Possess (18 page)

A thoughtful hum passed Aggie’s closed lips as she studied me.

“Is that where those bruises came from?”

“What bruises?” I looked down at my arms, but those bruises had faded shortly after I arrived in Midtown.

“The ones I saw on your back, the day we went to the farmers’ market. I’m guessing you got them from the same person that left the cut that was on your face the first night you came here.”

“Aggie, I don’t think that –” My words seemed to jam together as I tried to speak, tried to come up with some excuse.

“Again, Harley, you’re not fooling me. It looked like someone dug their knees into your back. I’ve fallen down enough stairs as a kid to know the bruises that would leave.” Aggie was standing in front of me then, a hand over mine, her typically playful eyes held a seriousness as they stared at me. “You
do
realize whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I know it wasn’t my fault, and I know I didn’t deserve it,” I spoke carefully, emotion brimming in my words. “What I don’t know is how I didn’t see it. How do you not realize someone is controlling you until they’re slamming your head against the floor?” I looked up at Aggie then, wide-eyed with my own disbelief. A nervous laugh escaped me. Saying it aloud, it sounded so ridiculous.
How had I gone so long, let it get so far before realizing it?

“People make mistakes when they
think
they’re in love.” Aggie squeezed my hand, then turned toward the bar and poured a cup of coffee and Bailey’s. “Drink that, it will make you feel a little better. As much as I tease you about Nolan, though, he really is a good guy. I just thought you should know that.”

I glanced over at Aggie questioningly as I took a sip of coffee, the warmth instantly spreading through me.

“C’mon, Harley. He couldn’t hurt a fly, much less a girl.” She smirked. I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my lips at the thought of a tiny Aggie beating Nolan into submission on the play ground.
Maybe she’s right about him.
Nothing about Nolan screamed murderer, and try as I might, there wasn’t any sort of motive I could link to Nolan. But it still didn’t stop the feeling that he
was
hiding something about Brody.

Followed

“Goodnight, Harley.” Nolan spoke quietly as he held the front door open for me. His eyes searched the street then settled back on me as I moved past him out onto the sidewalk.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I answered back, watching as his gaze flickered with disappointment. It seemed like there was more he wanted to say. His mouth opened but nothing came out as he watched me.

“Be safe.” He finally spoke. I only nodded and turned away, heading for my apartment. As I rounded the corner, I heard the door to the pub close. Things had been so stilted and awkward between us for days. When he wasn’t in his office, he was doing his best to avoid me and it only made me think about him more. Even now, all I could think about was that familiar crisp soapy scent of his as I’d brushed past him to leave. I just wanted things to be okay between us, but instead he was acting like he did when I first started at Finley’s. Like he couldn’t stand being near me.

To make matters worse, I had made no progress with Brody either. Sometimes I’d dream of Claire, sometimes I’d have nightmares of Jackson attacking me in my new apartment, but nothing ever useful. I tried to reach out to Brody again and that proved useless. I was beginning to think there was nothing I could do to stop what was coming. I felt hopeless and completely alone. Who in this town could I actually trust? Even still, who would believe me?

“Harley!” I lifted my attention from my thoughts and whipped my head around toward the voice. Aside from a few groups of drunken college students wandering home, I didn’t see anyone. The familiar unease I’d been feeling grew from the pit of my stomach and I quickened my pace.

“Harley!” The voice was a whisper in my ear and I turned my head toward it to find myself face to face with Brody. Startled, I took a few steps back from the shop window, my heart racing as his intense gaze watched me.

“Brody?” I blurted out, not paying any mind as to whether anyone saw me. Brody’s attention shifted and his eyes darted behind me in the direction of Finley’s urging me to look. Cautiously, I looked over my shoulder in the same direction. A cold shiver spread through my veins as a tall figure on the other side of the street pulled up the hood of their jacket and started towards me. I turned back to Brody, but he was already gone. My legs felt frozen to the sidewalk as my heartbeat tripled in pace.

“Harley!” The man’s voice jarred me from paralysis and I took off running as fast as I could. I turned the corner, almost tripping over the curb as my feet pounded against the sidewalk. My heart raced, threatening to burst out of my chest as I ran. I chanced a glance behind me, only to find my pursuant no longer there.

“What the hell?” My eyes searched the street but found nobody else, no footsteps following behind. 
What is going on? 
I leaned my back against the side of the building, reaching into my bag for my gun as I tried to catch my breath. I’d begun keeping it on me after the incident at the library. I glanced around again and saw nobody as my hand gripped the pistol.

