Leave Me Love (6 page)

TIME SEEMED SKIPPED
, frantic, like the scattered heartbeat of a dying hummingbird. I called Detective Gray.

"This isn't my jurisdiction," he said.

"Then coordinate with the local police force. Call in favors. I don't care. I told you the Midnight Murder is still out there, and you ignored me. Get your ass here!"

"Miss Travis—"

"Don't fucking
Miss Travis
me. Do your fucking job." The f-bomb seemed my new go-to profanity lately. I'd become a harsher version of myself.

He sighed. "Fine. I'll be there."

I hung up and paced the room.
Have to keep moving. Have to keep moving.
Because if I stopped, I'd have to think. And I couldn't think about my best friend… Because if I thought about my best friend…

I took quick breaths. Sharp. Clean. I focused on them.

The Beaumonts came home. Had I called them? I couldn't remember.

"Catelyn, what's wrong?" Mrs. Beaumont asked.

I kept pacing, pulled my hand from my mouth. I'd been chewing on my nail. "Bridgette's…"

"Yes?"

I stopped moving. "She's gone."

They froze.

As if on cue, the police arrived. They scoured the house looking for clues, taking notes, taking pictures, leaving markers everywhere. Gray and another detective, Clark, with nondescript brown hair and a face you'd forget in a second, took down my statement.

"I left because I got a call that I needed to sign forms for my car. When I got there, they already had my signature and said no one called me. When I got back, this is what I found." I was shaking, my head pounding behind my eyes, the lights and sounds and crowds of people making me dizzy.

Clark frowned. "The Beaumonts said you were arguing before they left. What were you arguing about?"

Was I a suspect? Absurd. I ran upstairs, accompanied by an officer, and handed them the photos. "Someone slipped these under my door at our dorm."

Gray raised an eyebrow. "Was something going on between Bridgette and Ash?

I shook my head. "Someone wanted me to think there was."

Clark examined each picture, realization spreading across his face. "You're dating Ashton Davenport?"

"Yes."

His eyes fell to the diamond heart I was unconsciously fiddling with.

"I see." He stuck the pictures into an evidence bag.

Ash showed up and I ran into his arms, tears finally spilling where before they'd been pent up in fear and interrogations. "They think I had something to do with this," I said.

"That's ridiculous." He kissed my head and held me as he took in the scene around us.

Detective Clark came over, Gray on his heels like a trained dog. Clark showed Ash the photos. "Do you know who took these?"

Ash looked at the pictures and then to me. "How long have you had these?"

I explained to him what happened and when.

He sighed. "This is absurd. Bridgette was worried about Catelyn after the hospital stay and came over to talk to me about what we could do to help her. Nothing untoward happened. I don't know who took these pictures, but it was clearly someone trying to hurt Catelyn."

"It was the Midnight Murderer." I pointed at the wall covered in red. "He's done this before. Wrote me a message in my dead cat's blood."

Gray sighed. "The words are written in lipstick."

I put a hand to my heart. "Thank goodness. I thought it was—"

"I understand. Shock blinds a person." He opened a nicotine packet. Popped the gum in his mouth.  "You've been through a lot lately. You should really consider… oh, why do I even bother? Call me if you remember anything else." He walked away, shaking his head.

Ash held me by the waist. "He's right, you know. You have been through a lot."

"And?"

"I know someone who can help. An old friend of the family."

"A therapist?"

"A good one."

I pressed my head into his chest, tears welling in my eyes. "Maybe."

An officer walked up to Detective Clark, lowering his voice. "That ottoman is heavy, like real heavy. Who you figure flipped it over?"

Clark frowned. "Someone who worked hard to make this look real. Too hard." They both glanced at me.

Before I could say anything in my defense, someone hollered from the patio. "Detective, we found blood. A lot of blood."

And then I saw red behind my eyes, bright and viscous. It pounded through my head and body until I saw nothing at all.

THE BLACKOUT ONLY
lasted a moment, and I think only Ash noticed. He steadied me against his body, worry lines creasing his eyes. They looked lighter today, more hazel against his green sweater.

"Catelyn, what happened?"

"Just a spinning head." I took a sip out of the water bottle he handed me. "I want to see the blood."

He shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

I ignored him, walking toward the back door. Then my phone rang and I snatched it up, worried it might be about Bridgette.

