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I grit my teeth with the pain in my chest. Even the thought of selling her house leaves my chest feeling like a semi-truck filled with cement is sitting on it. There’s no fucking way I can get rid of her house. At least, not until I find the answers I need.
“Not sure if I’ll go that route, but if I do, I’ll let you know.” I grab my cup of fresh coffee we picked up after leaving the station and take a sip. So much fucking better than that shit at the precinct. “How’s Mindy and the baby?”
Mindy is Tavers’ wife. They met in college their freshman year and have been together ever since. They had a baby three months ago, delivered by C-section a month early. It had something to do with the umbilical cord wrapped around the baby’s neck. It was touch and go for a while, but last I heard, both were doing really well.
“They’re both good. Shelly’s got colic and keeps us up half the night, but I’ll take that over the other shit. Girl’s strong and resilient.”
The proud note in his voice is unmistakable, and it makes me happy for them both. I’ve kept my distance from the baby because it makes me think of having my own. Even at fifteen, and not really understanding the idea of a baby yet, I knew I wanted to marry Aislin and have a family with her one day. Every-fucking-thing reminds me of her.
“Mindy wants you to come over for dinner. She hasn’t had a chance to see you much since you’ve been back.”
I’ve been a shit friend since moving back and haven’t been by their house as much as I should.
“Yeah, I’m not sure if I’m the best person to have around right now.”
He knows what I mean. My attitude isn’t worth shit lately, and I wear a constant scowl on my face. I’m sure I’ll probably scare the baby even if I did work up the courage to look at her.
“Maybe that’s what you need. To be around people who care about you.”
I almost laugh at his suggestion. Being around happy people isn’t something I want right now, especially ones who’ve recently had a baby. It wouldn’t help me, and it would only turn their moods sour. It’s best I stay away from people as much as possible for the time being.
* * *
Later that evening,I’m sitting in my living room with Betsy on the floor at my feet. I have Aislin’s open file on my lap with the images the medical examiner took spread out on the coffee table in front of me. I do this every night. I study them over and over again, hoping something new will appear, but nothing ever fucking does. I’ve had this file for a month now, and for those four weeks, this is how I end each day.
I chug my beer and set the bottle on the end table. Betsy shifts at my feet, the noise of the glass hitting the wood disturbing her sleep.
I pick up the examiner’s report and read it over once again. Although I know the report by heart, my hands still shake from anger when I read the examiner found over one hundred and fifty scars on her body. She even had scars on the bottom of her feet from fucking cigarette burns and behind her ears from what the examiner believes were razor blades. All that does not include the fresh wounds. There were over thirty of those.
When I go on to read that her insides were so badly bruised she had internal bleeding and that scar tissue existed from previous sexual abuse, my blood boils in my veins so hot I swear I feel the burn from it. My stomach rebels, and I have to force back the bile.
I drop the folder down on the table and lean my elbows on my knees, clutching my hair in my hands in frustration. I’m no fucking closer to finding out who took her and where he kept her. There’s no fucking way she could have disappeared without a trace. I’m failing her once again. But I won’t give up. I’ll never give up.
Lifting my head, I land my gaze on the tattered and worn twine bracelet Aislin gave me the last Christmas I saw her. I finger the half heart-shaped charm. It’s made of one of those charms you see with half the heart saying “best” and the other half saying “friends.” I got the “best” and she got the “friends.” It’s plastic and cheap, but it’s one of my most prized possessions. Surprisingly, it’s lasted all these years. I’ve kept it on my wrist every day since she gave it to me except when I had to take it off to add another piece of twine to make it longer.
Lifting my foot, I kick the table away from me, scattering the papers across the floor. Betsy jumps up and whimpers. I reach over and rub my hand along her furry head, calming her down.
“Sorry, girl,” I murmur.
My heart pounds and my chest heaves from my heavy breathing. I stare sightless at the papers for several long minutes before I get up, gather them, and place them back in the box. Grabbing the empty beer bottle, I take it with me to the kitchen and dump it in the trash. I pull another one from the fridge and down half of it. My head hangs as I lean my hands on the counter, trying to calm my temper.
Betsy lets out a loud bark, and I glance up. She’s looking out the window that faces Aislin’s house with the hair on her back raised. She barks twice more and then lets out a whine.
“Betsy,” I call, walking over to her. I stand beside her and look out the window as well. The house next door is dark. I reach down and run my fingers through her hair. “There’s nothing out there, girl.”
I search the darkness for a few minutes before deciding she must have sensed a wild animal. Maybe a raccoon or opossum. Turning around to grab a shower, I get two steps when she starts barking again except, this time, she’s not stopping. She runs up to the window and puts her front paws on the sill, her nails clicking on the glass. She barks a few times then stops to whimper, only for her to bark and then whine again.
Trained from a pup to be a police dog, Betsy had spent ten years with the Brighton K-9 unit before she was shot while searching for drugs in a house. Instead of her healing and returning to work, they retired her, and she’s been mine ever since. A dog’s instincts are strong, even without training, so Betsy’s are fine-tuned and stronger. In the police department, you learn to always trust a dog’s instincts. Something is obviously out there agitating her.
Keeping an eye on the window, I walk over to the coffee table where I set my revolver earlier. I slide it from the holster and grab a flashlight from the junk drawer in the kitchen.
At the back door, I whistle for Betsy, and she’s immediately at my side. “Come on. Let’s go see what’s out there.”
Once we’re outside, she doesn’t run off after whatever she thinks is out there like a normal dog without training would do. Instead, she sticks close to my side as we walk across the dewy lawn and onto Aislin’s property. Starting with the backyard, I shine the light everywhere as I make my way around the house until I stop where I started. Betsy doesn’t bark anymore, but she does whine a few more times.
I pull keys from my pocket and unlock the back door. The house is pitch black when we walk inside. Not wanting to spook an intruder if there is one, I make sure to keep the flashlight pointed at the floor. Fuckers need to be caught and charged with breaking and entering.
I use the beam of the light and check the laundry room and pantry off the kitchen. Both are empty. My steps are quiet as I walk into the living room with Betsy still beside me. The room is void of any furniture, and besides a box of leftover wood flooring, a couple of cabinets, and a few tools thrown here and there, it’s empty.
