The Darker Side

I think about this. Yeah, I do. It's not something I can prove, it is something that I feel. This is the way it goes.

He is not killing them for sexual gratification. He is killing them because their deaths matter in a religious sense, and sin is the hub of the wheel on which all religion turns.

I grab the notepad back and return to the living room. I stare at it as I think and I begin to write again.

He asked us a question: 'What do I collect? That's the question, and that's the key.'

I'm pretty sure I know the answer, or at least the answer for now, based on the information I have and what my gut is saying. Sins. He collects sins. That's the victimology. That's the commonality. Not hair color or boob size or maybe even gender. His victims are sinners (or he thinks they are). This feels right. It resonates. The tuning fork inside me quivers, telling me that I've hit the right note.

One question, though, remains.

Does he think he's sending sinners to their just rewards, or the redeemed to sit at the hand of God?

The next question comes without my wanting it to, a return of the yammering I've been trying to quash.

What about your sin? Does it qualify as mortal?

Oh yeah. You bet. Good thing I don't believe in heaven or hell. Right?

Silence to that, blessed silence.

'Praise God,' I mutter, with all the sarcasm and bitterness I can muster.

God does not reply, as is His wont.

A wave of exhaustion hits me like a truck, so fast and heavy that my eyelids close of their own accord. I let the notepad slip from my fingers and curl up on the couch as sleep drags me down into darkness.

15

THE PHONE WAKES ME UP AND I WAKE UP HARD. I FEEL hungover, though it's not a result of last night's alcohol. This is about my age. In my early twenties I could pull an all-nighter or two, sleep for one night and wake up refreshed. Now it can take me days to bounce back. The crick in my neck tells me that sleeping on the couch hadn't helped.

I pull myself to a sitting position and groan. Last night I was lonely. Right now I'm just glad that no one is here to witness this. I push away the fog through sheer force of will and answer.

'Barrett,' I croak.

'You sound chipper, honey-love.'

'What time is it?'

'Eight-thirty A.M.'

'What? Dammit.'

I stand up and rush to the kitchen while I hold the phone against my ear. I forgot to set the timer for the coffee last night, so I hit the button now and wait for the blessed brown nectar to start flowing. I have the patience of a junkie when it comes to getting my first cup of coffee in the morning. Bonnie always wakes up before me and knows this; she starts pouring a cup for me the moment she hears my feet hit the stairs.

'Lazy, lazy,' Callie teases. 'Up too late having various forms of acrobatic sex?'

She means well, but the question brings back memories of last night.

'No.'

The terseness of my answer makes her pause.

'Hmmmm . . . is that bark of a no due to a lack of caffeine or problems on the home front?'

'Both, but I don't want to talk about it right now. What's up?

Where are you?'

'Nearer than you think.'

A knock at my front door.

'Little pig, little pig, let me in.'

I groan again. I don't feel like dealing with Callie--or anyone else--

this morning.

'Hang on.' I sigh.

WE ARE SEATED AT MY dining table. I'm about halfway through my coffee and life seems a little more hopeful.

Callie sits across from me enjoying her own cup. I study her and marvel, as always, at her ability to look good in any situation. I'm the one who got some sleep last night and I'm sitting here in rumpled clothes and hurricane hair. Callie looks like she just came from a day at the spa.

She reaches into her jacket pocket and pops a pain pill. This brings me back to reality. I sip at my coffee and examine her eyes. It's well hidden, but the exhaustion is there, swimming in the shallows, visible in just the right light.

'Is grumpy-bunny feeling better?' Callie asks.

'A little. When did you get in?'

'Damien and I arrived about two hours ago. We'll be using the lab facilities at the Bureau to examine our little treasure trove of evidence.' She raises her cup in a mock toast. 'And I'll be able to get my wedding back on the rails.'

I raise an eyebrow. 'Is it off them?'

'Nothing disastrous, but it's possible that Kirby needs a little more . . . oversight.'

'What happened?' I have a vision of Callie's florist waking to Kirby sitting in a chair next to his bed, twirling a stiletto.

'There were some problems with the cake. Kirby lobbied on my behalf a little too enthusiastically. She didn't actually do anything, but she showed too much of her true face.'

'Ah,' I say.

Kirby's true face is terrifying. She's all happy-go-lucky and charming until she decides to let the humanity drain away from her eyes. Then you feel like you're in a staring contest with a very hungry leopard.

'They were going to return my deposit, but Sam charmed them again. The point being, when the cat's away, the assassin will play.'

She puts the cup down and leans forward. 'Now, tell me what happened with Tommy.'

I consider telling Callie to mind her own business but realize this would be futile. Laughable, really.

'He told me he loved me.'

'Really?'

'Yes.'

Callie leans back in her chair. Her mood is introspective.

'Well,' she says, after a moment. 'I can see why that would be difficult for you.'

This is the other face of Callie and one of the reasons she is my friend. She is quick with the quip and irreverent as hell, but she also knows when it's time to be serious.

'The thing is, I don't know why it's so difficult. But it is.'

This is only a partial lie.

'Is it about Matt? Because you know, Smoky, Matt would have zero difficulty with you and Tommy.'

Callie knew Matt and loved him. She would invite herself to dinner a lot. She couldn't get enough of Matt's tacos.

'I know. That's the thing, I really do know that. I'm in a good place when it comes to Matt and Alexa, as good as I'll ever get. I remember them now and I'm glad to. It doesn't kill me anymore.'

Her voice is gentle. 'It's time to move on, Smoky.'

I examine my friend. Callie has been there with me through everything. She doesn't know the one secret, the one I've kept for myself, but she knows all the rest.

'Can I ask you something, Callie?'

'Of course.'

'Why are you getting married? I mean, I know why people get married--but what changed? You've always been a lone wolf.'

She runs a burgundy-painted fingernail around the rim of her coffee cup.

'A lonely wolf, not a lone wolf. There is a difference. And I needed to be sure, very, very sure. Wolves mate