"Miss Travis? This is Doctor Elliot. We got the results back from your MRI."

"Oh." I'd forgotten about that.

"It's not as bad as we thought. You have some mild swelling, which is to be expected, and I'd like you to stay on the medication we prescribed. It's important you're not alone right now. Do you have someone to stay with?"

"Yes," I lied.

"Good. Please come in next week for a follow-up and, in the meantime, stay on your medication, stay with someone who can monitor you if your condition worsens and try to avoid unnecessary stress."

Ash raised an eyebrow. "Who was that?"

I told him.

He stuck his hands in his jean pockets and stared out the back window. "You'll move in with me."

Detective Gray approached from behind. "I think that's a good idea."

"Do I get a say in this?" I put on a rebellious front, but the fight wasn't in me. Truth be told, I didn't want to go back to our dorms alone, wondering where Brig was and what was happening to her. I didn't want to be alone, and I couldn't stay with the Beaumonts, especially not with the angry looks they kept throwing at me from across the room as if they thought this was my fault. They had told the police we'd been fighting. Why would they say that unless they believed I was guilty of something?

Ash shook his head. "Nope. We'll get your stuff once we leave here, and you can move in tonight. I've already had a spare key made."

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

He smiled and pulled me to him. "Is it wrong that I loved having you in my bed so much I fantasized about having you every night?"

That he'd been thinking about me like that made me tingle. Even at a time like this.

Ash approached the detectives who were now conferring in hushed voices in the kitchen as Mrs. Beaumont served coffee to everyone. "Is it okay if I get Catelyn out of here? She needs to rest."

They nodded and Detective Clark approached me. "Miss Travis, please don't leave the area. We'll need you to stay in touch as the investigation progresses. Is there anything else you want to tell me about what happened between you and Miss Beaumont before you claim to have left?"

"Before I
claim
to have left? Can't you send someone to the impound lot to check my story out? Why do you think I would have something to do with this? She's my best friend." My voice grew louder, my control over my temper growing weaker.

Ash put a hand on my shoulder. "No one thinks you did anything wrong, sweetheart."

He handed a card to the detective. "If you need anything else from Miss Travis, please contact my attorney."

For the third time that day I watched the familiar streets flash past the window as we drove back to Boston. Ash and I were headed to my dorms to pack up the rest of my belongings. Once there, I couldn't help but stare at Bridgette's side of the room as Ash made trip after trip to his car with my stuff in tow. "You just sit here and let me handle this," he said. "Doctor's orders."

So I did, my mind churning over the possibilities of what would happen to Bridgette now, of what would happen to me. I'd have to take the bus to school every day, now that I'd be living off campus. That wasn't so bad. The headaches, though,
were
bad.

When we got to Ash's house, a bald man was waiting for us on the front porch. He had a familiar face, and a black rose tattoo on his neck.

Ash shook his hand and introduced him to me. "This is Jim. I asked him to meet us here so he could help figure out what happened with Bridgette."

Ash opened the door, letting us both in, and left to ask Mrs. Brown to make us coffee.

"You're the guy I saw by Lucky's kiosk," I said, finally placing Jim's face. "How do you know Ash?"

Jim shrugged and looked to Ash who came to sit next to me, his hand resting on my knee as Mrs. Brown served the coffee with muffins that smelled freshly baked. "This is the private investigator I'd hired to track you down," Ash confessed.

A shiver went up my spine. How long had this guy been following me, and how much did he know?

AFTER I TOLD
Jim what happened with Bridgette, he left, and Ash cleared out space in his drawers and closets for me and made space in the bathroom for my toiletries. I drifted, dreamlike, through the unpacking, the surrealness of it all clouding my senses. I couldn't believe I actually lived with Ash now. "What happens when this is over?" I asked.

"When what's over?" He looked up from moving shoes around in the closet.

"When Bridgette is found and things go back to normal." Because I had to believe that, didn't I?

He frowned, not getting it.

"Will I move out then?"

He stood, pulling me into his arms. "That's up to you, but I certainly hope not. This isn't a temporary fling for me, Catelyn. I want you here. Period. Not because of a head injury or because your friend is missing. I want you here because I like that the sheets smell like you after you've slept in them. I like having memories of you in this house. I like how the sound of your life makes this feel like a home and not just a place to get lost in."