 
Maybe it wasn’t someone following me. Maybe it was someone I knew from the pub?
But as a large hand clamped over my mouth and another grabbed me tightly around my waist, I knew my original suspicion was right. I struggled to pull away but I was helpless against the vice his arms formed around me. His strength forced me to let go of the gun as he lifted me off the ground. My legs kicked in the air wildly as he pulled me into a dark alley, out of the view of anyone in the street.

“Quit strugglin’!” His harsh voice rasped in my ear as his hand closed tighter over my mouth. Without hesitation I sunk my teeth into his flesh, clamping down as hard as I could. “Stupid little bitch!” He growled then threw me against a brick wall hard enough to knock the wind out of me. I coughed, sucking in a breath before he shoved me back and pinned me to the wall once more with his forearm pressed against my throat. 

“Fuck you!” I spit in his eyes and landed a solid kick to his crotch with all my might. He doubled over slightly, but grabbed my throat and slammed me against the bricks until I saw specks of light flashing in my eyes.

“If ya don't want me ta blow yer brains out, Harley Martin, ya'll start listenin’ right now.” His eyes bore into me as he pressed the barrel of a gun under my chin.

“I'm listening.” My voice held an unusually bold tone as I narrowed my eyes at this man. His face was hidden behind a ski mask with the exception of his dark brown eyes.

“Good. Now then, Ms. Martin, consider this a polite warnin’.” He paused, pressing the cold barrel harder against my skin. “If ya ask one more person, anybody at all, about Brody Walsh, I will feckin’ kill ya. Is that clear?” His words were more of a statement than a question as his finger pulled back the hammer with a click. My breath caught in my throat, my eyes fixed on him as I clenched my jaw to hide the tremble in my lip.

“Crystal.” I answered after a moment. I could see the hint of a cruel smile that reached up into his eyes as he watched me.

“Good,” he pressed the safety lever on the gun so that it uncocked, “I'm glad we have an understanding, Ms. Martin.” With that he released me, only to swing the gun back and hit me full force across the side of my face, knocking me against a dumpster. I wasn’t sure if the warm blood trickling down my face was a result of the gun blow or my head bouncing off of the dumpster. Either way, my vision blurred as I slid to the ground in a daze. I tried to pull myself back up as he turned the corner, but I fell forward against the cold asphalt as I lost my grip on consciousness. 

I had no idea what time it was when I came to, but it was still dark. My body shivered uncontrollably as I slowly pulled myself to my feet. My bag was still lying next to me, amazingly nobody had robbed me – or worse – while I lay unconscious in the alley. But he had taken my gun.
Shit
.

I tried not to think about it as I managed to maintain my balance and stumbled from the alley. I shoved my fists into my pockets as I staggered toward my apartment building. The streets were empty aside from the occasional street light and a random alley cat.  My whole body shook as I neared my apartment building in a trance-like state. Somehow I made it up the stairs to my apartment without tumbling backwards down them. How I managed to even make it to my apartment was a blur, I only seemed to realize where I was as I fumbled with the lock – my hand several inches away from it as I jammed the key against the wood repeatedly.

Remy meowed as I opened the door but I didn't look down at him when he came to greet me. I walked unsteadily to the kitchen and filled his water and food bowl in a numbed haze before making my way to my bedroom. I paused in front of the large oval mirror as I stared at what I could see of my distorted image.  The left side of my face was puffy and my eyelid partially swollen shut and purpled. Dried blood caked a gash over my eyebrow and another on my cheek. Both still seeping driblets of fresh blood. I pressed a finger tenderly to each of them.  It caused a considerable amount of pain, but nothing seemed to be broken.

“They did this because of you.” I said as I stared at the mirror. “This is your fault, Brody!” My voice rose with anger as my fingers gripped the front of the dresser for stability. “I know you can hear me. He did this because of you!” I spun around as if he was standing somewhere in the room. I knew he was there. Somewhere. Lurking and watching. Tears stung my eyes and mixed with the dried blood as they trickled down my cheek. I kicked over the nightstand. All I wanted was to hit something, anything. If Brody wasn't a tangible target, everything else in the apartment was.

“Fuck you, Brody!” I sent the lamp from the other nightstand soaring. 

“Fuck you for breaking all my fucking mirrors!” The alarm clock went sailing across the room.

“Fuck you for dragging me into this shit!” I overturned the second nightstand.

“Just, fuck you!”

I ran out of steam and sank onto the bed. I was exhausted, in pain, and just wanted to forget what happened as Alannah's words haunted me once more. 

This isn’t something you just walk away from.

Without another word, I laid back against the comforter and closed my eyes. I was painfully aware it was only a matter of time until I knew who killed Brody, and wanted me dead. However, I was less and less hopeful that I'd figure it out before Alannah's vision played out in my bloody demise.

Let Him In...

