Dying to Remember (The Station #2) (11 page)

"They'll
have proof," Jess says, once again with confidence.

Marisa
narrows her eyes at Jess and then crosses her arms across her tight tank top.
"And what's that?"

"He sent
you to the hospital. They'll have records." This time Marisa's jaw unhinges
so much that when Jess glances over at the stunned girl she can see the
fillings in her back molars.

"H-how'd
you know about that?"

"He told
me." Jess shrugs, sending an apologetic look at Marisa, who quickly snaps
her mouth shut and returns to staring out the windshield in silence for the
next ten minutes of the drive.

Jess might
have sounded like she had it all together, but I knew better. She was crawling
in her own skin, anxious and scared of what might happen after she sat down
with Detective Manning. She was taking a risk seeing him without the family
Attorney, but she knew without me having to tell her, that the Detective was
more likely to believe her if she went in alone, or in this case, with the next
best thing to a witness.

Detective
Manning was indeed surprised to see us after he came out of his small office
and found us standing in the foyer. He greeted Marisa with a nod and Jess with
a clammy hand-shake before ushering everyone into the small room.

"What
brings you here today, Miss Levy?" he asks as he settles back behind his
desk.

"Well,
actually," Jess clears her throat, sitting up straighter, "I didn't
tell you everything the other day."

The Detective
rests his fingers on his desk in a fleshy steeple and raises an eyebrow at her.
But he says nothing. His silence makes me want to fidget. The fluorescent light
above his desk flickers a few times and Jess glances up at it before looking
over at Marisa, who is clearly uncomfortable in the small room as well.

"Okay.
So Chris had been really…abusive…for a while." Jess lets her shoulders sag
a bit after saying the words.

"What do
you mean by 'abusive'?" the Detective asks carefully.

"She
means exactly what you think it means," Marisa says irritably.

His eyes
light on the older girl and a tight smile spreads across his face. "I'm
sorry, but I was asking Miss Levy that question, wasn't I?"

She shrugs,
looking away from him with an indignant expression. Jess shifts in her seat
nervously.
Remember, this is why we're here; to talk about these things…just
spit it out. You can do this.

With a nod
she inhales sharply, speaking so fast that even I have a hard time
understanding her. And boy, does she let it all out, "At first Chris was
great. I mean…great. But he started changing, getting all possessive and stuff.
The first time he hit me it was because I put the wrong CD on in the car. It
was just a slap, but it hurt. He would be sweet one minute and then a total
jerk the next. He punched me in the stomach, kicked me, pulled my hair…you
know. So, the other day when he had his arm around my neck, I thought…I thought
that was it, you know? And I fought back. I didn't want to end up in the
hospital like Marisa, or worse."

At the
mention of her name, Marisa sucks air in between her teeth so forcibly it lets
out a soft whistle sound. The Detective's face softens slightly and he looks
between both of them for a long minute.

"I see.
And Marisa is here to tell me about this hospital visit, I gather?" The
older man raises a hand to his thinning hair and scratches absentmindedly at
his scalp. Both Jess and Marisa nod.

"He told
me - Chris did. When we were dating you know, one of the many times he cheated
on me, he told me what happened with Marisa. So I brought her here, so you'd
believe me," Jess's upper lip begins to tremble.

You're
doing great. Hold it together. You got this.

"So,
tell me," he says with a curious look at Marisa.

She squirms
beneath his interested gaze, staring at something on his desk while she speaks,
"It was late at night on a Friday. We had been drinking, and he wanted…he
um…" she pauses to glance at Jess, who gives her an encouraging nod.
"I wasn't in the mood that night, if you know what I mean, but he was. It
pissed him off and he just lost it."

"Lost
it?" the Detective urges.

"Yeah, I
mean…he
lost it
. He started trashing my room, throwing my stuff around.
Screaming at me and calling me a whore. I don't know how many times he hit me
before I passed out. My roommate found me and took me to the hospital."

"I see,
so there's a record of what happened?"

"I
wouldn't tell them who did it. I mean, his parents are rich, you know?"

The Detective
seems to flinch at her last words and reclines in his chair until I'm sure he's
going to fall flat on the ground behind his desk. The anxiety level in Jess
rises so high I can literally feel the rush of her blood pressure as it
increases in speed.

"Yes,
yes they are. This is the first I've heard of Chris being abusive." He
rights himself in the chair and places both palms face down onto his desk.
"But it doesn't surprise me, always thought there was something off with
that boy." I mentally let out a ragged sigh of relief.

"This is
what we'll do. I'll take a trip to the hospital. See what I can find out about
your visit Marisa, but I will need your permission to speak to the Doctor who
treated you. Is that understood?"

Marisa nods
her head before he continues, "And Jessica, I want you to hang around home
until you hear from me again. Chris's parents are furious and they want
answers. They won't like this explanation, whether it's the truth…or not. Is
that understood?"