He handed me a key ring with two keys on it. "What are these for?" I asked.

"The silver one is for the house, and the black one is for the car. It's yours. I have my motorcycle."

I rested my head on his chest, feeling his heart beat through me, and sighed, wrapping my arms around his waist. "I love you."

He kissed the top of my head. "I love you, too."

I couldn't imagine ever feeling that this was really my home; it all still felt so much like Ash. But when Mrs. Brown came that night to make dinner and I said I'd like to do it, Ash smiled and told her to take the night off. He helped me cut carrots and red bell peppers and we made salads with grilled chicken and had a quiet dinner. After, we sat together, cuddling and watching television.

When Ash's hand slipped under my blouse to cup my breast, I sighed and moved closer, pressing my body against his as the television droned in the background.

Our kisses started softly, touches gentle and tame, but passion took us in an escalation of need and desire. Our lips pressed harder, hands groping desperately to remove the clothing that stood between us, blocking our flesh from meshing together.

When Ash bent me over the couch and fingered me, I moaned, leaning into his hand, begging for more as one arm reached around to squeeze my nipples.

It felt good, so good, but I needed more to fight off the pain and sadness of the day, of the collection of darkness coalescing in my life like shadows huddled together or skeletons cluttering my closet.

I needed something I didn't know how to articulate.

Ash seemed to sense this growing urgency and everything became heightened as his tenderness turned to rough pleasure. When he finally slammed his cock into me, leaning over my body to nip at my neck with his teeth, I knew it wasn't enough.

"More," I begged.

"More what?"

"I don't know."

His hand landed across my ass in a sharp burst of pain that startled me. I paused, reflecting on if that's what I needed.

"Do it again."

He smacked me again and the pleasure and pain joined into something new, something that satiated the gnawing need in my body and mind.

Our lovemaking turned wild, loud, almost violent in its need. I could feel the burn of his handprints on my flesh and craved more.

Each smack and thrust brought me closer to orgasm.

My pussy clenched, and in a rush of heat and flames, we came together. I screamed. Roared. Released everything in me.

And then I collapsed into his arms as we lay on the floor in front of the fire, naked and sweaty and breathless.

I didn't speak for some time, waiting for my heart to slow and my breathing to return to normal. "Why does that feel good?"

"What?"

"The pain. Why did I like it?"

He turned to face me, propping himself up on his elbow. "The line between pleasure and pain is thin. Sometimes straddling it brings out those sensations more intensely."

"Is there something wrong with me?"

He kissed my nose. "No. It's completely normal. More people than you'd think enjoy it rough from time to time. Is it something you'd like to try again?"

I nodded, biting my lip.

"There are a lot of things we can try together, sweetheart."

I knew some of those things, had studied them while researching for my job, and I wondered how many of them I'd find enjoyable with Ash. The thought titillated me, but then reality crashed down again and I remembered what I'd been trying to forget about.

"What if they don't find her?"

"Bridgette?"

I nodded.

"They will. Or we will. I promise."

***

Ash's car attracted more attention than I would have liked when I pulled in to the parking lot near the law school. But, given the wealth on this campus, it didn't stand out nearly as much as I feared.

I thought I'd avoided any press intent on talking to me when Ash ran interference that morning, but I didn't count on the stupid on-campus journalists who wanted the local scoop on the “Girl Who Survived—Twice.”

Two of them ambushed me just outside of Cavin's office. "Catelyn, can you tell us anything about Bridgette's kidnapping?" the aggressive brunette asked through overly bright lips, notepad in hand as her sidekick photographer snapped unwelcome pictures of the back of my hand and head.

"I don't want to talk about it. Please leave me alone."

She didn't back off. "Do you have any idea who did this? We heard you had a fight with Bridgette just before her kidnapping. Do you think that had something to do with it?"

"Go away!" I clenched my teeth, waiting in front of Cavin's door for him to show up for his scheduled conference time.

"Just tell us what happened. Our readers deserve to know."

I spun on her, knocking the camera out of the guy's hand as I scowled at the girl. "They
deserve
to know? Why? Who the fuck gave them, or you, any rights to my goddamn life?
My
goddamn story. Get the hell away from me!"

