power are treated. After the trial you were involved in, it has come to everyone’s attention that something should be done, and Hammon is jumping on that roller coaster so he can guide it to where he wants it to go.”

I nodded. “And from the way you’re talking, he may want to create policies that might further restrict the personal rights of people with power.”