Jess nods,
but then squeaks out a "Yes, Sir," when the Detective glares at her.

"Okay,
girls, thanks for coming in."

As Marisa
opens the door, Detective Manning places a large hand on Jess's shoulder, squeezing
gently. This close she can smell the musky scent of his after-shave. "You
may want to talk to your lawyer about what you just told me. Normally I
wouldn't encourage that sort of thing, but this is something Vincent needs to
know," he says with a sigh.

"Okay,"
she replies quietly.

She turns
around to follow Marisa, who has already exited the room, and bumps shoulders
with a boy not much older than she. He's tall, with dark hair cut short around
the sides and combed forward in the front. Underneath perfectly arched
eyebrows, his blue eyes shine like the clear shores of a tropical island beach.
His full lips catch her attention, as does the deep furrow of his brow as he
grumbles apologies for nearly plowing her over.

"Cole?
What're you doing here, son?" Detective Manning asks from behind Jess.

Hey girl,
yep, he's cute, but snap out of it. Time to go.
I'd roll my eyes if I had
them.

Jess shakes
her head slightly, looking up at the frustrated boy, who barely takes notice of
her. He clearly wanted to complain about something to his dad. And Jess was
obviously in his way.

"Sorry,"
she says, before inching passed him.

"Sorry,"
Cole replies without looking at her before stalking into his dad's office.

She sneaks a
glance over her shoulder at the boy's backside and then looks away guiltily.
Right.
Now is not the time to scope out boys. Surely not the Detective's kid, okay?
Shamed, she nearly bolts from the building and finds Marisa leaning against her
car, smoking a cigarette.

"Well,
that went over a bit better than I expected," she says to Jess with a wry
smile.

"Yeah. I
think it will help. You coming in, I mean…thanks," Jess leans against the
hood of the car, upwind from the smoke.

"Did you
see that guy with the gorgeous eyes?" Marisa casually flicks ash into the
air.

"Um,
yeah. His name is Cole and he's the Detective's son," Jess answers, trying
not to groan.

"You're
kidding? Well, that blows."

"More
than a little," Jess presses the loose hairs behind her ears.

Marisa looks
over at her with an amused expression and both the girls giggle. The instant
the sound was out of her mouth though, Jess feels like folding herself in half
and crying until there are no tears left. Her delirium spreads through me, and
I struggle to get a hold of something sane. The only thing that comes to mind is
what I have tried before with success.

Chocolate,
anyone?

Though this
isn't my first time hijacking someone else's mind, I'm finally beginning to
understand that each assignment will be a completely different experience. The
brain might have the same function for all of us, but the way our thoughts
travel through our minds is truly unique. Some of us worry a lot while some of
us compartmentalize every little thing so it can be easily stored (or denied)
until the information is needed again. Others have no system and their thoughts
scatter around their minds like fireworks…synapses constantly firing in
opposite directions. But for each of us, regardless of how we think, our minds
fit with our personalities. Our brains are the most complex part of our bodies,
and yet, the most simple. Information goes in…information goes out. It is the
single most intricate sharing system for all sentient beings; it is a system
that will never be mastered.

Alone in
Jess's internal web of thoughts, I ponder this fact for what seems like weeks
in real time, though it's only been a few days. I equally love and hate being
left to rummage around in her brain. The way she thinks is fascinating. She
processes information quite differently than I do, but I get it. And now I can
sense that she feels me. She may not be aware of it, but she
feels
me
nonetheless. It's a comforting thought, knowing I'm not truly alone.

Jess is
sitting on a cracked vinyl bench, shoved in the corner seating area of a local
pancake house, pushing food around her plate with a syrup soaked fork. And all
I can do is watch as the chunks of soggy food get slopped from one side of the
chipped ceramic dish to the other. If only she knew that there was a place
where people were tortured with memories of the smell, taste and texture of
food. I want to gobble up the entire plate. When I think for sure I'm going to
compel her to shove the dripping fork into her mouth so I can at least pretend
to eat, the gentle lull of a boy's voice drifts over Jess's head.

"Hey,
it's you again," Cole Manning says softly from behind the booth.

Jess turns
around, finally dragging my forced gaze off the yummy looking plate and onto
the tall boy that stands with his hands shoved into his pockets and a goofy grin
stretching out his mouth.

"Cole…right?"

"Yeah,
look, sorry about the other day…at my Dad's office. I didn't mean to be
rude," he responds while shifting from one foot to the other.

"Rude?"

"You
know, almost plowing you over," he laughs.

That's a
great laugh, Jess. Invite him to sit down with you for a bit. You could use the
company.

She smiles
and then points to the opposite bench. It has twice as many cracks in the vinyl
upholstery. "Want to sit?"