She smiled a predatory smile and took furious notes while the guy with her complained loudly about his broken camera.

Cavin showed up then, taking in the scene quickly and turning on the reporter. "I believe Miss Travis asked you to leave her alone, and if you print any of this exchange in any way, I will personally make sure you are kicked out of Harvard and lose all opportunity to work in journalism again. Do you understand me?"

Her face paled and she turned to leave, dragging her pissed off photographer with her, but not before I grabbed the notebook out of her hand. "I'll keep this, thanks."

As the anger drained out of me I began to shake, my heart racing and palms sweating as the world became too loud, too chaotic and I couldn't hear anything but the cacophony inside my head. My skin crawled until I wanted to tear it off and step out of it and I couldn't stay still. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

Cavin's arm settled over me as he guided me into his office and made me a cup of tea. "Drink this and just breathe."

When my mind calmed enough to see more clearly and listen to him, he handed me a card. "I've taken the liberty of making an appointment for you with an old friend of mine. She's the best counselor I know and she even treated Alice once, years ago."

I took the card, studying the name on it. Lauren Schultz. "What did my mom see her about?"

"A cat, actually. She had this kitten she loved more than anything. When he died, she took it hard. Lauren helped her work through it. She specializes in PTSD and overcoming emotional and physical trauma. I think she'll be able to help you."

I nodded, knowing I needed help. Knowing I couldn't keep going on like this. "When's the appointment?”

He looked at his watch. "In twenty minutes. Come on, you can let me drive that fancy new car you pulled up in."

***

We arrived at Lauren's office just in time. Cavin waited outside while she offered me tea and my choice of seats in her comfortable office. I chose a chair, unwilling to lie down as I unloaded all my problems to a stranger. She took the chair across from me as I looked around her office. "It's nice here. I like the artwork on the wall." She had an eclectic selection of classic prints from the impressionist and expressionist eras.

"Thank you. I try to make it a comfortable place for my patients."

"Professor Cavin said you knew my mother, Alice Travis?"

She nodded and smiled, her green eyes bright and happy, contrasting dramatically with her dark hair and clear skin. "I did. She was a remarkable woman."

I shifted in my seat. "I went to a counselor once, when I was a teenager. After the murders. I didn't much like it, though, and my foster parents stopped making me go. So I'm not sure what we're supposed to do here."

"There's no 'supposed to' here. We just talk and I see if I can help you handle some of the incredible difficulties you've been faced with lately."

"So, where do we begin?" I asked, picking invisible lint off my jeans.

"Why don't you tell me how you've been feeling since you were attacked and kidnapped?"

She clicked on a recorder and my throat went dry. I sipped on the tea she'd given me and began to tell her about the headaches, the anxiety attacks, the colors and sounds and overwhelming anger I'd been feeling.

She nodded, making appropriately comforting sounds as I spoke, her voice and demeanor professional and calm. At one point, she got out a bottle of perfume and sprayed it in the air. The sweet smell ticked my nose. I began to relax and share more, until I'd told her everything.

"It sounds to me," she said, "like you're suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, which isn't uncommon after what you've gone through. That, combined with what's just happened with your best friend, can be very hard to handle. I know your doctor has you on medication for your head injury, but I'd like to prescribe an anti-anxiety medication as well, to be taken only as needed when things start to feel too overwhelming."

I agreed and she put away her notebook and stood. "Our time is up, but I hope you'll continue to come see me so we can work through this together. I liked your mother and it would be an honor to help her daughter."

"I'd love to come back," I said, "but unless my campus insurance covers this, I can't afford it."

She smiled. "Your sessions are on me.
Pro bono.
You can pay it forward when you're an attorney and find a client who needs your help but may not have the means for it."

"Thank you."

I felt a small measure of hope blossom in my chest as I left her office, only to have it quashed when I found myself face-to-face with Detective Gray. "Miss Travis, I need you to come to the precinct with me and answer a few questions."

The temporary calm disappeared and I looked to Professor Cavin, who stood behind him helplessly, and then to Lauren, who placed herself between me and the detective despite relatively little room. "What's this about?" she asked.

"This doesn't concern you, Lauren," Detective Gray said in a way that made it seem he knew her personally. "Catelyn has some explaining to do about her relationship with Bridgette Beaumont and her role in the young lady's disappearance.”