The next morning when I awoke I managed to find a compact mirror in my bag and carried it into the bathroom with me to fully assess the damage from the alley. As suspected my cheek and eyelid were still swollen and tender, but at least the bleeding had stopped. The other side of my face was a little puffy, with some purple bruising over my cheekbone where it had hit the dumpster. I filled the sink with warm water and dipped a washcloth in, trying to be as gently as possible as I cleaned the dried blood from my face. More than thirty minutes later, the wounds were mostly clean, but the gash was still raw. I grabbed some antibiotic cream and bandages from the medicine cabinet and carefully bandaged it. I looked like hell, but at least I was alive.
For now
. My whole body ached. I didn't even bother checking the rest of me. I was sure there were plenty of bruises to match those on my face. There was no way I could go to work like this; I didn’t want to deal with the questions that would come along with my wretched appearance.

Remy was waiting for me, bright eyed as I came toward the kitchen. I wished my life were that simple. Food, water, and a nice place to nap. I grabbed his dishes and put them on the counter, but paused as I reached for his food. The painting I had left to dry was still sitting where I left it, but something had changed. I blinked my eyes to be sure I wasn't seeing things, though lately it seemed I always was, however it was still there amidst the blobs and blotches of color. Words. There were words written as if someone had dipped their finger in paint and scrawled them across the canvas.

“I'm sorry, Harley”

Fucking Brody
, I thought with a sigh as I fed Remy. As mad as I had been, I knew it wasn’t his fault. The situation just sucked, and I needed someone to be mad at. Otherwise, I'd have to admit how helpless I felt. He didn’t ask to be killed, and I didn’t ask to be added to the list. Nothing about this situation was fair, and right then there was nothing I could do about it.

I grabbed some headache medicine from the cabinet and chucked them back with a glass of water before heading back to the bedroom. I didn't want to deal with any of this right now. I needed to rest, without the added bonus of Brody’s show and tell.

“I’m going to sleep now, Brody.  Don’t fuck with my dreams. They’re screwed up enough right now.” All I had seen in my dreams during the night were those dark brown eyes glaring at me. Even now, I still felt the cold metal barrel pressed against my throat. My chest pulled tight with the fresh memory. No, I definitely was not going anywhere today. The thought of taking one step out that door today, scared the shit out of me.

“You belong to me!”

His voice jarred me from my sleep and I sat up in my darkened bedroom. Despite the winter chill that hung in the air, my hair was matted against my face with sweat.
If it’s not one monster, it’s another.
Remy's form slumbered beside me, a low constant purr filling the room as he slept. I slid my legs to the side of the bed and pulled myself up, leaving him undisturbed. As I headed into the kitchen, I noted that the clock in the living room read a little after eight in the morning. I had slept through the majority of the day yesterday. Even so, I still felt exhausted, emotionally drained. As I stood in front of the kitchen window, staring out at Midtown after I'd set the kettle to boil, I didn't feel the excitement I had felt when I first moved in. I felt ill and unwelcome.

I thought I could forget what Jackson had done to me. I had fought too hard to not let what he did to me define who I was becoming. After the attack in the alley though, it was all I could think about. I was attacked and I was defenseless – against Jackson, as well as the man in the alley. The gashes and bruises on my face were only a reminder that even if I had escaped further abuse from Jackson, I was far from free here in Midtown. At least with Jackson, I knew who the bad guy was.

The whistling of the kettle reeled me back from my thoughts and I absently poured myself a cup of tea. Even that wouldn't calm my nerves, it just reminded me of Alannah. I searched my mind for something, anything, useful that I had learned since all this had begun. I could no longer afford to go hunting for clues around town, and frankly I didn't want to.
Think Harley, think of something useful.
I strained to make anything surface, but came up short.

“Damnit Brody...you need to help me out.” I huffed, looking around at the empty living room.
Check the closet
, the thought seemed to pop into my head. I had found that one box of books, but remembered seeing another moving box stashed in the hall closet. My knee knocked the coffee table, almost spilling my tea, as I darted across the room and flung open the closet door. I slid the box out and wiped off the thick layer of dust that had accumulated over the closed flaps.
Please be something.
I pulled open the box to find a random assortment of items. CD's, DVDs, video games, and a box of pictures.

“Shit!” I dumped the box on its side and sunk to the floor.
Just like the stupid books.
They'd been left over, forgotten after Brody passed away. If I had wanted to know Brody enjoyed playing Mortal Kombat and listening Pink Floyd, then I had struck gold. Otherwise everything in the box was crap, completely useless crap. I glared at it with contempt, but the box of pictures caught my attention. Brody's smiling face was staring up at me from a pile of photos that had slid out when I'd toppled the box.