He nods and
slides onto the bench quickly, lowering his forearms until they rest on the
table in front of him. The early morning light twinkling thru the nearby bay
window makes the dark hairs on his arms glisten.

"Not
hungry?" he asks with a nod at her full plate.

She slides it
across the table until it softly bumps into one of his hands, "No. You
take it."

With another
laugh, he stabs a perfect square of pancake with the gooey fork. I'm not sure
exactly where my body is back at the Station, but I know for a fact my mouth is
drooling. It's like food porn. I can't look away as Cole shovels several more
bites of the buttery mess into his mouth. Jess watches too, quietly enjoying
the moment almost as much as I am.

"Yum.
Maple syrup?" he asks.

"Yep,
it's my favorite. Usually," Her eyes dart from Cole to the large bay
window. Outside people were beginning to mill around the shops. Some gather at
the end of the street blocks, shaking their heads in feigned grief. It was the
same conversation on every corner:
"Did you hear about the Garrett
boy…?"

Jess grimaces
and looks away from the street where two gossiping women have quickly become
five. She would have stayed at home, except both her parents took the week off
to handle the flurry of phone calls and drop-in visits from 'friends' who
really only called to get the specifics of what happened. "It was an
accident," her mother kept saying. Not exactly a lie but not the complete
truth either. Chris's parents had yet to contact them.

"So…I
heard about what happened." Jess was startled from her daydreaming by
Cole's soothing voice. She looks up to see him leaning back into the damaged
seat cushion, his hands below the table. His pale blue eyes are filled with a
calming coolness, and she smiles at him guiltily.

"Everyone
has by now, haven't they?"

"I guess
so," he says with a nod of agreement.

Jess lets out
a ragged sigh and stares at the half-eaten plate of buttermilk pancakes. Her
stomach was empty but not at all accepting of food. I knew this feeling. I
didn't eat for days before my own death. I just…wasn't hungry.

Drink your
juice, at least.
With another sigh she reaches for the orange juice and
sips it while Cole watches.

"So,
what are you doing around here?" she asks.

"Oh, I
saw you from outside and thought…'Gee, I should apologize for being such a jerk
the other day'. And you know, to say sorry for your boyfriend."

"He
wasn't my boyfriend," she says quickly.

Cole raises
an eyebrow but says nothing. Feeling compelled to explain, Jess gives him the
quick version. "We weren't together when he, you know. We had already
broken up, is what I meant." She rubs at her temple, an act she's seen her
father do almost nightly since she was ten. Now she understood why he did it.
The real world was stressful.

"Oh,"
he says.

Not
interested in divulging any more details to the near stranger, she shifts in
her seat so her back is against the window sill and her feet are propped up on
the seat. "So, what's your story? It must suck having a cop for a
dad."

His crystal
eyes widen and then he laughs loud enough that every patron in the small diner
glances at them. The waitress, who has not returned since setting Jess's plate
down, glowers a warning at them while she pours coffee the color of tar into a
burly looking man's empty white mug.

"It does
suck sometimes," he says, still laughing, "I guess it sucks most the
time, really."

"I bet.
I'd go crazy. My parents are already annoying enough. It would not be cool if
they walked around with a gun, too," she says with a smile. The two laugh
for a moment longer, and then Cole copies Jess by stretching out on his seat,
but being nearly a foot taller than her, he looks more cramped than
comfortable.

"I
didn't know him," he says suddenly.

"Who?"

"Your ex
- I didn't know him. But I guess everyone else did. I heard the memorial
service is Friday and practically everyone I know will be there."

"Your
dad too?" Jess asks nervously.

"Probably,
are you going?"

"No."

"Why
not?" he asks, while licking an invisible glob of syrup off his lower lip.
Jess tries not to stare at the innocent gesture and peers down at her entwined
hands instead.

"I'm
sure I'm not welcome there," she says after a long pause.

Cole nods
slowly, and then blurts out, "So let's do something."

"What?"
Jess looks up at him, bewildered.

"Well,
since everyone else will be going to the memorial, let's go do something,"
he registers the confused look on her face and raises his hands up as if to
surrender. "I promise - just to hang out."

Hang out.
What do you say, Jess…ready to get out of your bubble for a little while?

She stares
hard at him, so hard that color begins creeping into his cheeks. But he doesn't
break his gaze. "Sure. Why not? Beats staying at home watching T.V. all
day, right?"

"Exactly,"
he says with a smile.

"What do
you want to do?"

"I'll
give you my number and we'll chat about it later. Sound good?"

She swaps
phones with him, and watches as he enters his phone number into her contacts.
When he hands it back to her his name looks foreign and a little…exciting.

"Okay.
So…Friday?" she asks as she moves to stand up from the bench, hearing the
old vinyl crack in protest as she peels her legs off the seat.

Cole also
rises and sticks out his hand. When she shakes it formally with a slight giggle
he nods, "Friday it is, madam."

***

 Friday
morning it rains. Not the soft, drizzly sort of rain one might expect in summer
but the kind that trembles the frame of every structure and not only shakes the
leaves out of the trees but snaps the more delicate of branches. Instead of
meeting Cole in town, she invites him to her place. Her parents were making an
appearance at the memorial service, despite her plea otherwise.

Jess jumps
off the living room sofa when the doorbell rings, and standing on the stoop was
a thoroughly drowned version of the boy she spoke to on the phone just an hour
before.

"Wow!
You're soaked, where's your umbrella?" Jess almost has to yell to be heard
over the force of the lashing wind. Rain water sprays past her, coating the
entry way rug as Cole stumbles into the house, slamming the front door shut
behind him.

"Damn!
It's like a hurricane out there, an umbrella wouldn't matter!" He laughs
as Jess helps peel him out of his soaked jacket.

"I'll
get you a towel, hold on a second," she says as she leaves him dripping in
the country-elegant foyer. When she returns, he's standing with his face a foot
from one of the oak paneled walls, moving from one family photo to the next
with interest. He jumps slightly when she drapes the towel around his
shoulders. Cole is standing in his socks, having set his shoes by the front
door.

"Thanks,"
he says as he shakes the towel vigorously over his hair and down his arms. It
wasn't going to do much.

Jess sighs,
"You're soaked. I'll get you something of my Dad's and we can toss your
stuff in the dryer, okay?"

Cole freezes
momentarily at her words and it's obvious he's trying to hide a smirk. But Jess
doesn't seem to catch it. She's too busy trying NOT to imagine Cole without his
shirt on. I had already failed that task tremendously the moment he shrugged
out of his wet jacket and stood with his shirt plastered to his skin…leaving
nothing to the imagination.

The Levy's
had taken their live-in housekeeper with them as a driver. The more time I
spend in Jess's home, the more furious her parents make me. She never has the
entire house to herself, so in a way, I know she was grateful for the rainstorm
and the opportunity to have a friend over without being under the watchful eyes
of her judgmental mother.

Rifling
through her dad's drawers, she pulls out a pair of sweats and a long-sleeve
thermal shirt, plus a clean pair of white socks. She'd never gone through her
parents things before. Isabel was always home, even if her parents weren't.
Though Jess knew Isabel would do almost anything for her, she would not lie for
her. The woman was the most honest person she knew.

As she pads
softly back out of the room, she turns to look over her shoulder, glancing at
the richly stained wooden bed that fills the large space with detachment. Her
parents sleep in this room, they live here, but it didn't feel like home to
her. The door makes a soft clicking sound when she pulled it closed behind her,
much like the unintentional sound that escapes her mouth.

***

"When
did she move out?" Jess asks as she sips her hot chocolate from a mug the
size of a mixing bowl.

"I was
nine. It's been awhile. I only see her every other Holiday or so," Cole
replies.

"That's
sad."

"Not
really. She wasn't that great at being a mom. Just wasn't her thing."

"How do
you think that happens? I mean, my Mom…wow, is she a mess. How exactly do you
become a crappy parent?" Jess peers at Cole over the rim of her mug.

"Who
knows? Maybe their moms were crappy too?"

Jess laughs
along with Cole, enjoying the sound of his voice as it fills the living room,
booming upwards, expanding into the space between the wooden cathedral ceiling
beams. He's draped lengthwise across the sofa directly across from her, wearing
her dad's clothes. It's almost comical how comfortable he looks.

"So,
where were you going to take me today?" Jess asks as she sets her mug down
on the narrow coffee table between them.

He sips on
his own drink and raises an eyebrow at her. "If I tell you that, it won't
be a surprise for next time."

"Oh,"
she says with a smile.

"Anyway,
this is better I think. More relaxing with the rain outside, and all."

"I hate
it here," she blurts out. Feeling embarrassed, she looks away from him,
letting her gaze fall on the deck doors. The same doors she had come through
the day Chris died and her mother walked away from her in exasperation.

"It's
not so bad. My whole house could fit in this one room," Cole says with a
soft chuckle.

"I don't
know. A house this big just feels empty."

"Empty,"
Cole says quietly, staring at her. The word had rolled off his tongue softly,
and his penetrating gaze made her uncomfortable, but not in a bad way. Heat was
radiating through her, even though she was desperately trying to force her
thoughts away from Cole's soft spatter of chest hair that peeked through the
top of her dad's shirt.

Back at the
Station I roll my eyes. The moment I saw him in the pancake house I knew he'd
be a distraction.
Let's just hope he's the good kind of distraction.

As I pushed
that thought into Jess's mind, Cole rises from his sofa and easily steps over
the table, sitting with a heavy plop next to Jess's socked feet. This close I
could see every line of his face, the clear color of his eyes and fullness of
his lower lip.