I grumbled as I snatched up the stack of pictures but my anger quickly depleted as I flipped through them.
Nolan and Brody. Nolan, Brody, and Aggie, Aggie and Brody. Brody and what looked to be his parents. Brody and Claire. Ugh. Brody, Claire, and Nolan looking like a third wheel.
All of the pictures stared back at me from the floor as I discarded each one. They nagged at me, each a reminder that Brody once had a life too, and despite how shitty mine felt lately, I still had mine for the time being. As much as I hated to admit it, finding the killer was more about saving my own life than figuring out who took his. I never really took a moment to think about how he must feel stuck on the other side. If I felt helpless, he must feel that tenfold.

“There's got to be something else, Brody. I want to help, but I don't know how.” I grabbed another picture from the box, looking over his wide, lopsided grin. I stared down at him, feeling a strain in my chest with the silence that answered me. As I looked into his bright green eyes I couldn't help but think about Alannah. Hers had been that lively once. And she died trying to find his killer when she could have easily left me to piece things together on my own. I needed to figure this out for the both of them, but how?

 
Sometimes you just have to let them in, Harley.
It was almost as if Alannah was right there. My mind ran back to the last night I'd seen her. She'd told me that I was closed off. I needed to let Brody in. That's why I didn't see him like she did. But I had seen and heard him when I was attacked.
He was coming through much stronger then. Sometimes, they can come through stronger, drawing on the energy within that place or person. Other times unless we are completely open to them, they can’t get through.
I thought about what she said that night as we drank our tea.

Just let go, and let him in,
I repeated her words in my head as my eyes remained locked with his.

“Brody, I, Harley, am inviting you in. Show me whatever you can.”

The sudden awareness of Brody’s presence within my own body as I sat there in the hallway crashed over me.

“Brody?” A male voice answered as I picked up the phone.

“Flynn, ya found out anything?” I could hear the desperation in my – in Brody’s – voice.
He must have found out something. I wasn't beat up like I was for nothing.
I could actually hear Brody’s thoughts.

“Yeah, about that, Brody.  It's something big. You were right, but I can't tell ya just right now. I don't know who could be keeping an eye on me.” The other man’s voice was shaky, scared.

“Well, where are ya? When can we talk?” Brody’s bruised fingers nervously picked at the countertop.

“I'm at the airport now, waiting for my flight. Um...what about tomorrow, around noon? Not at my office, do ya know where Admiral Park is? That bridge that runs over the small stream?”

“Yeah. I can meet ya there.”

“Good, I'll see ya then. Watch out fer yerself, kid.” The male voice was stern on the other end as Brody’s fingers ran over a business card.

Flynn Jacobs, Private Investigator/ C.I.S. Investigative Services

That’s something. The memory slipped away, only to be replaced by another.

I sat on the couch, happy, with a silver locket in my hand. I placed it back into its box and started for the bedroom, but as soon as I opened the door a large muscular arm wrapped around my throat, cutting off my air. I flailed and stumbled back against him as the box flew out of my hand. I reached into my pocket for something – a switchblade. A second later, the man behind me was growling in pain.

Dizzy and weakened, I staggered forward with the bloodied knife in my hand, but I only reached the hallway before a large weight knocked me to the floor. Everything seemed to be unraveling as the man managed to get the knife from my badly injured hand. I threw my head back, connecting with his and the man wailed in pain behind me. I tried to struggle free as he put me in a chokehold, but a sudden burning sensation in my shoulder sent me into darkness as my body went limp.

My eyes opened again, but this time I felt the cold of the tiled floor against my bare back. I felt someone unzip my pants and slide them down my hips. I tried to lift my head, but it felt too heavy. I looked in their direction but my vision was hazy around the edges and I couldn’t make out any features. My limbs were useless, numbed, and motionless even as I willed them to move. As I lay there, now completely exposed, I knew what would come next. Someone roughly rolled me onto my side.

This was what Brody had tried to show me before. This was the night of his murder. I wanted to fight, but my body was paralyzed. My thoughts were disoriented, as if my mind and my body were trying to separate from each other. My vision tunneled and stretched, my eyes burned from the harsh florescent lighting of the bathroom as I tried to see my assailant. 

I was lifted, my head lulled to the side, dangling down, unable to look Brody's killer in the face. His shadow loomed over me as he roughly placed me in the tub, the side of my head thumping against the cold ceramic. A moment later a gush from the faucet broke the silence as tepid water rushed over my feet and quickly covered my legs. My left arm was yanked to the side and I felt a slight pinch followed by a burning sensation again. Within seconds my vision blurred completely. I tried to turn my head, tried to get a look at the figure as he leaned over the tub. I couldn’t force my arms and legs to move, to do anything. The most I could get was a few twitches in my fingers before the water level reached my neck and those hands pushed me down once more.